#I think it's the 'you should try it' that does it. he could have said 'you might like it' or 'it's my favourite' or something

[shanastoryteller]

Tracking down a prince of hell is surprisingly easy. The other demons can’t avoid them if they don’t know where they are, after all.

Castiel gives up arguing against it, but instead he’s taken to brooding in the corner, arms crossed, and glaring at him. As his main source of human bodily expression, Sam wishes he wasn’t so good at it. He doesn’t look like that, does he? Jesus.

Sam knocks on Ramiel’s door. There’s no reason to be impolite.

“Huh,” Ramiel answers, wearing the face of a weathered old fisherman. Which, from all accounts, is exactly how he’s been spending his infinite life. Sam learned how to fish like he learned all of his father’s lessons, grudgingly, but compared to how he’s living now, he has to admit it sounds peaceful. “You’re the kid that killed my brother.”

“What,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “were you close?”

Castiel makes some sort of choking sound that Sam knows he didn’t learn from him. Maybe he should be monitoring his television usage.

Ramiel cracks a grin. “You here to kill me, boy?”

“Do you want to be killed?” he asks.

“Not especially,” he says. “But if you killed Azazel, then you can kill me. We going to fight about it?”

“You’re not hurting anyone,” Sam says. He’d checked. “I don’t think you’re especially loyal to Lucifer.” If he was, he would have made an appearance during the apocalypse, would have been helping Azazel find Lucifer’s vessel, not hiding out in the middle of nowhere fishing and drinking. “If he comes back, that’ll be a problem for you, I think. So helping me is in your best interest.”

“Well, if it’s in my best interest.” He steps back, nudging the door open a little wider. “Come on in.”

Ramiel is surprisingly open giving Sam his blood. He looks fascinated and doesn’t question what Sam wants it for, apparently already well aware that Sam and Castiel are in the process of destroying the remaining seals.

“He wants to destroy Lilith,” Castiel says, the first thing he’s said since Ramiel opened the door. Sam wishes he was close enough to hit, which is probably one of the reasons Castiel is staying propped against the wall rather than sitting down with them. His vessel doesn’t feel tiredness, so Sam’s impressed he’s leaning at all.

“You don’t think he can?” Ramiel asks. “Sure, not now, but at all?”

“You think I can?” Sam interrupts, hope causing his stomach to flip over. This whole thing is his idea, he remembers killing Lilith before, but Castiel has been so sure it wouldn’t work.

Ramiel looks him over, something in his eyes that he can’t quite place. “You remind me of him.”

Sam tenses.

“You must see it more clearly than I do,” Ramiel says to Castiel. “You knew him before the fall. I only met him after, obviously.”

“Lucifer and I were not well acquainted,” Castiel says stiffly.

“I’m nothing like him,” Sam snaps. He can’t be. He won’t be. Even in the memories from the future, when he’s drinking demon blood, he’s not the damn devil.

“That’s a shame,” Ramiel says. Sam stares. “He was the strongest angel in heaven, a general among kings, God’s most beloved son.”

Sam swallows. “Propaganda.”

Ramiel raises an eyebrow and looks over at the angel in the corner.

Castiel holds out for several long moments before saying, “No. Lucifer was that. Once.”

“God asked of Abraham to do to Isaac what he could not do to Lucifer,” Ramiel says. “He had no deity of his own to appease and so Lucifer was cast out rather than eliminated. He was brilliant, in the beginning, of course we followed him. He shone so brightly, so righteous in his certainty, so compelling in his grief.” His hand falls heavily on Sam’s shoulder. “I see him in you so clearly. It’s not a damnation. Until the moment he fell, Lucifer was the brightest star in the sky.”

He's silent for probably too long, trying to find some way to respond to that. Finally he says, “I won’t fall then.”

He can’t.

He won’t.

He’s going to ensure Lucifer stays in the cage forever and whatever it costs him will be worth it. But he won’t fall.

~

Sam is startled out of a dead sleep by his name.

SAM! Echoes through his head and he’s rolling out of bed, rolling upright and still half asleep when he shifts from one place to the other. The urgency in the call has him standing there still half asleep, barefoot in sweatpants and a grey t shirt just tight enough in the shoulders that he thinks it’s his brother’s.

He runs a hair through his hair, smoothing it back from standing every which way, and blinks at the crowd of people in front of him. “Uh. Hi?”

He’s in the Roadhouse in the middle of standoff, a couple dozen people blocking off the door while pretty much everyone else in the bar has their guns drawn and pointed. He notices his father among them and refuses to react, not daring to look at his dad’s face for long enough to read anything there besides shock.

Ellen has her rifle aimed, but Jo’s slumped against the bar, her arm around – “Dean!”

He’s out of it, eyes squeezed shut and curled half over. It’s only Jo that’s keeping him partially upright. He sees the blood dripping on the ground and is already moving towards them, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and pushing him upright enough to see the blood soaked across his torso, his stomach split open just like Jessica’s had been, just like their mother.

Sam sees red.

“Sam,” Jo says in relief.

“Sammy,” says someone else, and this time when he looks over, those people in front of the door all have black eyes. “Samuel. You killed Azazel.”

“Loyalists?” he snarks, shifting to stand in front of Dean and Jo. He’s going to fix his brother, but he has to take care of this first. Dean’s not dead, and he’s stronger than he was when he brought Jo back, but he doesn’t know what kind of shape healing him is going to leave him in. Better not to risk it.

“Yes,” says the man, eyes still black. “You have earned the throne, Samuel, but it remains not empty. You’re meant to lead us, Samuel, but you’ve been missing. We’ve been forced to go to extreme measure to get your attention.”

“I’m not mean to do shit,” he snarls. He’s so tired of this crap. His future self had that part right – taking the destiny Lucifer had wanted for him and making him choke on it, using that infinite power to send his memories to his younger self so Lucifer wouldn’t ever get a chance to taste fresh air this time around – good. He didn’t like it when it was his dad trying to dictate how he lived his life, and he has even less tolerance for it from Lucifer. These ass clowns? It should be a joke, would be, even, if he didn’t have his brother’s blood on him.

He raises a hand and all the demons choke on air, eyes going wide and feet glued in place. He doesn’t pay any attention to the hunters at his back, hoping that they won’t be stupid enough to try and kill him while he’s saving their asses. Even if they succeed, Castiel will bring him back.

He walks forward, eyes narrowed, wondering if they’re flashing gold and not caring. “Well, good job, hurting my brother does get my attention.” He leans in close to the man who had spoken, voice whisper soft and yet carrying easily in the near silent bar. “You don’t want my attention.”

Pulling the demons from their hosts is easy. Smothering them into nothing, turning black smoke into black dust as he kills them permanently isn’t much harder than that. The people start coughing and groaning, others limp and likely in need of a hospital if they’re still alive, but Sam ignores them to focus on one woman who’s still trembling and terrified, the one demon he’d left behind.

He moves her hair away from her face, hoping the woman inside of her isn’t aware of what’s happened to her. The demon looks at him in terror. “You tell everyone. You tell them what happens when they spill my brother’s blood.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I will, please. Please. I’ll tell everyone. I will.”

Her fear isn’t satisfying. He has to remind himself that it’s not this girl looking at him like this, but the demon inside of her. It doesn’t help much. He’d never wanted to be anyone’s nightmare. “Go.” Her head snaps back and he adds, “Gently.”

She hesitates then her head drops forward, black smoke oozing out her mouth, nothing quick or violent about it as the demon does it’s best to leave without doing any damage. As soon as it’s out, it disappears, running form him as quickly as it can.

The woman sways in front of him and he grabs her elbow to steady her. She blinks at him, dazed. “What happened?”

“You’re okay,” he says, patting her shoulder and letting go. She stays on her feet, although she still looks confused, but Sam turns away from them.

The hunters are still all silent, all still watching him. Most haven’t lowered their weapons, although some have. Ellen’s gun is still raised, but it’s not towards him, which is both comforting and not. He wonders who she thinks is most likely to try and kill him.

Dean’s passed out, out cold on the ground with Jo holding him up and pressing a hand towel from the bar against his stomach. “Sam,” she says again, eyes huge, but she doesn’t look afraid of him. That’s good.

“Thanks for calling me, Jo,” he says. “I’ve got him.”

He pulls Dean back against him, his brother’s chest rising and falling too quickly. He’s gone cold with blood loss and this wound might have even been the thing that killed him if Sam wasn’t here.

That’s never going to happen. Dean isn’t going to die. Dean isn’t going to go to hell. Sam is doing all this for his brother and just because he won’t be able to keep him doesn’t mean he’s willing to lose him.

He hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder and presses is hands against the wound on his stomach, feeling fresh hot blood spill over his fingers. He tilts his head just enough to graze his lips against Dean’s cheek, holding him steady as his body seizes under him.

Castiel heals with a touch, all if it happening too quickly for it to hurt. Sam’s not that good at it yet.

“Sorry,” he whispers, feeling Dean’s skin knit back together and his body go warm with new blood. Dean groans and coughs, body rebelling against being healed but not having much choice.

“John,” Ellen barks. “Don’t do anything stupid now.”

Sam looks over his shoulder to see that his father has stepped forward, the Colt directed at him. Dean got hurt by demons and Dad had the Colt and didn’t use it. Only two bullets left and more than two demons, sure, he gets it. But still.

“Don’t waste a bullet, Dad,” he says. He's still refusing to look at his father's face. He doesn't need to know.

Any gun will do. Although he wonders if being killed by the Colt would prevent Castiel from bringing him back. He’s not much interested in testing it.

He tips Dean back towards Jo, who braces him with an arm around his waist. “Take care of him for me.”

“I’m trying,” she says, honesty and dry and exasperated, which is how he knows she means it. He smiles, might have even laughed if things were different. He likes Jo. He’d thought he did, from his memories, but he hadn’t felt it. He feels it now.

“Sammy,” Dean says, eyes glassy and movements still weak as he reaches out to him. “Sam.”

He grabs Dean’s reaching hand, gives it a quick squeeze, and is gone as soon as he hears the sound of a gun being cocked.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[cowboylikemac]

BLANK SPACE | H.P

“ screaming crying perfect storm .”

harry potter x fem!reader

includes: fluff, angst

The first time Harry kissed you, it was a mistake.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

The Gryffindor common room was too hot, too loud, thick with the aftershock of a Quidditch victory. Someone had pushed a glass of firewhisky into his hand, someone else had dared him to do something reckless, and before he could think too hard about it—

There you were.

Watching. Waiting.

It had been your voice that cut through the haze, amused and sharp. “What’s wrong, Potter? Scared?”

And Harry had been drunk on adrenaline, on victory, on the unbearable temptation of you.

So he kissed you.

Hard, fast, reckless.

It was supposed to be a joke, something to laugh about later.

But then you kissed him back, fingers curling into his collar, pulling him closer.

And just like that, the game began.

The next time it happened, there was no excuse.

No party, no dare, no convenient push into something careless.

Just you and him, alone in a shadowed corridor after curfew, whispering insults that sounded too much like foreplay.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” you mused, tilting your head, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Harry swallowed, jaw tight. “I don’t think I want to.”

And just like that, you kissed him first this time.

Because Harry Potter never backed down from a challenge.

And neither did you.

Loving you was like holding fire.

You burned bright, fast, all-consuming.

Harry found himself looking for you when he shouldn’t. He told himself it was just curiosity. Just habit.

Then why did it feel like something else?

Why did he feel like he was losing every time you walked away?

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just about sneaking around anymore.

It was the way you knew him too well.

The way you saw past the Boy Who Lived, past the Golden Boy, straight into the part of him that ached to be understood.

The way he let you in before he realized he had.

And that was the problem.

Because Harry Potter wasn’t supposed to fall for people like you.

People who were dangerous, sharp, ambitious, untouchable.

People who made love feel like a battlefield.

But he had. God help him, he had.

It was fun, until it wasn’t.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

You didn’t even bother looking up from your book. “What?”

Harry stood stiffly in front of you, arms crossed, looking at you like he wanted to shake you. “McLaggen.”

Now you looked up, unimpressed. “And?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You’re playing games.”

You smiled then, slow and sharp. “That’s the fun part, isn’t it?”

His fingers curled into fists. “Not when I don’t know what’s real.”

Your heart stumbled. Just for a second.

Then you exhaled, feigning indifference. “What does it matter, Potter? You’ll get bored eventually.”

He took a step closer, voice low, dangerous. “Is that what you think?”

You shrugged. “Isn’t that what always happens?”

Something in his expression cracked. And for the first time, you saw it.

The hurt. The anger. The way he had let himself believe, even for a moment, that you were something real.

You had been winning—until you realized it never should have been a game in the first place.

The final fight was the worst one.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You let out a quiet, hollow laugh. “That’s what you said last time.”

Harry shook his head, pacing, hands in his hair like he was trying to keep himself together. “Yeah, well. I meant it this time.”

You forced your voice to stay light, unaffected. “Alright, then. See you around, Potter.”

His head snapped up. “That’s it?”

You shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, frustrated. “I don’t know what I expected.”

You smiled then, slow and lovely and cruel. “That’s your problem, isn’t it? You always expect too much.”

And maybe—just maybe—you said it because you wanted him to prove you wrong.

But he didn’t.

He just exhaled sharply, turned on his heel, and walked away.

And for the first time, you let him.

The war hadn’t started yet.

But it was coming.

And Harry still looked for you.

He told himself he was done. That he didn’t need the chaos, the push-and-pull, the mess of it all.

But then he walked into the Great Hall, and your eyes met across the room, and suddenly—nothing had changed.

He still wanted you.

And maybe, just maybe, you still wanted him too.

The difference this time?

You weren’t going to run.

So you found him first, slipping into the Gryffindor common room like you belonged there.

Harry was by the fire, looking up as soon as you stepped inside.

He let out a breath of disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

You hesitated. Then, softer, honest for once—

“Starting over.”

Something shifted in his expression.

You took a breath, steadier now. More real.

“I’m a nightmare,” you said, lips quirking, a little self-deprecating now. “You said it yourself.”

Harry exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well.” He glanced at you, something softer in his gaze now. “I think I like nightmares.”

Your chest tightened, something warm creeping in beneath the mess of it all.

You leaned in, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin.

“Then let’s make a new game, Potter,” you murmured.

Harry smirked, shaking his head, but his hand found yours anyway.

And this time—neither of you let go.

masterlist!

a/n: remember my inbox is always open for suggestions

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Yandere destined one... deciding to courtnap his new obsession. I would love to see this!

(I don't write much destined one but I'm really liking his character!)

Two young children sat in the shadow of the apricot trees, fresh and juicy fruits in their hands while they spit away the seeds, playing and laughing. Your childish laugh echoed when you were able to defeat the young one beside you.

Your innocent and naive mind never found trouble in his look, after all, how many kids could have said to be friends with a demon monkey?

"You know," you said, chewing another fruit, "my big sister is going to get married soon, and they promised me to buy me a new dress!"

His eyes narrowed; his sharp canines bit in half the apricot with one strike.

"What does marry mean?"

"It's when two people love each other a lot and they start to live together!"

"Oh…we do the same! But without new dresses…" He looked at you, his tail swirled around. "Say, would you marry me when we get older?"

You inclined your head, confused by this question.

"But you're a monkey!"

"I know! So? Do you want to?'

"…ummm…"

You bit into the apricot again, clearly questioning if you wanted to get married in the first place.

///

The open window allowed a soft breeze to enter your room. Your small figure held the doll that your father gifted you for your birthday to help you sleep, especially since, for some reason, your sleep seemed quite disturbed and erratic.

Strange noises came from your room, alarming both of your parents and the servants.

Sometime you woke up, feeling a pair of eyes watching you. Sometimes you actually saw a figure, and every time your screams woke everyone, alerting them and making them come to you in fear.

During the day, when you were able to meet him, you told him about those nightmares, fearing what was happening in the security of your own house.

"I'm sure those are just nightmares! Who could even think to hurt you?"

And you wanted to believe him, but the truth was beyond everyone's imagination.

Your parents always told you to beware of yaoguais, especially the monkey ones.

"As simile and harmless as they look, they can be conniving and prone to lying! They have an eye for treasures and beauty, and they're ready to steal!"

But a child doesn't know better, and you thought of him as a friend. You played with him, shared snacks with him, never knew that he had a treasure in his mind all of this time, and, despite the age, he had already enough courage to try and steal it.

You wanted to be brave, a brave little girl, and, instead of screaming, that night you pointed the light of your candle closer to whatever was roaming in your room.

Your eyes met the one of your friends, occupied in preparing a bag, with your staff.

When you screamed, your parents finally met who was trying to steal you. He ran away, betrayed and in fear.

You never saw him again.

///

"And what did the fortune teller say about the date?"

"The ending of the month is a good date!"

The voices of your mother and your grandmother were just background noises in your head. Looking out of the window, your eyes fall on the old apricot orchard, with the white petals falling down like snowflakes. An inch of nostalgia and fear came back to you, remembering what memories held that place. Sitting on your chair, the breeze outside the window didn't give you the chance to be part of the discussion between your family, even if you were at the center of it.

"My child is getting married! Her father acts all grumpy about the expenses, but he's just so sad to see his princess become a bride!"

It wasn't like you didn't want to get married; to be fair, it wasn't in your mind at all, and you were mostly acceptable of the event.

Your spouse, the man who insisted with all his soul to marry you, was the child that came to you after the rumor started to spread.

The girl of the monkey, a girl that had almost been taken away from her house by a demon monkey.

The child came to you, curious about why a demon should want to take away such an ugly girl like you. You didn't know if you were ugly, but you knew that you didn't want to take that offense, and so you punched him. You two became friends; he started to play with you, allowing you to finally come out from the fear of meeting the monkey again, the fear of being captured.

You forgot about that fear…Maybe it was because you wanted it to be as far away as possible that you decided to accept marrying your childhood friend, even if, more than love, you felt for him a connection like with a brother.

Well, it wasn't like you had any friends or suitors since your background…Better accept it, you thought.

While looking at the orchard, something caught your eye, a glint, something shining between the flowers and the leaves. Strange, it wasn't the right time to tend to the trees… You tried to look better, your eyes glued on the plants, when the cranky voice of your grandmother called you back.

"Child, are you listening? "

"Uh?" You looked at her, completely spaced out. She sighed, massaging her face.

"Dear Y/N, how are you planning to be a good wife if you can't even listen to your old baba?" She smiled again, caressing your face gently. "We were talking about the decorations!"

And, by being dragged back in the discussion, you failed to notice a tail moving like a snake in the trees and the glint of a sword.

///

The smell of the powder and the incense was almost intoxicating; you had to plead with your mother to let the maiden open a window to allow some fresh air to clean the room. You were in a remote area of the house; no one could ever be able to trespass there, so why bother fearing being seen?

The red silks adorned your skin like the petals of a peony, the blue gems in your hair to symbolize the ever-l'astinenza phoenix, the crystal flowers decorating your neck and ears…

You needed to look better, the gentle ray of sun illuminating your face like no candle could even. You never were someone that proud or arrogant, but this time you had to admit it to yourself: you were standing.

You gasped; the makeup on your skin gave you an aura of elegance and refinement. It was like a princess was sitting in front of that mirror.

Your mother must have noticed that a sense of pride took over her.

"Oh…oh, my baby," her voice starting to crack, holding a handkerchief to stop the tears from ruining her makeup.

"Mom, please!"You tried to calm her down, "Don't cry!'

"Forgive me, my dear," she sighed, "it's just so much for me…"

You smiled; a sigh escaped from you. She's been crying since the news of your engagement, so overwhelmed by the fact that her little girl was now becoming the bride of a fine young man. The child that was marked as the chosen by the demon was finally getting free…

You caressed her shoulder, hugging her with fondness, looking at the maid that even she couldn't contain the happiness.

"Please," you said, trying to calm your mother, "can you take Mother to take some fresh air? I can take it from here…"

She nodded, helping your mother to stand up and leading her out of the room, closing the door behind her to give you some privacy.

You turned your face back to the mirror, smiling again at your reflection on the surface.

You were getting merry; soon you would leave the house of your parents to live with the man that promised to protect you from an old nightmare…

You felt a little bad, but you cared for him, and you knew you were holding nothing but affection towards him.

He could have asked someone else, and yet he chose you. He properly courted you… Yes, it was better like this…

You yawned a little, feeling a wave of exhaustion crashing on you all of a sudden. How strange…Well, you had woken up quite early for the preparations, and you had no time to take a pause from your big day. Sitting down in silence, the sweet smell of the incense was making you quite dizzy and sleepy.

Without even acknowledging your action, you allowed your head to repose on your arm, sustained by the wood of the vanity. You didn't plan to fall asleep, only to rest your eyes a little. You promised yourself to not ruin the dress or your makeup.

Why were you so sleepy? Was always the incense of this smell? You didn't know; you felt so tired right now.

How funny, three people in a room and no one noticed a hand from the window, pouring a strange powder in the incense burner.

You were so tired; the figure slipping in your room was probably a dream.

///

"Oh my, she looks like a goddess!"

"Is she a princess, Mama?"

"Not for us for sure!"

The giggling from the monkeys was whispers in the cavern, echoing through the walls alongside the sound of water drops and the small cascades that were born from the main stream and found passages in the mountain.

The small taunts and remarks were silenced in the ears of the now-grown monkey, far too occupied in admiring your beauty, now sleeping peacefully. Not anymore the small cub that tried several times to take you away once, too small and frail to actually do it. Now he was older, stronger, and bolder; he had found no problem in holding you in his arms, like he had found no problem in slicing the throat of the young maiden and bursting like an old pumpkin the head of your own mother.

Killing the maiden? It was precociousness; he needed no one to set an alarm when he was taking you with him on the mountain cave behind the waterfall of his homeland, but with your mother…that was personal.

He had such a hate towards your parents that he swore nothing could compare to it.

He could have accepted the fact that for some mortals, taking away their own mate could be seen in not such a good light, but he was a kid! Who could blame the ignorance of the youth?!

He was able to understand that, but it was when he had come back with his father, to discussing the proposition of letting you two get marry once you were both old enough. He was even able to accept the idea of just doing it in the mortal way, acting as a human; that was nothing if the price was having you at his side forever.

"Our daughter will never be the spouse of that monster."

Since he was a child, those words were like fire branded in his mind. It was at that time that he decided that no matter the cost, having you was his real mission. No matter what the Elder said, bringing back the old Sage was just another way to prove how your parents were wrong.

He had trained a lot, you see? He had become stronger, just to protect you. He hated the fact that your parents put so many guards near your house; he even suspected that they forced you to not set a foot in your sacred haven, the apricot orchard! Where you two met, when he had proposed the first time to marry you.

You were silent that day, but you were just shy, right?

His hands caressed your rosy cheeks, your sleeping form on the mattress of thousands of flowers to help you sleep, until at least he had done what was needed to be done.

He could have stayed there for days, admiring your innocent, relaxed face, your chest rising and falling alongside your breath, in those beautiful garments made for a bride, his bride.

But he still had some jobs to do, he told himself, sighing, holding his sword to his side and his staff in his hand.

He needed to take care of your father and to that…boy.

Since the day he started pestering, how much he wanted to rip his fingernails one by one, to pluck his eyes and tongue to make him eat them, to rip his guts from his body and strangle him with them, to make him suffer in every possible way, to try to take his beloved Y/N away from. Marry him? The thought made him sick, like he could have been even at your level! Your parents were fools to accept his proposals; they did so only to keep you two apart, of course!

But that was over; today your life as newlyweds was beginning. Kissing your forehead, he saw your sleeping body move a little. He hoped you were dreaming of him because he had dreamed of you for such a long time.

And so, after another loving glance, he started marching out of the cave, ready to make some more blood spill.

@thepoweroffiction @angryvampire @the-little-devils-chaos

@nerium-lil

@phoenixeclipse-lmkau @miifu666 @sleepingdramaqueen @whitefox2k18 @ladydoe8 @jeminiikrystal @theactualgir @birdioarts

@jssy96 @silenthopper @nezukos-number1fan

@blackknight-kai

[gdinthehouseee]

I Belong To You: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after years of being separated, and a night of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, your ex-boyfriend, ji-yong, invites you to his penthouse.

word count: 4024

tags: angst to fluff; exes to lovers, jealousy, slightly spicy towards the end

ao3 link

Ji-yong swirls the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way it catches the light, pretending he doesn’t notice the way cameras keep panning to you. But he does. How could he not notice the way you’re dressed in something stunning, the way you continue to command attention without lifting a finger, the way you’re pretending not to notice him too. He knows you a little too well for your liking—he always has.

Briefly pulling him out of his own head, the audience erupts into polite applause as the host rattles on about the next category, but the words barely register in his mind. He knows the drill—clap, nod, look engaged. He’s done this a million times. But tonight, it’s different. Not because you’re here. No. The two of you have been pretending not to see each other sitting so close yet so far from each other for a few years now.

Tonight is different because this time you’re not alone.

The artist you recently collaborated with is sitting beside you, leaning in too close, whispering something in your ear that makes you laugh. Ji-yong doesn’t have to check his phone to know what’s already happening. The cameras have caught it, the fans have seen it, and the internet is losing its mind. There will be clips, slowed-down edits, overanalyzed expressions. People will pick apart every second, searching for something—anything—to confirm their theories. Some will say you’ve finally moved on. Others will refuse to believe it, insisting you’re just trying to make him jealous. And maybe, in some twisted way, they’re right. Because the longer Ji-yong watches, the more certain he becomes that you know exactly what you’re doing. And it’s working.

The whispers had been there for months. Quiet speculations, half-serious comments under posts.

"Why haven’t they been seen together lately?""Ji-yong didn’t like her last three posts… something feels off.""She used to wear his jewelry all the time. When’s the last time we saw it?"

But nothing set the internet on fire like the day you released that song. It wasn’t an outright breakup anthem—no names, no obvious details. But it was melancholic. Raw. The kind of song that settled under the skin, playing in the back of people's minds long after it ended. And the lyrics…

You weren’t angry. You weren’t bitter. You were heartbroken. It didn’t take long before the theories started rolling in.

"Wait. Wait. WAIT. Is this a breakup song??"“Please tell me she just felt like making a break-up song…” "If they’re still together, why would she write this??""IS THIS ABOUT GD???”

Some refused to believe it, digging for loopholes, convincing themselves it was just a song. But the more they analyzed the lyrics, the deeper they spiraled. Someone found an old interview where you had casually mentioned, "I write best from experience." And that’s when the internet really lost its mind.

Breakup edits flooded timelines. Your old moments together—laughing, whispering, looking at each other like no one else in the world existed—now repurposed under the saddest soundtracks imaginable. Fan accounts were in shambles. Some mourned. Others coped through denial. But one tweet said it best:

"If this song is really about Ji-yong, I don’t think I’ll ever recover."

Ji-yong saw that tweet. And he hasn’t recovered either.

He should have known tonight wouldn’t have been any easier than the last few award shows. From the moment you walked into the venue, the cameras couldn’t get enough of you. The fans couldn’t stop screaming your name. And now, as you stand on stage beside him, accepting the award for Best Collaboration, Ji-yong feels a familiar, sinking weight in his chest.

You thank your team, your fans, everyone who made this happen. Your collaborator smiles beside you, the two of you standing close—too close—and Ji-yong knows the internet is already eating this up.

The lights shift. The first notes of your song together play. 

Ji-yong leans back in his seat, jaw tight, as you and your collaborator exchange a glance before stepping into position. The performance is effortless—smooth, intimate, rehearsed. Every look, every touch, every perfectly timed harmony makes it clear why the song was a hit. The chemistry is there, and Ji-yong isn’t the only one who notices. Fans are already screaming. Social media is probably on fire.

And then—just when Ji-yong thinks he can finally breathe—the lights don’t turn up again, in fact, they dim even lower. There’s a pause. Murmurs ripple through the venue.

Then, a single spotlight. It lands on you, and the opening chords of that song begin to play.

Ji-yong stiffens. He hears the collective gasp from the audience, feels the energy shift. Because this—this wasn’t publicly announced. This wasn’t planned. And yet, here you are, standing alone in the center of the stage, staring straight into the camera as you sing the first words.

"I don’t blame you, I just miss you."

The same line that had sent the internet spiraling. The song is stripped down—just a piano, raw vocals, and heartbreak woven into every note. Ji-yong doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. The entire venue is silent, hanging onto every word. Because this is the moment. The confirmation. The truth. No one can deny it anymore. This is the breakup song. This is the proof. This is what the fans had been speculating about for years.

The camera pans through the audience, catching dropped jaws, wide eyes, people clinging to their seats. Some fans are already in tears. Others are recording with shaking hands.

And Ji-yong? He’s gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turn white. Because the way you sing it—soft, emotional, your voice cracking just enough on the high notes—he knows it’s real. He knows it’s about him. 

When you reach the bridge—the part that had wrecked him the first time he heard it—your voice softens, turning almost fragile. The lyrics cut through the silence like a confession, every word laced with something raw, something unspoken. He feels it in his chest, the weight of your voice pressing down on him like gravity. The way you linger on certain lines, how your lips part just slightly before the next note—it’s all too familiar. Because he knows this song. He was the one who used to hear those words before anyone else. He was the one who knew what they truly meant.

Then, for the briefest second, your eyes flicker across the room.

And when they finally land on him—just for a moment, just long enough to steal the air from his lungs—Ji-yong forgets everything else.

It’s barely noticeable, but he catches it. The slightest hesitation, the way your breath hitches before the next lyric, the flicker of something deep in your gaze before you force yourself to look away. But he saw it. And it’s enough. Because no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many headlines or rumors or new collaborations have tried to fill the space between you—this moment tells him everything.

You still feel it, too.

Ji-yong exhales, shaking his head, running his tongue over his teeth before looking down at his phone. Without a second thought, he opens the contact that never blocked him. The contact that maybe should have blocked him all those years ago. The contact that shut the door, yet never locked it.

Your heart is still racing as you make your way back to your seat. The applause is deafening, a mix of cheers and shocked murmurs rippling through the venue. You don’t need to check social media to know it’s already in flames—fan theories igniting, clips of your performance circulating within seconds. But none of it matters. Not right now.

Because the only thing on your mind is him.

Sliding into your seat, you smooth your dress over your legs, trying to steady your breathing. Your collaborator leans over, whispering something about how insane that moment was, how the internet is probably imploding, but his voice barely registers.

Your phone vibrates in your palm.

“Come over once this is done.”

You stare at the words, fingers tightening around your phone. The weight of his message settles over you, heavy and intoxicating all at once. He’s not even pretending. No casual “Congratulations.” No vague “We should catch up.” Just this. Direct. Certain. Exactly like him, painfully so.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment before you start typing. “Yours or mine?”

The reply comes almost instantly.

“Don’t make me wait.”

A slow exhale leaves your lips. The meaning is clear.

You lock your phone, not even bothering to reply, pulse thrumming against your skin. The award show continues around you—more speeches, more performances, more things you should probably be paying attention to. But the only thing you can think about is the fact that in just a little while, you’ll be face to face with Ji-yong again. Something tells you neither of you will be walking away unscathed. You can’t help but think of the last time you were in his penthouse.

Maybe it was the rain that made everything feel heavier that night, or maybe it was the way Ji-yong wouldn’t look at you when he said it. “Maybe we should stop this.”  You had known, deep down, that he was already halfway out the door, that the fights weren’t really fights anymore but drawn-out endings neither of you wanted to name. “Would you have ever let me go?”  He had asked, voice quiet, almost pleading. And you hadn’t answered—because the truth was, you never would have. So he did it for you. And now, after standing under those stage lights, singing the words that had lived in your chest ever since—I don’t blame you. I just miss you.—you knew he was out there, listening. You knew he understood. He has always known you a little too well, and he always will. 

The city pulsed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon signs flickering in and out of focus, their glow reflecting off the sleek marble floors. Inside, it was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that felt deliberate, heavy with the things neither of you had said in too long.

You stepped further in, the soft click of your heels the only sound between you. The air smelled like him—something warm, familiar, laced with the faintest trace of smoke. Ji-yong stood by the window, back turned, a cigarette burning between his fingers, untouched. He wasn’t smoking it. Just holding it, watching the city below like it might have answers.

"You came," he murmured, not turning around. His voice was lower than you remembered, a little rough around the edges.

"You told me to."

He finally turned then, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering. His lips curled into something unreadable—half a smirk, half something else, something more cautious. Like he hadn’t actually expected you to show. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to.

"Hell of a performance tonight," he said, voice deceptively light.

You swallowed, tilting your head. "Which part?"

"You know which part."

Of course you did. It had been impossible to miss—how the audience lost their minds when the first chords of your solo rang out, how the camera panned to him the second your voice wrapped around the lyrics. The ones you had written with him still lingering in the back of your mind. The ones he recognized the moment you sang them.

You shifted, arms crossing over your chest, suddenly too aware of the weight in the air. "Did you mean it?" you asked, voice quieter than you intended.

His jaw tightened. "Did you?"

It wasn’t an answer. But maybe neither of you had one. Not yet. The silence between you stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the city still pulsed, but here—here, it was just you and him, standing in the aftermath of something neither of you had figured out how to name.

Ji-yong finally moved, stepping away from the window, snuffing out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray on the table. "Sit," he said, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you knew what this was. You knew the pattern, the pull, the way the air always seemed to shift when you were in the same room. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, how many miles had stretched between you. The moment you let yourself be near him, the distance never seemed to matter at all. Still, you sat.

Ji-yong watched you for a moment before settling into the armchair across from you, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze flickered over your face, like he was searching for something—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find it.

"How long are we gonna do this?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing, more careful.

"Do what?" You knew what he meant, but you weren’t ready to give him that. Not yet.

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head. "You know what. The stolen glances. The bullshit small talk when we run into each other. The way half the internet still thinks we’re secretly together."

You tilted your head, letting the words hang between you for a moment before saying, "Depends on what your definition of ‘stopping’ was."

His lips parted slightly, and you saw the moment the words hit—like an echo of that night, when he’d stood in this very room and told you that whatever this was… wasn’t working. That the two of you should stop seeing each other. When you hadn’t answered, because you hadn’t wanted to stop at all.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know why I texted you."

You leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. "Do I?"

"I saw you up there." His voice was lower now, quieter, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud. "Singing that song. Looking at me."

"It’s a song, Ji-yong." Your fingers curled slightly against your lap.

"Don’t do that." He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flashing. "Don’t act like that was just a song. Like you weren’t—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You meant it. I know you did."

Your stomach twisted. Because he was right. The song wasn’t a lie. It was the closest thing to the truth you could bring yourself to say, wrapped in melody and lyrics and the weight of everything left behind. You had known the moment you performed it that he’d hear every unspoken word between the lines. And yet, a part of you had still been surprised by how much it seemed to hit him.

Ji-yong leaned forward again, his elbows braced on his knees. "Did you write it because you were angry?"

You blinked. "What?"

"The song." His gaze burned into you. "Was it because you were angry at me?"

You let out a breath of something close to a laugh, shaking your head. "No, Ji-yong."

"Then why?"

"Because I missed you."

The words hung between you, heavier than anything else in the room. Ji-yong’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. "So what, you missed me, but you moved on?" His voice was lower now, rough around the edges, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. But you knew him too well—knew the tension in his shoulders, the way his leg bounced slightly, the heat in his gaze.

You frowned. "What?"

"Him." He tilted his chin toward the muted TV, where clips of your performance still played, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You and him." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his jaw flexed. "That’s real, isn’t it?"

"Ji-yong—"

"Just say it." His voice was firmer now, raw with something that almost sounded like desperation. "Tell me you’re with him."

Your breath caught in your throat. "I’m not."

Something flickered in his expression—relief, maybe—but it was gone in a second, buried under something heavier. "But you could be, right?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You look good together. The internet thinks so, anyway. Maybe that’s what you needed—someone who wasn’t afraid to have you by his side, out in the open."

You flinched at the accusation in his tone. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it?" He leaned in, his eyes burning into yours. "You think I don’t see the way people talk? How they say you’re happier now? How they beg you to move on from me?" His voice dropped even lower, like he was choking on the words. "Maybe you already have."

Your chest tightened. "Ji-yong, it was just a song. Just a performance."

"Doesn’t look like that’s all it was."

"And whose fault is that?" The words snapped from your lips before you could stop them, and Ji-yong stilled, his breath hitching.

Silence stretched between you yet again. Your heart pounded, but you didn’t look away. "You were the one who said we should stop, remember?" Your voice wavered, but it didn’t break. "You walked away first. And now you’re angry because someone else was willing to stand next to me?"

Ji-yong’s throat bobbed, his fists clenching against his knees. "I—"

"You don’t get to be mad about this."

"Like hell I don’t." His voice was rough now, sharp with emotion as he sat forward, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You think I wanted to walk away? You think I don’t regret it every fucking day?" His jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you with him? Seeing the way you smiled up at him tonight, the way he had his hands on you like he had the right?"

Your breath caught, your stomach twisting. "Ji-yong—"

"It makes me sick," he rasped, his voice nearly breaking. "Because it should be me."

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with everything unspoken, everything left behind. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fingers trembling against your lap.

And then, softer this time, almost like he hated himself for admitting it—

"It should’ve always been me."

The weight of his words settled between you, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in the space closing in, crackling like a live wire. His eyes searched yours, dark and desperate, and something in you snapped.

Before you could second-guess it—before reason could talk you out of it—you surged forward, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him in.

Ji-yong barely had time to inhale before your lips crashed into his. A sharp inhale, a shuddered exhale—then he was kissing you back with just as much fire, his hands flying to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The moment his fingers dug into your skin, a quiet, broken sound slipped from your throat, and that was all it took for him to completely unravel. His hands slid up, one tangling into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His lips were frantic, almost desperate, molding against yours in a way that felt both familiar and like something entirely new. You gasped against his mouth as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his grip tightening like he was terrified you’d slip away again.

The taste of him—faint traces of champagne and something unmistakably him—sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, as if holding onto him could stop the past from swallowing you both whole. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. And so, so dangerous.

When the two of you finally needed to breathe, your breaths tangled in the space between you, uneven and desperate, his forehead pressed against yours like he couldn’t bear to let go. His grip on your waist was firm, his fingers still curled into the fabric of your outfit, as if releasing you meant losing you all over again. His name was on the tip of your tongue, but the weight of everything—the past, the pain, the longing—held it back. Instead, you exhaled softly, your fingers loosening their hold on his shirt just enough to smooth over the wrinkles you had left behind.

"It always has been you."

Ji-yong tensed. His breath caught, and for a second, he didn’t move. Like the words had struck him too deeply, like he wasn’t sure he had heard them right.

And then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching, desperate for something—reassurance, confirmation, maybe even permission. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice rough.

Your hand slid up, resting against his cheek, your thumb brushing just below the dark smudge of eyeliner that had started to smudge from the heat between you. "It always has been you, Ji-yong."

Something in him broke.

With a sharp inhale, he crashed his lips against yours again, this time with even more urgency, like he had something to prove. Like he needed to remind you, remind himself, of everything you had once been. His hands roamed, gripping, pulling, desperate to keep you as close as possible. You gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound with a groan, deepening the kiss until the rest of the world blurred into nothing.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head just the way he liked. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation, like he was trying to erase the time you had spent apart. Like he needed to remind you exactly who he was, who he had always been to you.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, his breath warm as his mouth trailed lower. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down the column of your throat, lingering at the spot just below your ear. "I tried, baby." He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening at your waist. "I really fucking tried to move on."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, needing something to ground yourself as his teeth grazed your skin, his lips pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck that had your breath hitching. "Ji-yong..."

With a growl, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the nearest surface—a sleek, marble counter, cool against your overheated skin. His hands spread your legs, stepping between them as he pulled you in, molding himself to you like he belonged there. And he did. The two of you belong to each other.

Your lips met again in a mess of teeth and tongues and unspoken words, the air between you thick with everything you had left unsaid. His fingers trailed up your thighs, his grip firm, possessive, like he was reminding himself that you were really here. That he could touch you again.

"Tell me you still feel this," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with want. "Tell me I’m not the only one losing my mind."

You didn’t answer—not with words. Instead, you tugged him closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "I never stopped."

Ji-yong cursed under his breath before crashing his lips to yours again, this time deeper, hungrier, as if those words had undone something inside him. His hands slid to your waist, gripping tight as he lifted you off the counter effortlessly, carrying you through the familiar space like he’d done a hundred times before.

Your back hit the couch, his body covering yours in an instant. His mouth never left your skin, trailing fire wherever he touched. "You’re mine," he murmured against your collarbone, his hands sliding down, gripping your thighs to pull you even closer. "And I’m yours."

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @petersasteria @allthoughtsmindfull

[gallavichsreddie1128]

You’re Jealous? (Dean Winchester)

Description: Dean gets jealous of Jack

Word Count: 823

He glared at Jack, who took an interest in his wife, as he made her laugh about god knows what. Y/N was younger than Dean and that had always been an insecurity for him. He was looking at the reason why. Y/N was 30 and he was 40, Jack looked to be in his 20’s but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t realize that Jack would be better for her.

Jack could protect her a lot more than Dean could but he would never admit that out loud. He would just glare anytime that Jack talked to Y/N. Y/N hadn’t noticed Dean being shallow towards Jack, so she hadn’t questioned him. Sam was out at the store so it’s not like he could notice, nor did he ever, Cas was oblivious to the whole thing and sat confused with Y/N and Jack as they talked. It took one glance at Dean to see the glare upon his face but he wasn’t sure who it was towards. “Dean, are you okay?” He asked, pulling all the attention on him.

It would be nice if Cas could have walked over here and asked instead of calling attention to it. Y/N looked over at her husband who looked almost embarrassed by being called out. “Dean?” She questioned softly. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at her, “What?” He asked. “Cas asked if you were okay.” “Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” But Y/N knew better. That was his way of trying to lie. Y/N sighed and excused herself from the table and went over to him. She pulled on his arm to get him to stand up before leading him to the bedroom. He smirked thinking that they were about to have sex but his smirk dropped when she turned to him with a concerned look.

“Dean, what’s going on?” She asked, softly. “I’m fine.” He tried to lie but as his wife she caught on. “Dean, I know when you’re lying.” She told him and he sighed, there was no way out of this. She took his hands, “You know you can tell me anything, right?” She gave him a small smile and he sighed in defeat. “It’s Jack.” She looked confused, “What did Jack do?” She asked, letting go of his hands and sitting on the bed. “He keeps making you laugh.” Y/N’s confused face kept on until she realized what he meant. She stood up from the bed, “Dean, are you really jealous of Jack?” She asked like it was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “I-” “You, Dean Winchester, the sexiest man to ever live, are jealous?” She asked. He smirked at her words and walked closer to her, “That what you really think?” He asked seductively and she sighed.

She pushed him away and he looked confused. “Yes Dean but that does not mean we should have sex right now.” She told him. “Why not?” She looked at him like he was stupid, “Dean, this is an issue you have and it needs to be resolved.” He went to talk but she held up a finger, “Without sex.” He sighed, “I’m not jealous of Jack.” “Yes you are. Big deal that he makes me laugh, Dean.” She yelled. Dean hoped that Cas and Jack couldn’t hear them. “Only I should be making you laugh like that.” She rolled her eyes, “Gosh Dean, you sound like a teenager.” She said before sitting back on the bed.

“Why do you care so much about him making me laugh?” She asked him. He sat down next to her, “He’s young and can protect you better than I can.” She turned to him, “What?” “You heard me.” “Dean, I don’t care that he’s closer in age to me or that he can protect me better.” “So you agree that he can protect you better?” She nearly growled at him, “No, you think that but I don’t care. I love you, Dean, not him. I married you.” She said to him.

He looked down feeling stupid for this whole thing. He’s supposed to protect her and be a good husband, not a jealous and insecure one. “Hey.” He looked up at her, “It’s okay that you felt that way, it’s normal. But next time talk to me and don’t try to lie.” She tells him and he nods. She smiles and pulls him into a kiss. He kisses back softly and pulls her into his lap. She pulls away and chuckles, “We can’t have sex right now with those two in the living room. They will hear.” She tells him. He shrugged, “You think I care?” She laughs and gets off him. “No.” She says and leaves the room. Jack and Cas were playing Uno and acting like they didn’t hear the conversation. Dean walks out and looks at the two, “Dean, you have no reason to be jealous.” Jack says.

[greensagephase]

For Better Or Worse - Part Three

Pairings: CEO!Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: After two weeks of no employment, you finally land a job, but it has a catch... Word Count: 8.5k Warnings: use of y/n and y/l/n; family nickname introduced for reader; still no name for your sister (I need to decide on a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; some Spanish, but translations are provided in text; suggestive content, so MDNI; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all? A/N: pls let me know if you'd like to continue to be tagged, or be added to the taglist! Masterlist | Spotify

Two weeks.

It has been two weeks…

Since Gabriel and your sister married.

Since Miguel and you were forced to take pictures together as the groom’s best man and bride’s maid of honor.

Since he found you in the wedding venue’s garden and stood beneath the garden lights alone.

Since Miguel questioned if your bad mood was due to the unsolicited comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard between Miguel and the wedding guest, who encouraged him to continue on with his bachelor life.

Most importantly, it has been two weeks since you nearly kissed and you later drove off into the night, leaving Miguel in the parking lot, irritated and confused.

Miguel takes a swig from a beer bottle, staring at everything except you. He swallows the liquid, his fingers tightly gripping the cold bottle while everyone chit-chats around him, completely unaware of his thoughts.

He scowls to himself as he takes another drink. These damn thoughts.

Damn you.

You drove off without a care.

It was a mistake, you said.

Mistakes do happen when under the influence, that is possible, but if it was a near mistake, then why does Miguel keep thinking about it? Why has the thought plagued his mind every single day since that night?

Miguel doesn’t know and that’s what pisses him off. “Mierda [shit],” Miguel mutters under his breath, his gaze flicking to you unwillingly. He spots you about thirty feet from him, sitting with your sister. Ever since you arrived to the small family gathering both sets of parents arranged for the newly married couple, who are back from their honeymoon, you’ve kept your distance and avoided him, but then again, that’s not new, is it? The thing is, you haven’t even spared him a glance. It’s as if he’s invisible to you alone. Realizing he’s still staring, Miguel finally tears his gaze away from you, upset with himself.

Miguel hasn’t seen you since the wedding night, but he’d be lying if he said that you haven’t crossed his mind over the last two weeks. Maybe a little too much, to his dismay. He’s been busy with work, as always, trying to find an assistant, a task that has proven to be rather a nightmare. You’d think that Nueva York would have a plethora of individuals more than qualified for the job, but it turns out that that task is much harder than he thought. It’s been bad candidate after bad candidate. Despite his busy schedule, Miguel has found himself thinking about you at random times, such as in the small pockets of free time at work and late at night when he should be sleeping.

Your face pops up in his mind, staring back at him with so much defiance. He sees your eyes with your defiance in them, framed by lovely eyelashes. There’s your lips, the type a man could easily lose himself in every night. He’s even recalled your scent, as if it’s printed into his very mind like a memory. Can he be blamed, though? You have the type of scent that will mess with a man’s head.

Miguel wills those thoughts away now, much like he has every time you’ve walked into his mind as if you own the space. You’re a vision; a seed that demands to take root and make a home in his head, but Miguel refuses to give you that satisfaction, even if you’re not aware of what you’ve done.

Taking another drink, Miguel’s cheeks flush when he recalls a specific moment on the wedding night. His grip on the bottle tightens as he remembers your defiant and bratty attitude, how it led to the thought of bending you over his knee and spanking you to tame that fiery attitude. He wondered then, would you continue with your attitude, or would you give another reaction?

Stupid alcohol, Miguel thinks to himself. Maybe he did drink too much that night, and maybe he’s not doing himself a favor by thinking about such things while drinking yet again, and especially not when you’re sitting thirty feet away from him with your respective families in the perimeter.

Unable to stop himself, Miguel gazes at you again. A drink is now in your hand and you’re still talking to your sister quietly, probably catching up.

“Hermano [brother].”

Miguel tears his eyes away from you once more as soon as he hears his younger brother’s voice, not wanting to be caught staring at a person he dislikes. Apparently.

“You seem distracted,” Gabriel comments, taking a seat next to Miguel. “You alright?”

“Yeah… Yeah,” Miguel starts with a sigh, the grip on his beer bottle loosening. “Just work, that’s all.” Miguel reassures his brother, obviously not willing to say anything else. Besides, it’s partly true.

“It’s the weekend, hermano [brother]. Work should be left at work,” Gabriel responds with a grin, placing a hand on his older brother’s broad shoulder. “Try to relax and enjoy your free time — time with family and friends, yes?”

“I’m trying, really.”

“Does this have to do with the fact that you haven’t found a personal assistant yet?”

Miguel nods, using that as an excuse. “Yeah, that’s part of it. It’s been tough,” Miguel replies, leaning back. “Every single candidate that’s been interviewed hasn’t met the requirements. You’d think that in such a big city I would’ve already found someone,” he continues with a roll of his eyes, that being true. HR and himself have interviewed candidate after candidate and yet, he remains without a personal assistant. At this rate, Miguel feels like he’ll be without one for another month, or so until the right person finds the job post. Unwillingly, he lifts his gaze towards you, only allowing himself to stare at you for a second or two before giving his attention to Gabriel again.

“I swear, you and Nena are so alike,” Gabriel says with a grin [translates to baby/babe; feminine noun].

“Nena?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow with confusion.

“Y/N. That’s her family nickname. Her parents and my wife call her that, and well, now that I’m part of their family, she’s allowed me to call her that, too,” Gabriel happily replies, pleased that he’s been given this privilege, and of course, taking the opportunity to state that he has a wife now, something Miguel very much lacks.

“I see. Nena…” Miguel trails off, thinking about your nickname and the fact that his brother is allowed to call you that. He pushes the thought aside, remembering Gabriel’s words. “I doubt we have anything in common, by the way.”

With a snort, Gabriel grins before it slowly fades. “According to my wife, la Nena has been very busy lately and seems stressed out [the baby]. We think it’s about work,” he continues, referring to himself and your sister.

At that, Miguel’s mind turns back to two weeks ago, but unfortunately, he’s briefly distracted by clips of that night at the garden. He recalls perfectly the way you gazed at him with such boldness, the tone of your voice, lips — it’s like a short movie. Slightly shaking his head, Miguel focuses on the conversation.

You’re stressed out and busy. He recalls, successfully pushing past what his mind wishes to focus on so badly, that you were in a bad mood when he joined you at the garden. He initially assumed that you were upset because of your aunts’ comments and the remarks and suggestion that had been made to him about enjoying his bachelor life and having ‘fun’.

Miguel remembers your words; you didn’t care, you weren’t mad for the reasons he was assuming. With this new information, Miguel silently wonders if you were upset because of work. Staring at you, he questions if it’s just work being work, or if there’s a far more delicate situation that has been unresolved even two weeks later. He tries to remember where you work at, but then again, he’s never been interested to know that information. What for? He dislikes you anyway.

Miguel grunts quietly, turning his attention back to his brother. “Perhaps it’s just work. You know how it gets sometimes,” Miguel finally says, deciding that it’s not his business. He silently wishes you luck with whatever is going on at work, though. “How did you like the hotel? Was everything alright?” Miguel asks, changing the subject to the honeymoon accommodations as an attempt to stop talking about you. He’s thought about you plenty, he doesn’t need to be talking about you now, too.

“Oof, nena, you should’ve seen how beautiful the resort was. The ocean…” your sister continues, eagerly sharing details of her honeymoon, and while it may seem like you’re fully paying attention to her, your thoughts are elsewhere.

Specifically, on that man sitting on the other side of the room. You sigh softly, your sister still going on about her honeymoon, bless her, while you’re distracted thinking about her now brother-in-law, who’s now something to you, too, and not in the way people would assume with your respective siblings’ union.

While your sister was off in her honeymoon, you spent every day looking and applying for jobs. It felt like you were in about a hundred interviews and applied for jobs twice the amount, but to no avail. You ran into obstacles, like a job no longer being available, or actually reaching the interview phase, only to be told that you weren’t what the company was looking for. Your prospects began to feel bleak as the days went on and on. Late at night, you laid on your bed thinking of ways to make your resume more appealing and improve your interview skills, wondering if you were simply rusty, or if your former boss’s promise was true.

He made the promise to make it hard for you to get a job, for every door to close in your face and even though you didn’t want to think about it, his promise seemed to hold truth as the days went on.

On the second week of being unemployed and with your former boss’s promise hanging over your head, you finally decided to consider other jobs, just in case.

“And then — oh my goodness — Gabriel and I went to a museum, and we were able to see…” your sister goes on, oblivious to the turmoil in your mind, to the entire situation of you becoming unemployed just before her wedding.

It was your decision to consider other careers on Tuesday night, just a few days ago, that led to your new and current employment status: employed.

After making a list of jobs to consider, you went down a rabbit hole in obnoxious job boards, filled with both real and fake job posts. It was nearly three in the morning when you decided to search for the last job position you had written on your notepad, that being a personal assistant.

Hours later after falling asleep, you reworded your resume so it would be catered to each position you were applying for. Of course, you got a few rejections right off the bat, but you did your best to remain positive.

It was finally on Wednesday evening that you received an email from a recruiter working in one of the largest companies in the country offering you an interview for the next day if possible. Of course, you accepted and the next day showed up for it.

The great news? You got the job, which you’ll start on Monday, as a personal assistant for some department head.

It was after you accepted the job, however, that you got an itch. Something prompted you to do further research about the company; to learn more than what you had already from the job’s post about the company and its background. To say that you experienced one of the biggest shocks in your life when you read the CEO’s name, which wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the three paragraphs of information in the job post, and saw their picture show up within the results, is an understatement.

You didn’t know there was a catch to your new job, but there is.

The man sitting on the other side of the room with your now brother-in-law — the same man you left standing alone in the wedding venue’s parking lot two weeks ago — is the CEO of said company.

Miguel freaking O’Hara.

After reading his name only about a hundred times to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you and playing a sick, diabolical, and twisted joke on you, you laughed in disbelief and at the irony of it all.

Miguel O’Hara is the CEO of Alchemax and in over forty-eight hours, you’ll be stepping foot in his building to work as a personal assistant to one of his department heads.

How wonderful!

You almost laugh again in disbelief in front of your sister as she continues to talk about her honeymoon, but you hold yourself back.

The thought of withdrawing your acceptance letter crossed your mind once Miguel’s eyes met yours through your laptop’s screen. You’d be lying if you said otherwise, but of course, rationality kicked in and you asked yourself if you’re truly that prideful — prideful enough to decline a job when you’re in no position to do so.

The answer was and continues to be no.

Besides, as you pondered the situation later that night, you realized that the probability of Miguel finding out is low. As CEO, you doubt Miguel even leaves his floor to check on other departments. It’s likely that those directing each department within the company go to him to report, like they’re visiting some tyrannical king demanding tithe from the people in his kingdom.

Okay, maybe that was too dramatic, but you were upset at the turn of events — at your luck.

After convincing yourself that Miguel will never discover your employment at Alchemax because you’ll likely won’t run into him, you came up with a game plan: you’ll work as a personal assistant for a few months before you begin applying for other jobs within your own field.

You figure that in a few months, if your boss’s promise is truly real, the whole thing might blow over by then.

At least, you hope so.

In the meantime, you’ll work at Alchemax and keep a low profile to support yourself until everything is back to normal.

Your plan, however, doesn’t include telling your family any time soon about your work changes. There were plenty of opportunities for you to share the situation with your parents over the last two weeks, but you were unable to do so. Even now, staring at your younger sister, you find the idea difficult. Just thinking about sharing the situation with them, or anyone, really, brings you feelings of discomfort and even shame.

You know your family cares for and loves you, but those feelings still come to you and take you to a negative mindset: What if your family has a seed of doubt regarding your actions, thinking you may have given your former boss a reason for his behavior? You know that’s not possible, but still. Your body freezes at the idea of telling them, or anyone for that matter, about what you experienced. So, for now, you’ll keep that information close to your heart until you’re ready to speak about it.

“That all sounds so lovely,” you answer when your sister finishes talking and stares at you expectantly. You realize you’ve been too distracted, so you refocus on your sister and the conversation, trying to push away everything that’s happened since the wedding. “I’m glad Gabriel and you had a great time.”

“Thank you, nena,” your sister responds with a smile, her eyes watching you with careful attention. “Talk to me?” she asks suddenly. “Something is bothering you.”

“I’ve told you. I’m alright. Just… Tired,” you answer with a sigh, which is not a lie. You’re mentally exhausted from this entire ordeal. “I just need to rest,” you assure your sister to maintain the strong image, as always.

You turn towards Gabriel and Miguel, finding them looking at the two of you. Gabriel gives you a cheeky grin, gesturing with his head towards his now wife before you quickly and subtly glance at Miguel. Your gazes lock for several seconds before you look away and back at your sister. “I think your husband is trying to get your attention,” you point out, which makes your sister giggle like a school girl.

“I don’t think I’ll get used to that any time soon. My husband,” your sister says with a sigh of contentment. With Gabriel in mind, she puts her thoughts and worries about you aside. Thankfully. She pats your arm before standing up. “I’ll be back.”

With a nod, you watch her walk away and meet Gabriel halfway to have a moment straight out of a romcom. You look away to give the couple privacy, but you end up locking gazes with Miguel again, which makes you cuss internally.

Miguel feels the same way. All he was trying to do was look away from the telenovela-worthy moment between the couple, but he ended up meeting your gaze. For some damn reason.

You scowl softly, not at Miguel, but at yourself before standing up and exiting the space in need of a moment to yourself, away from the man who’s now your boss.

Meanwhile, Miguel watches you leave, struggling with the fact that his legs moved by instinct, as if they have a mind of their own and wish to follow you. For what? Miguel doesn’t know. It’s not like he’s going to talk to you about what almost happened two weeks ago. You clearly wanted nothing to do with that. So, Miguel supposes… There’s nothing to talk about. It was alcohol. Period.

Miguel should focus on family and work, and not on that moment during the wedding. Or, about you being stressed out. It’s none of his business.

Still… Miguel watches you leave and silently wonders what’s happening in your life. Is what’s causing you problems now, the same thing that was bothering you two weeks ago? Is it the same thing that was affecting your mood that night, when you told him your world didn’t revolved around him.

It’s the truth, but God, did Miguel wish it did that night.

“¿Hermano [brother]?” Gabriel says.

Mierda [shit]. “¿Que paso [what happened?/what’s up?]?” Miguel answers abruptly, feeling as if his thoughts were on displayed somewhere and he’s been caught.

“Uh… You okay?” Gabriel asks with your sister at his side, both staring at him like he’s grown three heads.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all,” Miguel grumbles, standing up. “I’m sorry. I think I need some fresh air. Excuse me.” With that, Miguel walks out. “Fuck,” he mutters once outside, rubbing his eyes. What has gotten into him?

You.

You have defiantly pushed your way into his head and taken residence without his permission. Worst of all… Miguel can’t seem to evict you.

“Focus, Miguel,” he tells himself quietly. “Get a grip, por Dios [for God].” With a heavy sigh, he looks around, still trying to calm himself when his eyes find you in your family’s garden.

Garden.

He swallows, watching you observe the greenery, and wonders why God is testing him by making the two of you run into yet another garden. Yes, he went out the same door you did, but he wasn’t expecting a damn garden out here. Or, rather, he didn’t give himself enough time to think about what would be out here. Miguel steps back, ready to head back inside to avoid any awkwardness and other unwelcome feelings.

Sighing quietly yet again, Miguel shakes his head. He tells himself that now that the wedding is over and that the newlyweds are back from their honeymoon, it’s likely you and him won’t see much of each other. He’ll probably see you in about three months for some dinner, or something of the sorts and by then, Miguel reassures himself, you’ll be out of his mind and he won’t even remember you exist until then.

As the saying goes: out of sight, out of mind.

Right?

With that thought, Miguel quietly steps back inside, unaware of the fact that you’re now working at Alchemax.

_♡_

Typing away at your desk, you glance at the digital clock. It’s nearly lunch time and soon, you’ll be heading out to collect food for your boss.

It’s now Wednesday, meaning you’ve survived at least half of your first week at this new job. You didn’t think it would be too, too hard, but it’s certainly been a bit stressful at times with your boss asking you to bring things to him from establishments and running back. You sigh. At least, Mr. Parker is nice. From what you’ve learned, he’s a happily married man and a father of one, which he showed you photos of on Monday. Tuesday. And earlier, too… When he showed you photos of his daughter’s ‘thinking’ and ‘when she’s about to burp’ faces.

As you gazed at the photos of Mayday, Mr. Parker’s daughter, making the same face, you were reminded of your sister and Gabriel. For some reason, Mr. Parker’s energy for his child seems like something that would match them, too.

The sound of a notification tears your thoughts away from Mr. Parker and his enthusiasm about being a father to a reminder you made earlier. It’s time to go pick up his lunch from a nearby establishment, one of Mr. Parker’s favorites apparently.

You quickly head out without notifying Mr. Parker. He informed you on the first day that you can head out to retrieve what’s needed without notifying him since it’ll simply be a disruption for him. As long as you go to where you need to go and head straight back to the building, you’re good in his eyes.

The walk to the establishment is short, really. It probably takes you longer to reach the building’s lobby from the floor you work on than the walk from the lobby to the restaurant. It’s only your third day, but you’ve already learned that you hate elevator rides in this building, especially during lunch time, when the elevators are stuffed with people heading out to or coming back from lunch, on top of the people who are still clocked in traveling between floors.

It’s not so much the fact that there’s so many people, but more that some people seem to not be aware of the simple concept that is deodorant. That’s when it sucks.

You soon find yourself back in an elevator with Mr. Parker’s food, ready to have your own lunch while he has his. Unlike him, though, you’ve bought your own from home.

You’re not tight on money, but the significant less pay as an assistant means you need to be more careful about your money and besides, you’ve always preferred to bring your own lunch. Less time is wasted walking or driving around to food establishments and of course, in a city this large, there’s always the risk of long waiting times or things of the sort during lunch hour.

As the elevator ascends, you patiently wait, watching other people get on and off every time it stops. It’s all fine until you hear a voice during a stop, but not just any voice.

Miguel’s voice.

Your eyes widen when you take a peek and spot Miguel walking towards the elevator with another man, talking to each other. That’s all you manage to see before you move quickly.

“Sorry — Excuse me,” you awkwardly apologize to a man who’s been on the elevator from God knows what floor before hiding behind him because of his height.

Only a second later, Miguel’s voice reaches your ears, signaling that he’s inside the elevator now.

“The meeting is in an hour,” a man says, who you assume was walking with him just seconds ago.

“I know, I know,” Miguel answers quietly before he sighs, standing in the front. Or, at least you assume so since you’re hiding behind the man. “I truly need an assistant.”

“You still haven’t found one, even after the interviews from yesterday?” the man asks, earning himself a scoff from Miguel.

“No,” Miguel answers. “Still no assistant.”

“No pierdas la esperanza [don’t lose [the] faith]. I’m sure the perfect assistant will soon find their way to you,” the man answers with amusement. “I have a feeling… By the end of the week, there will be a candidate, who’s perfect for the role.”

“Ay, que Dios te escuche [ay, may God hear you],” Miguel replies with a hint of exhaustion. “Porque no puedo continuar así [because I can’t continue like this]. I nearly missed a video conference yesterday. Thankfully, I remembered it, but I definitely need someone to help me with my schedule. Hopefully, someone will occupy the position soon.”

“I’m certain someone will, don’t stress about it,” the man responds.

It’s a bad decision, but you dare take a peek after their short exchange. For a brief second, you gaze at the back of Miguel’s head before he begins to look over his shoulder, as if he senses someone’s gaze.

Of course, you quickly hide again behind the poor man, who’s not even aware of your shenanigans, and barely avoid being caught. With that, you play it safe and stick behind the man, deciding you’ll stay there until you reach your floor, but then…

You look up at the digital screen announcing the floor numbers and remember. Miguel has to be on the top floor of this building, meaning he’ll be the last person to get off the elevator.

The problem is, you need to get off before him and in order to do that, you must walk past him first.

Cursing internally, you look around both subtly and frantically as you try to think of a way to handle this. Here you were, thinking you’d make it through your first week without running into Miguel at all, but you seem to have overlooked the possibility of ending up on the same elevator ride.

The elevator stops, reminding you that you’re halfway to your designated floor and still without a solution. You note some people get off and only two get on. On the next floor, the man in front of you steps forward, making his exit. You immediately move behind a woman, lowering your face as best as possible just in case Miguel decides to glance back again.

The elevator continues to go past floors, heading for yours faster than you’d like. You silently hope that Miguel has business in one of the next few floors and that he’ll get off the elevator, but of course, your luck is not that great because Miguel stays put.

Your nerves increase as the elevator continues to ascend. This is it. You either get off in the next three floors where you’ll meet Mr. Parker with his lunch, or stay on the elevator until it’s just Miguel and you.

Your grip on the lunch bag tightens as the sound of the elevator rings in your ears once more. You straighten your shoulders, ready to walk out when it’s your turn and let whatever needs to happen, happen.

However… Your hope rises again when a delivery man enters the elevator, carrying a large gift basket and bouquet of flowers. He politely states what floor he needs to stop on, that being the next floor and one before yours.

Moving swiftly, you slide next to the delivery man, but on the opposite side of Miguel so you avoid walking directly past him. As soon as the delivery man begins to move when the elevator doors open on his floor, you move in sync with him, using the packages he’s carrying to hide yourself.

As soon as you’re out of the elevator, you dart to the side and walk down a hallway to distance yourself from the elevator. You only stop when you hear the elevator’s doors close and finally glance back, thankfully finding no one else in the lobby.

“Dios [God],” you whisper, sighing in relief. “Too close, too close.” Shaking your head, you head for the stairs to reach your floor, no longer wanting to be in an elevator after that. You silently wonder what’s the probability of that happening again during the few months you plan on working here and realize, it’s too high for your liking.

After successfully delivering lunch to Mr. Parker and having your own lunch, you continue to work. The day continues on with you performing your duties consisting of answering the phone, making and taking coffee to Mr. Parker, replying to emails, and so on.

It's four in the afternoon when you notice Parker step out of his office, adjusting his tie. “Hey, I have a meeting in ten minutes. Can you please make fresh coffee for two?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Of course, I'll have it ready, sir,” you reply, already knowing about the meeting since you have access to the schedule. You just don’t know who it’s with since there’s no such details listed.

“Thank you! I'll be back,” he answers, heading for the restrooms.

You answer one more email before you head to the break room to make the coffee, pondering life as you wait for it to be ready. Once it's done, you pour the coffee into two mugs and gather some napkins, sugar, and cream just in case the other person needs some.

At last, you head to Parker's office, carrying the mugs on a small tray you found laying around the break room. You'll be honest, you didn't expect to be doing this kind of work at this point in your career, but well, here you are. It's not that it's bad or beneath you, but it does bring you some anger. You worked so hard to reach your previous position and all for it to be taken away from you by a disgusting human who can't be faithful to his wife nor keep his hands to himself.

With a sigh, you tell yourself to stop thinking about it, to not let that man ruin your mood. At least, this job seems safe in that you won’t see yourself jobless due to a similar situation. Mr. Parker seems like a good man overall, deeply in love and happy with his family. You also haven’t heard a single negative comment about him from the other employees in this department, unlike your previous job where you had heard negative rumors, so that gives you hope.

When you finally reach Parker's office, you knock quietly to announce yourself before stepping inside. You make yourself as invisible as possible while your boss talks to the other person, who you briefly notice is a man. Still, you maintain your gaze focused on the task at hand, keeping to yourself and not being nosy about who the other person is.

“So, any fun plans for the weekend?” Parker asks the man, whose face is hidden behind some documents.

Once you reach the table, you place the first mug in front of the visitor and proceed to do the same for Mr. Parker. After gathering the thin packets of sugar and little tubs of creamer from the tray, you place them on the desk along with the napkins just as your boss looks up at you to acknowledge you.

“That will be all for now. Thank you, Y/N,” Parker states, politely dismissing you.

“Of course, Mr. Parker,” you answer, picking up the tray to take back with you. As you do so, you lift your gaze unwillingly and feel your heart sink when you meet a pair of all too familiar brown eyes.

Miguel’s.

You stare back, noting a mixture of recognition and bafflement in his eyes before you break out of whatever trance the two of you have fallen into.

“Excuse me,” you state quietly before you hurriedly walk away from the desk, hearing the scrape of a chair behind you.

“Is something wrong, Miguel?” Mr. Parker asks as you exit the office and quickly but quietly closing the door after you.

You lean back on the door, your heart pounding. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself. You didn't make it through the first week without being discovered by Miguel after all. Sighing heavily, you stay there for a few more seconds before pushing yourself off the door and reaching your desk. You attempt to shake off the emotions running through you while checking the digital calendar to see how long this meeting has been scheduled for.

“Thirty minutes,” you mumble, knowing that the meeting can either be cut short or go over by a few minutes. Huffing, you decide to pay extra attention. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to hear their voices grow closer as Parker and Miguel approach the door when the meeting is over. If you do, you can make a quick run for the restroom or the break room and avoid Miguel completely. At least, for today.

So, you keep track of time while doing your job, determined to avoid Miguel for today. As the thirty minutes come close to an end, you decide to go ahead and head to the break room and wait there. About three minutes later, you deem it safe to return to your station, especially when you don’t hear any talking or footsteps. Feeling safe, you walk out of the break room with confidence only to run into something hard, or rather someone.

“Woah! Are you okay?” you hear Parker’s voice, but it’s not him you've ran into.

“I’m sor-” you start, suddenly feeling large and warm hands taking hold of your arms to steady you. Looking up, you continue. ”-rry, I didn’t see you-” you continue, but pause when you realize who you’ve ran into.

Of course. It just had to be him. Miguel. The one person you were trying to avoid.

Meanwhile, Miguel gazes back at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to hold you.

Coming to your senses, you gently pull away and straighten yourself.

“You alright?” Parker asks again.

“Yes. I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” you answer, avoiding looking at the imposing CEO who’s sending daggers your way.

“You almost missed him,” Parker eagerly says when he hears you’re alright, not knowing that that’s precisely what you were trying to do. “This is our CEO. Meet Miguel O’Hara,” he says with a smile.

“We know ea -” Miguel starts at the same time you give him the most fake smile Miguel has ever seen before you offer a handshake.

“Oh! It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara,” you quickly interject with a smile before you introduce yourself — making it seem like you don’t know Miguel at all.

With a subtle frown, Miguel accepts and shakes your hand. He may not show it, but he’s filled with disbelief and something else he can’t pinpoint right now at the fact that you’re pretending not to know him. He can’t help but ask himself if you truly dislike him this much that you’re going so far as to pretend not to know him. “Nice to meet you,” Miguel answers a few seconds later, forcing himself to say those words when in reality, he wants to make it clear that you two are no strangers. He doesn’t, however. Miguel respects your decision, even if it upsets him, for now.

“She’s my new assistant,” Parker announces as Miguel feels you trying to withdraw your hand, which Miguel reluctantly allows. “Only three days on the job and already doing wonderfully!”

“That’s great,” Miguel answers, staring at you with a now blank expression despite everything. He forces himself not to say anything else, or he’ll end up pulling you away with him to his office to get answers. Inhaling sharply, he tears his gaze away from you to face Peter, knowing that if he sticks around for too long, it’ll raise Peter’s suspicions. He already had to make some weird explanation for his reaction from earlier when Miguel realized it was you dropping the coffee off. Peter, rightfully so, questioned once more if everything was alright once you exited the office because it was impossible to miss the way Miguel abruptly stood up, so fast and suddenly his chair scraped the floor.

Miguel ended up composing himself, even though it took everything in him to not follow you, and explained to Peter that he suddenly wondered if he had forgotten about a meeting. Thankfully, his current lack of assistant made his excuse believable and Peter brushed off the incident after that. Now, Miguel clears his throat. “I must get going. I have a call to make. We’ll stay in touch.”

“You got it, boss!” Peter says, totally unaware of the tension between Miguel and you.

Standing silently with your hands clasped in front of you, Miguel turns his gaze to you again. When your eyes meet, you see it clearly. A promise. Miguel will find out what’s happening, one way or another. Today, or tomorrow.

“Good afternoon, miss,” Miguel addresses you, still giving you a blank expression.

“Afternoon, sir,” you answer, causing a muscle in Miguel’s jawline to twitch.

Sir.

You’ve never addressed Miguel as such, and for some damn reason, hearing you call him that stirs something in him, something he quickly pushes aside. He gives you a curt nod before walking away, his steps determined.

“Well, work calls. We still have about half an hour,” Peter says, turning on his heel and heading back to his office.

You follow after Parker, returning to your own desk. However, you dare steal a glance, only to find Miguel at the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. He watches you from a far, a hint of a glare now present on his beautifully sculpted face. Despite your position, you stare back with a blank expression, holding eye contact until the elevator’s doors open.

Almost reluctantly, Miguel enters the surprisingly empty elevator from where he continues to stare at you, standing right in the middle.

Aware of his glare and stance, you’re tempted to wave goodbye out of spite, but quickly remember you can’t afford to be petty or anything of the sort, so you refrain. At last, the doors close with Miguel staring at you until the very last second.

It’s until then, that your figure relaxes and you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

As the elevator ascends to Miguel’s floor, a million thoughts run through his mind.

Mierda [shit].

What the hell is happening? Why are you here?

Miguel runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Several seconds later, his head snaps up when he truly notes the elevator’s noise that announces each floor, suddenly reminded of something.

He leans back on an elevator wall, almost out of breath when he realizes. You were in the elevator when Fernando, his colleague, and him got on the elevator earlier today after they stopped at one of the other floors when they came back from lunch. He knows that because earlier, he thought himself a fool for thinking you were here in the building. Why?

Because as soon as he entered the elevator and the doors closed, Miguel caught whiff of your perfume. He recognized it, for some reason, and immediately thought of you, of that lovely scent. It nearly made his knees buckle to think you were there, but the rational side of him immediately reminded him that that was impossible — for you to be in the building.

Even after telling himself that, Miguel eventually glanced back. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find; you, standing there with a look of indifference towards him, or one of rebellion. Of course, he didn’t find you and chastised himself for being a fool for thinking you’d be there when you had no business in the Alchemax building, or so he believed.

Now, Miguel connects the dots. You were in the elevator at the same time as him, just feet from him. He recalls a tall gentleman behind Fernando and him, tall enough for someone of your height to hide behind.

“You brat,” Miguel mutters, as he realizes you were the woman that rushed out of the elevator with the delivery man. He found it odd earlier when he noticed that, but he dismissed it as an employee simply being in a rush from their lunch break. It’s clear to him now that you saw him and hid throughout the entire elevator ride until you found an escape, using the delivery man to successfully do so.

You had no plans of letting him discover you, that’s for certain, except you didn’t count on him having a meeting with Peter in his office and not Miguel’s.

Stepping out of the elevator and walking to his office, Miguel reflects on the moment he realized it was you who was dropping the coffee of. His attention was fully on the documents in front of him, but that changed as soon as he heard your name uttered by Peter’s mouth. Unwillingly, he lowered the documents to satisfy his curiosity. Miguel huffs as he enters his office. Yes, his curiosity because he needed to know if it was you, even if a part of his brain was telling him that that was impossible yet again. It had to be someone else with the same name. At least, that’s what Miguel told himself as he lowered the documents to satisfy his need to know.

And then, there you were, standing next to Peter’s desk and holding some tray.

It wasn’t in Miguel’s head and he wasn’t a fool after all.

You were actually there, as if you had left his head to manifest yourself in front of him. When you finally lifted your gaze to his and locked eyes, that only made the moment even more real.

In his office, Miguel paces back and forth out of frustration.

Does your family know? Miguel immediately realizes it’s likely that they don’t. If they did, your sister would’ve told Gabriel, and Gabriel would’ve surely mentioned it to him. Running a hand over his face, Miguel remembers Gabriel mentioned you were busy and stressed out because of work. The thing is, Miguel also recalls Peter’s words from earlier.

He mentioned you were only three days into your job and doing well, which means you were in between jobs at some point over the last week, but if Miguel thinks back to the wedding night and your behavior…

“¿Qué paso [what happened]?” Miguel asks himself, staring out from one of his windows now. “What happened that you’re now here?”

He doesn’t voice it out loud, but he also wonders, heavily, why you pretended not to know him.

That moment floods his mind, inciting that strange feeling he felt when you pretended not to know him again. It’s a bad feeling.

Hurt?

Rejection?

Both?

Miguel shakes his mind. It can’t be any of that because if it were, then that would mean that Miguel was bothered by your actions, and that would mean he cares, or something like that, which he doesn’t.

He doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t care about you. It’s whatever.

And yet…

“Focus,” Miguel mumbles, forcing himself to return to his desk to work, however, he can’t do so successfully. He needs to know what’s going on and he plans on finding out sooner than later. With that in mind, he finally finds a shred of concentration to complete his tasks.

At five o’clock, Miguel shuts everything down and heads down to the first floor. He patiently waits in the lobby, his gaze glued to the elevators to avoid missing you. As he waits, he can’t help but wonder about your previous job. Did something happen? He doesn’t know much, but he does know that your previous job wasn’t that of an assistant and while the job is an honest one, it’s still a drastic change of career, at least in his eyes. The fact that your family doesn’t seem to know either, raises alarms in his head.

Miguel’s thoughts come to a halt when he finally spots you exit an elevator, carrying your purse. He wastes no time and approaches, intercepting your path, which earns himself a glare from you.

“You,” you state simply, forgetting in the moment that Miguel is essentially your boss.

“Me,” Miguel grumbles. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Nothing is happening. Goodbye now,” you reply, trying to walk past Miguel, but he has other plans because he takes hold of your arm, firmly yet gently to avoid hurting you. “Hey — let go.”

“Not until you answer my questions,” Miguel continues, holding you. “What are you doing here working at Alchemax, as Peter’s assistant?”

“That’s not your concern,” you answer curtly. “Now, please let go… Sir.”

Sir.

There it is again. That stirring in Miguel. He pushes it away, however, and forces himself to focus on the important fact, which is that you’re working here. He also finds himself unsettled by your tone of respect. It’s not like you’ve ever been blatantly disrespectful towards him, but there’s certainly a shift in your attitude. In seconds, Miguel realizes that you’re aware of your position. You’re holding back with your defiance, keeping yourself respectful because of your positions — his position being one of power and yours of little to none. Miguel swallows at that, his grip loosening. “What happened?” Miguel asks again, less harshly. “Why are you working here?”

“That’s none of your concern,” you answer, giving the same response.

“Please, don’t give me that shit,” Miguel replies, truly trying to get answers.

Staring at him, you sense a far more gentle tone from Miguel, but still, you’re not about to tell him anything. You haven’t even told your family about it. “You’re my employer,” you respond, more collected. “You have no right to ask me those questions. That’s personal.”

Miguel sighs in disappointed when you hit him with that, knowing he can’t push too much. “Personal…”

“Yes, personal. And also, you have no right to mention this to my family,“ you remind him, looking straight at him.

“I see,” Miguel responds, humming. Your statement simply confirms his suspicions; your family doesn’t know.

“Have a great evening… Sir,” you mumble, pulling your arm free from his grip. This time, Miguel releases you.

For the second time, Miguel watches you leave him behind.

_♡_

The next day, you manage your way through the workload. Despite what happened yesterday, you do your best to focus on the duties since you don’t want to lose your job for being distracted. It all goes smoothly until after lunch when Mr. Parker calls you into his office. You walk in, expecting Parker to ask for a coffee or even a tea, however, he shocks you with his words.

“I was just notified that Mr. O’Hara would like to see you,” he says, tapping a finger on his desk.

“I — Yes, sir,” you answer, faltering for a second. With a heavy heart, you return to your desk with a single thought echoing in your head; you’ve been fired.

With that thought in mind, you pick up your purse and grab your few belongings. Certain you’ve been fired, you ride the elevator to Miguel’s floor.

The elevator ride is weird. On one side, it feels like the longest elevator ride and yet, it also feels short because you step out onto the lobby all too soon. With a sigh, you look around to locate Miguel’s office, but you don’t spot it right away since there’s various doors. And to be honest, you’re a bit distracted by the current situation. You’re going to be fired.

A few seconds later, a man comes out of from an office and approaches you with a smile. “Hey, you must be Miss Y/L/N. Mr. O’Hara is waiting for you,” he informs you. “Follow me.”

Following the man, you’re led down a long hallway that screams ‘CEO floor’ before a desk comes into view. It’s placed to the side, just outside a pair of mahogany doors. You note it’s empty, no sign of someone working there, but you quickly clear your thoughts of that. You have far more important things to worry about, like the fact that you’ve been fired and that Miguel has requested you to see you sign some kind of termination paper and rub it on your face.

The man finally opens one of the doors and steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, the door closes and you find yourself in one of the most luxurious offices you’ve ever been in. Natural light seeps into the office from ceiling to floor windows. A comfortable-looking couch sits on one side of the room with a coffee table in front of it. Plants, whether artificial or real, decorate and bring life to the space. Bookcases filled with books and some photographs line one wall. In the middle, there’s a large mahogany desk, long enough for an individual to comfortably lay on. A set of chairs are in front of it, for visitors.

Most importantly, the most powerful man in the building sits behind the desk on his throne.

Watching you, Miguel lowers his hand from his face, looking every bit the part of a powerful CEO. “Take a seat.”

Previous Part ♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡ Next Part

A/N: Hiii... so it's been *checks last chapter and grimaces* five months since the last update. 😬 I was supposed to update this sooner, but ✨life✨ happens and I also have another Miguel fic that takes much of my writing time bc I be writing 12k--20k-ish word chapters for it (🙂‍↕️iykyk), so I kinda left this fic in the back burner. I also, long story short, took a break from social media for the entirety of January because I felt mentally low.

So... We're here now and I'm glad to have updated this fic, even after months! I'm trying to arrange a writing schedule, so I can rotate between fics successfully and that way I don't leave this fic without updates for so long, so we'll see how that goes!

Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it!

So... what did you guys think about Miguel? 🤭What about la Nena working at Alchemax now? lmk! Ok, another thing... Can you guys drop a nickname idea for Nena's sister? It's chapter 3 and I'm still using 'your sister' 'his wife' sjdkfjkdfjd I was going to call her Lily, but then, there's the issue of a reader potentially coming along and their name being exactly that, so it would ruin the experience for said reader(s). It doesn't have to be in Spanish, so drop any recs below, pls.

p.s. my pooks, @lauraolar14 , has drawn fanart from p1 and some sketches inspired by this current chapter from a two paragraph snippet I share a few days ago (she's always feeding us so well fr). Go check them out and show support to my lovely friend!

Thank you again for reading and for supporting my writing!

Alondra❤️

Quick note about reader's nickname: As stated in the in-text translations, 'nena' translates to 'baby' or 'babe' and can be used as an affectionate nickname without any romance involved (this is literally what my family has been calling me since I was born; my real name is used when I'm in trouble). It's like Baby from Dirty Dancing (the movie; and one of my favs; Patrick Swayze 😩) where she's called that by her family. In Spanish, I'll be using 'la Nena' sometimes because the language calls for me to use 'la' (the), which I know doesn't really make sense in English because in English you wouldn't say, "the Baby is in the office", unlike how in Spanish you'd say, "La Nena esta en la oficina". It would be, "Baby is in the office", but languages! So, I hope no one (non-Spanish speakers) is confused by that.

taglist: @scaleniusrm @sukunash0e @seeeuspaceecowboyyy

@smyfmj @prozacgooble @t4naiis @deputy-videogamer

@nina-from-317

[sosa2imagines]

Hi! Can I please request a Lloyd x fem!civilian!shy!reader where takes Lloyd takes Six’s younger sister captive alongside Claire (she had been living with Donald Fitzroy and Claire and Fitzroy treated her and protected her as if she were his own daughter, becoming basically family ever since he recruited Six). The reader and Lloyd have clear chemistry and he 100% loves making her all flustered & shy and loves the effect he has on her. (He definitely plans to keep her 🤭) She also has an effect on him, having him basically wrapped around her finger and is the only one who can ground him. She promises that she’ll stay with him forever if and only if he lets Fitzroy, Claire, and her brother Six go (he’d begrudgingly agrees, he can’t say no to his girl🤭). I’m sure Six would be hesitant to leave his sister with Lloyd though (he has nothing to worry about though because Lloyd would spoil the reader absolutely rotten and be so loving and soft and affectionate with her)

Warning- Little angst, fluff, kidnaping situation, etc

You wake up to the rough texture of rope biting into your wrists, the dim light overhead casting eerie shadows on the walls. Panic flutters in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm. Claire is beside you, still unconscious, her small form curled up on the cold floor. 

And then you heard it.  

The sound of footsteps, confident and unhurried, accompanied by an infuriatingly smug whistle. Your stomach twists as the door swings open, revealing the last person you want to see.

Lloyd Hansen.  

“Well, well,” he drawls, stepping into the room with that ever-present smirk. “Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake!”  

Your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you hate how easily his presence flusters you. Lloyd notices, of course he always does and his smirk deepens.  

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re blushing,” he teases, crouching in front of you. His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his sharp blue eyes. “You like when I talk to you like that?”  

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.  

Lloyd chuckles. “Shy little thing. It’s adorable, really.”  

Your heart pounds, a mix of fear and something far more dangerous settling in your chest. You should be terrified, he’s the enemy, yours and Claire’s captor, but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like he enjoys unraveling you, like he could devour you if he wanted to.  

And the scariest part? You think he just might.  

“You gonna keep ignoring me, sweetheart?” Lloyd tilts his head, mock offense playing on his face. “That’s not very nice. I went through all the trouble of bringing you here.”  

You press your lips together, determined not to react, but it’s impossible with the way he’s watching you, like he’s having the time of his life just teasing you. His thumb brushes against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again.  

“Bet your brother’s losing his damn mind right now,” he muses, his tone almost sing-song. “Six is probably running around, trying to find his precious little sister. Must be exhausting.”  

Your stomach clenches. “He’s going to find me and Claire!”  

Lloyd grins like you just said something cute. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m counting on it.”  

Behind you, Claire stirs with a soft groan, and you immediately shift your focus to her. “Claire? Are you okay?”  

She blinks up at you, confused but unharmed. Relief floods through you. At least for now, she’s safe.  

Lloyd sighs, like he’s already bored of the interruption. “As touching as this moment is, I didn’t come down here just to watch you two bond.” He stands, dusting imaginary lint off his perfectly tailored slacks. “Here’s the deal, princess. I need leverage. And you? You’re the perfect little bargaining chip.”  

Your hands curl into fists. “So what, you’re going to use me to lure my brother here?”  

“Ding, ding, ding!” He claps his hands together mockingly. “See? You’re smarter than you look.”  

You glare at him, hating the way his words make your skin prickle. “And then what? You kill him?”  

Lloyd hums, tilting his head in faux consideration. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on my mood.”  

Your chest tightens. “You can’t…”  

“Oh, but I can.” He crouches in front of you again, his voice dropping into something softer, almost intimate. “Unless, of course, you give me a reason not to.”  

You swallow hard. “What do you mean?”  

Lloyd smirks, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “I mean,” he drawls, running a finger along your jaw, “if you agree to stay with me, permanently and I might just reconsider this whole 'killing your family' thing.”  

Your breath catches. “You want me to…”  

“Be mine?” Lloyd answers for you smoothly. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s exactly what I want.”  

Your heart pounds in your chest. He can’t be serious. But when you look into his eyes, there’s something dark and possessive lurking there, something that tells you he’s dead serious.  

You glance at Claire, then think of Fitzroy, of Six. If you stay, if you agree to this insanity, they’ll be safe.  

You take a shaky breath. “If I promise to stay with you forever… you’ll let them go? All of them?”  

Lloyd’s smile softens, just a little. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll let them go.”  

You exhale shakily. He’s dangerous, he’s a monster, but right now, he’s offering you the only way to keep the people you love alive.  

“But...how can I trust you?”  “Trust is earned, Sunshine. Guess you'll have to find out...” 

You force yourself to meet his gaze, because what other choice do you have? this feels the only logical way, “Then I’ll stay.”  

Lloyd’s grin turns predatory, “That’s my girl.” 

The moment Six storms into the compound, it’s chaos. You knew he’d come for you. You knew he wouldn’t leave you behind, but now, as you stand beside Lloyd, watching your brother fight his way through the guards, your chest tightens with dread.  

“Aw, look at him go,” Lloyd muses, arms crossed, watching the carnage like it’s entertainment. “He’s got that 'big brother' fury. Cute.”  

You glare at him. “You promised.”  

Lloyd exhales dramatically. “Relax, sweetheart. I keep my word.” He nods toward his men. “Tell the others to back off. We don’t want to upset my girl, do we?”  

Your heart stutters at the possessiveness in his voice, but there’s no time to dwell on it. The second the guards step back, Six barrels into the room, gun raised.  

“Get away from her!” he growls.  

You take a step forward. “Six, wait…”  

His sharp eyes flick to you, scanning for injuries. “Did he hurt you?”  

You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m fine.”  

Six doesn’t lower his gun. “Then we’re leaving. Now!”  

Lloyd snorts. “Oh, buddy. You really think that’s how this is gonna go?”  

Six aims at his head. “I will put a bullet between your eyes, Hansen.”  

Lloyd smirks, utterly unfazed. “You could try.”  

You step between them before things get worse. “Six. Listen to me.”  

His gaze snaps to yours. “What the hell are you doing?”  

Your hands tremble as you grip his arm. “I made a deal. He lets you, Claire, and Fitzroy go, and in return… I stay.”  

Six’s grip on his gun tightens., he narrows his eyes in disbelief, “What?”  

Your throat feels tight, but you hold his gaze, “It’s the only way to keep you all safe.”  

“No!” His voice is sharp, final. “No fucking way!”  

“Six…”  

“I’m not leaving you with him., do you understand me?”   

Lloyd sighs, clearly bored. “Jesus, it’s like I’m not even here.” He leans down, brushing a hand against your cheek, just to rile your brother up. “Tell him, sweetheart. Tell him how much you want to stay with me.”  

You shiver at the touch, but you refuse to let Lloyd make this worse. “Six, please.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I need you to trust me.”  

Six’s jaw clenches. He looks at you, really looks at you, and you can see the war raging inside him. He’s your brother, he’s always been the one protecting you. And now, you’re asking him to walk away.  

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales sharply. “You don’t have to do this.”  

“I do.” Your voice is steadier this time.  

Six’s hands shake, his entire body tense, but when he looks at you, there’s a flicker of understanding. He knows you’re stubborn. He knows you wouldn’t do this unless you were sure.  

Lloyd, smug as ever, claps his hands together. “Great talk, boys and girls. Now, time to say your goodbyes.”  

You ignore him and step forward, wrapping your arms tightly around your brother. “Take care of Claire,” you whisper. “Make sure Fitzroy is okay. And… don’t come back for me.”  

Six grips you so tightly it almost hurts. “I swear to God, if he hurts you…”  

“He won’t.” you say, surprising yourself with how certain you sound.  

Six pulls back, his expression unreadable. Then, with one last burning glare at Lloyd, he turns and walks away.  

You exhale shakily, the reality of your decision sinking in.  

Lloyd chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Well, sweetheart, that was emotional. But don’t worry, you’re not gonna miss them too much.” His voice drops into something softer, almost affectionate. “I’ll take real good care of you.”  

Your stomach twists, not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.  

Because somehow, you believe him.  

Lloyd's estate is nothing like you expected.  

You thought it would be cold, sterile, just another high-security compound. Instead, it’s luxurious. Ridiculously so. Expensive leather furniture, grand chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a sprawling property.  

It feels more like a billionaire’s private getaway than the home of a ruthless mercenary.  

“You like it, sweetheart?” Lloyd’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He’s watching you with that ever-present smirk, hands tucked casually in his pockets. “I know it’s not exactly the prison cell, you were picturing.”  

You fidget under his gaze. “It’s… nice.”  

Lloyd chuckles. “That’s the understatement of the year.” He steps closer, tilting your chin up with his finger. “But if there’s anything you want, anything at all, you just let me know. You’re mine now, and I take very good care of what’s mine.”  

Your cheeks warm, and you hate how easily he gets under your skin.  

Lloyd notices, of course. He always does. “God, you’re adorable,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You get all shy when I talk to you like this. Drives me crazy.”  

You swallow hard, refusing to meet his eyes.  

Lloyd grins. “C’mon, let’s get you settled.”  

He leads you upstairs to a bedroom that looks straight out of a luxury hotel, massive bed, soft lighting, a closet already filled with designer clothes in your size.  

You turn to him, confused. “How did you…”  

Lloyd winks. “I did my homework, sweetheart. A guy’s gotta be prepared for his girl, don’t you think?”  

Your stomach flutters at 'his girl', but you push the feeling down.  

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this?” you admit.  

Lloyd sighs dramatically, flopping onto the bed like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Sweetheart, have you seen yourself? Of course, I’m keeping you.”  

Your face burns. “That’s not…”  

He laughs, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down beside him. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Well… mostly.” He props himself up on one elbow, his gaze softening. “Truth is, I like you. A lot. And I don’t do liking people, so congratulations, you’re special.”  

You blink at him, thrown off by his honesty.  

Lloyd smirks at your stunned expression. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m obsessed with you, sweetheart. And trust me, you’re gonna love being spoiled.”  

He proves his point almost immediately.  

Over the next few days, Lloyd makes good on his promise to take very good care of you.  

Your closet is stocked with the finest clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Your bathroom is filled with expensive perfumes and skincare products you never would’ve bought for yourself.  

But it’s not just material things.  

Lloyd makes sure you’re always comfortable, adjusting the temperature if you’re cold, making the chef cook your favorite meals, bringing you little gifts just to see you smile.  

And the affection? That’s the most overwhelming part.  

Lloyd is always touching you, making you blush.  

A hand on the small of your back when you walk past him. A teasing brush of his fingers against your cheek when you’re flustered. Pulling you onto his lap just to hold you while he talks about his day.  

And every time he catches you getting shy about it, he just grins. “God, you’re cute when you get all flustered.”  

It should be infuriating, but the worst part?  

You don’t hate it.  

And that realization is the most dangerous thing of all.  

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Lloyd Hansen, the most arrogant, smug, and insufferable man you’ve ever met is also the softest when it comes to you.

You see it in the way he looks at you, like you hung the damn moon.

In the way he brings you coffee just the way you like it, even though you never asked.

In the way he lets you fuss over his injuries, despite grumbling about it the whole time.

Tonight is no different.

Lloyd returns from handling business, which, in his world, means doing things you don’t want to think too hard about. There’s a fresh bruise along his jaw, and a small cut above his eyebrow.

He expects you to ignore it, like everyone else does. Instead, you’re on your feet immediately, reaching for a cloth and the first-aid kit.

He groans. “Sweetheart, it’s nothing.”

You ignore him, standing between his legs as he sits on the edge of the bed. Gently, you dab at the cut.

Lloyd watches you, unusually quiet.

“You don’t have to do this...” he murmurs.

You glance at him, “I want to please…”

His expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his face. For once, there’s no teasing, no smug remarks. Just silence.

You run your fingers lightly over the bruise on his jaw. “Does it hurt?”

Lloyd huffs out a soft laugh. “Not when you’re touching me.”

Your heart stutters, warmth blooming in your chest.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but you lean in, pressing a featherlight kiss against his jaw, right where the bruise, making Lloyd freeze.

You pull back, embarrassed, “S…Sorry, I just…”

He grabs your wrist, stopping you. His fingers curl around your hand, holding it against his chest.

His heartbeat is fast and it catches your breath.

Lloyd shakes his head, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “Lloyd…”

His forehead presses against yours, his grip tightening like he’s terrified you’ll slip away. “You said you’d stay forever,” he murmurs. “Did you mean it?”

You swallow hard.

When you first made the deal, you thought it was a sacrifice. But now… now you’re not so sure.

Because when you look at him, when you see the way he needs you, the way he softens just for you...

You realize you don’t want to leave.

You cup his face gently. “I meant it.”

Lloyd exhales shakily, and for the first time, you see it, his vulnerability. The part of him that no one else ever gets to see.

The part of him that belongs to you.

And when he kisses you slow, deep, devoted, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

One Year Later-

You never expected to find happiness in the arms of a man like Lloyd Hansen.

But here you are, wrapped in silk sheets, his arms around you, his face buried against your neck.

He’s insufferable, constantly teasing, always smug, never shutting up about how perfect you are.

And yet, he treats you like you’re his entire world.

“You know,” he murmurs sleepily, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder, “this is the best deal I’ve ever made.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “I thought I made the deal?”

Lloyd grins against your skin. “Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls you closer, voice dripping with satisfaction. “I had no intention of ever letting you go.”

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Few days later, you never expected to see your brother again.  

It’s been a year since you made the deal with Lloyd, since Six walked away, trusting you to make your own choices, even if he hated them.  

But today, as you sit in the private lounge of an upscale restaurant, sipping a ridiculously expensive cocktail, you feel him before you even see him.  

That familiar, tense energy, the weight of his stare.  

Lloyd notices first. “Well, well,” he drawls, swirling his drink lazily. “Look what the cat dragged in.”  

You turn slowly, your breath catching as your eyes meet Six’s.  

He stands just a few feet away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning you like he’s searching for something, some sign that you’re not okay, that he should grab you and run.  

But he doesn’t find it.  

Because you are okay. More than okay.  

You stand, smoothing down the silk of your dress. “Six.”  

His jaw clenches. “You look… good.”  

You smile softly. “So do you.”  

Lloyd leans back, utterly unbothered. “Aw, a little family reunion. I love this for us.”  

Six ignores him, eyes locked on you. “Are you really happy?”  

You don’t hesitate and proudly tell him, “Yes.”  

Something shifts in his expression, after all he has always been protective about you, “And you’re safe?”  

Lloyd chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart’s more than safe.” He tilts his head, smirking. “She’s spoiled rotten.”  

You roll your eyes, but… he’s not wrong. Six studies you for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying. Finally, he sighs. “I still don’t like this.”  

“I know,” you say softly. “But it’s my choice.”  

Lloyd grins. “And let’s be real, she’s not going anywhere.” He winks at you, “She loves me.”  

You glare at him. “Do you have to be insufferable right now?”  

“Always, sweetheart.” He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “It’s part of my charm.”  

Six groans, running a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”  

You laugh, and it’s genuine. Because despite everything, this is your life now.  

And you wouldn’t change a thing.  

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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[tarnishedxjudgement]

He’s...” He paused, collecting himself, as though he had misspoken. “He is from Landis?”

It made sense. Or perhaps it should have, but Larsa had never thought to ask about Gabranth’s origins. It had not seemed relevant. His mother was buried in the family cemetery in Archadia. This was all he had ever managed to gather, all that had ever seemed necessary. He had never asked about his father, never questioned whether the man had been Archadian, because what else would he have been?

“I assumed...” He admitted, shaking his head slightly. “I assumed that if it was not spoken of, then it was of no importance. That he was simply...” He stopped again, trying to put words to his own assumptions, to the way he had categorized Gabranth in his mind. “Simply Archadian. That he had always been what he was.”

His lips curled into a wry smile, something almost self deprecating tugging at the edges of it. “I keep forgetting.” He said, glancing at Ashelia. “That only Vayne ever brought up his accent.”

Vayne had never done so kindly. Always in that smooth, taunting way of his, as if Gabranth’s very existence was an amusement. Larsa had never taken much note of it, nor seen much point in it. He had thought it a strange quirk of Vayne’s, or simply another way to remind a man of his place.

And yet Landis.

Gabranth had never spoken of it, and Larsa had never asked. He had never considered that the silence itself might be telling.

"I thought my faith in them was unshakable, I truly did. I never believed myself the sort to doubt. Not in them. And yet…" He trailed off.

He glanced at Ashelia, something like apology flickering in his expression. "Drace spoke with me. " He hesitated, then allowed himself another small, wry laugh. "She alleviated my fears, or at least, she tried. And I believe her. I do. But I still feel…" He exhaled, frustrated at himself. "I still feel unmoored. I know it’s silly. I know it’s, well, childish."

He smiled faintly, but the weight in his voice did not lift. "But knowing it does not make it any less true."

Silence settled between them for a moment before he tilted his head, studying her. "What you went through with Basch… it was inhumane. Utterly cruel."

He shifted, fingers curling against his knee. "I only heard pieces of it. Fragments, from Vaan and Penelo. But even those were enough to paint a bleak picture."

"For whatever it’s worth, I regret how things went. Not just for you, but for Dalmasca as well. I know my regrets do not change anything, but I wish it had been different. That you had not been forced to bear so much loss."

Sometimes, even the children from long ago, having their first unofficial sleepover would have these deep, meaningful discussion. For who could understand them best but themselves? "I need to apologise to Gabranth properly, yet i find myself a coward. I wish... Do you perhaps think Basch would speak to me more about who gabranth was? Would it not be uncouth?"

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

[forsaken-headcanons]

You know what? I mustered up the courage to come off of anon just for this. (Not gonna tag myself, but knowing my writing style, it’s probably gonna be obvious who I am lol.)

So uh. I’m fine now, but for some context: I was kinda upset earlier. And like a perfectly normal person, I wrote some self-indulgent rarepair stuff to make myself feel better. And now I’m sharing it with you all! Hope you don’t mind :]

Elliot / John Doe

Elliot once ‘tamed’ a feral John by feeding him pizza. It was a complete accident, too. He was trying to give it to Shedletsky, but John got in the way. 

It didn’t stop him from attacking the others, unfortunately. But he did leave Elliot alone for the rest of the round.

Being able to neutralize a threat like that is a big deal, so you bet that Elliot tried that shi again. Through trial and error, he discovered that John’s favourite is a plain old cheese pizza.

John’s memories while feral are fuzzy at best, and complete blanks at worst. Thus, he enjoyed getting properly aquatinted with Elliot after he managed to snap out of it about halfway through a round.

Using that one ‘the killers share a cabin across the water from the survivors cabin’ hc, John and Elliot will sometimes “meet up” between rounds by standing on their respective docks and shouting across the water at one another. They’d chat for as long as they could about the most random of things, just enjoying each other’s company.

Elliot once found a way to get a box of cheese pizza over to the killers side, and the gesture almost brought John to tears.

Noob / 1x1x1x1

Since there’s only four killers (as of writing this), I imagine that there’s barely any breaks between being chosen for rounds. And if the Spectre’s feeling particularly mean, one killer might get chosen over and over and over- (totally didn’t experience a server once with like 4 or 5 Mafiosos that we got back to back.)

See where I’m heading with this? The Spectre ends up favouring 1x1x1x1 for a while, which leads to him being worked to the bone. I’d say ‘poor guy’, but this is probably karma at this point…

No one really thinks much about it until 1x just straight-up collapses of exhaustion during a round. That was the moment that everyone realized that the killers weren’t these unstoppable machines of death; that they were bound by the same rules mortals were.

Maybe it’s naivety. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s something else entirely. But regardless, Noob’s the only one brave (or stupid) enough to approach a killer like this. The embodiment of hatred was clearly unhappy, but it’s not like he could hurt anyone in this state.

While the others did their thing, Noob kept watch over 1x. Mostly to make sure he didn’t start killing again, but also because a small part of him felt bad for the guy.

Even after the round ended and 1x got the rest he needed, Noob didn’t seem to fear him as much after that. It initially annoyed 1x1x1x1, but he eventually started to see the noob in a slightly different light when they offered themselves up after realizing that he hadn’t gotten a single kill in like, four rounds (not back to back this time, luckily. But still.)

1x eventually confronted Noob on their behaviour, and you know what he said? Noob admitted that he thought 1x could be a better (and less murder-y) person if he just had a friend. 

And the crazy thing is, they were kind-of right.

There. I said my piece. I was oddly scared about sharing these for whatever reason, but yeah. I like imagining these goobers doing silly things together, and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t/lh

(I should honestly write a fic for this or something. I have way too many ideas with these guys-)

Ahh, you're the fella who I see liking all of my posts. Hello there.

Really nice headcanons and really nice rarepairs. I hope you're alright now and whatever upset you is now dealt with.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

Blurb Countdown To Daredevil: Born Again

4 Days: Closer - Nine Inch Nails "my whole existence is flawed/you get me closer to god." NSFW You hookup with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. note: four more days! this is definitely an ode to how much yall love enter sandman, which, if you like this blurb and have never read it, you'd love it, you can read it here! (shameless self promo i know) countdown masterlist

“What have I told you about waiting up for me, sweetheart?” He wonders from the window. A grin spreads across your face.

“Something about not to,” You recall vaguely, the smile not disappearing from your face as the Devil breaches the shadows, grabbing your ankles at the edge of the bed.

“Try again.” He commands, tilting his head a bit as you think.

“Hmm,” You pretend to think, “I believe you said something about that if the window was open, you’d.. Oh, how the second part go?”

His grip on your leg tightens at your teasing.

“Why do you insist on being such a brat?”

He can predict what you’re going to say before you say it, and he’s unsure why he even gives you the opportunity,

“I don’t think that’s how the second part goes, Devil—” And then he’s on top of you, the sweat and blood from the night tainting what he considers pure. Something about that idea gets him off.

“There you go again, running that mouth.” His head dips down and places a kiss to your neck. “Maybe I should give you something do to with it instead,” He mutters, his lips beginning to kiss your skin, leaving small bites along it.

You just let yourself relax beneath him, and a comfortable silence fills the room. Your hand snakes up his arm, playing with the ends of his hair. You notice his tension, just for a moment, as your fingers get dangerously close to his mask.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, in fact, he trusts you more than almost anyone. Which is why you don’t hesitate to take advantage of his lips on your skin, asking,

“Do many people know you do this?”

“A couple,” he hums, kissing your collarbone.

“And if someone figures it out?”

His lips move to kiss your lips, this sickening grin spreading over his lips. His lips graze against yours as he responds,

“Then I’ll just have to come here and craft the perfect alibi.”

“Flirt,” You accuse, and he bites your jaw in response,

“Brat,” He jabs back, and he can feel the smile on your face as he presses his lips to yours. He kisses you again, and again, until his tongue slips through your lips, exploring your mouth, and he can smell how wet it makes you, being kissed so intimately by someone whose name you don’t know, someone whose face you don’t know.

But he doesn’t pull away from your lips, too afraid that you’ll come to your senses, decide that this is insane, that you deserve an actual relationship and not some boogeyman that crawls into your window.

His hands move down your torso to your stomach, him grinning against your lips at the way that you shudder when his fingers brush against your stomach, and you need to take a second, really thinking about the situation at hand. And you are, of course, very much into him.

And quietly, although you’ll never admit it, you’re curious. Fuck, you want to know who’s under the mask. It eats at you. You go about your day, interacting with various men across the city. And every time you meet someone new, you wonder, could he be the devil who takes such good care of you?

Of course, he never is. You can tell, if not by their jaw, by their voice. You suspect if it ever does happen, you’ll know immediately. Although, you can’t prove that until it happens. And you’d never tell the man currently on top of you, but—

You’re falling in love with him.

With a ghost. With the devil.

But you just lose yourself in him, because you can’t will yourself to give him up. He’s addicting. He satiates you.

So you just deepen the kiss, never coming up for air.

[solarmorrigan]

11 & 17 Robin and Steve? Maybe something where one of them thinks they're back under Starcourt for a second 😈

Ask and ye shall receive (like, eventually. this is so late, I'm sorry)

11. Disoriented + 17. Delirious - Robin & Steve

-

Robin pulls her hand back from Steve’s forehead with a hiss. He’s burning up.

She knew this would happen. She knew it.

She should have argued harder to get Steve to go to the hospital. She should have taken one look at him rebandaging his bat bites, which were still bleeding (“Relax,” Steve had said. “They only bleed when I move around too much.”), and called in reinforcements. She shouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

Instead, she’d caved under Steve’s stubborn refusals, under his pleading stare, under his insistence that he’d always taken care of himself and that he would be fine. And now–

“Steve?” Robin tries, patting his cheek.

Steve mumbles something, brows furrowing, but he doesn’t open his eyes. His cheeks are pink, the rest of his face pale, his bangs sticking up at odd angles after being plastered to his forehead with sweat before Robin had pushed them back – he looks fucking awful.

He mumbles again when Robin swears and pulls the sheets down around his hips so she can get at his bandages. They look clean, but when she presses a hand to his side, she can feel the heat radiating from the wounds beneath.

“Shit,” Robin swears again. “Steve. I need you to wake up.”

If he doesn’t wake, if he can’t open his eyes, Robin is going to call Nancy to help haul his ass to the hospital, no matter what Steve wants. He'd been a little feverish last night when Robin had left (her parents are being a little lenient, having heard about Steve’s injuries from the “earthquake,” but she does have to go home sometime), but she’d hoped that if he kept taking Tylenol and drinking water, his temperature would start to go down. Clearly, that hadn’t happened.

Finally, though, he does open his eyes. They’re glassy, fever-bright, and a little unfocused, but they’re open.

“Robin?” Steve rasps, blinking at her in confusion.

“Oh, thank god,” Robin breathes, reaching for Steve’s hand. “Steve, I think your bites are infected. We need to get you to the hospital.”

Steve blinks at her again, before he glances around the room. He doesn’t look like he’s really listening to her – he doesn’t even look aware of what’s going on.

“Steve?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.

Robin bites back a frustrated noise. “You can’t argue with me on this. You need a doctor, Steve,” she says firmly.

Her stern and urgent tone doesn’t seem to be doing anything to calm Steve down, however. In fact, he only seems more agitated, managing to prop himself up on one arm as he looks wildly around the room.

“No, no, no–”

He jerks himself fully upright, trying to scramble off the mattress, entirely heedless of his injuries, and Robin lunges to support him.

“Shit, Steve, be careful–”

But Steve isn’t listening. The moment he’s off the bed, he’s turning to Robin and shoving her towards a corner of the room with a strength Robin wouldn’t have imagined he could muster in his state. She’s so surprised that he manages to get her all the way into the corner, practically mashing her up against the wall, before he turns and places himself in front of her, body held tense and ready.

“Steve, what the hell–” Robin tries, before Steve cuts her off.

“Shh,” he hisses, arms held out like he’s trying to block something. “’m not gonna let them get you.”

Robin’s heart stutters in her chest, a reflexive anxiety rippling out across her body until she can feel it tingling in her fingers and toes.

“Let who get me?” she asks, glancing around the room now, too. “What’s going on?”

“Fucking– fucking Russians,” Steve says, voice low. “Not gonna let them take you.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Okay, Robin thinks. Okay. She can handle this.

“Steve,” she says, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his arm, careful to avoid the scrapes along the back of it, “we’re not in the bunker. We made it out, we’re home.”

Steve shakes his head, muscles still tense, almost shaking beneath Robin’s palm. “They’re coming,” he says hoarsely. “They’re– they’re gonna– I won’t let them.”

“No. Look around, see where we are. Look at your weird, plaid wallpaper. Look at all the pictures you have pinned up now. Look at that fucking bowling pin you keep on your desk and you won’t ever tell me why.” Robin squeezes his arm. “You’re home. We’re safe.”

Steve shakes his head again, but he seems to be flagging. “’m not gonna… gonna let them hurt you.”

The raw determination, the desperation in his voice makes Robin’s chest ache. “You didn’t. They didn’t lay a hand on me, I’m fine,” she promises (not strictly true, but now isn’t the time to get into that).

Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, Steve’s shoulders start to droop. He relaxes from his stance, swaying a little bit on his feet, and looks around the room again before looking over his shoulder.

“Robin?” he manages, his voice small, a little faint.

“Yeah, Steve, I’m right here,” Robin says, squeezing his arm again.

Steve nods. “Okay,” he murmurs.

He takes two faltering steps forward, lists to one side, and then falls to his knees so quickly that Robin barely has time to catch him.

“God damn it,” Robin hisses, doing her best to keep his uncooperative ass upright. “Steve!”

“’m fine,” Steve mumbles, but says nothing more. His eyes have fallen shut again.

“God damn it,” Robin mutters again.

She does her best to lower him gently to the floor; she isn’t strong enough to haul him back onto the bed on her own, but she at least grabs one of the pillows and puts it under his head before she reaches for the phone—she’s always teased Steve about being spoiled for having his own phone in his room, but she’s grateful for it now—and dials the number she’d forced herself to memorize days ago.

It rings, and rings, but finally someone picks up.

“Nancy,” Robin rushes out, before the other girl has even finished with her ‘Hello?’ “I need a ride, and I need it now.”

[surfeitstar]

redamancy — akaashi keiji x reader

ᯓ✦ ๋࣭ ⭑ social media au! (smau)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

chapter 13 — trapped 🌀

warnings! — slightly suggestive content, nothing explicit

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

written portion below! ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🎐 ⋆

sunlight filters in through the half-closed blinds. it lands in fragmented patches across the sheets, across your bare skin. and for a moment, you just stare—at the tangle of limbs and the way the sheets are barely covering you.

and it hits you— what you’ve done.

the night comes back in flashes. his hands on your waist, the press of his lips against your neck, the way you let yourself fall into him because it was easier than facing the weight of her own thoughts. you squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s useless. the realization is already sinking in, cold and suffocating.

this isn’t what you wanted. not even a little bit, not even at all.

the sheets are soft but they feel wrong. the air in the room is thick, heavy, and suffocating, and you know—it’s not the hangover making you feel this way. it’s him. it’s the fact that even with his body curled around you, you feels alone. even with the weight of his arm around your waist, with the warmth of his body pressed against yours like you belong there. you feel alone.

your head feels as if it’s splitting open. your mouth feels dry and your stomach twists in protest. the air is thick with the scent of liquor and sweat, and your skin feels foreign against the sheets. it feels wrong, unfamiliar, like it doesn’t belong here. because it doesn’t.

because you don’t belong here.

your fingers tremble as you grip the blanket, trying to ground yourself, but the shame is already creeping in, curling tight around your chest, making it harder to breathe. you thought this would help. you thought you could drown it all out— akaashi’s words, how vulnerable he was in that moment. but the moment you shut the door on him, you knew.

you knew it was a mistake, and you went back anyway. letting yourself slip back into old habits, let yourself be pulled under by the easy escape konoha offered. letting him touch you, kiss you, press you into his mattress as if it would make you forget. it didn't. it never does.

for a moment, you let yourself remember a different night. a different bed, one that felt comfortable on your skin. a different warmth.

you curled into yourself, knees pulled to your chest, head resting against akaashi’s shoulder as he stroked a gentle hand through your hair. his touch was featherlight, barely there, but you felt it in every corner of your being.

"you’re quiet tonight," akaashi murmured, his voice soft and familiar.

you merely hummed, barely lifting your head to meet his gaze. his eyes were soft, patient. always so patient.

"just thinking," you said. his lips curve up into that smile you’ve grown accustomed to, his long, slender hands coming to cup your cheeks. “i know. you always make that face when you’re thinking,” akaashi whispers, lowering your head as he presses a kiss onto your forehead.

maybe you should’ve let yourself sink into the warmth of his presence instead of picking at the edges of something you weren’t ready to name. maybe, for once, you wouldn’t have to run.

but you did. you ran straight into the arms of the one person who would never stop you. konoha lets you self-destruct. he encourages it. he takes what you give him and never asks questions. its easier, and it’s all you’ve ever known.

konoha shifts beside you, pulling you back into the present. his arm is still heavy around your waist, his breath steady against your shoulder. you should move, you should leave. but you feel stuck, trapped in the bed you made for yourself.

you should’ve known it would come to this.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

fun facts! ❀༉‧₊

you know konoha doesn’t love you

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

a/n — i listened to making the bed by olivia rodrigo while writing this. i miss her concert.. i miss yelling at the top of lungs in the vip pit smh

previous || m. list || next

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

taglist (open!) ❀༉‧₊˚

@mary0cartt , @ascebel , @adrnmyknight , @dayanahq , @arwawawa2 , @iamflav , @nightlysunn , @loriiiroari , @realrintaro , @tsukisangel

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

thanks for reading! all characters belong to haikyuu, all writing belongs to surfeitstar, please do not repost without permission. reblogs are greatly appreciated:) — ©️ 2025

[ava-is-up-to-something]

Hey do you ever think there was an extremely awkward moment where Set realized that at least* two of his wives (Nephthys and Taweret) were helping to raise baby Horus behind his back?

Like, imagine it. Isis has decided her son is finally prepared to face Set. She has presented him to the Ennead. The court case to decide which one should hold the kingship has begun.

And as Set is watching Horus, trying to calculate what to do (he's not good with words so. best bet is probably just to punch him in the face really hard when no one is looking. oh no, the annoying child is dead! of completely unidentifiable causes! we can all go home now!), he notices that Taweret is, like, always slipping Horus honey candies whenever Isis isn't looking? And she keeps ruffling his hair affectionately with her hands?

And, also, Nephthys is correcting Horus's posture on how he holds his weapons? Like, he'll be holding a spear or a khopesh (wrong! cause he's stupid!), but then Nephthys will make eye contact with him while miming how to do it properly, and he corrects himself? And when his belt sash comes undone she'll point at her own so he fixes it? And she thinks she's being sly about it but SET CAN SEE HER DOING THIS???

Why is this happening? What does it mean? Because to be honest Set hasn't been speaking with his wives a lot recently. There were really long periods of time where they didn’t see each other, since he was busy stalking through the marshes of the Nile Delta trying to hunt down and kill this kid. And, now that he thinks about it, he doesn't really know exactly where they were when that was happening. And-- Oh. OH GOD.

*I say "at least" because there are a lot of goddesses who you could speculate are Set's consorts based on various evidence, and the amount of goddesses in the Egyptian pantheon who are said to have helped/watched over Horus at some point is basically all of them. So the number of women this happened with is potentially infinite.

Also if you're wondering about Set and Taweret, Plutarch says that they had a relationship at some point, and it kind of makes sense if you consider that Taweret is supposed to be a very fearsome guardian, hence her association with female hippos (who are very violent when they protect their young), and Set also is very fearsome, hence his association with male hippos (who are also violent but minus the protecting their young part).

[mclager]

Devil's roll the dice (angel's roll their eyes) | Landoscar X reader

English is not my first language, take it easy

Warnings: Stupidity (in a cool way), drunken marriage, Landoscar having a crush on eachother and being little bitches about it, drunk sex, m/m/f, mentions of Elvis Presley covers

Face claim: girls of pinterest under the "white dress" search

🃏

Ynrkv

Liked by Lando, oscarpiastri and others

Ynrkv Only white dresses for Las Vegas, I hope I don't have to say anything else!

View all comments

User81 someone is getting married this weekend!

Lando I will say it for you

→ Ynrkv Thank you very much 🙏🏼

Oscarpiastri Why Lando get a cool picture and I got whatever this is?

→ ynrkv You look cute, shut up

→ Oscarpiastri @/Lando I hate you

→ Lando You don't

🃏

"Is Lando responsable for this?" Oscar stopped in front of me and showed me my newest post on Instagram. Specifically the first photo on the slide.

"Yeah." I said still laying on the couch in his driver's room. "Did you like it?"

Osc locked his phone and put it in his pocket.

"I did, half of the grid did too." He he said a bit too irritaded, and I chuckled.

"By half of the grid you say Lando?" Oscar rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him, starting to pack up his things.

"And it matters?" He wasn't in a good mood, the race wasn't the best, so this, what is a normal thing, became a little bit bigger than it should.

"Lando is always flirting, it's nothing new."

"I don't like it." He said closing his backpack passive - aggressively.

"He flirts with you too, should I be mad?"

"Don't be crazy, he doesn't."

"He does, I'm not crazy." I got up. "We're in Vegas, let's drink the bad fellings away."

"I want to sleep."

"You don't, you want to cry to sleep, is different. Now please, can we go have a drink?" Oscar nodded. "Thank you."

He kissed me and out we went. We debated where to go, but in the end the hotel had a great bar, so we went there, no thoughts, just a cosmopolitan and a expresso martini on hand. It was conforting, just me and Oscar talking about silly things, but a couple drinks in I saw Lando walk in, comicly trying to get away from a blonde girl that was following him like a lost puppy. I chuckled and Oscar looked too.

"This girl again? Jesus." Oscar made the same face he did when he was talking about the picture and Lando flirting with me.

"Go help your mate." Osc shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

"Last time I did that she started crying." I laughed and shook my head.

"Babe, you have dealt with worse, go help, Lando." He rolled his eyes, but I could see he was glad to go fuck that girls happiness up. Oscar walked to Lando, and without even say hi, he pulled the man away from the girl. She tried to say something, but Oscar can get a bit intimidating when he wants to, which is not often, and strangely only happens in situations when Lando and Myself are needing help with something. The girl looked around and her eyes stopped on me, so I waved to the girl, I don't think she liked it.

"Got a girl problem?" I asked Lando as he aprocched me with Oscar by his side.

"Problem is a cute word, she is worst. She is everywhere, I can't anymore. Thanks for the help." He looked at Oscar that nodded.

"To celebrate, let's do shots?" Before anyone answered I was ordering the shots.

"I like her." Lando said to Oscar.

"She is my girlfriend, Norris."

"And? I never said I didn't liked you." Lando was tipsy, and it was visible, but so were we. I turned to look at Oscar that was blushing.

"Why are you all red, love?" I tease him, he always denied when I asked if he had a crush on a man ever in his life, but everytime Lando looked at him with his flirty eyes, the man was blushing like a little girl.

"Shut up." The shots were now in front of us.

1, 2, 3, 4 at the fifth round of shots we decided to go somewhere else, since Las Vegas has too many places to just be stuck in one hotel bar. First, Lando used his famous F1 driver badge, and Oscar's too just for good mesure, to get us inside a club, and it worked. The place was crowded, but it had good music and I love to dance.

"Good pick!" I yelled trought the loud music to Lando and he nodded.

"I know." He didn't yell like me, he got way too close to say it in my ear. I looked at Oscar that just looked at Lando, not one sign of jealousy, so I let it slide.

"Let's dance." I pulled Oscar by his hand to the dance floor, when I looked at him I saw he pulling Lando like I did with him.

The lights on the dance floor were blinding me, the smell of sweat and alchool were strong, but the song is too good to not enjoy it. I started to dance, Oscar did too. I don't know what happened, but between one song and the other, I was being pressed in between the two men, Oscar's face was so closed to mine, and Lando's body even closer to mine.

This was overstimulating all my senses, but god, it was good. Oscar's hands were on my hips, and I was sure of it, so it was clear that the other pair on my hips were Lando's. I never thought that this could happen without Oscar getting mad or too jealous, but it was happening and I wasn't mad at all. His face was sundenly on my neck, this was going too far, but Oscar was just looking.

We had to let go of eachother when we saw a girl in the distance pull out her phone to film us. So we got to go to the next location. We walked for some minutes and we were at a chapel one of those that you get married by a Elvis. I was ready to walk away from it because I didn't thought anything of it, but Oscar stopped.

"Love?" He called me and I looked at him.

"Yeah?" He looked at the little chapel and back at me.

"Do you want to marry me?" I look at him confused.

"What?"

"Do you want to marry me?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, come on." Lando looked at us.

"Please, go get married." I nodded.

"Let's do this." We runned in, and again, Oscar and Lando did all the complicated stuff and I just needed to say yes to Elvis, as it played love me tender in the background. Lando was the best person to have with us in this moment. Then we got back to the hotel and drank more.

It was almost six a.m when we were walking into Oscar's room.

"Don't break anything, Lando." Oscar said closing the door. I took of my heels and went to drink water.

"Why me? That's crazy."

"You're the liability, not me or my wife." Lando threw himself on the bed.

"Me? Oh fuck you, I'm not a liability, I'm fine." I gave a bottle of water to Lan and other to Oscar before hugging my husband.

"Yes, you're. Thank you, love."

"Thank you, darling."

"You're both welcome." Lando opened the water bottle and spilled all over himself. Oscar looked at Lando, and Lando looked at Oscar.

"I know what you're going to say, so don't." He got up and took off his shirt trying to dry his pants.

"As I said, liability." I sat on the bed and looked at them.

"At least you didn't wet the bed."

"But everything else is fucking wet." Oscar looked at me and smirked.

"Everything? Are you sure?"

"Oscar!" I threw a pillow on him.

"I just asked if he was sure."

"Pervert." Lando said laughing. Oscar lay down on by my side and hugged my waist.

"What? You two are perverts, I'm just saying, not everything is wet. The bed is fine, the floor is fine, you're the only thing that's wet."

"Sure." Lando said throwing his shirt on the floor.

"Take it off." Oscar said to Lando.

"What?"

"You want to be all wet fine, if don't, take it off, it's fine."

"Can I?" Lando asked me and I nodded.

"Sure." As he was taking his pants off, Oscar put his face on my neck leaving little kisses and soft bites. This man knows what he is doing.

"Can you two stop?" Lando was way hotter in his boxers, I have to give him that.

"Stop what? I'm just hugging my wife, can't I?"

"Osc... You're not just hugging her." He sat by my side rolling his eyes.

"No?" He pushed his hips against mine, Oscar was really excited about what was going on in his mind.

"Love, what are your plans?"

"I don't have any plans."

"Can you control your boyfriend, darling?"

"Oh, he's past the control part. I'm sorry." Oscar sighed.

"You two are boring. Sometimes I forget that all Lando can do is bad flirting."

"I'm really good at flirting, and I can do a lot more than that."

"Prove it." I turned to look at Oscar, completely in shock.

"How? You want me to do what? Kiss your wife? Kiss you?" He joked, little did he knew that was exactly what Oscar wanted.

"Are you thinking about it, Oscar?" I asked and he nodded.

"Any cons?" I shook my head.

"Go ahead."

"Oh god, you really mean that don't you?" Lando asked.

"What? Do you think I would let you grind on my girl just because I'm nice?" Oscar sat on the bed. "Are you going to say now you don't like the idea? If you don't, it's fine too..."

Before the end of his thought, Lan pulled Oscar and kissed him. Everything is happening too fast, or my head is too slow because of the alcohol, either way everything looks like a wet dream.

"That's what I'm talking about." Oscar said against Lando's lips. The unclothed state of Lando didn't help his case, he was getting hard by the second.

"I fucking knew you had a crush on eachother." I whispered more to me then to them, but they heard it, of course they did. Oscar chuckled letting Lando go.

"Sorry for lying."

"Well, sure, yes, sorry. Can we skip to the part fun? We can discuss about your man being canonically bi later."

"You're more needy than her after a race weekend, this will be fun."

"I'm not needy." I sat up.

"Sure, show Lando how not needy you're." I rolled my eyes jokingly and kissed Lando, and it was as good as I thought it would be.

Oscar unzipped my dress pulling it down, Lando's hands went to my hips in my naked skin, Oscar's hands also came in contact with my skin, less shy than Lando's. Oscar was quick to slide his hand on to Lando's body too, who pulled him into the kiss.

My hands went to Lando's boxer and Oscar's pants, both men incredibly hard. Lando moaned into the kiss making Oscar smile as he helped me get into his pants.

"You moan like a little bitch did you know that?" Oscar examined Lando's face trying to see if he was aligned with him, and the second moan coming out of him said a big yes to that.

"Now I know." I got down to take him on my mouth while I kept Oscar on my hand. "For fuck's sake." He gripped my hair pulling me against him.

"She's great." I heard Oscar saying, and if I needed to bet, I bet he was smiling.

"Yes." I looked up seeing Lando's face he wasn't able to answer more than that anyway. Oscar slapped my ass before sliding his fingers on my folds making me moan against Lando, and he gripped my hair even harder.

"Not only his clothes are wet, I see." He put on of his fingers inside me and moved a couple times before taking it off making me whine at the loss. "Lando?"

"hm?"

"Do you want to feel her?" He nodded eagerly, with his free hand he put one of his fingers in me, being followed by one of Oscar's. I took my mouth of Lando and moaned. They moved in an unison, driving me fucking crazy, just the thought of them fingering me could break me.

"Fuck, can someone fuck me already?"

"As I said, needy." I hate when he is right, but right now I hate to not have anyone inside of me. He took his fingers of me, sucking my juices off his finger, before he grabbed my face making me look at him. "Do you want to be fuck my Lando?"

"Yes, please!"

"Will you be a good girl for him?" I nodded.

"Yes, I will." Oscar smiled.

"Ok, then." He looked over to Lando. "She is yours, be good and make my girl come before you do."

"Yes, sir." Lando said without thinking, but quickly took it back. "I mean, Osc."

"No, no, I like that, keep it up." I couldn't see Lando's reaction to Oscar, but I could feel the tip of his cock brushing on my pussy. I looked at Oscar as Lando buried himself in me, like Osc likes to say: Moaning like a little bitch.

"Lando, you feel so good." I whined.

"You feel even better." He groaned. I saw Oscar getting closer to my face and I opened my mouth, he didn't think twice before starting to fuck my mouth, as hard as he could. My eyes where watering, I was drooling everywhere, but Oscar was looking at me like I was the prettiest girl he ever saw. It made me clench around Lando, who gripped onto my hips for dear life.

As harder as Lando fucked my pussy, Oscar did as well to my mouth, I never felt as full as right now. I could get used to it. Oscar pulled Lando to a kiss, they looked so good together I could put it on the Louvre and if I did, people would stop looking at the Mona Lisa. I moaned against Oscar, and tightened around Lando.

"Fuck, darling." Lando moaned.

"Do you want to come?" Oscar asked me and I nodded, he took his dick off my mouth and said on my ear. "Then do it as loud as you can."

"And as quickly as you can, because I'm almost there too. If you take longer I'll cum inside you." It wasn't a threat, or a promise, it was a concerned statement, but the thought of him cumming inside me just made me go over the edge, I screamed, both of their names, feeling every inch of me trembling almost falling against the bed. Oscar chuckled.

"I think she liked the idea." Oscar looked at my face and back at Lando. "You can if you want." He didn't have to say it twice, as soon as Oscar finished his sentence I felt Lando coming undone inside me.

"Fuck." He moaned and Oscar pulled my hair to make me look at him.

"Open up." I opened my mouth as he came partially inside of it. Lando pushed me against him to lick my chin clean of Oscar's seed, as he was still inside me. We kissed, then Oscar joined.

"Is this one of those things that doesn't leave Vegas?" Lando asked as he helped me to lay down on the bed.

"I would love if it did left Vegas." Oscar said as he got up, going to the bathroom. I hugged Lando's waist and nodded agreeing with Osc.

"You will sleep with us tonight, right?" I asked Lando, he looked at Oscar who just sat by my side and started to clean me up with a wet towel.

"You heard the queen." Oscar answered jokingly.

"If you insist."

"I do." I said closing my eyes, they started to talk about something, but I slept so quickly I couldn't understand what it was.

I woke up with the sun on my face, cursing myself for not closing the blinds properly. I opened my eyes to see Oscar sleeping like an angel, but I could feel the heaviness of someone else's arms on my waist. I turned around to see Lando drooling on the pillow. I smiled. It wasn't a dream, it was real.

I pause. I look at my hand.

All of it was real.

I was really wearing a wedding ring that matches Oscar's, and I can't really believe that our first action as a married couple was bring Lando in. It wasn't a bad idea.

"Good morning." I heard Oscar and I turned to see him.

"Good morning." He kissed me and looked passed my shoulder to see Lando. He smiled.

"Sorry for keeping it a secret from you." He whispered to not bother the sleepyhead.

"It was not very well kept, but I'll forgive you for denying it when I asked." I brushed his hair off his face. "Don't lie to me again."

"I won't." He paused. "Did you enjoy it?" I nodded.

"Very much, you?"

"Very much." We smiled.

"By the way, why you decided to get married drunk in Vegas?"

"Because I love you." He looked at Lando, as if that I love you was him too, and I didn't mind.

"I hope that nobody in PR gets even close to discover this."

"If they do I'll simply confirm that I'm the luckiest man alive."

[lucky-slice]

bc I know you have good kevriko thoughts I’m wondering if u have any thoughts about what would have happened if Kevin and Riko met after the final. It seems from TRK that Riko didn’t realize he was going to die until the very end but given how he knows exy is his only worth I’m wondering if he would be actually losing it beforehand. I keep thinking if he saw Kevin atp they would have a Riko version of a tender moment remembering how they used to be each others only support. I think Kevin would be even more devastated in the aftermath of Riko’s death

Now I’ve made myself sad and had to share this with other people

Okay, so uh sit down cause this is about to be annoyingly long.

I'm by no means a kevRiko expert but I do enjoy thinking about them. Personally I don't think an interaction between Kevin and Riko after the final would be in any way positive. Riko is so far gone by that point.

The thing about Riko is that we're slowly watching him spiral. He is systematically loosing everything that he thought he had while desperately trying to hold onto it and it cumulates in his death. It's distinctly clear in the final game that he has lost his hold on Kevin regardless of whether or not he wants to accept that. Up until this point, Riko has been hostile in his interactions with Kevin and Neil, but there's always been a sense of control because he was backed by the steadfast belief that Kevin is his.

Think about their interaction after the Kathy interview. Riko is speaking as if he is simply indulging Kevin's whims to go take on the Foxes as a pet project.

He says this: "I do not approve, Kevin," Riko said. "You should get rid of him as soon as possible." Implying that he has control over what Kevin does with the foxes - as if he is giving permission for Kevin to continue play pretending as a Fox.

And then when Riko hits Kevin. It's not out of anger necessarily, but more of an automatic reaction of discipline. It's an action of ownership.

He reached for Neil, but Kevin caught his arm to stop him. Riko slammed his elbow back into Kevin's face without missing a beat.

This is such a fast response. It's as if they've played this game a thousand times and Riko is simply putting Kevin in his place the same way one would a misbehaving dog. Riko has not accepted that Kevin has actually left him and this continues through every interaction up until the final.

There's a part during the banquet scene where Riko is discussing Kevin's claim that Kevin didn't know who Neil was. He says: "After seeing Kevin's reaction I am inclined to believe him. Perhaps I can understand, as I know how blind Kevin can be when it comes to Exy. I might even forgive him for sheltering you from me."

This is particularly interesting to me because it gives insight to where Riko's head is at in regards to Kevin leaving to join the foxes and his refusal to acknowledge Riko's ownership of him. Riko does not understand that breaking Kevin's hand was the ultimate betrayal, not really. I personally believe that Exy comes second for Riko. Exy is a means for control and it's what his family demands of him, so his drive to be number one comes from a place of birthright and of the need for validation for the Moriyama name. You could functionally replace Exy with anything for Riko and it wouldn't make a difference. The same is not true for Kevin, who cares about exy for the sake of his love for the sport. (There's other stuff here as well, but that's another discussion). Riko understands this to a certain extent, but he indulges it in the same vain that he indulged Kevin's interest for history by doing a history major. He is using Kevin's love for exy as an excuse to justify Kevin's perceived disloyalty. From Riko's perspective, Kevin left the nest not because Riko betrayed him or because he is no longer Riko's brother, but because Kevin is blind when it comes to exy. Kevin will come back to him once he's fulfilled his little fantasy of playing coach.

But then the final comes around and Kevin is no longer playing the role he's supposed to. He is making it explicitly clear that Riko no longer owns him, and Riko is forced to reckon with the fact that he has truly lost any sense of hold that he had on Kevin.

Compare these two interactions:

During the banquet: Kevin flinched and offered a weak response. Riko stabbed a finger at him in angry accusation and rattled away, getting louder and more incensed by the second. Neil watched Kevin wilt beneath the weight of his brother's—no, owner's—fury.

During the final: Kevin ignored him until Riko said something else, then slid a cool look Riko's way and answered. Neil didn't know what he said, but Riko twisted his gloved hands around his stick like he was imagining breaking Kevin's neck.

Riko has lost him and he knows it.

Then at the same time, you have the complete break down of the falsely constructed hierarchy around Riko and his place within. Riko's whole worldview and sense of self is crumbling.

Riko's place as a Moriyama, even as second family, is incredibly important to him. It's the only thing that gives him any sense of worth. He has been cast aside but at the very least he has control over the Ravens and of those beneath him in the hierarchy (i.e Jean, Neil and Kevin) because he is a Moriyama son.

We see bits of pieces of this insecurity - his reaction to not being invited to his own father's funeral and the way he speaks with the authority of his family even though he does not have access to to the power behind the Moriyama name.

So when Kevin makes his stand with the foxes, when he refuses to cower to Riko's authority over him, he is not just betraying Riko himself, but he is betraying this carefully constructed illusion of power. If Riko can not control Kevin, and Neil by extension, he has nothing.

Which is why the moment when Riko tries to kill Neil is such a pivotal moment for his character arc.

The thing that sets Riko off is not loosing the match, but instead it's Neil's comment to him.

"I'd ask you how it feels, but I guess you've always known what it's like to be second, you worthless piece of shit."

This isn't about the Raven's loosing or about Riko coming second to Kevin, this is a stark reminder that Riko has never had any real power. He has never been anything but a forgotten second son locked in a basement. Riko is angry at Neil, not because he insulted him, but because this is the final nail in the coffin of the delusion that Riko has been indulging in since he was a child. The line that separates Riko from Neil, Kevin, and even Jean is so painfully thin and Neil just snapped it in half.

When Riko attempts to kill Neil, he's not just attempting to murder someone - he is attempting to kill someone that does not belong to him. Neil belongs to the Moriyamas and Riko is only really a Moriyama in name. Neil is not his to break in this way. That's why this moment is unhinged. Like yeah the murder on national television isn't great, but its the fact that Riko is going directly against his family - his masters - that exemplify how far gone Riko is.

I don't think there would be any tender moments between Riko and Kevin because Kevin has betrayed him in an irredeemable way. Riko is too angry, too destroyed for anything approaching that. There's like 19 years of simmering resentment and denial resting in that final moment after the buzzer goes.

I like the idea of Riko and Kevin as children because there's still the possibility of Riko realizing that he and Kevin are the same. Neither of them had any control over their lives and they were both owned in the same way. But that didn't happen. Kevin's coping mechanism was obedience and Riko's coping mechanism was concocting the illusion of power. Their relationship is built off of this and Riko is certainly not going to thank Kevin for reminding him that they both started out in the same place.

And honestly, I think that Riko dying while still grasping at this threadbare illusion of his own worth is far more tragic for both him and Kevin. Because Kevin will never get any closure to their relationship. He will never know if Riko ever truly loved him as a brother or if he only cared about him to the extent that it allowed for Riko to fill the hole that was left by the abandonment of his own family.

And this is so fucking sad:

"Ichirou," Riko said, so choked with emotion Neil almost couldn't understand him. He could have been cursing Ichirou's name for waiting so long to come into his life. He could have been begging for justice or revenge. Riko opened his mouth to say something else but closed it again when Ichirou cradled Riko's cheek in his free hand.

You would not get the same emotional weight in Riko's death if Riko had some kinda realization with Kevin. Riko's relationship with Kevin is a pseudo replacement for his relationship with his own brother. Ichirou will never acknowledge him, and so he enacts that feeling of abandonment onto Kevin in the form of ownership. The only time Ichirou acknowledges him is to end his life. If Riko were able to actually view Kevin as a brother or to gain some retroactive self-reflection on their relationship, he wouldn't need to beg for Ichirou in the last moments of his life. And that just hits hard.

Sorry this got a bit out of hand to what you were actually asking, but tdlr: no I don't think there would be any moments of tender recollection between them, and I think Riko's death is more devastating because of that.

[yayasvalveplay]

Could I please request some more jazz and prowl from mirage dated d-16’s mom au,

Maybe how does prowls kids react to jazz just fluff in general. 👉👈

Make sure to drink your water!

Springer (13) Smokescreen (11) Net don't really see their dads. Springers dad was murdered due to drug trafficking and stuff got bad real fast(Prowl and him were divorced because of him finding out he was a drug dealer), Smokescreens dad just left them for a new woman.

The last marriage didn't even last an hour, as his now third ex husband threatened him and his kids while the reception was happening, the constructicons and their family were there to break up anything before it went physical, but they divorced right there.

So here comes Jazz, a lovable mech. Both kids are not convinced he's going to stay, or he's hiding his true colors like the last guy did. They are very standoffish and really don't bond with Jazz. They try and avoid him as much as possible when he visits them to take their mom on a date, or just hang around at the house.

Though when weeks turned into months, and Jazz still hadn't purposed to their mom, they became more outgoing, wanting to learn about Jazz, and his motives.

Jazz doesn't think much of it, only happy that the kiddos are pulling around finally.

"I told you my kids would come around to you." Prowl says, laying on the couch his helm laying on Jazz's shoulder, the kids are asleep next to Prowl using each other as pillows.

"You did say that. I wonder what made them change their minds."

"It was the waiting."

"The waiting?"

"No wedding, no marriage purposal in the first few weeks of seeing each other."

"Right your ex's did do that to ya. Slag Prowler, that still sucks that you had to go through that."

"It is not all bad. I've got my boys out of it." They both look over at the sleeping younglings, Jazz smiles. "You right, Out of all what your ex's could of left ya. They left ya with two of the best mechs's a carrier could ask for."

Prowl's face lights up, before he looks away.

"Prowl, did you just blush?"

"It would seem I had." He's being pulled onto a hug, Jazz kissing his cheeks. "This is good right, I am meant to be feeling, flushed?"

"Yes Prowler you are. You are doing so good."

I like to think none of Prowl's ex's took the time to really sit down and try and help Prowl. It is possible to help Prowl gain and understand Empathy more, those fuckers just didn't take the time to understand, and reach out.

But Jazz did. Jazz is helping, encouraging, and Prowl, well he hasn't been happier.

The kids telling Prowl that they love him and for years he's just been saying. "I do as well." but the moment, the moment says he loves his kids back, fully those words, the two are stopping and looking at Prowl like he is crazy. Prowl gets worried, was that not the right thing to say? it was what he had felt when his kids said that they loved him, and Jazz says he should always try and put himself into other mech's shoes.

That is what he did. So why were his kids reacting like that. Then he is getting hugged, both the kids shocked, and asking if Prowl meant it. "I do. I've always have."

Jazz comes over to see them all snuggled on the floor, all three passed out, that is why Prowl never responded to his text. He gets pillows and blankets, and gets them all cozy while he goes and cooks them all dinner.

Also potential Sire moment between Jazz and the kiddos, Jazz takes them to a park while Prowl is running late, got stuck at his job filling paperwork for the latest case he had been dispatched too, and won't be back, the kids got off of school, you don't mind watching them for a little bit do you. Jazz was happy to help.

Bringing them to the park the kids played with others, Jazz sitting down to watch them, cheering when a game of tag had them runnung away from the other taggers, or other simple games one would play t the park.

But then it was time to go home, Prowl says he just clocked out, and would be getting take out. Jazz calls for them, but they don't come, worried, he calls out again, because he did just see them not too long ago running up the steps of the play house, he had just checked his phone, no more then 3 seconds.

But he is panicking now, and goes to investigate, calling out their names still. That's when he saw him. an older man, disheveled and perhsps on something he's sluring his words, being hidden by the playset as he has a hold of Springers arms, while Smokescreen is cowering below him.

How him and none of the other parents saw this man hiding out under the play set is worrisome. "OI, get you're hands off my kids." That got the attention from the other parents. "Look man, this young mech was just ah. . . telling me were the to the train station."

"You could of asked one of us, we would of gladly directed you towards it. Now i won't say this again. Get your hands. Off. My. Kids. Or i will use force."

"No need to be violent. the kids keeping me up right." he moves and in the mechs coat, Jazz can see a knife sticking out, old blood on it's handle. Jazz doesn't stop to find out if it was his, or someone else's, only strikes.

He may have been trained under his own Sire to know martial arts, But he was also in the army for a few years. He may also not be 100% truthful about his line of work, it's classified and all that, But no one can know what he really does for a living. It's easier to say he's working for his Sire at his dojo.

The mech is pinned to the ground, Springer out of the mans grasps. Jazz hit's a few pressure points in the mans body. He is unable to move while Jazz, checks on the kids, before bringing them over towards the bench, where police have just gotten too. Jazz, Springer, and Smokescreen talk to the police, before they are able to leave.

On the way back to Prowl home, it is quiet, the only noise being the music playing.

"Hey Jazz?"

"Ya kiddo?"

". . . You were, pretty cool back there. Taking down that bot no problem.."

"It was no biggy, you two were in danger. I wasn't going to let some,,, bad mech try and course you into doing something you shouldn't be doing at your age."

"Ya but you rendered him immobile, like in those ninja movies."

"I did. didn't I?"

"Thanks,, You,,, aren't as bad as carriers other boyfriends he had in the past,,, " It was said softly, almost inaudible, but Jazz heard it, and it make his spark sore.