#It did come with a small cup and a saucer though

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Two)

A/N: You guys your notes have sent me over the moon! I'm really glad you like this fic and will try to keep up with you guys. Now, uh, to the bad news, I think I might avoid the typically "reader" insert fic style and keep it as logs, records, and documents. Just to stay consistent. If you hate it, that's fine I probably won't try this type of style of writing again after this. OKKAYBYE--

Checkout @cheust's Ghost Caretaker AU, it's the best!

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Session Date: [REDACTED] Session Type: Individual Therapy Therapist: Dr. Johanna Hoffman Patient: Casey Wayne, Age 5 Location: Gotham Pediatric Clinic Recording Start Time: 4:30 PM Recording End Time: 5:30 PM

[VIDEO BEGINS]

(The camera feed opens to a warmly lit therapy room. The walls are painted pastel blue and sage green, decorated with a meadow mural. A plush rug covers the floor, and shelves stocked with fidget toys, kinetic sand, and art materials line the room. A small, child-sized table sits in the center, topped with a tiny vase of artificial flowers. Soft instrumental music plays in the background. Seated at the table is CASEY WAYNE, a small child with tightly coiled hair and striking blue eyes, their hands resting neatly in their lap. DR. JOHANNA HOFFMAN enters the frame, taking a seat across from them with an open, relaxed posture.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Hi, Casey.

CASEY: Hi, Johanna.

DR. HOFFMAN: You look happy. Did something good happen?

CASEY: [nods eagerly] Mmhmm, I’m five now!

DR. HOFFMAN: I heard! That’s very exciting. How was your birthday?

CASEY: It was fun! I got to eat cake and stay up late!

DR. HOFFMAN: Wow, that sounds fun! What flavor of cake is your favorite?

CASEY: Chocolate! It’s really yummy.

DR. HOFFMAN: That’s my favorite too.

CASEY: [gasps] Really?! Do you like the kind with sprinkles?

DR. HOFFMAN: I do! Sprinkles make everything more fun. Did your cake have sprinkles?

CASEY: [nods] Mmhmm! And a big number five candle! I got to blow it out all by myself.

DR. HOFFMAN: That’s a big deal! Did you make a wish?

CASEY: Yep! But I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.

DR. HOFFMAN: Of course! It’s a secret wish. But I bet it’s something really special.

CASEY: [giggles] It is!

DR. HOFFMAN: I love birthdays because they’re all about celebrating you. Did you get any special presents?

CASEY: [nods excitedly] Uh-huh! Alfred gave me a tea set.

DR. HOFFMAN: A tea set?

CASEY: Yep! It’s really pretty and has flowers on it.

DR. HOFFMAN: That sounds beautiful. Do you have tea parties?

CASEY: [grins] Yeah, I had one with Yaya!

DR. HOFFMAN: I see. Does Yaya like tea?

CASEY: Yep! She taught me how to pour it! Did you know that a long time ago they used “tea bowls” instead of cups? And if you didn’t want any more, you had to put it on the little plate—

DR. HOFFMAN: The saucer?

CASEY: Yeah!

DR. HOFFMAN: You know a lot about tea parties, Casey. Did Yaya teach you all that?

CASEY: [nods] Mmhmm. It’s a real tea set, but we drank pretend tea. I said it was chocolate tea though, 'cause that’s the best!

DR. HOFFMAN: Wow, that sounds delicious. You have quite the imagination!

(CASEY giggles and leans forward in their seat.)

CASEY: Thanks!

DR. HOFFMAN: Do you think you’ll have more tea parties?

CASEY: Uh-huh! You can come too!

DR. HOFFMAN: I’d love that! I’ll make sure to dress really fancy too!

(CASEY laughs happily.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Do you think your family could come to one of your tea parties?

(CASEY suddenly falls silent. They look down at their hands, fingers fidgeting slightly.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Casey?

CASEY: [softly] I dunno.

DR. HOFFMAN: You don’t know? Why’s that?

CASEY: [shrugs] They’re busy all the time.

DR. HOFFMAN: All of them? Have you ever asked them to come to your tea party?

CASEY: I asked Daddy but he said he was busy.

DR HOFFMAN: Well, what about your siblings? I’m sure they’d like to come.

(CASEY frowns, thinking)

CASEY: I don’t want Damian to come. He’s mean.

DR. HOFFMAN: Well, it doesn’t have to be him? What about your other brothers?

(CASEY pauses to think)

CASEY: Jason’s scary.

DR. HOFFMAN: He’s scary?

CASEY: (nods) He’s angry and it scares me.

DR. HOFFMAN: Is he angry at you?

CASEY: (shrugs) I dunno.

DR. HOFFMAN: That must be really hard for you, Casey. Do you ever talk to Jason about how you feel when he's angry?

CASEY: [shakes head] No, I don’t wanna talk to him when he’s angry. He gets loud.

DR. HOFFMAN: That sounds tough. It’s hard when someone’s loud and angry. Do you know what makes him angry?

CASEY: [looks down] He’s angry about stuff. I dunno what.

DR. HOFFMAN: It’s okay if you don’t know. Sometimes people get angry about things we can’t see. Do you think it would help if you told him that his anger makes you feel scared?

CASEY: [quietly] I don’t think he’d care.

DR. HOFFMAN: Hmm. You might be right. But it’s okay to tell him how you feel, even if he doesn’t understand. You’re allowed to feel safe and not scared at home.

CASEY: [nods slowly] I guess.

DR. HOFFMAN: You know, Casey, you have a lot of courage. Not everyone can talk about their feelings like you can. And sometimes it’s okay to ask for help if someone is making you feel unsafe. Do you think you could ask someone in your family to help you talk to Jason?

CASEY: [hesitates] Maybe... like Yaya?

DR. HOFFMAN: Yaya cares about you alot. Maybe you can talk to her about how you feel with Jason?

CASEY: [pauses] I can’t…

DR. HOFFMAN: Why’s that?

CASEY: Jason doesn’t think Yaya is real. He says she’s imaginary.

DR.HOFFMAN: Like your Daddy?

CASEY: [nods and points at head] He says she is here and not real.

DR. HOFFMAN: That must be very hard for you, Casey. You know, sometimes people don’t understand what’s real for others. Yaya is real to you, and that’s what matters. But I can see how it might be confusing if others don’t see her too.

CASEY: [Frowns] No one believes me though. But she’s really nice and helps me.

DR. HOFFMAN: Sometimes, it’s hard for others to understand. But I can tell Yayais very important to you, and would want you to talk to someone about how you feel. Do you know anyone like that?

CASEY: [Shrugs] Maybe Dick. He’s nice.

DR. HOFFMAN: That’s a good choice! Have you tried asking him?

CASEY: [Shakes their head] No…

DR. HOFFMAN: Well, maybe you can ask him next time?

CASEY: [quietly] Maybe.

(Dr. Hoffman watches Casey for a moment, noticing their fingers still fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve.)

DR. HOFFMAN: You seem unsure. Is something else on your mind?

CASEY: He’s gonna be busy too.

DR. HOFFMAN: He is? How are you so sure?

CASEY: (Frustrated) Everyone’s always busy!

DR. HOFFMAN: Really? Everyone? 

CASEY: (Nods) Dick is always with Daddy, Alfred’s gotta clean, Tim’s in his room, Steph and Cass don’t talk to me cause I’m little, Damian’s mean a-and–”

(Casey stammers, before stopping suddenly and lowering their gaze)

CASEY: ….and no one likes me. 

(Silence. Dr. Hoffman watches as Casey shrinks slightly, their small hands gripping the edge of the table. The soft instrumental music plays faintly in the background.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Casey, why do you think no one likes you?

CASEY: … cause no one wants to be with me. Only Yaya does.

DR. HOFFMAN: [softly] Casey, I’m sure that’s not true. 

CASEY: [nods] It is. Everyone is always gone. Only Yaya stays.

(Silence permeates the distance between them once again. The soft music continues to play, undisturbed.)

DR. HOFFMAN: Casey, I know it’s hard to understand right now, but I want you to know that people care about you and how you feel. Even if they’re not always around, they still want you to feel better. I know it might not feel that way now, but please trust me—you’re not alone.

(CASEY remains silent, looking at the artificial flowers in the vase.)

DR. HOFFMAN: I think that’s enough for today.

[VIDEO ENDS]

THERAPIST’S OBSERVATIONS: During the latter half of the session, there was a distinct shift in the patient's demeanor. What initially appeared to be the typical presence of an imaginary friend seemed to evolve into something more complex. Yaya may serve as a coping mechanism, a response to the neglect and lack of emotional support the patient has endured. Of particular significance was the patient's final remark, “Only Yaya stays.” This statement seems to carry deeper implications, suggesting that Casey’s emotional detachment may be rooted in more than just familial neglect. The comfort they find in Yaya, someone others dismiss as imaginary, points to a more profound and perhaps darker emotional struggle—one that might not be easily addressed through conventional therapy or rationalization.

A/N: oh boy I'm tired I wrote all of this after work so it might be rushed.

[chronicowboy]

i can't see you (the light is in my face) | 15.6k (E)

"What are we drinking today?" Eddie asks as he carries the teapot over to the kitchen table from the counter. He sets it down on the woven grass placemat in the centre of the table and slides into the seat opposite his abuela.

"Blue tea," she says, pushing her teacup towards him.

"And why do they call it that?" He raises an eyebrow at her before picking the teapot back up again to pour her some. He flushes when it comes out a dazzling blue. Abuela just rolls her eyes at him, a glint of amusement sparkling there.

"Rosa from book club gave me some," she tells him, lifting her cup and inhaling some of its steam. "She said it's made from butterfly pea flowers, so it tastes very floral."

Eddie pours himself a cup, watches the blue pool against the white porcelain and thinks of Buck. They'd talked briefly on the drive between the station and his abuela's. But Buck had been late for lunch with Bobby, and Eddie had let him go even though he'd wanted to sink his nails into the phantom of Buck's voice.

"Oh, hey, wait there." Eddie drifts back to the kitchen counter and picks a lemon from the fruit bowl. He slices it into wedges and takes two of them with him back to the table. "Buck told me about this stuff. I think he tried every tea under the sun after his coma. Did a bunch of research on all the different health benefits of them. I'll have to ask him for recommendations." He drops back into his seat and sets a wedge of lemon onto Abuela's saucer. "Says a chemical in the lemon is supposed to..." He squeezes the juice into his tea and grins as it begins to react. "Ah! Purple tea!" He tilts his cup just enough for Abuela to catch a glimpse of it.

"Oh!" She clasps her hands together, eyes lighting up, before reaching for her own wedge of lemon.

Eddie watches her stir the purple into her blue tea with a childlike glee, lets his own frivolous joy spread through him like hot tea. Accepts it for what it is. Little blessings, his abuela used to say. Life is full of little blessings. And Eddie is learning to welcome them without guilt. He pulls his phone out under the table and taps out a quick text:

Having blue tea with Abuela. Your lemon trick worked! But now she thinks you're a witch that's corrupted me with the dark arts :/

"Eddito?" Abuela pokes him in the shoulder with her teaspoon, and Eddie slips his phone back into his pocket like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, um." He picks his cup up for the first time, convinces himself it's just the rising steam that has a flush bleeding through his cheeks as he takes a sip. He wrinkles his nose. "It's... Very blue?"

"Mm." She nods, tight-lipped. "Not the best we've had. But the lemon definitely made it better."

"And some honey might make it tolerable," Eddie says as he plucks the jar from the small tea caddy against the wall. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out greedily as he stirs the honey into his tea.

eddie tell her that blue tea helps heart and brain health and that the lemon boosts your immune system so if i am a witch i'm at least a nice holistic witch

tell her eddie tell her

:(

"Who is that?" Abuela asks, raising an eyebrow at his phone.

"Just Buck."

But she'll just think you've bewitched me into saying it. Which you basically did.

"Ah, Buck," she says sagely.

are you calling me bewitching diaz?

i might have gone with beguiling but whatever

Eddie snorts, tucks his phone under his thigh and takes another sip of his tea.

"It's definitely better with the honey," he says. Abuela just stares at him, her head cocked slightly to the left the way it is whenever she's stuck on a sudoku puzzle. "What?"

"Nothing." She shrugs. "How is Buck?"

(OR: eddie makes a new friend, she makes some assumptions, eddie spirals about it in his patented life-ruining way)

[clancycatears]

BEFORE HE LEAVES CHAPTER THREE

You finally land a job and secure an interview. Friday comes, and Kyle arrives to help you move your things. In the process, he meets your Mémé.

chapter-specific warnings: humor, more gentleman gaz, shoutout to mémé, more reader backstory, a smidge of angst, gaz’s text bubbles are blue, yours are green, and holly's are orange.

After a lot of convincing, Kyle finally agreed that you could take the bus home. However, he still appeared insistent by the look in his eyes.

Though you struck a compromise.

He could help you move out of Mémé’s house that Friday.

His posture relaxed only slightly at that, but it was enough. You exchanged numbers—his name now tucked into your contacts under “Kyle 🧢”—and scribbled down Mémé’s address for him in your neat, looping handwriting. You noticed the slight upward twitch in his lips when you gave him the written napkin, before waving you goodbye.

By the time you pushed open the front door, it was just past three in the afternoon.

Mémé sat rooted in her favorite spot on the couch, wrapped in a thick knit shawl. On the television, Masterminds droned on, dramatizing yet another decades-old heist. She didn’t even glance up.

“Ah, there y’are,” she said, reaching for her cuppa. “How did it go?”

You kicked off your shoes and crossed the threshold, but paused just shy of the couch as Dodger came bounding down the hallway. He wound himself between your ankles, tail high, chirping and meowing like you’d been gone for years instead of hours.

“I’m moving in on Friday,” you said, smiling softly, leaning down to scoop Dodger into your arms.

Mémé finally looked up, eyebrows furrowing with curiosity. “Lovely. Y’taking your stuff over by th’ bus?”

“No,” you said, settling into the couch beside her, Dodger now purring like an engine in your lap. “I made a deal with Kyle.”

A knowing smirk tugged at Mémé’s cheek. “Did you now?”

You nodded. “He’s helping me move.”

“Mm.” She sipped her tea. “Sounds like a smart lad already.”

You didn’t say anything to that, but your silence said plenty. And Mémé, ever the wise one, let it lie—just long enough for the truth to bloom quietly in your chest.

“I do need to go shopping for a mattress,” you murmured after a moment, glancing over at Mémé as Dodger settled more comfortably into your lap, his warmth sinking into your joggers.

She tilted her head back towards the screen. Another sip of her tea, slow and meditative, before she replied, “That so? I can jus’ have one delivered to ya.”

Your head whipped toward her. “What? No, you don’t have to do that—” you began, hand automatically moving to scratch behind Dodger’s ears. The cat answered with a pleased rumble, leaning into your touch like it was owed.

“Just the mattress,” Mémé said plainly, her tone final. “You c’n buy everythin’ else. Deal?”

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the quiet strength in her profile. Mémé never offered anything she didn’t mean—and she never offered twice. She’d already made up her mind the moment she opened her mouth.

With a sigh, your shoulders sank in defeat. There was no winning with her, not when she got like this.

“Deal,” you relented softly. “But… thank you. Really.”

“C’mon now, hun,” she said with a soft chuckle, setting her cup down on the saucer with a gentle clink. “I’m your nan. Ain’t got a husband to spoil anymore.” She leaned back into the cushions with a fond, almost wistful smile. “I’d much rather help you get a head start on your own.”

You turned to her, the corners of your mouth tugging into a small, reluctant smile. “Okay.”

Thursday lingered for what felt like months, each hour stretching endlessly. You anticipated Kyle’s arrival tomorrow with every bump of your knee at the dining room table.

Mémé left about twenty minutes ago to go grocery shopping, leaving you to your own devices as you scoured the internet for more jobs to apply to. Not much luck, though it’s only been a day since you last did so.

While swiping through a digital map of London, eying any possible establishment that would suit your living situation, your phone buzzes next to your keyboard.

Flipping your phone over, you peer at the lockscreen as an email popped up. Then you stopped everything.

"Congratulations!"

The café you’d applied to had reached out to you.

You were swift to shut your laptop and open up the email. Skimming through, you learn that the place has an open spot for a server, and were willing to take you in for an interview any day now. A name and number had been included at the bottom of the message: Holly, the general manager.

Much to your relief, you’d gotten café experience with your time in the states, a local coffee shop being one of your very first jobs. You’ve been through enough morning rushes and angry customers to know that much. Maybe that experience is what caught their eye.

You opened your messages, thumbs hovering before you started typing out a message to Holly. As much as you loved keeping autocaps off, you make sure to use proper grammer to look professional.

> Hello! I received your email about my application! Is this Holly?

Your eyes linger on your own text for a moment, before darting to the three floating dots at the opposite end.

> This is she! Was reaching out to see if you’d be available for an interview?

You hum, lips closing as you took a moment to think. Tomorrow was moving day, so you’d be busy, and then classes started the week after. Surely Kyle didn’t really mean he’d let you take his car, right? So a day when he’d be available to drive you there himself.

So you settle on the coming Sunday.

> How does Sunday sound?

> Perf! I’ve got 10:30 AM or 1:30 PM?

You grin, relief washing over you in a quiet wave.

> 1:30 PM sounds good

Friday morning comes around, and you’re quick to throw on some modest clothing, before rushing to organize what you had into your two suitcases. You’d gone through your belongings at least three times already, and even with how little you originally moved here with, it still felt like you were leaving behind half your life.

Half an hour ago, Kyle had texted you.

> on my way now. plenty of room in the boot for ya! :)

Mémé leans casually against the threshold to your father’s room, arms crossed, her eyes tracking every move you make as you fold your shirts for the umpteenth time. “Sweet’art, relax. You’ve got everythin’. No shame in comin’ back t’visit if not.”

You glance up, flashing her a teasing grin as you push the last pair of joggers into the corner of your suitcase reserved for clothes. “Who said I wouldn’t visit you?” you hum, your smile widening as you start zipping up your suitcase.

"Just a reminder," she replies, her gaze sweeping through the bedroom, lingering on the worn bedframe and faded photographs as if she were quietly recollecting every memory of your father.

Your father had been a good man when you were a child, the kind who worked hard and made sure to spend time with you on weekends. But as the years wore on, that time became less frequent. His visits dwindled, and soon, the calls stopped coming. The longer it stretched on, the more distant he became.

You could remember the exact day you realized it for the first time. The day he didn’t even text you on your seventeenth birthday. You had waited, staring at your phone, hoping he would reach out. But when the hours passed without a word, the truth settled in. He wasn’t trying anymore, and you knew deep down that he never would again.

Despite that, it was clear that Mémé still cared about him. She never spoke ill of him, even when he barely acknowledged her existence. She would often sigh, the disappointment weighing her down, but her love for her only child never tapered.

You grab your suitcases from the bed, the weight of them sinking into your hands before you plop them onto their wheels. You glance over at Mémé, a slight frown tugging at your lips. “Y’need any help with the garden before I go?”

Mémé blinks, breaking out of her reverie, and meets your gaze. Her eyes soften, the faintest trace of gratitude flickering in them. After a pause, she offers you a gentle smile. "I’d ‘preciate that, dear."

You’re plucking greenbeans out of their delicate vines when you hear a car roll into the gravel driveway. Mémé perks up from beside you, basket full of bean stalks as she follows your gaze to the gray Ford Mustang slowing to a halt.

“S’that ‘im?” she asks, plopping her basket beside the metal railing that supports the vines, and straightening her back.

You glance at her, then turn your gaze back toward the car just as the driver’s side door opens. “Positive.”

Kyle steps out, his silhouette easily recognizable, and your chest tightens in anticipation as he strides toward the two of you. “Ay!” he hollers, before he slows his pace to carefully maneuver between the rows of plants. “Sorry. Traffic.”

You roll your eyes, letting out a quiet laugh. Five minutes over the agreed time? Hardly an issue. “S’okay, was doing some chores before I go anyways.”

Mémé, ever the observer, sizes him up with a curious gaze as he approaches. “You’re Kyle?” she asks, her tone gentle, but there's an unmistakable spark of intrigue in her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure,” he grins, leaning his upper half slightly—since he had to be at least a foot taller than your Mémé—and holding out his hand to shake. His smile widens as she takes it in her own weathered grip. He seems entirely at ease despite the height difference between them.

Mémé’s lips curl into a satisfied smile as she gives his hand a firm shake. “I like ‘im already,” she declares, her voice full of approval, and she tilts her head toward you with a knowing look. “Quite th’ gentleman.”

You hold your hands behind your back, a smile curling at the ends of your lips.

Kyle straightens up after she releases his hand, his posture still impeccable. “Part of my training, ma’am,” he replies, with a modest but proud smile, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“Y’military?” she asks. You stand, glancing between the two of them as they continue their back-and-forth.

“Special Air Service, ma’am. Sergeant,” he replies, his pride in his profession evident in the way he speaks.

“Ah.” Mémé clicks her tongue thoughtfully, impressed. “An honor t’have one o’ Her Majesty’s men at m’door.” She bends down to pick up her basket, shifting the conversation to a more casual tone as she heads toward the front door, her eyes still lingering on Kyle. “You’ll have t’come inside an’ have a cup o’ tea wit’ me sometime.”

Kyle chuckles, nodding in agreement. “I’d like that, ma’am.”

You smile sheepishly, your gaze shifting between Mémé’s retreating figure and Kyle, who's still standing in the garden, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “My things are inside,” you offer, gesturing toward the house as you start to guide your steps toward the stairs.

He nods, following you with his usual easy gait. "Lead the way.”

Piloting him through the front door, Kyle pauses behind you, lingering on the threshold as his eyes scan the interior of your Mémé’s living room. You turn on your heels and wait for him, watching as his gaze catches every stray thread of velvet on the sofa (thanks to Dodger), every loose picture frame that tilted just a centimeter to the right or left, and the pairs of loafers discarded haphazardly right next to him.

“Lovely place, ma’am,” he murmurs, his gaze landing on your Mémé as she deposits her basket of green beans into the kitchen sink.

Mémé scoffs faintly from her place by the counter. “S’nothin’, lad,” she retorts, though the curl in her lips gave away her contentment.

Kyle’s eyes return to you, and you straighten. “Oh, yes, my things…”

As you turn to roll your suitcases from the staircase landing, Dodger comes bounding down with his tail raised in the air. Kyle’s brow lifts as the feline pads up to him, weaving between his legs to greet him.

“Shit, Dodger—“ you curse under your breath, hurrying to pull your cat out of Kyle’s space. “M’sorry—“

“Dodger?” Kyle’s lips widen into a smile. “So this is the little bugger y’wanted to bring with ya.” His eyes trail after Dodger as you pick him up like a toddler by his arms.

“Oh, yes,” you reply shyly, shifting to cradle Dodger in your arms. “Sorry, he’s very social.”

“No need t’ say sorry, I love cats,” he coos at Dodger, leaning down to his level. “May I pet ‘im?”

“‘Course you can.” You extend your arms, watching as Kyle dragged a gentle palm over Dodger’s tummy, earning an ecstatic purr from within your little kitty’s throat.

You watch as Kyle leans closer to beam down at Dodger’s jovial face, petting him with such tenderness you’d never expect from someone who loaded weapons and fought for his life on the daily.

Kyle could be Kyle outside of the barracks. Not Garrick, not Sergeant, just himself. The thought rooted itself in your head.

“Looks like he approves,” Mémé chirps from the kitchen sink, running tap water over her green beans.

Kyle peeks up at you through his lashes, and you feel that familiar warmth in your cheeks. As he straightens up, you mimic him.

“He car trained?” he tilts his head to your luggage.

“Yes. Plane trained, too.” Setting Dodger back to his paws, you reach for your suitcases, before a short tsk sounds from Kyle.

“Ah-ah, I got it,” he hums, waving your hands away, and taking the handles himself. “Jus’ get the little guy in his carrier, yeah?”

You let your hands flump to your sides. “Thank you…” You whisper, strolling to the sofa to retrieve Dodger’s plane carrier. With a few little clicks of your tongue, your kitty hops onto the couch cushion beside the carrier, slipping inside and sitting patiently on the little bed you’d shoved there for him.

Locking the crate into place, you haul the carrier up and lean it onto your side and expel some of the weight.

"Ready?" Kyle grills, and you nod.

"Ah, wait up," Mémé grumbles, waddling out of the kitchen and to the living room where the two of you stood. "Gotta say g'bye."

"I'll be visiting every other week!" you chortle, though she persists and pulls you into a side hug.

"Mhm," she hums, looking up at Kyle as she ushers him closer.

Kyle's expression shifts to sheepishness as he sidesteps to your Mémé's side, and he releases a small oof as she tugs him to join her little hug with her other arm.

"You take of m'girl now, eh?" she rumbles, cocking a brow to Kyle.

He gives her a quick, well-mannered nod. "Yes, ma'am."

As she releases the two of you, she cups her hands together with a puff of delight. "Y'better. Safe driving, now." She gives the two of you a small wave before turning tail and returning to the kitchen.

"Ready t'go?" Kyle grins, eyeing you as he pushes your luggage to the front door.

You keep Dodger's carrier close, dipping your head as he nudges the door open. "Yeah."

With a small jingle of his keys, his Mustang clicked ajar, and he popped open the boot with a puny grunt.

← chapter two | chapter four →

taglist 🏷️ @santanatenofcups

© clancycatears 2025. do not copy, steal, translate, or feed my works to ai.

[jpitha]

Hospitality

Meandering River and Q'ari sit in the canteen during midday break chatting and drinking some herbal tea. The Humans introduced both the drink and the meal. They call it 'Lunch' and while only the Humans seem to need the calories supplied by the meal, the break and the tea has proven to be a big hit among the other sapients...so long as they stay away from the poisonous teas. There are a lot of poisonous teas. Most everyone can have chamomile though.

The conversation meanders as they do, and eventually, they both come to talking about things they've noticed about the humans, one of the more recent additions to the Coalition. Everybody has their own cultural and biological quirks, but the conversations has been steering towards the humans lately. Everyone is a little too quick to point out that It's not that they're... weird, it's just the differences.

Q'ari puts her tea down with a clink on the small porcelain saucer. "Did you know that the Humans have a whole thing about being nice to visitors? It’s called 'hospitality' and they have almost entire religions about it!"

"What? They have religions about being nice to people you meet?" Meandering River said, as her feathers rustle, reflecting shimmering colors.

"Pretty much! My guess is that living on their world is so hard that they just felt obligated to help people who were passing through their village or peer group or whatever. The idea was that no matter who shows up - even their enemy - you give them a meal and a bath and let them have a nap and point them towards where they need to go if they're lost." Q'ari took another sip of tea. "You weren't even supposed to ask them questions about who they were or what they were doing!"

Meander was baffled. "But that makes no sense! What if the person was going to hurt you or your group? You had no way of knowing. Better to just let them pass by, and not interact."

"Yes, but the idea is the next time it was you traveling, you'd get help from others too." Nancy said from behind them.

Q'ari fur poofed out and Meander's feathers rippled in surprise and they both slid their chairs back to jump away before stopping themselves and sitting down, tea spilled everywhere. Predator/Prey reactions were deeply ingrained in Innari and Sefigans, and Humans were exceptionally good predators, even when they didn't mean to be.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Nancy said, seeing their reaction. "I didn't mean to startle you! I just heard you talking about hospitality. People everywhere don't treat it like the religion it used to be, but it's still a common thing that people do. Here -" she said gesturing on her pad "Let me buy you both another Tea to say sorry for spilling yours. Chamomile, right? I feel so badly about startling you."

"I-It's all right, we know you didn't mean to." Meander says, smoothing their feathers automatically. We were just fascinated by the concept of hospitality. Please, join us." She gestures towards a chair.

Nancy sits down, and wipes away some of the spilled tea with a napkin. "Being polite to strangers is just something that's taught from an early age. It's not done everywhere, and it's not done the same way, but it's still done. It's... complicated though." Nancy said, as a serv platform came over with two fresh cups of tea. After it had left, she continued. "Codifying being nice to strangers and offering them a place to stay and food to eat is a way that people could travel in the time before money and hotels, but also, it could be used as a shield against forming real friendships."

"What do you mean by that? If you're inviting strangers into your house, wouldn't that help make friends?" Meander said, blowing on her tea to cool it slightly.

"Well, it could. But if the whole process is ritualized and formal, then you could use it to keep 'foreign' people at arms length. Sure, you'd invite them in, let them sleep, bathe, eat, but you'd send them on their way in the morning and that would be it. There would be no connection, no friendship. There is a long, long history of being nice without being friendly."

"It's all very confusing." Q'ari said. "There seems to be a lot of implied connections, and ritualized actions that on the surface appear kind, but may - or may not - be, depending on thousands of different things."

Nancy nodded. "Hey, things are never black and white. There is always nuance. I'm sure it's even the same way between you and your people. Q'ari, you're not originally from Sef, the homeworld, right?"

Q'ari's teddy bear shaped ears waggled. "That's right. I grew up on Llamanian, one of our middle tier colony worlds."

"And even though you are a Sefigan citizen, when you go to Sef sometimes you get treated like an outsider, right?"

"Well, I suppose a bit, yes." Q'ari's finely laquered claws slid out of their sheaths, just a centimeter. "They say that my gelbin isn't the same as on Sef. Er, that's a traditional vegetable dish." She adds, for their benefit.

Meander's crest slides up and then back down. "I've had your gelbin Q'ari, it's delicious! What could possibly be wrong?"

She shrugs, a decidedly human gesture. "The spices are wrong, they say. We have different versions due to the ecology and soil of Llamanian, even if I were to use the exact same spices in the exact same proportions, it wouldn't taste the same."

"It's not just humans. Everyone has things that are different, and people - no matter which sapient group they are - will use those differences against them sometimes." Nancy said, taking a sip of tea. "Knowing that it happens, and keeping an eye out for it, and having some understanding, can go a long way. But, that doesn't mean we shouldn't be nice to strangers when we meet them. After all, they might be the Gods in disguise!" Nancy's eyes sparkle when she said that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see a people called the Greeks believed that..."

[http-shield]

my coffee?- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: fluff, established friendships/budding romance, set in CA:CW timeline where Bucky is in Romania trying to piece back together his life, mixed POV, divination (coffee reading) slight sexual themes, reader is helping bucky try to find some sense of normalcy within his life, human reader, bucky is a lil lovesick loser, lil old world slavic witchy magic, ~ wc: 1.3k ~ not proofread "Do you want me to read your coffee?" Bucky tilts his head. "My coffee?" 

Rain pelts the window as a summer storm rolls over the city.

It had come in quick, the thunder starting only ten minutes before the sky opened and unleashed chaos upon the unprepared populous. You had been halfway home, plastic bags swinging at your side full of groceries as the sky groaned, flashes of lighting backlighting the mountains as you took in the darkness of the clouds building. Your steps hurried, smelling rain on the warm breeze, knowing you only had minutes to reach home.

The heaviness of the bags slows you down, plastic digging into your fingers painfully enough to warrant a reshuffle of the load. Water begins to splatter the cobblestones around you, hitting the earth with soft plinks, and you start to rush, moving items from one bag to another in an effort to distribute the weight evenly, but just as quickly as the rain began, the cold drops sliding down your exposed back stop. You look up from your work, feeling a presence hover above you and are greeted by a smiling Bucky. He stands over you, your pink umbrella held high over your head, and you stare up at him, dumbfounded. 

"What are you- How did you…?" the question comes out in jumbled words as he bends to lift the bags.

His smile is one of ease, mischief lurking behind blue eyes at your blatant surprise. 

"I heard the thunder and realised you didn't take your umbrella, so I came looking for you," he shrugs as though it were the most casual explanation in the world. 

"You came looking for me?" 

"I know the route you take, and you were either walking home or still shopping." The plastic bags are strung over his left arm, and he extends the right one, holding a space for you to loop yours through his.

"You came looking for me." you can't help the smile that spreads across your face as you link limbs. 

"Of course." the way he smiles has your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Bucky begins to walk, setting the pace as you hurry to reach proper shelter. The rain gets heavier with each passing second. You try to suppress the grin, your teeth digging into your bottom lip, but it remains, cheeks aching and burning at his thoughtfulness. 

—-

"Do you want me to read your coffee?" you ask excitedly as he drinks the last of the brewed drink, setting the small cup back into the saucer. 

Bucky tilts his head. "My coffee?" 

You nod, a wordless answer as you scooch closer to him, hands reaching for the porcelain. His watchful gaze follows you, eyes following the lines of your body as you bend forward, dressed in only your pyjama shorts and oversized t-shirt, and he in a black shirt and sweatpants. There is a comfortability between the two of you, the knowledge of who he is, and it has been long established that he no longer has to hide his mental appendage. His heart aches at that. How you had accepted him for all he had done, knowing who and what he was.

Your bare leg brushing against his left arm has his thoughts deviating from the warmth that fills his chest at your kindness to a different kind of warmth blooming deeper. The rain had been both a blessing and a curse as it soaked you both through regardless of the umbrella he had bought. It had started coming down at an angle, and there was no way he could fight against it as you ran. By the time you crossed the threshold into the lobby, your entire body was drenched, clothes sticking to you in a way that held nothing for the imagination, and Bucky had to look away, turning his attention to the bags full of rain splattered groceries. That familiar heat returned to his stomach and only intensified as you began to climb the stairs, taking them two at a time before him, reaching the apartment in record time. He had kept his gaze averted as you tried to unpack the shopping, water dripping from your fingers while you dug through bags, but Bucky pushed you away. His hands gripping your shoulders, he steered you towards the bathroom, instructing you to get out of the wet clothes in fear of catching a cold, something he had heard you mutter to him a thousand times over the first time he had turned up at your door soaking wet from the rain. With the door slammed shut, he had a moment to breathe. To try and address the feeling in his stomach that had begun to pool into a sea of fire. To fix the issues that had started growing. Shame filled his cheeks, unable to think of you like that first and foremost, but secondly, how had such a simple and innocent image of you been enough to have his mind spiralling like that?  He shakes the thought away again as he focuses back on the present. 

You're holding the chipped tea cup, upturned on the plate. 

"My grandma taught me this when I was younger." You explain, eyes trained on the crockery. "Apparently, she had the gift." 

"The gift?" Bucky queries. 

"Yeah, the gift. Sight. Knowledge, you know?" you wiggle the fingers of your free hand as though casting a spell. 

"So, like a witch?" 

"Basically."

Bucky hums, watching as you flip the cup over and smile, whispering words as though they were an incantation.  His attention is rapt as you twist and turn the mug, eyes narrowing at shapes he cannot see. 

"Oh, ova e odličen znak." the foreign words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. 

"It's a good sign?" Bucky is quick to answer in english, suddenly very eager in his fortune regardless of how silly he thinks this is.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "How did you-"

"I speak Russian, remember?" he leans in and flicks your forehead with his right hand.

"But that wasn't Russian." you rub at the spot is fingers had just hit but it doesn’t hurt.

"Close enough." he shrugs, inching closer to get a look into the cup. Your shampoo fills his nose, the lavender scent soothing something within him. 

"Okay, okay." you brush off the questions that begin to rise within you. "Let's see." 

You examine the cup further, turning it over to Bucky, and you point out shapes and figures made in the rivers of coffee. He sees nothing but blobs of brown but nods along anyway, enjoying how you feel as you lean further into him. His heart begins to race, his ribs not used to the pace it sets. 

"You are going to live a good, long life, Mr. Barnes." you finally announce, handing the cup to him. 

"Anything else?" fingers brush over yours, sending shivers across his skin. 

"There was a cat and a house." You think for a moment, and he worries that the following words from your mouth won't be so happy. "Something about a girl and a kid." 

"A girl?" his mouth quirks up. "Like a wife?"

The answer is a nod and a soft smile. 

"You're lying!" the accusation comes out a little louder than he intended but is followed by a laugh as he shoves the cup back in your hands.

"I am not!" you shriek back, turning the mug back around, finger-pointing to the most prominent smudge at the bottom. "See, a pregnant woman!" 

Utter bullshit. It is a clump of coffee grounds. 

But he doesn't say that, doesn't dismiss the happy future you had almost entirely made up. Instead, he looks at you, his lip worried between his teeth. "Nothing about…before?" 

"Nope." With a shake of your head, you put his mind at ease. "As far as the cup is concerned, there was never a before." Soft fingers push his hair back behind his ear, curling around the edge of his jaw. Bucky leans into your touch, his body relaxing as your thumb begins to stroke soothing lines across his cheek.

Bucky knows you're lying. There will always be a before with him, and until you, he rarely thought there would be an after, but right now, with your strange and probably very untrue predictions, he cannot stop himself from wishing it would come true.

[velvet-apricots]

33 kiss Emerich and Rook

33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Emmrich knocked on the door. One hand clutched a tea cup and saucer from his mother's tea set. The other went to rest behind his back politely, fingers rubbing together nervously.

"Rook? May I come in? I made some tea."

Weisshaupt had been an abject failure, yet also a small victory. Though one of the gods was now mortal, the events and losses weighted heavily on all of them, and even Emmrich himself was left deeply shaken. He had been bordering on panicking the entire time, terrified that he was going to die.

But he didn't.

There was no answer, and so he set his free hand upon the surface. It opened without much prompting, magically inclined to yield to those who wished to enter.

He had not seen hide nor hair, or heard a peep from Rook.

The room was cast in a blue light from the aquarium, soft rippling from the water and shadows from the fish giving a unique and beautiful ambiance. Rook was sitting on the lounge, leaning on her fist. He walked to stand beside her, bending over slightly to get into her line of sight.

"Rook? I have some tea for you, should you want it?"

She blinked, and lifted her head from her fist. "Hmm? Oh… Thank you." She held out her hand, and he passed the cup to her. The lighting washed out the color of her hair which was mildly disappointing. She had such vibrant pumpkin colored hair.

"How are you feeling? You have not left your room in some time."

“Tired. Solas said it was a victory… Doesn't feel like it.”

Emmrich moved to sit next to her, at a respectable and polite distance of two feet. He watched the fish, before looking at her. She looked like she had the world on her shoulders… And she most certainly did. “I hope you know that you are extraordinary, Rook.”

She raised a brow at him. “Oh?”

“Yes. You and Davrin… You didn’t bat an eye at anything that went on. You were both utterly fearless. And I… I was terrified and-”

“I don’t know about Davrin, but I was scared too, Emmrich.” Rook said, giving him a kind smile.

“You were? I could scarcely tell-”

“And don’t you dare try to understate how brave you were. You might have been terrified, but you didn’t falter once. You fought an Archdemon. And you are alive. I think that counts for something.”

He spun his father’s ring around on his pinky, his lips in a thin line until he gave a small, thoughtful smile. “I suppose so… But I-”

Rook moved, her hand cupping his hollow cheek, turning his head slightly. His words of self admonishment died in his throat as she gently left a kiss upon the corner of his mouth, leaving his mouth to hang open slightly.

“No buts. After all, only brave heroes get kisses from fair damsels.” She gave him a cheeky grin as if what she did was as simple a gesture as shaking his hand.

But him… His heard raced, and his face burned hot, masked by the blue glow of the aquarium.

[darksigns-exe]

strange magic - witch!nick ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: Discussions of mental health, depression, anxiety, mentions of self-harm, knife related injury

word count: 4.2k

notes: I’m reading The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki at the moment, and it might have influenced some parts of this.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

You don’t remember where exactly you’d heard his name for the first time. Someone in your circle of friends had mentioned going to see him about a minor health issue they’d been struggling with and that no conventional doctor had been able to fix. It had taken them one visit to cure said ailment. 

Now, you didn’t expect a miracle cure, but at this point you’d take anything. Whatever it takes to make this feeling disappear. No psychiatrist or therapist had helped, you’d tried everything. 

Magic or something akin to it didn’t seem too unrealistic of an option at this point. Your friend hadn’t been entirely clear on what this guy exactly did or was, all they had mentioned was that his methods were unconventional. 

Armed with the address and maybe a little too much hope, you set off. The place is located in a wooded area, set quite a bit back from the main road. You park near the front of the driveway and walk the rest of the way, just like your friend had told you to do. 

The twisted path that leads you through the woods turns you around entirely, and after a few minutes you have no idea which way you’re oriented or from which direction you’ve come. 

Every step leads you deeper into this forest. As the trees grow taller and thicker, light and warmth become scarce, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body to ward off the chill. 

The path makes another sharp turn and suddenly, you find yourself faced with an almost dream-like glade. Light pours into the space, filling it with warm, golden sunlight. In the middle, sits a lone cottage. It looks a little ramshackle, the roof is tilted in an odd way, and you think that some of the beams must be old and slowly giving into the weight of the roof. There’s something comforting about the place, though. 

The door swings open just as you reach the three steps that lead up the small porch. The glimmering little trinkets and chimes that hang from the roof above it catch your attention. Despite the mass of things that are placed all over the porch and in the windows, it doesn’t feel cluttered. Everything is where it needs to be. 

Your attention is drawn to a sun catcher that seems to be made out of broken pieces of coloured glass and mirror. The little specks of sunlight it scatters all across you and the space around you are mesmerising. Perhaps you should find one like this for your own home. 

“Pretty isn’t it?” someone speaks from behind you and you find yourself twitching with panic. 

When you turn around, you find that the source of the voice is a young man with dark hair. He squints at you for a moment, before an apologetic smile works its way onto his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Would you like to come in?” You’re sure that this isn’t the man you’re supposed to see, he seems way too young to be some kind of miracle healer. Maybe he’s an apprentice or other kind of aide to this Nicholas. 

You follow him into the cabin. The inside is surprisingly simple, yet incredibly inviting. Most of the space is taken up by a large wooden table. It has dents and scratches in its surface that tell more stories than any person could. Warm light floods through the room, but you can’t find a single light source. The fireplace can’t be responsible for all the light in here. 

“Sit. Please.” he motions towards one of the chairs by the table. 

You hang your jackets over the back of the chair before you sit. He doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the wooden counter. You watch as he searches through one of the shelves, until he produces two mismatched cups and saucers. 

“I hope you found the place alright?” he asks, as he picks up a variety of tins from a different shelf. 

“A friend of mine came here a few weeks ago and her directions were pretty good.” you reply.

He nods sagely, as if he knows exactly who you are talking about. 

“Your friend is feeling better? Her condition was quite worrisome.”

“It’s almost as if she was never unwell.” 

Your answer brings a smile to his face, “That’s good to hear. I don’t usually get to hear about the people who come here after they leave.”

He walks towards the fireplace and with the help of a seemingly hand knit pot holder, he retrieves the kettle hanging in front of it. He then proceeds to fill both cups with water before returning the kettle to its previous place. 

He places one of the cups in front of you, while the other is placed in front of the seat to your right at the head of the table. 

“So – you heard that your friend found the aid they needed here and decided that you would follow in their footsteps and find me. What can I do for you?”

“You are Nicholas?” you finally ask as the puzzle begins to make sense. 

His cheeks tinge the faintest shade of pink, “My apologies. Nick is perfectly fine. Nicholas always creates that image of a wise old wizard, and I’m —” he looks down his own body, “Not that.” 

The tone of his voice makes you smile. 

There’s something awfully comforting about him. Something about him sets you at ease, despite the deep-rooted worry that sits in your chest.  

“Can I see your palm?” Nick asks gently, holding out his tattooed hand to you. 

You place your hand, palm facing up, in his and he carefully pulls your hand a little closer to him. He tilts your hand for a moment, as if he is searching for something specific. The pointer finger of his other hand traces across the lines and creases in your hand with a barely there touch. 

The noise he eventually lets out feels a little unsatisfied. 

“The metaphysical can tell us a lot. But it is not without faults. It doesn’t take an expert to see that whatever it is that worries you has been with you for a long time. I can do a lot of things, dear, but I cannot magic away feelings and emotions.” He says eventually, “I can however try to help you find the root of this. That is the best I can offer you.”

For a moment, you feel defeated. Another person who wouldn’t be able to help. At this point, it really does feel a little hopeless. The darkness slowly creeps into your vision, that awful tightness returns to your chest. You can feel yourself getting dizzy and –

And then Nick’s hand curls around yours. It doesn’t stop the panic entirely, but his touch slowly the creeping darkness significantly. 

“Try to breathe. You’re safe here.” his voice soothes your nerves, wraps around you like honey, “Only very few people have left this place without an answer to their question, and I don’t think that you will be one of them.”

You don’t know why, but you want to believe him. 

“So many people said that they could help, but nothing ever came of it.” you say quietly, “I just want to stop feeling this way.” 

Nick lets out a heavy sigh, “I know what it feels like to feel left alone. If I could, I would take all of it away. But unfortunately, in this case, altering the mind is not something I’m allowed to do. I will try to help you as best as I can, though.” 

He gives your hand a little squeeze, before he releases it again.

Nick is silent for a moment, seemingly mulling through his thoughts. He gets up then. The scrape of his chair against the wooden floor takes you by surprise. He utters a quick apology, before he disappears into a distant corner of the room.

You finally have a moment to inspect the space around you. It’s as close to a witch's hut as you could imagine. Bundles of dried herbs and flowers dangle from the low wooden beams that support the upper level. Every surface is covered in trinkets and items, and you’re sure that they all have their designated spaces. The cobblestone wall above the fireplace is adorned with a pentacle made out of what you think is willow branches. They’re woven around each other to give it more structure, and in the space between the branches small flowers have been placed. You faintly remember reading that pentacle being are used for protection. 

Your eyes drift across the cluttered table in front of you and eventually land on your still steaming cup of tea. You finally take a sip of it. 

The taste of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You can’t identify every component of it, and really it doesn’t matter too much. All you know is that it feels like a long overdue hug. The first sip is enough to fill you with a comfortable warmth, like rays of sun falling through the trees on the first warm morning of spring. 

You take another sip, once again savouring the subtle sweetness of the tea. You’ll have to ask Nick what’s in this. 

Nick is still out of sight somewhere, but you can hear him rummaging around in the distance. You’d expect yourself to feel uncomfortable being somewhat alone in a stranger's house, but everything about this place felt so comforting that you couldn’t possibly feel out of place. 

Something catches your attention then. The quiet scratching of claws against wood, followed by a slightly croaky purr makes you scan across the space to find the source of it. Your eyes land on the tuxedo cat that emerges from the lower compartment of one of the many overstuffed bookshelves. The cat stretches and shakes itself before it looks around the room for a moment. It wanders under the table, and you freeze up, trying not to scare it away. When you peek under the table, you see the cat coming towards you. It takes a moment to inspect you, before it moves past you pressing its body against your calf. 

You hear the cat hop onto something behind you. Turning around to check, you see that it has settled onto a pillow on the windowsill, lounging in the little sliver of sunlight that falls through the window there. 

Nick returns a little while later, carrying a few books in his arms. He stops, cocks his head to the side, and then smiles. You realise then that he’s not looking at you, but the cat.

“Now you show your face.” he shakes his head, “Where were you when I could have used your help, huh? Out fraternising with that damn vampire's cat, I bet.” 

He sets the books down on the table. 

“That’s Jerry. He’s supposed to be helpful.” he says, glaring at the cat, “He doesn’t usually show his face when I have visitors. Looks like a good omen to me.” 

Nick takes a sip from his own cup. He closes his eyes for a second and lets out a content sigh. 

He files through one of the books, turning the open pages towards you. 

“I can’t make it go away, but I can give you things that might help.” he offers, “How is the tea?”

“It’s really nice. I wanted to ask about it.”

Nick sits up a little straighter then, “Lemon balm, lemon verbena and lavender. I’ll fix up a jar for you to take home.”

He continues to explain a meditation method he’d read about a while ago. Nick shakes off your concern about having tried meditation before. 

“This is different. I think it’s worth a shot. I have some incense somewhere that might help too.” 

That evening, when you drive home, your chest feels a little bit lighter already. Maybe it’s just the idea of someone being so willing to help you. Nick has no ties to you, no reason to be this invested. But he’d still sent you home with a freshly mixed jar of the tea you’d had earlier, a written up version of the meditation technique and several cones of incense with a crescent moon holder. 

You’d also agreed that you’d come back the following week to report back. In the meantime, Nick would do research of his own to see what he could do. 

You’re not sure which of the things helps, but when you set out to see him again a week later, you find yourself feeling actually excited. 

Your visits become more and more frequent. Over the weeks, you learn that Nick doesn’t like to venture into town, and so you offer to take care of his errands there in return for his help. Weekly visits become twice a week, and before you know it, you find yourself stopping by at Nick’s whenever you can.

 Your mental health makes working pretty much impossible, and having something to do again feels genuinely good. On some days, Nick puts you to work in the garden behind the cottage. On others, you get to watch while he works on whatever it is he does in the kitchen. 

It’s almost November when he asks you to help him with the apples. 

“What exactly are we making?” you ask as you continue to peel yet another apple. 

“Half of these will be crumble and the rest compote.” 

You turn to watch Nick tip flour into a large ceramic bowl. Your momentary inattentiveness makes your knife slip. You drop it as soon as the pain hits. 

“Shit.” you cry out, wrapping your hand around your pointer finger.

Something behind you clatters, before Nick pushes himself in front of you. 

“Oh no.” he says quietly, pulling a kitchen towel from one of the cabinet handles. 

He presses the towel to your finger, before he steers you over to the large table. 

“Sit.” he urges, “Hold the towel there, I’ll be right back.” 

Nick rushes off into what you now know to be the bathroom. He returns with a few supplies a moment later. He kneels down in front of you, carefully taking your hand into his. 

“Let’s see.” He peels the towel away, and you can’t hold the wince, “I’m sorry, dear. I know.” 

He wipes the wound clean with a fresh towel, careful not to agitate it more. 

“It’ll be good in a moment.” Nick soothes, “Just have to see how bad it is.” 

The sound he makes then tells you that it’s quite bad. 

Nick picks up one of the small tins he brought over from the bathroom. He applies some of the salve to the cut. It stings just a little bit, but not enough to be of note. He wraps a small bit of muslin around your finger, before he takes your hand into his again. You watch as his eyes close and his head drops. You’ve seen Nick work his magic before when Jerry got into scuffles with other animals during his nightly outings, but you had never felt it yourself. 

As his focus narrows down on you, warmth spreads out from your finger. It travels up your arm and through your chest. You can’t take your eyes off him. Nick’s whole body seems to have a faint golden glow to it. 

Just as the warmth threatens to get too intense, it fades out. 

Nick remains with his head bowed for a moment longer. He peels back the muslin. All that remains of the cut is a small crescent moon shaped scar just above the first joint. 

“There you go.” Nick says quietly, “All good.” 

He looks up at you with a soft smile. 

Your heart makes a little thump then. You’d noticed it before when he looks at you. At first, you thought that it was nothing but the beginnings of a good friendship. By now, you are sure that it is so much more than that. But then again, you’ve only known Nick for a little over two months, and you have no idea if that is even something he’s interested in. 

The moment pops when Jerry forces his way between the two of you. He lets out a very displeased sound, making it known that it’s time for him to get attention again. 

Nick huffs out a laugh before he drops his head again. He scratches the top of Jerry's head before he eventually rises from the floor. 

It takes you a moment to catch up with him again. The way he had looked at you still lingers in your mind when you rejoin him in the kitchen. Nick hands you the freshly cleaned knife, and you resume your apple peeling duties as if nothing at all had happened. 

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon continues without larger incidents. You can’t tell if it’s in your imagination or not, but you think that Nick looks at you more often. And even if he does, you’re sure that it’s just to make sure that you haven’t injured yourself again. Working with him like this is incredibly comfortable. You don’t speak a lot, but you don’t feel as if you need to say a lot either. There’s no pressure to make idle conversation. 

With the crumble finally in the oven and the last jars of compote sealed, you finally sit down in the chair on his front porch. Nick had sent you ahead with a blanket, knowing that you tended to get cold easily. He joins you just a moment a later, with two steaming mugs in his hands. He hands one to you and sets the other down on the rickety little table between the chairs. 

For a while, you sit in silence, enjoying the serenity of the glade. 

You look over at Nick, only to find him shifting uncomfortably. You think that he looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should. And so you reach out, poking your finger into his shoulder. 

“Nick?”

He twitches, head quickly snapping towards you, “Yes dear?” 

“Everything okay?” 

Nick takes a rushed sip of his tea. He contemplates for a moment longer, and you have to admit to yourself that the way his expressions shift as he tries to make up his mind is rather cute. 

“Interrupt me if I’m touching on something off limits.” he begins, “Sometimes when I heal I get glimpses of that person's emotions. It’s nothing deep or elaborate, just a snapshot, if you will. And when I touched you –”

He doesn’t have to finish for you to know what he’s trying to get at. The pang of relief that had hit you when the pain shot through your body still lingered with you. It’s been a while since you’d purposefully taken a blade to your skin. Long enough for you to think that the gratification wouldn’t be there any more. You’d fought so hard to keep yourself from doing it this time. 

You can’t stop yourself from crying then. Nick’s hand curls around yours immediately. He doesn’t try to stop you, doesn’t tell you that it’ll be alright. You’d kept all of these feelings bottled up inside of you for so long, that you couldn’t stop them from bubbling over now. 

Nick lets you cry until the tears stop falling. 

Against what you’d expected, you don’t find pity or worry on his face. He meets you with a warmth that takes some of the ache away. 

You tell him then.

Every detail that you’d hidden so far. The awful memories you’d kept so close to your chest. Even the ones that you’d never felt comfortable enough to share with therapists. 

And Nick listens so patiently. 

For a brief moment, you feel bad for unloading all of this on him, but he quickly dismisses that idea. 

The sun has long disappeared behind the trees when you finish, and you shiver in the cool night air. 

“I don’t think that I’ve ever told anyone all of that.” you finally admit. 

“Thank you for trusting me with it.” Nick replies, squeezing your hand, “I want you to know that you can always come to me. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if you need a friend – someone to talk to – I’m here.” 

Nick offers you to stay at the cottage for the night. He’s adamant that you take his bed, not budging no matter how hard you try to change his mind. While his bed is nice and comfortable, you can’t help but feel bad for him. And after two hours of tossing and turning, you creep down the stairs into the main space of the cottage again. 

You find Nick still awake, buried deep in a book. He looks up when you step onto a particularly creaky tread. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

“Could ask you the same.” 

He places the book on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. 

“I just feel bad about making you sleep on the sofa in your own house.” you admit quietly.

“What, you want to cuddle up?” it’s a humorous suggestion, but you can’t deny the appeal of it. 

Nick doesn’t wait for your answer and makes his way towards you. He follows you back up the stairs without another word.

Settling into bed with him is a little awkward at first. Both of you try to find a comfortable spot without getting too close to the other, even when you wouldn’t mind curling up next to him. This time, sleeps finds you easily. 

You wake up to a gloomy morning. The gentle rapping of rain on the roof makes you want to stay in bed for just a while longer. You pull the fluffy duvet around yourself, sinking just a little deeper into the warmth of the bed. You’ve been up in the attic of Nick’s cottage a few times, but never for this long. Just like the rest of the place, it’s so warm and comfortable up here. Most of the wooden cladding is covered with beautiful tapestries that mirror the Persian carpet that fills most of the space. 

Nick is still fast asleep next to you. He looks so peaceful, brow furrowed just a little bit. You almost want to reach out to smooth your thumb over the crease. You don’t want to overstep, though. 

Instead, you crawl out of bed as carefully as you can without waking Nick up. You know that he likes to start his morning with a strong black coffee. Just like you. 

By now you know your way around his kitchen and finding the ceramic filter, coffee grounds and his favourite mug doesn’t take you all too long. Manoeuvring the kettle was a different story, but you manage to make it work. 

By the time you climb back up the steep stairs towards the attic, Nick has already stirred from his slumber. He’s still hidden under the down duvet, but you can hear him quietly talking to Jerry. 

Nick looks up when he hears you approach and flashes you a sweet smile. 

“You’re a darling.” he says softly when you hand him his mug. 

You sit next to him on the bed, once again getting comfy. 

Nick takes a long sip from his coffee, letting out a content sigh. 

“Sleep alright?” he asks then, turning to towards you. 

You nod, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”  

“Of course.” 

You both fall silent for a while, comfortably nursing your coffees. You shuffle a little closer to him, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder. Nick’s hand finds its way to your legs, resting comfortably above your knee. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you feel yourself melt on the inside. 

You don’t know where this is going to take you, all you know is that you’ve never felt this comfortable around another person. You don’t know how he does it, but Nick manages to make you feel as if you can beat this and come up on top, and really that’s good enough for you. 

By Yule, you’ve basically moved into the cottage with Nick.  It’s quiet and comfortable, and it does wonders for your health. You know that you still have a long path in front of you, but with Nick at your side, it doesn’t feel impossible any more. You’re busy with a batch of cookies when Nick comes in, a few extra logs for the fireplace under his arm. 

He shoves his freezing cold hands under your knit sweater, as he wraps his arms around you. You let out a little squeak in reaction, to which he gives an amused chuckle. 

“Smells good, what are you making?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You lean back against his chest, “Just sugar cookies.” 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Can’t wait. Do you need help?” 

You shake your head, “Go get showered. We can start dinner when you’re done.” 

Nick kisses your cheek again before he detaches himself from you, “Won’t be long.” 

As he heads towards the bathroom, Nick stops where Jerry is napping on the sofa. And when you look over to them, you realise that you’ve finally made it home. 

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake @th4t-em0-k1d

@thisbicc @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @mrsnoahsebastian @blackveilomens @sorrowsofsilence

@fadingangelwisp @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @thisisntablogspost @tintadecirco

@rumoured-whispers @cheyyyyr @mathfairchild1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

[linkemon]

Imponderabilia (Ciel Phantomhive x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴀ ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍʜɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴏʀ. ɢʀᴜᴍᴘʏ ᴄɪᴇʟ, ᴅᴇꜱꜱᴇʀᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪɴɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɪʀʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱɪʙʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴘʟᴏʏᴇᴇꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀ…

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 1. ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ. ɪ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀɴʏ ᴛɪᴘꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ.

— Good morning, my lord! — [Reader] opened the door.

The view was the same as almost every day. The young lord was sitting in a navy blue, plush armchair and looking through the morning newspaper. He didn't take his eyes off it. He knew she would come. She was punctual. The same couldn't be said about the rest of the residence's staff.

— How are we feeling in the morning?

— Fine — Ciel replied quietly.

For him, it was an extremely elaborate statement. If Sebastian asked him about it, he usually told him to mind his own business. And when the other inhabitants of the estate did this, he preferred not to say anything because they began to get so happy that they would not leave him in peace for the rest of the day.

The girl grabbed the porcelain teapot and started making tea. The amber liquid sparkled in the decorated cup. The girl placed the saucer on a small table.

Phantomhive waited a moment to hear the sound of the door closing but to his surprise he didn't hear it. He looked at the maid. She stood with her back to him, leaning over the silver tray. When she started to turn away, he hid his head behind the printed pages, pretending to be reading.

A plate appeared next to him. An elegant plate full of cookies.

— It's too early for dessert — he said.

— Nonsense! — [Reader] rolled her eyes. — Sebastian is the one who keeps saying things like that. However, I think there is nothing wrong with sweets before dinner. Occasionally.

Ciel looked at the dessert. The baked goods looked average. Crispy, with chocolate pieces. However, their scent tickled his nostrils pleasantly. He felt his mouth water at the thought of tasting them.

— Did you make them today? — The question hung in the air, even though he knew the answer.

— I got up a little earlier. The lord had a hard day yesterday so I thought it would cheer him up. — She smiled.

The boy felt strange for a moment. He knew how much she had to do every day. She woke up long before him to take care of his house. In addition, she also had to correct the mistakes of Baldroy, Mey-Lin and Finnian. Tanaka wasn't that harmful but then again he wasn't very helpful either. Sebastian could arrange everything but she didn't like asking him for help. They tended to stay out of each other's way. Especially since the demon has been getting other tasks lately. Someone finally had to investigate in the queen's name.

And yet the maid denied herself the sleep to make these cookies for him. He felt a tightness somewhere around his heart but he decided to dismiss the ridiculous thought. Nobody cared about him. She did it because it was her job.

— You can take them. — His words were cold. So contrasting to how he felt inside.

— The lord won't eat even one? — She raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head.

For a moment the room was filled with silence. She was interrupted by footsteps. Suddenly, the newspaper paragraph was replaced by a girl's hand and a plate.

— Let's play a game. — That caught his attention. He became even more angry with himself. She knew him that well. — Please, taste them, my lord. If you don't like it, I'll leave the residence. Otherwise, I'll bake them whenever I want and you will always have to eat them.

— How do you know I won't lie? — He reached for the cookie.

— I'll take the risk. — The corner of her mouth turned up.

Ciel took a bite. He expected something extraordinary. Sophisticated taste. Secret spice. Amazing texture. None of these things! They were normal. As average as they looked.

As he took another bite, he had an epiphany. He was tricked like a little child. It wasn't about confectionery skills at all. He lost because he expected to fight on a completely different front than the one on which it actually took place.

— They're virulent — he growled.

— I knew it'll be like this. — Her smugness seemed to light up the entire room. For a moment he thought that she looked really nice in the bright light. The glow reflected in her eyes, reminding him of the radiant sun just outside the window. What was he even thinking about?

— Really? — He gritted his teeth.

— You like me too much to throw me out — she said.

She hit the nail on the head.

He felt a blush rising to his pale cheeks. For the first time in a long time, he was lost for words. Ever since she started working here, she had done and said things that made his heart beat faster. She was annoying. At the same time, he didn't want her to stop. He was stuck in a vicious circle and somehow he was in no hurry to change the whole situation. Yet he could fire her at any time.

He couldn't stand her smug expression as she headed towards the exit. He hated losing.

— Play chess with me.

— Chess? — she asked.

— Yes. How many times do I have to repeat? — he sighed irritably.

He placed the pieces in the starting position. If she thought she could just leave after all this, she was sorely mistaken.

[Reader] sat down hesitantly in the chair in front of him. He was pleased to see her slight confusion. She didn't expect this.

The game was going his way. However, he had to admit that his opponent was quite a challenge. The girl thought logically much better than he expected. Once she even managed to trap him in a bad situation. It took him a few moves to realize the trap. However, he managed to recover and was on the way to victory.

Chess was much simpler than life. They had clear and explicit rules. They rewarded the better and punished the worse. Only those who deserved it felt the taste of defeat. Completely different than in reality. A place where nothing was black and white, only shades of gray. Just like their strange relationship.

He moved the knight.

— [Readerrr]! — The door to the room opened with a bang.

Mei-Lin ran through the doorway. Red hair flowed behind her as she crossed the distance between them. Her glasses fell off her nose. She hurriedly picked them up from the floor. Even the carpet couldn't save them. One glass cracked, creating an ugly spiderweb on the surface.

— Oh my, my, my!

— What is it this time? — You could hear the tiredness in [Reader's] voice. The head of the Phantomhive family had no doubt that she had been through this hundreds of times, just as he had before Sebastian showed up. — Garden?  — She got a shake of her head. — Living room? — Same answer again. — So the kitchen… — [Reader] said. She didn't have to look at her co-worker to know she had nailed it. — It was very nice to play... — She was about to get up when the young master's hand gesture stopped her.

— We're not done yet — Ciel said.

— Ah, but... the kitchen! — Mei-Lin said.

— Find Sebastian. He will take care of it. — The lord moved his rook, thus indicating that he considered the conversation to be over.

— But I don't know where he is — the maid whined helplessly.

Phantomhive took a deep breath. Sometimes he really wondered why he kept all these people here. Maybe he should hire someone new?  He exhaled slowly through his nose.

— You worked with him in the living room today, so start in the living room. And if it's not there, keep looking until you find it. Have I made myself clear?

— Y-yes, of course! — The woman ran out, stumbling.

Maybe he was doing something stupid. After all, the kitchen was on fire. He shook his head slightly. Everything in the mansion burned down at least once a week, so it didn't really matter. Besides, why did he have his one hell of butler?

Ciel looked around the board, studying his options. It was basically a formality now but he still waited for her next move. However, only soft snoring answered him. He looked up from the black and white board. [Reader] rested her head against the plush headrest of the chair. Closed eyes and a steadily rising chest could only mean one thing. She fell asleep. How did sleep overwhelm her so quickly?  He had no idea. She must have been really tired. She had been helping him with his documents at night for the last week. However, he didn't think it would bother her so much.

He almost woke her up but then stopped himself. He brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from her updo, then reached for the blanket lying on the backrest and covered the girl with it.

— Maybe I really like you too much...

He quietly moved towards the door and closed it.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (5)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Overthinker reader having a conversation with Mr. "Just Trust Me" Jade Leech. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-writes @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe

“Would you like some tea?”

Jade offers you a cup of something that smells like lavender. You shake your head.

“I’m okay.” You turn your attention back to your screen. He sets the cup and saucer next to you anyway. “Who knows, maybe you’ve put a suspicious substance in it.”

“Is it so hard to believe that I can do something out of the kindness of my heart?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “You? Absolutely not. Give an inch and you take a mile.”

There’s a beat where he doesn’t reply. You look up at him, wondering if you’ve said something strange, but his back is turned as he walks to his seat. When he turns back around to settle in his chair, his expression stills like a frozen pond. Perfectly crafted, carefully unreadable.

A few hours have passed since his phone call. You’ve decided to work in Jade’s office today, thinking that you might get a clue or a burst of inspiration if one of the subjects of your thoughts is in close proximity. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, his quiet hums and constant catering to your needs indicates that he’s rather pleased. Aside from the cup of tea releasing a wispy veil of steam, there’s also a plate of cookies and a bowl of cherries on his desk beside you.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

You close your laptop and sigh. There are too many to count, all swirling in your head without rest.

“Still thinking about what you told me this morning.” You don’t want to address the bigger issue—that (Y/N) apparently forgot who you are—so you start small. “I didn’t expect you to actually fall asleep.”

“Neither did I.” Jade frowns in thought. “I imagine it is a result of too few hours of sleep throughout the week.”

“Even so, you said it yourself. You can’t sleep around strangers.” You drum your fingers on the desk. “Maybe you actually do feel at ease around her.”

“That is not the case.” His voice carries certainty that surprises you. When you glance at him, you notice that his mouth is set in a firm line. “I was quite unsettled when I woke up.”

“Huh.” You can imagine it. His shock at his lapse in vigilance. But even so, no matter how tired he is, he has never made this sort of blunder before. “I guess there’s a first for everything.”

A shadow passes over his face. He stands next to your chair and leans over you. His eyes stare straight into yours—piercing mismatched eyes with an almost magnetic pull.

“I will ask you the same question as last night. Do you really believe that manuscript is a reflection of things that will certainly come to pass?”

Your heart jumps. Is he using Shock the Heart? But a few seconds pass, and no words leave your lips. This is not his Signature Spell. This is Jade Leech asking you a sincere, serious question. Besides, you have no reason to lie.

“Like I said, I don’t know—”

“Then don’t talk and act as though it is.” Is that frustration in his voice? He maintains eye contact with you, and you feel as though you can’t look away. “I, for one, think a predetermined future is horribly boring. My actions dictated for me, every event predictable . . . . I would sooner abandon it all and throw caution to the wind. The only reason why I am following the manuscript is because it outlines a way to restore my parents’ health.”

His sentence ends on half a breath, as though he originally intended to say more. He doesn’t. You wait, but nothing comes out.

“And?”

He kneels beside your chair, no longer towering over you or crowding your space. When he speaks again, he is quiet. But in the silence of his office, you hear it clear as day.

“And because that is what you want.”

Many history textbooks praise the Sea Witch for her spells and potions. One of the most famous ones took away a mermaid’s voice. You wonder if this is what that mermaid felt like. A storm of thoughts, but none able to be processed by your vocal chords. Parted lips that leak no sounds. You stare, nonplussed.

Eventually, you manage to let out a breathy, barely-heard whisper.

“What?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “That is the truth. If that is what you wish for, then I will do my best to live up to your expectations. I know your good friend (Y/N)’s life is difficult. I know you think that by following this manuscript, everyone will be happy, because that is what it says will happen.”

You continue staring. The words seem to pass through you. It’s as though you are sitting in a dream, your surroundings wavering and surreal. What is he saying?

“The truth is that I could simply care less about (Y/N). She is at most an acquaintance. The reason why I give her special treatment is because I know she is precious to you.” He keeps rambling. You get the sense that he has been keeping quiet about this for a while. “As for the matter concerning my parents. If we follow the story, there is still no guarantee that they will be cured. Even you said you do not know if the manuscript’s plot will certainly come to pass. If Vil Schoenheit refuses to help my family, we will think of another way. He is not the only alchemist or curse expert in the world.

“I will follow what you want. But do not ask me to fall in love with (Y/N). That is the one thing I cannot do.”

“Why?” Your brain feels like porridge. Nothing seems to be getting through it. You cannot reason out a single thing. Isn’t (Y/N) created to be loved? Aren’t they written to fit like a glove on each other’s fingers? You’ve read the story. There doesn’t seem to be a particular reason why the Jade in the story obsesses over her aside from spending time together. It doesn’t actually matter. It’s the author’s will that their love is written in the stars—and the pages of that damn manuscript. It’s the point of the entire plot. “Is there something you don’t like about her?”

“Do I need a reason for failing to fall in love?”

Your mind blanks. Does he need a reason? He has a similar line in the manuscript. Do I need a reason for falling in love? If you think about it, isn’t it the same? No matter how you try and reason out the answer, love is not a puzzle with a logical answer. There is no formula, no recipe, no surefire step-by-step manual that you can follow to ensure success. Sometimes a spark causes a flame, and sometimes it sizzles out and dies. There is nobody to blame for either outcome.

You can’t wrap your mind around it. Why. Why. Why. Your brain, constantly overflowing with thoughts, cannot leave this topic to rest. A puzzle without an answer leaves you feeling antsy. Not knowing everything is a sin to your conscience.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That is how love tends to be.”

An unsatisfactory answer. You dig your nails into your palm.

“Then answer me this. Why do you follow what I want? Is it because I’m interesting? No, that’s not right. You just said following a pre-written script is boring, and that’s exactly what I told you to do. I don’t understand.”

“The script is boring. You are anything but.”

“Me? What have I done?”

He smiles, then, one wholly different from his polite masks or his teasing grins or even his unhinged laughter. It’s an expression you associate with the times he talks about his interests. The expression that blankets and scatters across his countenance like orange rays of the setting sun over ocean waves. A quiet and calm beauty. A fondness that he rarely allows to be seen.

“Did you know that when you have much on your mind, you look up to the sky? That is why you prefer rooms with windows. The attic in my home that you love so dearly is one such room, and you spend all your time there nestled on the window seat. On that topic, you prefer small spaces because it helps you feel secure while you think. This is because you tend to zone out, and it is easier to defend yourself when no threats can appear behind you.”

“Uh, this is more like a behavioural report than a reason.”

“I do adore observing your behaviour. Particularly when you are lost in thought. I find myself wondering what you’re thinking about. If you’ll share them with me. But oftentimes, you do not trust me enough to do so.”

You swallow hard. “It’s hard to.”

“Why is that? I’ve known you for fifteen years. Floyd has known you for just as long, Azul a little less. (Y/N) has only known you for one year. So why can’t you trust me?”

You fiddle with your fingers, no longer capable of meeting his gaze. This kind of outburst is not something you expected from Jade. How long has he been thinking this way?

“I can’t tell what’s going on in your head. That’s why. Everything you say or do just gives me more to think about. If you’re being genuine or not, if you’ll suddenly decide to turn on me, things like that.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes. His smile shifts from fond to rueful and raw desperation permeates his shaky voice. It sounds brittle, as though a well-aimed push would shatter it into infinitesimal pieces.

“Is it so inconceivable that I could do things for you without ulterior motives?”

You look away. “Only until it no longer serves your interests or amuses you. Even if I can’t trust you fully, I’m sure there’s at least some level of it between us. I mean, we see each other regularly. I even let you drive me home.”

“Yes, but I am afraid I am a greedy man. Anyone else turning their back on me would be tolerable, but you—if it’s you . . . . At least promise me this. Even if I turn on the entire world,” he declares quietly, “promise you will trust that I will not betray you.”

You open your mouth as though to reply. Nothing comes out. You try again, your fingers gripping your knees tightly.

“I think we’re too similar. We’re both too cautious. We both think too much. Because of that, I can’t let my guard down around you.”

“Yet that is exactly what fascinates me.” He places a hand over yours. “Trying to decipher your thoughts, wondering about the motivations behind your actions, these are all things I find myself enthralled by. Your brutality and decisiveness towards that which would benefit you, but your willingness to do anything for the people dear to you. Your cautious nature as you execute your bold plans. Every time I think I have you pinned down, I only unearth another layer. The mystery intrigues me. On the other hand, I cannot help but wish you would trust and open up to me a little more.”

“That’s contradictory.”

“I cannot help it.” He smiles wryly. “I am contradictory by nature, as are you.”

You study his hand that engulfs yours. Cool to the touch. Ungloved, too. You muster your resolve.

“Then promise you won’t lie to me.” You finally lift your gaze until it returns to his eyes. Clear eyes that have been by your side for years. The eyes of a liar and schemer. Ironic for the one who wields a Signature Spell that forces out the truth. But these are the eyes of Jade Leech, and you won’t try to make him be someone he isn’t. “Lie to everyone else, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me. You can try to trick me or give me half-truths. I’ll figure them out on my own. If I still get fooled, that’s on me. Just don’t outright lie.”

The pounding of your heart fills your ears. Then, it is replaced by the sound of his quiet laughter.

“I expected nothing less from you.” He brings your hand up to touch his cheek. It only lasts a moment before he lets go and stands back up, returning to his seat. “I give you my word. I will never lie to you again.”

You look at the teacup on the desk, the lavender tea inside now cooled. The untouched cookies and cherries. A soft clink rings out as you take the teacup and bring it to your lips. Sweet and fragrant. Even cold, the tea Jade brews is impeccable.

[javierpenaismyhusband]

You Are Not Alone

Javier Pena x M!Reader (You)

Summary: Everything was fine until one night, as I was closing my café and heading home, I stumbled across a body, and the murderer. He attacked me, but I managed to survive. I thought about calling the cops, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hated them. That was until I met Javi, the cop who showed up at my door, the same one I had served coffee to on the day my life turned upside down. What followed was a messy, complicated connection that neither of us saw coming.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, mentions of blood, wounds, cuts, bruises, frequent fights, stitched-up injuries, 20-year age gap, knife fights, stabbings, mentions of murder, brief mentions of anarchy and politics (not heavily featured), minimal use of Y/N (only when necessary).

Notes: Hi there! I know it’s been a while since I last posted, but I’ve been busy with work, and life’s been a bit rough lately. I’m not too happy with this fic, but I promise I’ll write something better in the future. Thanks for sticking around!

It was early, and the café was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional sound of my cleaning rag swiping across the counter. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the tiny dust particles in the air like golden snow. I was wiping down the espresso machine, my mind half on the day ahead, when the door jingled.

I turned, a bit startled, to see a man step inside. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an easy confidence. His hair was dark, perfectly tousled as though he didn’t try too hard but still looked good. His face was strong and angular, with a neatly trimmed mustache that added to his rugged appeal. His brown eyes, though warm, held a hint of weariness, like someone who’d seen too much.

"Hey, did you open?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a hint of apology.

"Not yet," I replied, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart raced. He was, hands down, one of the best-looking guys I’d ever seen. "But tell me what you want."

He hesitated, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, thank you. A double espresso, if that’s okay."

"Perfect," I said, trying to hide my blush as I turned to the coffee machine. My hands moved automatically, grinding the beans and prepping the portafilter. I stole a glance at him as I worked, and he was standing there, looking around the café with an appreciative nod.

As I worked the espresso machine, he took a slow look around the shop. His eyes scanned the shelves lined with jars of coffee beans, the small potted plants scattered across tables, and the art pieces on the walls.

"This is a nice coffee shop," he said, his voice warm with approval. "How come I’ve never seen it before?"

I kept my eyes on the machine, focusing on tamping the grounds. "Oh, probably because it was closed for a while. I bought it from the previous owner and renovated it. Tried to make it as good as I could."

"You did that on your own? Bought the place all by yourself?" he asked, his tone tinged with surprise.

Before I could respond, he added, "You look like you’re, what, 22 years old? How did you do it?"

I couldn’t help but laugh as I placed the cup on the saucer and handed it to him. "I’m 20, actually."

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "No way."

"It wasn’t easy," I admitted, leaning lightly against the counter. "I was working two jobs, saving almost everything I earned. It took a while, but eventually, I had enough to make it happen. Opening this café was always the dream."

He studied me for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That’s impressive," he said sincerely, his voice carrying a note of admiration.

I glanced up at him, and our eyes met. For a moment, it felt like the world around us went quiet. His deep brown eyes held mine, and I couldn’t help but notice the warmth in them, tinged with something I couldn’t quite place. My cheeks warmed, and I quickly turned away, focusing on the counter.

"Thank you," I said, trying to sound casual, though I knew the blush was probably giving me away.

As he pulled out his wallet, he asked, "What do I owe you?"

"It’s on the house," I replied with a small smile, glancing at him again.

He looked up, a smirk spreading across his face. "Thank you..." he trailed off, waiting for my name.

"Y/N," I offered.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said, his voice rolling my name off his tongue in a way that made my heart race.

"And your name?" I asked, wanting to know more about the man who’d walked in like a storm and somehow left me feeling calm and jittery all at once.

"Javier," he said simply.

"Nice to talk to you, Javier. I hope I see you again," I said, trying to sound confident.

He gave me a smile that was almost a promise. "Oh, trust me, you will."

With that, he turned to leave, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried. Just as he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder. "Have a good day," he said, his voice smooth and warm.

"You too," I replied, watching as the door closed behind him.

The café was quiet again, but the lingering warmth of his presence stayed with me, making the morning feel brighter.

That day turned out to be amazing. The café was busier than ever, with people stopping by to admire the place and enjoy their coffee. It felt like all the hard work and late nights were finally paying off. By the time the evening rolled around, I was exhausted but happy.

As the last customer left, I locked up the shop, the soft click of the door feeling oddly satisfying. The streets were quiet, the city settling into its nighttime rhythm. I started walking home, the cool breeze brushing against my skin, refreshing after the busy day.

Wanting to get home faster, I decided to take a shortcut through a narrow alley. It wasn’t the best-lit path, but it was familiar, and I’d taken it plenty of times before.

As I was nearing the end, almost home, a shape on the ground caught my eye. It was a man, lying motionless, blood pooling beneath him. My breath hitched, and every hair on my body stood on end. Before I could even process what I was seeing, something moved in the shadows.

Out of nowhere, a figure lunged at me—a man in a mask, holding a knife. I barely had time to react before I felt a sharp, burning pain across my stomach. He’d cut me, but thankfully it wasn’t too deep. Adrenaline surged through me, and without thinking, I swung my fist, connecting hard with his face. He staggered, and I used the moment to tackle him to the ground.

I didn’t wait to see if he’d get back up. My instincts screamed at me to run, and I did. My legs carried me faster than I thought possible, the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

When I finally reached my building, I stopped to catch my breath, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed. The alley behind me was empty, but my pulse refused to slow down.

Shaking, I unlocked my door and stepped inside, locking it tightly behind me. I pressed my hand against the shallow cut on my stomach, wincing at the sting. Tonight had taken a sharp turn I hadn’t expected, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the masked man wouldn’t be the last of my worries.

I stumbled into the bathroom, flicking on the light with shaky hands. The sight in the mirror stopped me in my tracks, my shirt was stained with blood, and my face was pale, beads of sweat clinging to my forehead.

Grabbing the bottle of alcohol from the cabinet, I pulled out a clean towel. My hands trembled as I poured the alcohol onto the fabric, the sharp smell stinging my nose. Bracing myself, I pressed it against the wound on my stomach.

The pain was immediate and searing, and I couldn’t hold back a hiss. The blood hadn’t stopped flowing yet, so I kept pressure on the cut, watching the towel turn red. My breathing was uneven, the events of the night replaying in my head.

As I waited for the bleeding to slow, the thought crossed my mind: I should call the police. But just as quickly, I shook my head. The idea made my stomach twist—not from the wound, but from a deeper anger.

What would they do? Show up hours later, ask a few questions, and then write it off as just another random attack? They were pigs, more interested in their own power than in actually protecting people. I’d seen it before—stories of neglect, abuse, and indifference. They didn’t care about people’s lives, not really.

No, calling them wasn’t worth it. I’d take care of this myself, just like I always had.

When the bleeding finally slowed, I tied the towel tightly around my waist, makeshift as it was. I’d have to properly bandage it later, but for now, I just needed to sit down and let my head stop spinning.

I sank into the couch, the exhaustion and pain washing over me like a tidal wave. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and before I knew it, the world faded to black.

A loud, sharp knock jolted me awake. "Police! Open up!"

Panic shot through me like lightning. My mind raced, the events of the alley flashing before my eyes. Another knock followed, louder this time. "Police! Open up!"

I forced myself up, every movement a struggle, and shuffled to the door. Cracking it open just enough to peek out, I froze when I saw who was standing there.

"Javier?" I blurted out, my voice shaky and hoarse.

His brows furrowed slightly. "What are you doing here?" I tried to sound casual, like nothing was wrong, but my heart was pounding in my chest.

"Mmm... I’m working," he said, tilting his head as if to study me. My heart skipped a beat—nice, he’s a cop, I thought. Suddenly, the pieces began to click.

"How can I help you?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended, trying to mask my unease.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on my tone. "Have you seen anything strange around here? Heard anything unusual?" he asked, his voice steady, professional.

"No, not really," I replied, forcing calm into my words. But as I spoke, I glanced down for a second—big mistake. My shirt was damp, the wound on my stomach was bleeding like crazy.

Before I could react, dizziness swept over me like a wave, and the room tilted.

"Kid, are you okay?" Javier’s voice sounded far away, his concern cutting through the haze.

I felt my knees give out, and I reached for his shoulder instinctively, gripping it like a lifeline.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "I need to get you to a hospital."

"No," I croaked, barely audible. Summoning the last bit of strength I had, I clutched at him weakly. "No... no hospital."

And then the darkness claimed me again.

I wasn’t sure what pulled me out of the darkness, but a distant voice echoed in my mind, drawing me back. Slowly, I opened my eyes, blinking against the dim light. My head pounded, and my body felt heavy, like I’d been hit by a truck.

I didn’t recognize where I was—a small room, sparsely furnished but clean. Panic crept in as I tried to piece together what had happened. Before I could fully gather my thoughts, the door creaked open, and Javier stepped inside.

"Hey, hey, slow down, kid," he said, his voice calm but firm, rushing to my side. "You’ve been injured."

As he spoke, his hand moved to steady me, gently holding me by the shoulder and the side of my stomach, where the wound throbbed.

"Trust me, I know," I muttered, wincing as I shifted. The pain shot through me like a reminder of my reckless shortcut.

Javier shook his head, a mix of frustration and concern on his face. "You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. You passed out at your door. I had to bring you here."

"Here?" I glanced around the room again.

"My place," he said simply. "I didn’t think you’d want a hospital, and judging by your reaction earlier, I was right. Besides, I had the supplies to take care of you."

I looked at him, confused. "Supplies?"

He gestured toward a small table near the couch where I was lying. A sewing kit, gauze, and medical tape were laid out neatly.

"I stitched you up," he explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "The cut wasn’t deep enough to need a surgeon, but it still needed to be closed. I’ve had to handle worse out in the field."

"Stitched?" My eyes widened as my hand instinctively moved toward my stomach, but he caught my wrist before I could pull at the bandage.

"Don’t touch it," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You’ll just mess it up. Trust me, you don’t want to go through that pain again."

I let my hand drop, nodding slowly. "Thanks... for doing that. And for not taking me to the hospital."

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair he’d pulled closer. "You’re welcome. But don’t get the wrong idea—this doesn’t mean I think you handled things the right way. You could’ve bled out."

"I didn’t," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, though his words hit uncomfortably close to home.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Yeah, well, next time you find yourself in trouble, don’t be stubborn. Call someone. You can’t always handle things on your own."

I glanced at the neat stitches under the bandage, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and embarrassment. "I’ll... keep that in mind."

"Good," he said, standing up. "You should rest. Moving around too much could open the wound again."

"Sorry," I said, swinging my legs off the couch despite the pain that shot through me. "But I need to go."

Javier turned sharply, frowning. "No, no, you can’t leave in your condition. You’ve been stitched up, not magically healed."

I stood slowly, clutching my side. "Javi, don’t take this the wrong way, but one—I have to open my shop. And two..." I hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I don’t like being in a place with a police officer."

That seemed to hit him. His brows furrowed, and his expression shifted between sadness and frustration. "You don’t like...?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate everything you did for me—stitching me up, bringing me here, everything. But I just can’t stay."

I grabbed my phone and jacket, determined to leave before this got more complicated. I limped toward the door, every step a mix of pain and stubbornness. Just as I reached for the handle, a strong hand slammed against the door, keeping it shut.

"You’re not leaving," Javier said, his voice low but firm.

I turned to face him, my heart racing. His dark eyes locked onto mine, a mix of concern and something else I couldn’t quite read.

"Javi—"

"Listen to me," he cut me off, his hand still pressed firmly against the door. "You’re hurt, and walking around in your condition isn’t just stupid—it’s reckless. I don’t care how tough you think you are or how much you need to get back to work. You’re staying here until I know you’re not going to keel over in the middle of the street."

His words were sharp, but his voice softened as he added, "And about the whole 'police officer' thing—I get it. But I’m not just some badge, okay? I’m a guy trying to help you."

His hand slowly slid from the door, but he didn’t move back. "So, can you please just sit down and let me make sure you’re okay?"

I hesitated, torn between my instinct to bolt and the weight of his words. Finally, I nodded, sighing. "Fine. But only for a little while."

Javier stepped back, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Now, sit down, and I’ll make you something to eat. You look like you could use it."

I didn’t say a word as he watched me, his dark eyes unwavering. After a moment, Javier brushed his thumb across his bottom lip, a small habit I couldn’t help but notice, and then he turned away, heading straight for the kitchen.

The sounds of clattering pans and the faint sizzle of bacon filled the air, grounding me a little as I sat back on the couch. When he finally emerged, he placed a plate on the table with eggs, bacon, and two mugs of black coffee.

"Where’s your food?" I asked, frowning as I noticed he didn’t bring anything for himself.

Javier shrugged, leaning casually against the counter. "Oh, I’ve got stock at the station. This is just for you."

"Yeah, right," I said with a raised brow. I pushed myself up, ignoring the sharp ache in my side, and grabbed a spare plate from the counter. Before he could protest, I divided the food, sliding one egg and two strips of bacon onto the second plate.

"We share," I said simply, setting the plate in front of him.

Javier stood beside me, his big, expressive eyes locked on mine, filled with something I couldn’t quite name. Gratefulness? Surprise? Whatever it was, it made the air feel heavier, like all the tension I’d been trying to ignore had condensed into this one moment.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he sat down across from me, his gaze flicking between me and the plate like he wasn’t used to someone doing something so... small but thoughtful.

The silence between us felt louder than it should have. Every glance, every small movement—his hand brushing against the mug, the way he sipped his coffee—it all felt charged.

I caught myself staring too long, his lips curved around the edge of the mug, and I quickly looked away. Get your shit together, I thought, my heart beating way too fast. He’s a fucking cop.

But then he looked at me again, his eyes soft and warm, and for a split second, I thought about leaning in. About closing the space between us and finding out if his lips tasted like coffee or something sweeter.

Instead, I shoved another bite of bacon into my mouth and cleared my throat. "So... you’re just gonna stare at me all morning, or are you actually gonna eat?"

Javier chuckled, his smirk returning. "I’ll eat. But you might want to work on your bedside manner, kid. You’re not exactly the grateful patient type."

"Grateful patient? That’s rich coming from someone who stitched me up and then guilt-tripped me into staying," I shot back, smirking.

His laugh was deep, genuine, and I couldn’t help but smile. For a moment, the tension melted, replaced by something lighter.

"You know, this coffee is amazing," I said, taking another sip and savoring the bitterness.

"Stop," Javier replied, rolling his eyes with a small smirk. "It’s just black coffee."

Before I could argue, his phone buzzed loudly on the counter. He grabbed it, glancing at the screen before standing up to answer.

"Hey, Murphy, what’s up?" he said, his voice casual but with an edge of irritation.

As he listened, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease. The faint scent of tobacco filled the room as he leaned against the wall, his free hand resting on his hip.

"I’m not coming in today," he said after a moment, his tone firm. "I’m feeling a little sick."

I raised an eyebrow at that, watching him as he paced a few steps.

There was a pause while the person on the other end—Murphy, I guessed—kept talking. Javier nodded absently, taking a drag from his cigarette, the faint glow of the ember catching my attention.

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine," he said, exhaling smoke in a slow stream. "You have a good day."

With that, he hung up and set the phone on the counter, stubbing the cigarette out in a small ashtray nearby.

"You called in sick?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

Javier turned to me with a shrug. "Figured someone should stick around and make sure you don’t try to do anything stupid, like open your shop in your condition."

I snorted, leaning back in my chair. "You’re really milking this whole 'you’re hurt' thing, huh?"

"Call it what you want," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "But I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know you’re okay."

"Why?" I asked, setting my mug down a little too hard. The sound echoed in the quiet room, but I didn’t care. "Why do you care? You don’t know me. You just came to my shop, got some coffee, and now you’re acting like—"

"Like what?" he interrupted, his voice calm but edged with something I couldn’t place.

"Like we’re friends or something," I finished, the anger bubbling up in my chest. I wasn’t even sure why I was mad, but the words kept coming. "We’re not. You don’t owe me anything, and I don’t need you playing hero."

Javier didn’t flinch at my tone. He just looked at me, his dark eyes steady, unreadable. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Maybe you’re right," he said finally, his voice quieter. "Maybe I don’t know you. But I know what it’s like to have no one around when you need them. And I’m not about to walk away from someone who’s clearly been through... whatever the hell you’ve been through."

His words hit harder than I expected. My shoulders tensed, and I looked away, staring down at my hands on the table.

"I don’t need help," I muttered, though it sounded weak even to my own ears.

"Maybe not," Javier said, stepping closer. His tone was firm, but not unkind. "But you’re getting it anyway. So stop trying to push me away like I’m some stranger who doesn’t give a damn."

"But you are a stranger," I said, my voice cold as I stood up.

Javier’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t move.

Before he could respond, I grabbed my things and pushed past him, putting some space between us. "Thanks for the stitches, but I’m done here."

He reached out like he might stop me but let his hand drop, his jaw tightening as he watched me walk to the door.

For a split second, I hesitated, hoping—wanting—him to say something, to stop me. But he didn’t.

I opened the door and stepped outside, letting it shut behind me with a soft thud.

The night air was cold against my skin, the quiet of the street amplifying the sound of my hurried footsteps. My chest was tight, a knot of anger, frustration, and something I didn’t want to admit.

Part of me hoped he would come after me, but as I glanced back over my shoulder, the house remained still, the warm light from the window glowing faintly.

He didn’t follow.

The disappointment hit harder than I expected, but I swallowed it down, walking faster.

I didn’t need him.

I didn’t need anyone.

When I got home, the first thing that greeted me was the bloodstained towel and the mess from the night before. The sight of it all—the dried blood, the chaotic reminder of everything that had happened—made my stomach turn.

I sighed, setting my things down carefully. The last thing I needed was to rip my wound open again. Slowly, I moved through the room, picking up the towel and tossing it into the sink. The coppery scent of dried blood hit me as I rinsed it under the faucet, the water turning pink before swirling down the drain.

I wiped the counters, sweeping away any lingering evidence of the chaos. My side ached with every movement, but I ignored it, focusing on getting the place back to some semblance of normal.

When I finally finished, I collapsed onto the couch, wincing as my body protested. The quiet of the apartment settled over me, but my mind refused to match the stillness.

The masked man. The body.

The image flashed through my head, vivid and relentless. His face—or what little I’d seen of it behind the mask—haunted me. The glint of the knife. The feeling of warm blood soaking into my clothes.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push it all away. But then, unbidden, another thought crept in: Why didn’t Javier ask me how I got the wound?

He had every opportunity. He clearly knew something was off—his questions, the way he looked at me, it all screamed that he was suspicious.

Should I have told him?

The thought sent a shiver through me. Could I have trusted him with the truth? Would he have believed me? Or would he have just dragged me down to the station, thrown me into some interrogation room, and treated me like a suspect instead of a victim?

My chest tightened as doubt crept in. Maybe I’d made the right choice by walking away. Or maybe…

I shook my head, cutting the thought short. What was done was done. I just needed to stay focused, keep my head down, and figure out what the hell I was going to do next.

As I was on the couch, trying to steady my thoughts, a loud knock on the door jolted me upright. It wasn’t friendly or casual—it was urgent, almost threatening.

I stood, heart pounding, and approached cautiously.

Then came the crash.

The door slammed open, nearly ripping off its hinges. In the doorway stood the masked man, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hall.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, barely processing before he charged at me.

His fist swung wide, catching me across the jaw before I could react. Pain exploded in my face as I stumbled back, barely keeping my balance.

He didn’t stop. Another punch came, slamming into my ribs and knocking the air out of me. I doubled over, gasping, but as his arm came down again, I raised mine to block it. My palm collided with his elbow, pushing it away as I pivoted and delivered a sharp kick to his side.

He grunted, staggering, but recovered quickly.

The next thing I knew, his shoulder drove into me like a battering ram, sending us both crashing into the coffee table. I hit the floor hard, shards of broken glass digging into my palms as I scrambled to push him off.

His knee came up, slamming into my stomach. I choked on the pain but managed to twist my body, throwing him off me just enough to roll away.

“Bastard,” I growled, spitting blood as I got to my feet.

He lunged, aiming a wild punch at my head. I ducked, countering with a jab to his gut, then a quick uppercut that snapped his head back. But he was relentless, shaking it off and swinging again.

This time, his fist caught me square in the temple, and stars burst in my vision. I staggered, barely keeping my footing as he pressed the advantage, landing another punch to my shoulder that spun me around.

I stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady myself. He was on me in an instant, slamming me into the cabinets with enough force to rattle the dishes inside.

Fury flared in me, overriding the pain. I turned sharply, grabbing the edge of the counter and using it to propel myself into a spin kick that caught him in the side of the head.

He hit the floor but rolled immediately, snatching up a knife from the counter.

“Shit,” I hissed, backing away.

He swung the blade in tight arcs, forcing me to stay on the defensive. Each slash came closer than the last, grazing my shirt, cutting the air just inches from my skin.

As I staggered back from the blow, my heart hammering in my chest, I saw my chance. The masked man was disoriented, his breath coming in ragged gasps as we circled each other. I moved quickly, grabbing at the edge of his mask. It came off with a tug, revealing a face I didn’t recognize—a rough-looking guy, maybe in his late thirties. His dark hair was slicked back, his face marked with a few scars. His eyes were cold, like he’d seen too much, and his jaw was clenched in frustration.

Before I could say anything, he froze, his eyes darting to the window.

I heard the distant sound of sirens growing louder, and in a flash, he made a break for it.

Without warning, he bolted for the window, shoving it open and scrambling out onto the first-floor ledge.

“Shit!” I shouted, stumbling forward, but it was too late. He was already gone, his figure disappearing into the shadows.

I barely had time to catch my breath when the sound of sirens filled the air.

The police arrived moments later, rushing through the door with weapons drawn. I raised my hands, trying to steady my breathing.

“He—he jumped out of the window,” I managed to say, pointing toward the open window where he’d disappeared. “I—I saw him run. He’s gone.”

A few officers immediately moved toward the window, peering out into the darkness below.

One of them, a tall woman with short-cropped hair, turned back to me. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

They quickly began their search around the building, but I could tell he was already long gone.

Javier entered last, his expression grim. His eyes scanned the room, locking onto me with a mix of concern and irritation.

“You good?” he asked, his voice soft but tense.

I swallowed hard, nodding again. “Yeah. I’m fine. He... he didn’t get me.”

Javier didn’t seem convinced, his eyes flicking to the window and then back to me. “That guy’s fast. Let’s hope we can catch him before he gets too far.”

The officers began their work, and Javier stayed close, his presence a grounding force in the chaos.

After I gave my statement to one of the officers, explaining what happened, they started taking evidence from the scene. My house felt like it was under complete scrutiny, and the officers moved in and out with cold efficiency, their voices a blur of unintelligible chatter.

One officer, a woman with short hair and a focused expression, approached me next. “I need you to describe the man in as much detail as possible,” she said, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. “We’re going to sketch him. Every little thing helps.”

I nodded, trying to gather my thoughts. I described his face, his build, the scars I had seen, the way he moved, his clothes—everything I could remember. The officer jotted everything down as I spoke, her eyes focused and intense.

As she worked, I heard snippets of conversation between the other officers. “He is definitely a part of some anarchist group,” one muttered. “Fucking communists causing trouble around here.”

I could feel my anger rising. I had enough of their generalizations and disrespect. I turned to face them, unable to hold it in anymore. “Is there something wrong, pigs?” I snapped, my voice cold, challenging.

The officer closest to me, a man with dark hair and a rough expression, glared at me, stepping forward aggressively. “You got a problem, kid?” he growled, his posture tense as if ready to pounce.

I tensed, preparing myself for whatever was coming. My fists clenched, my body coiling, ready to throw a punch. I wasn’t scared of him. I’d been through worse.

But then, just as the situation was about to escalate, I heard a sharp voice cut through the tension.

“STOP!”

It was Javier, his voice commanding and fierce. He stepped in between me and the officer, placing a hand on the man’s chest, pushing him back slightly. “Leave the kid alone,” he ordered, his voice low but filled with authority. “You’re not helping anything.”

The officer hesitated, clearly aware of the weight Javier's presence carried. After a tense moment, he muttered something under his breath and stepped back, unwilling to challenge Javier further.

Without a word, Javier grasped my arm and gently but firmly guided me out of my apartment. The cool air hit me immediately, sharp against my skin, and the fog of confusion from the fight began to lift, replaced by a gnawing clarity.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Javier’s voice was low, controlled, but the frustration was unmistakable. “You really trying to dig yourself deeper into this mess?”

I opened my mouth, but the words didn’t come. Part of me wanted to argue, but I knew it was futile. The anger simmered beneath the surface, but I kept quiet.

“Do you even realize what happens when you call a cop a ‘pig’?” Javier pressed on, his voice tinged with concern. “You think that’s gonna help your situation?”

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, barely audible, my eyes flicking to the ground. What was I supposed to say to that? Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control, and I was just trying to hold on.

Javier’s tone softened, though the concern remained. He stopped walking, turning me so I was facing him directly. His eyes narrowed, assessing me with a piercing gaze. “You almost died tonight,” he said, his words heavy, as if trying to make me understand the gravity of the situation.

I didn’t reply. What was there to say? He was right, but I wasn’t sure I could process it just yet. My stomach felt like it was full of concrete, and every inch of me ached with exhaustion.

Javier sighed softly and lifted his hand to my shirt, tugging it up gently to see the wound. I flinched instinctively, but his touch was careful, almost reverent. “You’re still bleeding,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking over the damage to my body—scrapes, bruises, the deep gash at my side.

I looked down at the blood slowly soaking through the fabric, and for the first time since the attack, I felt the full weight of what had happened.

“You’re a mess,” Javier muttered, more to himself than to me, though his voice held no judgment—just concern. “I shouldn’t have let you leave my place like this.”

I winced at his words. Part of me wanted to argue, to shrug it off, but the truth hung heavy in the air. My body was covered in wounds, bruises that felt like they belonged to someone else.

“I’m fine,” I said, though it came out weaker than I intended. “Just bruises.”

Javier’s gaze softened, but his determination didn’t waver. “You’re not fine,” he replied firmly, reaching for his phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No hospital,” I said, my voice a little more urgent than I had planned.

His brows furrowed. “Why?” he asked, disbelief creeping into his tone. “You’re seriously not going to the hospital?”

“If he found my house, he’d definitely think that after all this, I’d be heading to the hospital,” I replied, my voice tinged with frustration.

Javier opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. “What are you gonna do, send someone after me?” I scoffed. “Javi, they’re not gonna protect me. They’ll just see a ‘communist’ and brush me off.”

He exhaled sharply, a mixture of annoyance and concern clouding his features. “Yeah, better than nothing. But you’re not getting it. If he finds you again, he’s gonna kill you, kid.”

My eyes locked onto his, and I felt a flash of heat surge through me. “No, no, you don’t get it. If he finds me again, I’m gonna kill him.” My words came out colder than I meant, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins drowned out any sense of restraint.

Javier stared at me, his jaw tightening. “Don’t talk like that,” he warned, though his voice held more concern than reprimand. “You’re not a killer, don’t let yourself go there.”

I didn’t respond, just turned and made my way to the door. Part of me wanted to just disappear, to bury myself in the chaos of it all. But there was no escaping what had happened—and there was no escaping the fact that I wasn’t about to sit idly by and let that man come after me again.

“You can’t do this alone, kid,” Javier said, his voice softer now, but still firm. “Let me help you.”

I hesitated, my hand on the doorknob, but my mind was already made up. "I’ve got this," I muttered, stepping out into the cold night air, leaving Javier standing there, watching me.

I was consumed with anger, a sense of isolation gnawing at me. I didn’t have anyone to turn to; my house was now a crime scene, and I was alone in this town, uncertain and vulnerable. I found myself back at my shop, the only place that offered any semblance of normalcy. The doors opened, and I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the familiar space, but it felt different—empty, as though something had been stripped away.

Time seemed to blur as I stood there, lost in my thoughts. About an hour passed before I heard a knock on the window. My heart skipped a beat, and I turned slowly, dreading what I might see.

It was Javier.

I opened the door without hesitation, knowing that there was no escaping the moment.

“Kid, please don’t be so stubborn,” he said, his voice edged with concern. “Come with me.”

I didn’t say anything, my anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Kid, please,” he repeated, his voice softer now, a mixture of plea and frustration.

Still, I remained silent, refusing to show weakness. Javier, however, wasn’t deterred. He stepped closer, his movements purposeful, and without waiting for my permission, grabbed my things. He gently positioned himself in front of me, locking eyes with me, his presence unmistakable.

“Just for tonight,” he said, the words more of a request than a demand, though the tone was unwavering. “Come with me.”

I hesitated, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My pride told me not to, to stand my ground. But in the end, my heart couldn’t ignore the quiet desperation inside me. I gave a reluctant nod, allowing him to lead me out.

As we stepped into the cool night, Javier’s hand found my shoulder. He squeezed it gently, his voice low and sincere.

“I’m here. I know we’re not friends or anything, but I’m here,” he said, his words grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The walls I’d built up came crumbling down. Without thinking, I collapsed against his chest, the tears I’d been holding back finally breaking free.

Javier held me without a word, his grip firm yet gentle. One hand rested on my back, the other softly cradling my head, as if trying to shield me from everything. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. His presence was enough, grounding me when I felt like I was about to fall apart. In that moment, I let go, allowing him to hold me as I cried, the tears falling freely now that I wasn’t alone.

When I finally pulled away, my eyes were swollen, and my chest felt raw from the emotion, but there was a small sense of relief. Javier didn’t try to speak right away; he simply offered me a comforting look before guiding me to his car.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between us. My mind raced, but it was as though I couldn’t find the words. I’d been so angry earlier, and now, in this strange comfort, that anger felt distant, like a faint memory I couldn’t fully grasp.

When we arrived at his home, the familiar ache in my body returned, but there was a strange sense of security here, in this space. Javier led me inside, and the warmth of his home seemed to settle me, even if just a little.

“Go get a shower,” Javier said softly, his voice almost reassuring. “When you’re done, I’ll be here waiting to patch you up again.”

He motioned toward the bathroom, then added, “I’ve already set out a pair of clean towels for you, and I’ll get you some fresh clothes.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. I didn’t want to admit how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness, but the simple act of caring felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders.

As I stepped into the bathroom, I let the water wash over me, the warmth sinking into my muscles, easing the tension that had built up from the fight, the fear, and everything else. It was the first moment in what felt like ages where I could breathe without feeling like something was closing in on me.

When I finished, I wrapped myself in the clean towels Javier had set out for me, the fabric soft against my skin. As I opened the bathroom door, I saw him standing near the couch, already with a first aid kit in hand, his gaze soft but focused.

"Go to my room," he said, his voice steady. "I left you a spare set of clothes—t-shirt, a clean pair of boxers, socks, and some grey pants."

I nodded, turning to head toward the room he mentioned, but he stopped me.

"I’ll need you to wear only the underwear," Javier added, his tone serious. "I need to check for cuts or wounds on your legs too."

I hesitated for a moment, but then complied. There was no point in arguing when he was trying to help. I slipped into the clean underwear he'd left out for me, the fabric snug and comfortable. As I walked back to the living room, I felt a sense of vulnerability, but I had no choice but to trust him.

When I emerged, Javier was waiting, his expression focused but kind. He motioned for me to sit on the couch, and I did, feeling the weight of my exhaustion pressing on me. He knelt in front of me, his eyes scanning my legs, looking for any more wounds or bruises that I might’ve missed.

I hadn’t realized how many injuries I had until I saw the way his eyes took in each mark, the tenderness in his touch as he inspected my arms and legs. There were bruises from the punches and kicks, cuts from the glass shards, and my right eye was already swelling, turning a deep purple. A cut ran from my left eyebrow, and smaller lacerations marked my arms, my hand bruised and scraped from the earlier fight. And then there was the stomach wound, which he had stitched earlier, now painfully reopened.

"Kid," Javier muttered, his voice low with concern as his fingers gently pressed against the wound, making me wince. "This is still bad. We need to clean it again and close it up properly, but I don’t want to push you too hard."

"I’m fine," I said, trying to sound strong, even though my body screamed otherwise. "Just do what you need to."

Javier didn’t hesitate. He took a deep breath, his brow furrowing as he went to work, carefully cleaning the cut on my stomach first. His hands were steady, even though I could see the concern in his eyes. He worked in silence, focused on getting the job done, but there was an unspoken understanding between us, something that told me he actually cared.

After some time, he finished and gently patted the bandage on my stomach. “You’re all set, kid. Just try not to reopen it again, okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded, wincing slightly as I adjusted myself.

Javier stood up, grabbing a bottle of water from the bedside table. “Let’s get your bed ready,” he said as he moved to the side.

I hesitated. “What? I’m not taking your bed, Javi.”

“Don’t argue with me, kid. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll stay on the couch,” I insisted.

“Kid, no. It’s really okay. Just rest.”

“Javi,” I said firmly, “If you don’t sleep in your bed, I’m not staying.”

Javier looked at me, a moment of frustration crossing his face, but it softened. “Come on, kid.”

I didn’t argue further, following him to the bed. He made sure the covers were arranged before helping me get under them. My body still ached, but at least I felt a little more comfortable, even though I was only in my underwear.

Javier left the water bottle on the nightstand beside me and started heading toward the door. But before he left, I called out to him.

“Javi.”

“Yeah?” He turned, pausing in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he looked back at me.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” I said softly, my voice wavering slightly.

He tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “What are you saying?”

I hesitated, my fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. “Just… stay here. It’s your bed, and I don’t feel right making you sleep out there.” My voice dropped lower, barely audible. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Javier’s eyes softened, his posture relaxing as he studied me. For a moment, I thought he might argue, but instead, he sighed quietly and nodded.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his chest. The soft trail of hair leading down from his sternum caught my attention, but I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in my face. He unbuckled his jeans next, sliding them off with practiced ease before folding them and placing them neatly on the chair by the wall.

Wordlessly, he moved to the bed and slipped under the covers beside me. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between us.

We lay there in silence, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking. My heart thudded against my ribcage, and I turned my head to find him already looking at me.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he replied, his voice steady, almost soothing. “But I want to.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made my chest ache. Without thinking, I shifted closer to him, and his arm moved instinctively, wrapping around me. His hand rested lightly on my back, his thumb brushing small, reassuring circles against my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my face pressed against his chest.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly, his other hand coming up to gently cradle the back of my head. “I’m here.”

We lay there, just the two of us, in silence. His eyes locked with mine, and the tension between us was thick, almost electric. I could feel the weight of everything unsaid in that moment. Javier’s gaze softened as he leaned in slowly, his arms wrapping around me in a careful, gentle embrace. Our faces were inches apart.

Without thinking, something inside me snapped. I leaned in, my lips pressing against his in a quick, soft kiss. His mustache brushed my skin, a light tickle that sent a shiver down my spine. The kiss was fleeting, but it was enough. My heart hammered in my chest, unsure of what had just happened, yet feeling the pull of something I couldn’t quite name.

Javier didn’t pull away immediately. His body tensed for just a second, his breath catching as if he was just as surprised as I was. But then, he relaxed, the warmth radiating from him drawing me in like a steady flame.

We didn’t speak. Neither of us seemed ready to break the fragile quiet that had settled over us. The room was dim, the soft rustle of the sheets the only sound as I stayed close to him, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

As I lay there, my thoughts spun uncontrollably. Did I really just kiss a man I met a day ago? A cop, no less? And now I’m in his bed, clinging to him like he’s my lifeline?

The questions circled in my mind, but none of them felt as important as the steady rise and fall of Javier’s chest beneath my cheek. The warmth of his skin, the quiet strength of his arms around me—it was grounding in a way I hadn’t felt in so long.

I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply, pushing the doubts and second-guessing to the back of my mind. For now, I let myself rest, letting my head settle against his chest, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled me into a fragile sense of peace.

Javier didn’t move or speak, and that silence was more comforting than any words could have been. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe enough to just exist in the moment, even if it didn’t make sense.

And slowly, against the odds, I drifted into sleep.

That night was so peaceful it felt like I had slept for days. I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up feeling so rested, like a weight had been lifted—at least for a little while.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the first thing I noticed was that the bed beside me was empty. Javier was gone. For a moment, a pang of sadness hit me, an ache I didn’t expect. The warmth of his presence from last night was replaced by an emptiness that made the room feel colder.

I sighed, sitting up slowly, my body stiff and sore. Every movement reminded me of the fight, the bruises, and the open wounds. I winced as I stretched and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The clothes Javier had left for me the night before were neatly folded on a chair. I pulled on the gray pants, the black T-shirt, and the socks, each motion slow and deliberate. The fabric was soft and clean, but everything still felt heavier on my aching body.

I made my way out to the kitchen, each step echoing faintly in the quiet apartment. The smell of coffee and faint smoke greeted me before I saw him. Javier stood by the counter, leaning against it with a mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He wore a fitted khaki T-shirt and black jeans, his hair slightly messy, like he hadn’t been awake for long.

“Hey, good morning,” he said, his voice warm but casual. As soon as he saw me, he stubbed out the cigarette and quickly moved to pour another mug of coffee.

“Good morning,” I replied, my voice soft as I shuffled to the table and sank into a chair.

Javier placed the steaming mug in front of me, his expression softening as he glanced over me. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore,” I admitted, wrapping my hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into my palms, but it didn’t quite reach the ache in my muscles. “Everything hurts more now.”

He pulled out a chair across from me and sat down, his gaze steady and concerned. “That’s normal. The adrenaline wears off, and you feel it all at once.”

I nodded, taking a small sip of the coffee. It was strong and bitter, just how I liked it. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was comforting in a way, like neither of us needed to fill the space with words.

“Javi, can I take one?” I asked, nodding toward the pack of cigarettes on the table.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate as he slid the pack and lighter toward me. “You smoke?”

I hesitated for a second as I picked one up, rolling it between my fingers. “I was smoking a lot of pot...” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I froze, realizing who I was talking to—a cop.

Javier leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable for a moment. I braced myself for some lecture or even a disapproving look, but instead, he just smirked faintly. “Pot, huh? Well, that explains the calm under pressure.”

“Yeah...” I said, exhaling a stream of smoke, my eyes flitting up to meet his. “Javi, about the kiss last night—”

Before I could finish, he stood, moving toward me with an unhurried confidence that made my breath hitch. Without a word, he plucked the cigarette from my hand, placing it neatly in the ashtray. Then, in one fluid motion, he leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn’t hurried or impulsive—it was deliberate. His lips were warm and steady, and the weight of the kiss felt like an answer to every question swirling in my mind. My body froze for a moment, caught in disbelief, before the tension eased, and I found myself leaning into him, my fingers brushing against the edge of the table to steady myself.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his gaze soft but unreadable. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice low, a quiet reassurance laced in every word.

I winced at the word. “Javi, fuck... I like all this, but I don’t know anything about you, and I want to know,” I said, my words spilling out in a rush. “I don’t want this to be, like, a one-night thing, you know?”

His brows furrowed slightly, and for a moment, I thought I’d said too much. But then his expression softened, and he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not wrong to ask for that,” he said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “And you’re right—we don’t know much about each other. This... it’s fast, and I get why that might feel off to you.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “I just... I’ve had enough of people coming into my life and leaving like it meant nothing. I’m not saying this has to mean everything, but I want it to mean something.”

Javier’s eyes searched mine, and I could see something flicker there—understanding, maybe, or regret. “I don’t do one-night stands anymore,” he admitted quietly. “Not for a long time. And I wouldn’t be here now if I thought that’s all this was.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “Then why haven’t you told me anything about you?”

Javier hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking away, and then he spoke, his voice steady. “We didn’t have the time to be honest.”

He was right. Our time together had been too short, too rushed for anything real. But I didn’t want to let it slip away.

“But we have now,” he finished, his gaze returning to mine, softer than before.

We sat there for a moment, the air between us quiet but full of unspoken things. Then, slowly, we began to talk—about everything and nothing.

He told me more than I expected, revealing bits and pieces of his life that had always seemed out of reach. Stories of his family, his past, and the things that shaped him into the person sitting across from me.

I listened, drawn in by his words, by the way he spoke so openly when he didn’t need to.

As the conversation drifted, I found myself doing the same—talking about things I hadn’t even realized I needed to say. It was strange, this connection we were building, but it felt like the right kind of strange.

When the silence finally stretched between us again, it was comfortable, not heavy with unanswered questions anymore.

Javier leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his lips. “This feels... good,” he said, voice quieter now.

I nodded, feeling something shift in my chest. “Yeah, it does.”

"Hey, Javi, by the way—something you didn’t mention. How old are you?"

Javier let out a quiet laugh, setting his coffee mug down and leaning back in his chair. His arms crossed, his smirk almost playful. "I’m turning 40 this year."

I blinked, my eyes going wide. "Fuck off," I said, genuinely surprised. "No way."

He just looked at me, deadpan. "Yeah, I’m getting old."

"Fuck, you’re a grandpa," I teased, smirking.

Javi laughed, shaking his head. "Stop it," he said, clearly amused but trying to play it cool.

I couldn’t resist. "I mean, you’re calling me ‘kid,’ but I could definitely be your kid."

His eyes widened for a second, then he threw his hands up. "Fuck off," he said, chuckling but looking a little flustered.

I got up, stepping toward him, my heart beating a little faster. I looked into his eyes, the words bubbling up before I could stop them. "I like it," I said, my voice softer than I meant. "I like you."

Before he could respond, I leaned down, closing the gap between us, and kissed him. It was quiet at first, almost tentative, but it felt like everything I had been trying to say, all the things that had been building up, poured into that one moment.

It started slow, tentative, my lips brushing against his in a delicate dance. But then his hand came up to cradle the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against mine, hot and demanding, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. My hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if I might fall if I let go.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing heavily. His eyes searched mine, filled with questions, but before he could say anything, I dropped to my knees in front of him.

“What are you—” he started, but I cut him off, my fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. His breath hitched as I undid his pants, pulling them down just enough to free him.

He was already half-hard, and I wrapped my hand around him, stroking him slowly, feeling the weight of him in my palm. I glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, and saw the hunger there, the way his jaw tightened as I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hand tangling in my hair as I took him into my mouth.

I moved slowly, savoring the taste of him, the way his body responded to every flick of my tongue, every gentle pull of my lips. Javier groaned, his grip on my hair tightening just enough to send a thrill through me. I loved this—the control, the power I had in this moment, even as I knelt before him. I loved the way he cursed under his breath, the way his hips bucked slightly, as if he couldn’t help himself.

But I wasn’t in a rush. I wanted to take my time, to tease him, to draw out every sound, every reaction. I pulled back slightly, letting my tongue swirl around the head of his cock before taking him deeper, until my nose brushed against his stomach. His thighs tensed, and I could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his entire body seemed to coil with anticipation.

“Jesus,” he breathed, his voice rough. “You’re going to kill me.”

I smirked around him, letting my teeth graze lightly before sucking harder, my hand working in tandem with my mouth. Javier’s moan was louder this time, unrestrained, and it sent a jolt of arousal straight through me. I could feel myself hardening in my own pants, but I ignored it, focusing entirely on him, on the way his body trembled under my touch.

His hand in my hair tightened again, and he tugged gently, urging me to stop. Reluctantly, I pulled back, looking up at him with a question in my eyes.

“Not like this,” he said, his voice strained. “I want—fuck, I want more.”

I stood slowly, my knees protesting slightly, and Javier grabbed my wrist, pulling me down onto his lap. His hardness pressed against me, and I sucked in a sharp breath as his hands slid under my shirt, his fingers trailing over my skin. His touch was electric, sending sparks wherever he touched, and I arched into him, needing more.

His lips found mine again, this kiss hungrier, more desperate than before. I could feel the urgency in him now, the way his hands roamed over my body, exploring, claiming. When his fingers dipped below the waistband of my pants, I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily.

“Javier,” I murmured against his mouth, my voice shaking. “Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. In one swift motion, he stood, lifting me with him, and set me down on the edge of the table. His hands were everywhere, stripping me of my clothes, without touching my wounds or burses his mouth following, leaving searing kisses and bites along my neck, my chest, my stomach. By the time he straightened, I was trembling, my body aching for him.

Javier stepped back just enough to kick off his pants completely, his cock standing proudly, fully hard now. He reached into the drawer, pulling out a small bottle of lube, and I felt a fresh wave of arousal wash over me. He was always prepared, always careful, and that's what i like about him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching mine.

I nodded, unable to form words, and he smiled softly, leaning in to kiss me again. This kiss was slower, almost tender, a stark contrast to the heat of moments before. When he pulled back, he poured some lube onto his fingers, warming it before reaching between us.

The first press of his finger against me made me gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. He went slowly, easing me open with a patience that drove me mad. By the time he added a second finger, I was panting, my hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more.

“Javi,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I need you. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate. Positioning himself at my entrance, he looked into my eyes, holding my gaze as he pushed inside. The stretch burned, but in the best possible way, and I clung to him, my nails scraping down his back as he filled me completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel—”

I cut him off with a kiss, unable to wait any longer. Javier began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, giving me time to adjust. But soon the rhythm picked up, his hips snapping against mine, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, my voice breaking on the words. “Please, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Instead, he leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive spot on my neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. I cried out, my hands clutching at his back, my nails leaving trails of red against his skin. Every movement, every touch, every sound was overwhelming, and I felt myself teetering on the edge, ready to fall.

“Javi, I’m—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Let go.”

And I did...

So he did too.

The room was filled with the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven as we both came back down. Javier’s forehead rested against mine, his warm breath fanning across my skin. For a moment, neither of us moved, the stillness between us as profound as the intensity we’d just shared.

I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath, my body still trembling from the release. Javier’s hands were steady on my waist, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and raspier than usual.

I nodded, my cheek brushing against his as I whispered back, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Javier pulled back slightly, his dark eyes scanning my face with a softness I wasn’t used to. His hands shifted to my arms, his touch deliberate as he trailed down to my wrists, carefully turning them over to inspect the faint scrapes and bruises there. His fingers were warm, his movements gentle, as though he was afraid of hurting me.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice laced with concern.

I nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Just... sore.”

He frowned slightly, his eyes darting to my shoulder where a faint discoloration from an earlier bruise had deepened. His thumb brushed against it, and I winced involuntarily. His expression darkened, guilt flashing in his eyes.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he muttered.

“Javi,” I said softly, reaching up to touch his arm. “I’m fine. Really.”

His gaze met mine, and for a moment, the air between us felt heavier. Slowly, his hand moved upward, grazing my jaw before his thumb traced the corner of my mouth. The gentle brush sent a shiver through me, and my lips parted slightly, the simple act feeling more intimate than anything else.

He leaned in, his movements unhurried, giving me every chance to pull away. But I didn’t. Instead, I tilted my head up, meeting him halfway.

The kiss was soft, tender in a way that made my chest ache. His lips moved against mine with a deliberateness that spoke of restraint, of something deeper simmering beneath the surface. His hand cupped my cheek, steadying me as I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his waist.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine once more, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken.

“You make it hard to keep my distance,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage. “Then don’t,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

Javier let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing along my jawline one last time. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

I smirked, my lips tingling from the kiss. “You’re not exactly innocent either, Javi.”

For the first time, he smiled, a genuine curve of his lips that softened the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t say anything else, just pressed a kiss to my forehead before stepping back, his hands lingering on my waist for a second longer than necessary.

“Let me clean you up properly,” he said, breaking the silence

I nodded, watching as he moved around the kitchen with a practiced ease. He grabbed a clean towel from a nearby drawer, dampened it under warm water, and returned to me. Without a word, he crouched slightly, his focus entirely on me as he began cleaning the mess on my stomach.

The warmth of the towel against my skin sent a shiver up my spine. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as though he wanted to make sure he didn’t cause me any discomfort.

“Sorry,” he murmured, glancing up briefly. “I should’ve grabbed this earlier.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

He didn’t look up again, his attention fully on the task at hand. Each swipe of the towel felt like a small act of care, something I hadn’t expected but found myself leaning into.

When he finished, he tossed the towel aside and straightened, his hands brushing against my hips as he stood. His gaze lingered on me, his dark eyes soft yet searching, as though trying to read the thoughts running through my head.

“You good?” he asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile again. He reached up, his thumb brushing lightly along my jawline. The simple gesture made my chest tighten, the tenderness in his touch something I wasn’t used to but craved more than I wanted to admit.

Javier stepped back, giving me a little space, though the air between us felt charged with something unspoken. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the living room.

So that’s what I did—I followed him. He led me to the bedroom, rummaging through his drawers until he pulled out a gray hoodie, a pair of black sweatpants, and clean white boxers. He handed them to me with a small, almost bashful smile.

“These should fit,” he said, his voice casual, though his eyes flickered with something softer.

I took the clothes, knowing full well they were going to be huge on me. Hell, even on him, they looked a little roomy. As I started changing, I felt his gaze lingering on me. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was impossible to ignore.

When I finished pulling the hoodie over my head, I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Javier’s smirk appeared instantly, subtle but undeniably there. He looked down for a second, almost like he was caught off guard by himself, before meeting my eyes again. “Nothing,” he said, his tone light but warm. “I just like seeing you in my clothes.”

I felt heat creep up my neck, but I rolled my eyes to cover it up. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, leaning casually against the doorframe, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “But it’s true.”

The hoodie hung low, almost brushing my thighs, and the sweatpants needed to be rolled at the waist just to stay on. It was comically oversized, but it smelled like him—like coffee, faint tobacco, and something warm and familiar.

“Do I look ridiculous?” I asked, pulling at the hem of the hoodie as I gave him a teasing look.

He tilted his head, pretending to study me. “No,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “You look... good.”

I blinked, the realization hitting me like a brick. "Fuck," I muttered, staring at him. "Did I just have sex with a fucking cop?"

Javier’s eyes widened, and for a second, he looked genuinely startled before his expression shifted to one of mock offense. “No... wait a second,” he shot back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Did I just fuck an anarchist?”

We both froze for a beat before bursting into laughter, the sound filling the room and breaking whatever tension had lingered. It was ridiculous, but the kind of ridiculous that felt good—light and stupid in the best way.

I doubled over, clutching the too-long sleeves of his hoodie as I laughed harder. “God, this is so messed up,” I said between breaths.

He grinned, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back against the doorframe. “You think this is messed up? Try writing the police report on it.”

That only made me laugh harder, and soon enough, he joined in, his usually serious demeanor cracking wide open. For a moment, it didn’t matter how we’d ended up here or what was waiting outside this room. All that mattered was the ridiculousness of the situation and the fact that, somehow, we were both okay with it.

As our laughter died down, Javier reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He held one out to me, the corners of his lips still curved in a faint smile. I took it without hesitation, and he pulled another for himself.

With a flick of his lighter, he lit mine first, the flame briefly illuminating his face in the dim kitchen light. Then he lit his own, taking a slow drag before exhaling a plume of smoke into the air.

It felt oddly normal—like this wasn’t the aftermath of an unexpected night but just two people sharing a moment. I leaned against the counter, savoring the nicotine rush, when Javier’s phone suddenly buzzed on the table.

He glanced at it, muttering a quiet curse before picking it up. “Hey, Murphy, what’s up?” His voice shifted, professional and alert.

I couldn’t make out the words on the other end, but whatever was said made Javier’s eyes widen. His posture straightened, his entire demeanor snapping into focus.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, we’re coming.”

He ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. Turning to me, his expression was sharp but not panicked, like someone preparing for the next move in a high-stakes game.

“We need to go,” he said simply. “Now.”

“Javi, what happened?” I asked, my voice tense as I watched him move around the room, grabbing his things in a rush.

He didn’t answer right away, his focus on throwing on his jacket and shoving his wallet into his back pocket. When he finally looked up, his face was grim, his jaw tight.

“Two officers,” he said, his voice low but edged with anger. “They were killed last night. They were searching for the guy who attacked you.”

My stomach dropped, a sharp wave of fear and guilt hitting me all at once. “Fuck,” I whispered, barely audible.

Javier nodded, his expression hardening as he ran a hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s bad. They think he’s still out there, and now we’re trying to figure out his next move. Murphy’s already at the scene—I have to go.”

I hesitated, the words caught in my throat, before finally asking, “Do you think he knows I’m here?”

Javier froze for a moment, his hand resting on the back of a chair. He met my eyes, his gaze sharp and serious. “We don’t know yet. But we’re not taking any chances.”

My chest tightened as I tried to process what he was saying. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re not staying here alone,” Javier said firmly, stepping closer to me. His tone left no room for argument. “You’re coming with me until this is over.”

“But, Javi—”

“No,” he cut me off, his voice softening but still resolute. “It’s not safe. If he even suspects you’re here, he won’t hesitate. I need you to trust me on this.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I tried to keep my voice steady. “Okay. What do we do?”

Javier’s expression softened for a brief moment, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “We get moving. Stick close to me, and we’ll figure this out.”

“Okay,” I said quietly, grabbing my phone and following Javier out to the car. The weight of the situation was pressing down on me, and I could feel it with every step.

Javier opened the passenger door for me, waiting until I got in before shutting it and circling to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and we pulled onto the road in tense silence.

I stared out the window, the cigarette between my fingers burning slowly as I took drag after drag. The streets blurred into a haze of motion and smoke, but my mind was racing. I couldn’t shake the image of the two officers Javier had mentioned—their faces unknown but their deaths too real.

Javier must have sensed my anxiety. His jaw was tight as he focused on the road, the cigarette in his other hand burning low. Then, without a word, he reached over and rested his hand on my thigh, the warmth grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

Every time he took a drag from his cigarette, his hand returned to my leg, a silent reassurance that I wasn’t alone in this. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me from spiraling completely.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, his voice cutting through the quiet like a lifeline.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the passing scenery. “Yeah,” I murmured, though the tightness in my chest said otherwise.

Javier’s grip on my thigh tightened slightly, his fingers pressing just enough to ground me in the moment. “We’re going to handle this,” he said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I shook my head, my voice quieter but no less weighted. “I’m not scared that something’s gonna happen to me.”

He glanced at me, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion, and then I turned my head to meet his gaze fully. The moment our eyes locked, understanding flickered in his. He got it.

Javier let out a slow breath, his jaw unclenching as his features softened. “We’re gonna be okay,” he said, his tone low and steady, like he was willing that truth into existence.

I nodded, holding onto his words like a lifeline. His hand didn’t leave my thigh, and for the first time in hours, I let myself believe, just a little, that he might be right.

When we arrived at the scene, Murphy was already there, pacing near the yellow tape. Javier stepped out of the car first, his boots crunching against the gravel as he approached. “Murphy,” he greeted, his voice steady but edged with tension. They exchanged a quick handshake, and then Murphy turned his eyes to me.

I extended my hand, feeling the weight of his curious gaze. “Hi,” I said simply, my voice not betraying the anxiety twisting in my gut. He hesitated for a moment before shaking it firmly, giving me a brief nod of acknowledgment.

As we walked further into the scene, the weight of the air around us grew heavier. The faint scent of iron lingered, even though the bodies had been moved. What remained was the stark evidence of what had happened here—the outlines of their final moments painted on the ground in white, accompanied by pools of dried blood that had seeped into the cracked pavement.

I slowed my steps, taking it in. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional shuffle of feet or the murmur of nearby officers. Javier’s hand hovered near my back, not quite touching but close enough to remind me he was there.

Murphy broke the quiet. “They didn’t stand a chance,” he said, his tone clipped, his eyes locked on the grim outlines. “Whoever did this... they didn’t hesitate.”

Javier nodded grimly, his jaw tight. “Anything new from forensics?”

“Not yet,” Murphy replied. His gaze flicked to me again, his brow furrowed slightly. “Is he…”

Javier cut him off. “He’s with me. He saw something the other night that might connect to this.” His tone left no room for argument, and Murphy nodded, letting it drop.

I stayed quiet, my eyes locked on the scene in front of me, the gravity of it sinking in deeper with every second.

As Javier and Murphy continued their conversation, I let my eyes wander, scanning the dark alleys and shuttered shops surrounding the scene. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to cling to every surface, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching.

Then I saw it. A crowd of people had gathered just beyond the taped-off area, murmuring and pointing, their curiosity pulling them closer to the aftermath of violence. And in that cluster of faces, I saw him.

My breath hitched. It was him—the man from that night. The man who had tried to kill me.

I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t weigh the consequences. Something primal and unrelenting surged through me, a mix of anger and fear that propelled me forward.

Before I knew it, I was running.

“Kid!” Javier’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, but I couldn’t stop. My feet pounded against the pavement, my heart racing as I closed the distance between us.

He saw me, and his eyes widened in recognition. Without hesitation, he turned and bolted, weaving through the crowd like a shadow slipping away.

But I wasn’t letting him escape. Not this time.

I darted into one of the dark alleys, my breath heavy as I pushed myself to keep going. The narrow passage was dimly lit, shadows twisting and stretching against the walls. My eyes scanned every corner, every movement, and then I saw him.

He stood there, not running anymore, just waiting, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

“Why did you do it?” I screamed, my voice echoing off the brick walls, raw with anger and frustration.

He tilted his head, almost amused, and chuckled. “Mmm… fun,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue like a taunt. “But you… fuck, you’re a challenge. No one’s ever fought back like you did.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, but I held my ground, my fists clenched.

“We’re gonna meet again soon. Mark my words,” he added, his voice dripping with menace as he started backing away into the shadows.

“Stop!” I shouted, taking a step forward, but he disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Before I could move further, Javier and Murphy burst into the alley, their presence breaking the tension.

“Which way?” Javier asked, his eyes scanning the area, his hand already hovering near his holster.

“He went that way,” I said, pointing in the direction the man had vanished. My voice was steady, but inside, I was trembling.

Javier’s hand briefly rested on my shoulder, grounding me. “Stay here,” he said firmly before nodding to Murphy, and the two of them took off in pursuit.

I stood there alone, my chest heaving, the weight of the encounter pressing down on me.

And I did as he said, staying in place, my back pressed against the cold brick wall as the minutes dragged on. When Javier returned, his face was a storm of anger and worry. Without a second thought, he grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful, and shouted, “Are you crazy? What was that? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

I opened my mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words, so I just stood there, staring at him.

“You’re not in any condition to fight!” he continued, his voice rising with frustration. “You have a massive cut on your stomach, and you’re running after someone who could have a weapon? What the hell were you thinking?”

He let go of my arm and turned away, running a hand through his hair, his back tense as he tried to calm himself down.

Murphy stood off to the side, silent, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold.

Javier’s voice broke the silence again, quieter this time but no less intense. “Do you even realize how close you were to getting hurt again?”

I still didn’t say anything, the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy blanket.

“You’re right,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t look at him, didn’t try to defend myself further—I just stood there, my head hanging low.

Javier didn’t respond immediately. He stood there for a moment, his breathing still heavy as he wrestled with his frustration. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “We’re leaving,” he said, his tone clipped.

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I started walking toward the car, the gravel crunching beneath my boots as I moved. I could feel his eyes on me the entire way, heavy with a mix of concern and lingering anger.

The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable, as I climbed into the passenger seat. I didn’t dare look back at him, unsure if I could handle whatever was written on his face.

"Javi, can you drive me home?" I asked quietly, my voice barely above a murmur.

He didn’t say a word, just nodded sharply, his jaw tight as he turned and walked to the car. The silence between us during the drive was suffocating. I stared out the window, smoking to keep my nerves in check, but every glance at him showed the same tense expression on his face. His grip on the steering wheel was firm, his knuckles pale.

When we arrived, I got out and unlocked the door, muttering, “Fuck, this place is bad.”

Still, Javi didn’t say anything as he followed me inside. The mess from earlier was still there—broken glass, blood stains, random junk scattered everywhere. I grabbed a rag and started cleaning up, but I could feel his eyes boring into me the entire time. Finally, he snapped.

“Why the hell would you run after him?” he shouted, his voice sharp and angry.

I froze, my hand gripping the rag tightly. “What else was I supposed to do? Let him get away?”

“Yes!” he shot back. “You’re not a cop. You’re not trained for this. You could’ve gotten yourself killed! You’re already hurt, for fuck’s sake!”

I turned to face him, my own frustration bubbling over. “I didn’t ask for this, Javi! I didn’t ask to see him kill someone, or for him to come after me twice! I didn’t choose this!”

“That doesn’t mean you get to play hero!” he yelled, stepping closer. “Do you have any idea how reckless you were? Running after him, with a massive cut in your stomach? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I need to stop him!” I shouted back. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing while he’s out there, killing people!”

Javi ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said, his tone quieter now but still filled with anger. “And for what? To prove you’re tough? To settle some kind of score? This isn’t your fight.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “It is my fight! He came after me, Javi. Twice. What am I supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“No, but you let me and Murphy handle it!” he snapped. “That’s our job, not yours. You’re hurt, you’re angry, and you’re not thinking straight.”

I stared at him, my chest heaving with frustration. “I can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

Javier stepped closer, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else—concern, maybe. “You don’t have to sit back, but you don’t get to be stupid about this either. You scared the hell out of me back there. Do you even care about that?”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I looked away, my voice softening. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

I barely had time to process his words when a new text flashed on my phone screen from an unknown number. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at it, the words standing out against the screen in stark, threatening red: "Location in 2 hours. No police or I will kill them too."

“Javi,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked up at him. He was already standing behind me, his eyes narrowing at the message.

He took my phone from my hand, scanning it quickly. His face darkened as he read the text. “Shit.”

Without saying anything more, he pulled out his own phone and began dialing. But before he could press the call button, I grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Javi, don’t," I said, my voice firm but desperate.

He looked at me, his brows furrowing in confusion and frustration. "What are you doing? We can't just let this slide. We need to get the police involved, now."

I shook my head, grabbing his hand and pulling the phone away. "Don’t just do it, Javi. If you call them, he’ll know. He’ll know we’re coming for him, and he won’t hesitate to make us pay for it. We can’t risk it."

Javier’s eyes didn’t leave mine as I spoke, but the tension in his jaw tightened with every word. He was processing what I was saying, but there was something in his expression that told me he wasn’t going to let this go.

Before I could even finish, he pulled out his phone, his fingers already moving to dial.

“Javi, don’t,” I said, my voice sharp, panic rising in my chest. “Please, don’t do this.”

He didn’t look at me as he pressed the call button, and I could hear the click as the call went through. “I’m handling this, don’t worry. We need the police.”

My heart dropped. I felt a cold rush of fear flood over me. “Javi, no! I told you, you can’t—” I stepped toward him, trying to grab his arm, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

“Not this time. This is bigger than you and me, kid,” he said, voice hardening. “This guy’s dangerous. I’m not letting him get away, not again.”

I swallowed hard, frustration bubbling up. “You don’t get it, Javi. He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way, including the cops. You’re making it worse.”

But it was too late. The call had gone through. Javier’s voice dropped lower as he spoke into the phone, giving instructions, and then he hung up without even looking at me.

I stood there, helpless, the sinking feeling in my stomach growing heavier.

I run at the door and tried to leave, but Javi stopped me. He grabbed my keys from my hand and locked me in my apartment.

“Javi, unlock the door now!” I demanded, banging my fist against the door.

“Sorry, kid, but I can’t. I’m going to finish it tonight,” he said through the door, his voice calm but resolute.

I slumped back against the door, my hand on the cold handle. He was doing this for my own good, I knew it. He thought he was protecting me, but the frustration and helplessness boiled in my chest. I couldn’t just sit here while he handled it on his own.

“Javi!” I screamed again, pounding my fists against the door. “Please, you can’t do this! You don’t know what he’s capable of! He’ll find you!”

I sank down on the floor, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me. I wanted to fight, to break down the door and go after him myself, but I knew I couldn’t. Javi was right in his own way. He was trying to protect me, even if I didn’t agree with how he was doing it.

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the door, feeling the cold wood against my skin. All I could do now was wait. And hope that when it was over, Javi would come back.

I got to my room, my heart pounding as I reached for my phone. I froze mid-motion when I realized it was gone. Javi had taken it for his operation.

"Fuck," I cursed under my breath, dropping back onto the bed. The weight of the situation hit me all at once. My mind raced. The plan was going to hell. Javi hadn’t come back, and now he was leaving me locked in this apartment. I ran my fingers through my hair, cursing again, as I stared at the ceiling. The clock ticked away. An hour passed. Two hours. I couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. The time for the meet-up had come and gone, and I hadn’t been there. I was stuck here, waiting, with nothing but the feeling of dread crawling up my spine.

Then it happened.

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the apartment. My heart jumped into my throat. I froze, listening, my ears straining to make sense of the noise. It was unmistakable—the sound of my window breaking. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

"Fuck," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. Slowly, I pulled myself off the bed, every inch of me screaming to get the hell out of there. I didn’t know who it was, but I had a feeling. It was him.

I moved quietly, my footsteps light on the creaky floorboards. My eyes darted around the room, looking for something—anything—useful. The knife. The one Javi didn’t know about, the one I kept hidden just in case. I sank to my knees beside my bed, pulling up the corner of the wooden plank under my mattress. My fingers fumbled for a second, panic flooding my veins, but finally, I grabbed the cold steel handle. The weight of the knife felt reassuring in my grip.

I held my breath as I heard him. His voice rang out through the night, low and menacing, creeping through the cracks in the door.

"Come out," he said, his tone casual, but there was no mistaking the threat in his voice. "I told you no cops, but you didn’t listen."

My stomach churned. I gripped the knife tighter. My instincts screamed at me to move, to run, but my body froze. If he knew where I was, I wasn’t going to make it out unscathed. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing, trying to think through the panic.

I needed to get to the door, but I couldn’t risk him hearing me. My pulse was thumping in my ears, louder than the silence of the apartment. Every second that passed felt like an eternity.

"Come out, now," his voice was louder this time, closer. I could hear him moving around, probably circling the apartment, searching for any sign of me.

My mind raced. I could try to make a run for it, but that would be too obvious. He’d catch me in no time. If I stayed here, I could at least have the advantage of surprise. He might think I’d bolted, giving me a second to act. But I knew I wouldn’t have many seconds.

I closed my eyes for a moment, just long enough to focus. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.

I heard him move again, his footsteps coming closer to the door. That was it. I had to do it now.

As the door creaked open, the intruder's shadow filled the doorway. Without thinking, I launched myself at him, my foot connecting with his chest in a quick, hard front kick. He grunted, stumbling back for a second, but I wasn’t giving him a chance to recover. I rushed at him, adrenaline fueling every movement as I drew the knife from my side.

In a flash, I was on him, slashing with everything I had, but he was faster than I expected. He blocked my strikes with his own blade, the sound of metal against metal ringing through the room. His grip was firm, his movements controlled, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

I could feel my heart racing in my chest as I pressed on, not giving him a single moment to breathe. My body was sore, every muscle aching from my previous injuries, but I ignored it. Now wasn’t the time to focus on that. It was survival. The pain, the exhaustion—it all had to be shoved aside.

His knife was like a shadow, always there, parrying my every move. He wasn’t sloppy, not even close. He had the upper hand in skill, and it pissed me off. But I wasn’t about to let him take control.

I slashed again, this time aiming for his throat, but he blocked with a sharp twist, his own blade slashing across my side. A searing pain shot through me, and I gritted my teeth, ignoring the blood that soaked through my shirt. This fight wasn’t over. I wasn’t done yet.

He lunged, trying to catch me off guard with a stab to my stomach. I stepped back just in time, my arm grazing the sharp edge of his knife. Blood dripped from my arm, but I wasn’t going down that easy. I gripped my knife tighter, spun around, and launched another attack.

We circled each other in the small space, both of us breathing heavily, but neither of us giving an inch. Every strike, every block, felt like it could be the one that would end it—one of us would give, and the other would be left standing.

I could feel the heat in my body, the blood pounding in my ears. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up, but I wasn’t going to stop. Not now. Not when I was this close.

Then he attacked again. This time, I didn’t block it with my knife. Instead, I grabbed his arm, using the momentum to spin him to the ground. His knife flew from his hand and clattered to the floor.

I didn’t waste any time. I lunged, knife in hand, but he was fast. He blocked my attack, and the force of it sent a jolt of pain through my arm. I pushed harder, trying to break through his defenses, but he was relentless.

Suddenly, his knee slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered back, gasping for air. Before I could recover, he grabbed my knife, wrenching it from my grip.

Pain surged through my body from the impact of his knee, but I wasn’t finished yet. My eyes darted to the floor where his knife had fallen. I shot forward, grabbing it just as he stood, ready for another strike. We were locked in this battle, each of us determined to come out on top. My body screamed in protest, but I ignored it. This fight was far from over.

I was exhausted, my body trembling from the fight, but I refused to stop. I couldn’t let him win. Even if it cost me everything, I’d take him down with me.

I let him come at me, choosing to absorb the hit instead of dodging. The knife tore into my stomach, right where the old wound still pulsed with pain. I gritted my teeth, feeling the blood spill out, but something inside me snapped. It was like a switch flipped. I could either give in... or finish this.

He lunged again. But this time, I didn’t hesitate. I let him come at me, knowing his move would be my opening. I saw it—the way his body moved in the dim light—and I struck.

The blade sank into his throat, a clean, sharp slice. His eyes widened, hands clutching at his neck as he staggered back. He was fading, and I knew this was it.

I barely registered the pain in my stomach, my mind too focused on staying alive. I backed up slowly, slumping against the wall. My head swam, the world tilting around me, and everything began to blur.

Then, I heard the sound of keys jingling. The door creaked open.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, panic crawling up my spine.

Javier burst in, his eyes scanning the scene before landing on me. The shock in his eyes shifted quickly to horror. His mouth opened, but no words came out as he rushed to the guy's body, checking for a pulse.

I could barely keep my eyes open, my vision dimming, but I heard him clearly. “Stay with me. Stay awake, please.” His voice was tight, panicked, but it steadied when he looked at me.

I wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could manage was a weak smile before the darkness began to take over.

Javier’s hand was on mine, gripping tightly. His voice cracked as he spoke again. “Help’s on the way, okay? Just stay with me.”

I wanted to tell him I was fine, but I couldn’t. My head dropped back, and the world around me blurred into nothingness.

I woke up with the harsh sting of light cutting through my mind, disorienting and blinding. My head spun, and I could barely lift my arm, let alone sit up. My body felt like a wreck, each muscle stiff, aching like I had been dragged through a battlefield. The dull throb of pain spread from my stomach to my chest, but it was nothing compared to the burning in my throat.

I tried to speak, but the words came out broken, scratchy. The air felt thick in my lungs, and it hurt just to move.

Suddenly, I heard voices around me—faint at first, muffled, but then clearer, urgent. Footsteps—quick, rushed—and machines beeping in a chaotic rhythm.

“He’s waking up.” The voice wasn’t unfamiliar. But it sounded like it was coming from a distance, like I was hearing it from the edge of a dream. I could barely open my eyes, but the shape next to me became clearer. Javier. His hand, warm and steady, brushed across my forehead, pushing back the strands of my hair that clung there, sticky with sweat.

"Easy," he said, his voice tight, strained. "Don’t try to sit up too quickly."

I swallowed, but the dryness in my throat made it feel like sandpaper. “What... happened?” The words barely left my lips. It felt like I hadn’t spoken in years, but they slipped out anyway, hoarse and desperate.

“You’re at the hospital,” Javier said, his voice softer now, more gentle, but I could feel the fear wrapped in it. “It’s... it’s okay now. You’re safe. They’re taking care of you.”

My mind felt foggy, pieces of the night slipping in and out like shattered glass. The fight, the blood, his face—so many flashes of pain and confusion, too quick for me to catch them all. But I didn’t want to let it slip away without understanding. I needed to know what happened after.

“Javi...” My voice trembled, and I forced my eyes open a little more. I could see his face now, his eyes wide with exhaustion. His jaw was tight, like he was holding himself together. He was holding my hand so tightly, like I might slip away if he let go.

“Hey,” he whispered, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?” His voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the emotion in it—raw and unfiltered.

“I... what happened?” I tried again, the fog still thick in my head, but the urgency in his eyes was enough to make me fight through the haze.

“Don’t worry about that now.” His voice was firm, but I could hear the worry creeping in. “The cops are handling it. You don’t need to think about anything else. You need to rest. Just... just breathe, okay?”

I wanted to ask more, but the effort to speak, to make sense of it all, felt too heavy. And when his hand tightened around mine, something in me gave in.

“I’m here,” he said, as though sensing my fear. “I didn’t leave you. I stayed, the whole time.”

I didn’t want to close my eyes, didn’t want to drift back into the fog of unconsciousness, but the pull of exhaustion was stronger than my will.

“You’re safe now,” Javier murmured, the relief in his voice as soft as the press of his fingers on my wrist. "Just... rest. Everything’s okay."

“Javi... I killed him,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as the weight of it sank in. The tears started to come, slowly at first, but then they came in waves, overwhelming me, shaking my entire body. I couldn’t control it anymore. I had taken someone’s life, and now I had to live with that.

Javier didn’t hesitate. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly, as if to shield me from everything. His voice was gentle but firm, reassuring in the way only he could be. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over my hair. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be alright. You did what you had to do.”

But I couldn’t stop crying. The guilt, the fear, everything flooded over me, and I couldn’t breathe properly. I clung to him, trying to stop the tremors that shook through me. “I... I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want to.”

“I know. I know you didn’t. You did what you had to do to survive.” His grip on me tightened, his voice steady, grounding me even when everything felt like it was falling apart. “You’re still here, you’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

But it didn’t feel like it mattered. How could it? I had taken a life. My mind kept replaying the moment—the look on his face as I made that final move, the blood, the death. It all felt like it was closing in on me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, choking on my words.

Javier pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his expression soft, yet intense. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“I’ll never be the same,” I muttered, wiping my face on the sleeve of my hospital gown, but Javier just shook his head.

“You won’t be the same, but that doesn’t mean you’re broken. You’re strong. You’ve survived things most people couldn’t even imagine.” His words were firm, but the tenderness in his touch was what really got to me. “And you’re not alone, not now, not ever.”

I sniffled, trying to steady myself, but the weight of it all was still there, heavy in my chest. I couldn’t take it away. I couldn’t undo it.

“I’m here, okay?” Javier’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he was trying to calm both of us. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.”

And as I let his words sink in, I realized, for the first time in what felt like forever, that I wasn’t completely alone. That someone, someone who mattered, was there. Not to judge me, not to condemn me—but to help me heal.

Five month later

I unlocked my door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee greeting me. The smell alone brought a sense of comfort, but what followed made my heart lighter.

“How did the meeting with your therapist go?” Javier’s voice floated in from the kitchen, warm and steady. A moment later, he appeared in front of me, holding a steaming mug in his hand. Before I could answer, he leaned in and kissed me, soft and lingering, like he had all the time in the world.

A smile tugged at my lips as I set my bag down. “It went well,” I said, meeting his gaze. “He told me this was my last appointment.”

Javier’s eyebrows lifted, and a grin spread across his face. “That’s amazing,” he said, setting the mug down on the counter. Without hesitation, he pulled me into his arms, holding me close.

I felt his lips press against my temple, and then he tightened his hold, resting his head on my shoulder. His warmth seeped into me, grounding me in a way nothing else could. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured against my neck.

For a moment, we just stood there, wrapped in each other, letting the quiet between us speak louder than any words could. This—this was peace, a far cry from the chaos that had nearly consumed me.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brown eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite put into words. “You did this, not me. You’re the strongest person I know.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me hard, but instead of the weight I was used to carrying, it left me feeling lighter.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that, right?” I said, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

He chuckled, pulling me closer again. “Good. That’s exactly where I want to be.”

His hands slid down my back, tracing the curve of my spine until they rested at my hips. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and suddenly, the air between us shifted. It wasn’t just comfort anymore. It was something deeper. More urgent.

I tilted my head up, catching his lips in another kiss. This one wasn’t soft or lingering. It was hungry. Desperate. Like we were both trying to say things we didn’t have words for. My hands reached up, threading through his hair as I pressed myself closer to him, feeling the firm planes of his chest against mine.

Javier groaned into the kiss, his fingers digging into my hips as he stepped forward, guiding me backward until the edge of the couch bumped against the backs of my knees. He broke the kiss just long enough to sit me down, his eyes never leaving mine as he knelt between my legs.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmured, his hands sliding up my thighs, teasingly slow. “Missed you.”

My breath hitched as his fingers brushed against the sensitive spot just above my knee, sending a shiver up my spine. “Javi…” I breathed, my voice shaky.

He smiled, that soft, gentle smile that always made my heart ache in the best way. Then he leaned in, capturing my lips in another searing kiss as his hands worked their way under my shirt, pushing it up until I had no choice but to pull it off completely.

The cool air hit my skin, making goosebumps rise along my arms, but Javier’s touch quickly chased them away. His hands roamed over my chest, brushing against my nipples, which were already hardening under his attention. I arched into his touch, a needy whine escaping my throat.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm against my ear. “Patience,” he teased, his lips trailing down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he found the spot just below my collarbone, he sucked lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

My nails dug into his shoulders as he continued to mark me, every bite and kiss driving me closer to the edge. “Javi,” I gasped, tugging at his shirt. “Take it off.”

He didn’t hesitate, yanking the fabric over his head and tossing it aside. His chest was a masterpiece of lean muscle and smooth skin, and I couldn’t resist running my hands over it, tracing a line in his stomach and the faint smattering of hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans.

Javier caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm before guiding it lower, until my fingers were brushing against the bulge in his pants. I could feel how hard he was already, and the thought of how much he wanted me sent a thrill through me.

I fumbled with the button of his jeans, my fingers trembling as I pulled them open. Javier helped me push them down, kicking them off along with his boxers, and then he was bare before me, fully exposed and achingly hard.

“Your turn,” he murmured, his hands sliding to the waistband of my pants. I lifted my hips, letting him strip me down until I was just as naked as he was.

He took a moment to just look at me, his eyes dark with desire, and then he was moving again, kissing me deeply as his hands explored every inch of me. When his fingers brushed against my entrance, I tensed instinctively, but Javier was patient. Always patient.

“Relax,” he whispered, his lips trailing down my neck as he circled my rim, applying just enough pressure to make me gasp. “I’ve got you.”

I nodded, letting my body melt into the couch as he prepared me with careful, deliberate strokes. He added lube, working it in slowly, stretching me bit by bit until I was whimpering beneath him, begging for more.

“Please,” I choked out, my nails digging into his back as his fingers curled inside me, hitting that perfect spot that made me see stars. “Javi, please…”

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he removed his fingers and lined himself up. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

I nodded, biting my lip as he pushed in, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch burned, but it was a good burn, the kind that made my whole body tremble with need. When he was fully seated, he paused, giving me time to adjust, his hands stroking my sides gently.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

I nodded again, unable to form words as he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that drove me absolutely mad. Every thrust sent sparks racing through me, and I clung to him, my nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back as I tried to anchor myself.

Javier’s breathing grew ragged as he picked up the pace, his kisses becoming sloppier, more desperate. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he fucked me with deep, powerful strokes that had me crying out with every movement.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, burying his face in my neck as his thrusts became more erratic. “So fucking good.”

“Javier,” I moaned, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer. He groaned in response, his hands tightening on my hips as he picked up the pace. Each stroke was deep and deliberate, hitting that spot inside me that had me seeing stars. His breathing grew ragged, his kisses becoming sloppier, more desperate.

I could feel the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter with every movement. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. The couch creaked beneath us, the sound joining the chorus of moans and gasps filling the room. Javier’s pace faltered, his rhythm growing uneven as he neared the edge.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. I obeyed, our eyes locking as he thrust into me one last time, hard and deep. A strangled cry escaped my lips as I came undone, waves of pleasure crashing over me. Javier followed soon after, his release hot and intense, punctuated by a guttural groan that sent a fresh thrill through me.

For a moment, neither of us moved, too lost in the aftermath to do anything but breathe. Then, slowly, Javier pulled out, collapsing beside me. He gathered me in his arms, holding me close as we both struggled to catch our breath.

“Fuck, I love you,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. I turned my head to look at him, my heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes.

But before I could respond, he rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him. His hands slid down to my ass, squeezing lightly as he smirked up at me. “Round two?”

I laughed breathlessly, already feeling the heat building between us again. “You’re insatiable.”

Javier’s smirk deepened, his hands tightening on my hips as he flipped me over with a sudden, possessive ease. My stomach dropped for a moment, the world spinning until I felt the cool fabric beneath me again. My breath hitched as I planted my knees into the sofa seat, my hands gripping the pillow in front of me. Behind me, Javier’s warmth pressed close, his chest brushing against my back as he leaned over me. His lips found the nape of my neck, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers racing down my spine.

”You feel so good like this,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, almost primal. His hands slid down my sides, fingertips grazing my skin before settling firmly on my hips. I could feel him—hard and ready—pressing against me, and the anticipation coiled tight in my stomach.

“Javier…” I breathed, barely able to form his name as he nudged against me, teasing but not yet giving in. My nails dug into the pillow, my body arching instinctively toward him.

He chuckled softly, his breath hot against my ear. ”You want it, don’t you? Tell me.” His voice was a dark rumble, sending a wave of heat through me. I nodded furiously, my voice catching in my throat.

“Please… Javier, please.”

His grip tightened, and I felt him shift, the head of his cock pressing against me, slick and insistent. He pushed in slowly, achingly so, letting me adjust to him. My breath came in sharp gasps as he filled me, inch by torturous inch, until he was fully sheathed inside me. I clenched around him, my body trembling at the stretch, the fullness, the way he seemed to reach every hidden part of me.

”Fuck, baby… you’re so tight,” he groaned, his fingers digging into my hips as he held still, letting me catch my breath. But soon, the stillness became unbearable. I rocked back slightly, urging him on, and he responded with a low growl, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in hard.

The gasp that escaped me was half-pain, half-pleasure, and Javier didn’t hold back after that. His rhythm was relentless, each thrust driving deeper, harder, until I was seeing stars. My cries were muffled into the pillow, but Javier’s growls and groans filled the air, raw and unfiltered.

His hand slipped under me, gripping my hip as he adjusted his angle, and suddenly, everything changed. His next thrust hit something deep inside me that made my entire body jolt, a strangled scream tearing from my throat.

”There it is,” Javier panted, his voice thick with satisfaction. ”That’s it, baby. Scream for me.”

And I did. Every thrust after that was aimed directly at that spot, overwhelming me with pleasure that bordered on pain. My knees trembled, my hands clawing at the sheets as I struggled to stay upright. Javier’s pace grew faster, more erratic, his own control slipping as he chased his release.

”You take me so well,” he grunted, one hand sliding up my back to grip my shoulder, holding me steady as he fucked me with a wild, unrestrained intensity. ”So fucking perfect… fuck, baby… say my name.”

“Javier!” I cried out, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer, a plea, a demand. “Javier, Javier—”

His movements stuttered, his rhythm faltering as he lost himself in the sound of his name on my tongue. ”Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough and desperate. ”I need to feel you come.”

It wasn’t even a choice. My body obeyed him without question, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave, stealing my breath and wiping my thoughts clean. I screamed his name again, louder this time, my vision going white as pleasure exploded through me in waves. Javier groaned, his hips slamming into mine a few more times before he buried himself deep, his own release hitting him hard. His body shuddered above me, his grip on me tightening almost painfully as he came, his groan low and guttural against my ear.

For a long moment, we stayed like that, both of us trembling, struggling to catch our breaths. Slowly, Javier pulled out, collapsing beside me and pulling me into his arms. His hand stroked my hair gently, his lips pressing soft kisses to my temple as we lay there, tangled together.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, tender.

I nodded, leaning into him, savoring the warmth of his body against mine. “Yeah, I am. I’m feeling amazing,” I replied, letting a small smile curl on my lips.

Javi looked at me with an expression I could only describe as pure adoration, then pulled me even closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me. As we sank onto the couch together, his embrace felt like the safest place in the world.

“You’re really okay?” he asked again, his lips brushing against my hair as he spoke.

“I am,” I assured him, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, soothing.

He kissed the top of my head, letting out a satisfied hum. “Good. You deserve to feel this way.”

We stayed like that for a while, tangled up in each other, the world outside feeling like a distant memory.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Will you open the coffee shop for the evening?”

I tilted my head up to look at him, raising a brow. “Yeah, I will. Why?”

“Good,” he said with a small smirk, his hand brushing my cheek. “I like watching you make coffee.”

I chuckled, rolling my eyes playfully. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my lips. It was soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. When he pulled back, he added, “But you’re stuck with me.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said, snuggling back into his arms, feeling a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

For more Fics tap here.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Whatever you did to mess up the recipe really has you desperate for Kun. Pairing: Wizard!Kun x fem apprentince!reader Tropes: magic au, wizardry au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, magic, fictional herbs Smut Warnings: aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f receive), sudden female orgasm, unprotected sex, marking, crying, aftercare Word Count: 1,700 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Note: thank you to @stardragongalaxy for proofreading! Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Same Scent by Oneus

“Watch this brew while I handle the inventory for a moment.” Kun smiles sweetly.

“Are you sure? I can do inventory. I don’t want to mess–”

Kun shakes his head, “I trust you.”

You nod and move toward the cauldron. The bubbling brew smells sweet, almost as if to draw you in more. You vaguely hear Kun talking to himself in the storage room, likely checking how many phoenix feathers you have left. You started running low, but your pet phoenix just rebirthed, and its feathers are nowhere ready to molt yet. That or maybe he’s checking the progress on the pixie dust crystalization. Either way, you swear you hear him call you. Whipping your head around, you see him still deep in the store room, not even attempting to get your attention. When you turn, though, you move the spoon and knock it into a small vile next to the cauldron. You close your eyes and slowly turn your head back to the large cast iron pot. When you open your eyes, it looks the same. It just smells the slightest bit sweeter— the vile lies on its side, with barely a drop still inside it. 

“The brew should be done! Put the fire out, okay?” 

You nod, even if he might not see it, “O-okay!”

“Also,” Kun says, walking back into the kitchen, “I want you to try a little bit of it. It’s a romantic-based potion, but just one sip won’t do anything.”

You don’t want to seem suspicious, so you nod, take a small spoon from the side table, and dip it into the metallic pink liquid. After blowing on it a few times, you place the spoon against your lips and sip it. Instantly, a rush of heat goes through your body. Everything is hypersensitive. You’re far more aware of everything around you than you’d like to be. When you look back at Kun, he can immediately tell something is off with you. You suddenly feel the need to fuck him like your life depends on it. You’ve always respected the line of Wizard and apprentice, no matter how hot he is. Now, though, all you can imagine is being absolutely railed by him to the point that you can’t form a coherent word in your mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Kun,” your voice comes out almost like a moan.

His eyes go wide as saucers. Then his eyes darted to the cauldron. He leans over and smells the sweeter scent. Before even thinking to check his surroundings, he dips his hand in, using it as a cup of sorts, and sips the liquid as well. Suddenly, in his peripheral, he notices the knocked-over vile. Amorus.

“You knocked over the Amorus.” He states with a slight groan, picking up the small glass container, “How much– fuck…” 

“I didn’t want to upset you.” You pout and step closer, “Kun, could we maybe…”

He was starting to feel the effects of the potion as well, and damn, did he need to see you fall apart for him right now. He finds himself leaning in slowly, and you are, too. There are so many lines being blurred right now, but with the effects of the botched potion, neither of you can think about anything other than fucking each other. Kun places his hand on your waist, and you feel goosebumps on your skin when his hand makes contact. Finally, his lips are on yours. It’s not a very coordinated kiss, but it’s desperate, needy, sloppy. You absolutely melt at the sensation. Kun whispers something against your lips. It’s a spell you don’t know yet. You’re so fixated on him that when you finally let your hands wander, and you don’t feel fabric, you moan against his lips.

“That’s a fun little spell I can teach you once these potions wear off.” Kun chuckles, “It’s very handy, no?”

“Kun, please?”

He wraps his arms around your waist fully and tells you to jump. You wrap your legs around his waist tightly. A whimper escapes your lips at the feeling of your clit pressed against his bare skin. His cock stands tall and is perfectly pressed against your ass. You find yourself seated on one of the worn wooden tables. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s more than enough for Kun to lay you out and fuck you stupid.

You hear the sound of jars and dishes being pushed to the side haphazardly as Kun guides you to lay back fully on the table. His kisses finally start trailing down your throat and between the valley of your breasts. You have a constant stream of moans and profanities falling from your mouth as Kun hungrily lays wet kisses everywhere he can. When his kisses finally reach your lower belly, you can’t help but let your hips jerk. Each kiss grows just a bit closer to where you need him. 

Even though he’s just as desperate as you are, the fact that he’s putting you first has your belly swooping and flipping. He continues to place kisses against the area just above your soaked entrance. You tangle your hand in his hair, and that gives him the last bit of push to lick a wide stripe up your folds. He eats you out like a starved man. After a few licks, he sucks on your clit. Kun continues this pattern for a while. Your other hand finds a place in his hair as well, tugging at the reddish-brown strands as he makes you melt into a feral puddle. He brings a hand up to your folds while his mouth is focused on your clit. Kun presses two fingers against your cunt, barely teasing your entrance. 

“Kun,” you moan, “Please just put them in, don’t tease me!”

Kun releases your clit for a moment, chuckling through a smirk. He pushes his fingers into you. You knew you were sensitive, but you suddenly feel arousal burn through you so hot that your orgasm tumbles through you. Your thighs shake around his head, wanting desperately to close. Kun holds one of your thighs down, stopping you from fully closing them. Kun doesn’t stop; he continues to lap at your clit while pistoning his fingers into you. The overstimulation burns through you in the most pleasurable pain you’ve ever known.

“You’re still so needy.” Kun muses, pulling away from your pussy, face still covered in your arousal, “You want me to fuck you?”

Your eyes are glazed over and needy. His fingers still pushing in and out of you render your brain completely empty. Your mental space is nothing more than an aroused fog. Kun chuckles again as you nod so hard you nearly smack your head against the hardwood of the table. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you whimper at the lack of contact. A moment later, you feel him rubbing his tip through your folds, and that same painful pleasure returns as he pushes his cock against your clit.

“Ready? I’m gonna make you see god, maybe even more.” He practically growls.

“Kun, please!” You moan, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He pushes into you and immediately pistons his hips against yours. You scream out at the feeling of the overstimulation. Kun pulls your legs up beside your chest on either side and holds them there before pressing his body against yours. The feeling of his bare skin on yours makes you have a fresh shot of arousal course through your body. 

Neither of you is going to last very long. The potion won’t allow that. You’re already well on your way to your second orgasm as it is. Kun hides his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder. He starts to bite the bare skin, leaving teeth marks and hickeys. You dig your nails into his skin, leaving small crescent moons behind. Locking your legs around his hips, you feel your second orgasm burst forth almost painfully.

“So fucking good.” He growls, “You feel so fucking good. Maybe I should stay wrapped up in this pussy all day, every day.” “Please!” You gasp, starting to come back down from your orgasm.

The overstimulation is almost too painful, but you also don’t want to stop. Kun starts to moan more often, which you assume to be an alert to his impending orgasm. You hardly come down from your second orgasm when the third forces its way through. Tears start rolling down your cheeks as the nearly painful orgasm wrecks you. As you scream and moan at the feeling, Kun’s orgasm finally hits him. He pulls out and cums across your belly. He pushes his fingers back into you and presses his thumb to your clit to help you ride out the rest of your orgasm. 

When you finally start to catch your breath, Kun has already manifested two glasses of water and wiped your belly clean. He pulls you to sit up and then onto his lap. Your body is shaky and weak from the intensity of three orgasms and crying. The wizard continually rubs your back and presses kisses to your hair.

“The potion wear off for you?” He asks quietly.

“Mmm,” is all you can muster at the moment.

“You did so good, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

You shift in his lap, wincing slightly at your sore state.

“Was it too much?”

“I think we both needed to fuck it out.” You mumble, still very much out of it.

Kun nods and holds you a bit tighter, “If you accidentally mess up a potion again, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond, “Kun?”

“Hmm?”

“What does this mean?”

Kun sighs in thought, “It doesn’t need to mean anything. But– you want honesty?”

“Complete.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking you out on a date or two if you let me.”

You pull your head away from his shoulder, “I’m your apprentice… is that allowed?”

He shrugs at you, “There are plenty of witches and wizards who have their partners as their apprentices.”

You smile, “I’d like that then, only if you promise we can have fun with this new brew sometimes still.”

“Deal.”

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

[goldenlionprince]

Prongsfoot Week 2024 - Day 6

Everyone Assumes (that they're together)

James drops onto the bench opposite Peter and Remus with a sigh. It's been an early Quidditch practice and he's starving. A good breakfast is what he really needs right now.

“When were you going to tell us?” Peter asks, an excited glint in his eyes like he was barely able to contain himself long enough from asking before James was sitting down. James pauses with his hand halfway to the bacon.

“Tell you what?”

“It's not like we're really surprised,” Remus adds casually, stirring his tea. A small grin tugs at his lips like he's barely holding back laughter. “But I must say this is moving rather quickly, even for you.”

“Is it though?” Peter asks, grinning from ear to ear. “I mean they have been attached by the hip for years now.”

Remus nods, his eyes still on James. “True, true.”

James frowns, looking from one of his friends to the other. “What the hell are you two talking about?”

“Oh, just, you know.” Remus waves his teaspoon through the air. “There are really interesting news going around this morning.”

“Some Hufflepuffs came by earlier to tell us to pass on some congratulations,” Peter says, almost bouncing up and down in his seat across from James.

“So naturally we wanted to know what they were talking about,” Remus adds.

James looks between them both. “And?”

“Turns out,” Remus says, setting his teaspoon down beside his cup on the saucer. “Regulus has been talking again. The usual stuff about Sirius being a family disappointment and how glad he is to have their home estate for himself over Christmas. More of the same, nothing new.”

“But then,” Peter squeaks excitedly, gripping the edge of the table. “He said something very, very interesting.”

There is another dramatic pause and James wants to strangle them both. “Come on, spit it out! What did the little wanker say this time?”

“He said,” Peter leans forward over the table. “That he really can't wait for Sirius to become a Potter so he finally doesn't have to deal with them sharing the same last name anymore.”

James stares at him.

“So naturally,” Remus continues, grabbing another slice of toast from the basket in front of him. “Half the school thinks you two are engaged now.”

“They what?” James voice comes out a bit squeaky.

“Yeah, Lily was passing by earlier, asking to be the flower girl at your wedding,” Peter laughs. Remus chuckles at that while spreading a bit of strawberry jam on his toast. “Flower girl, get it?”

“Yeah, Pete, got it,” James mumbles, his brain still catching up with the news as he stares at the toast basket.

This, of course, is when Sirius shows up.

“What did I miss?”

“Oh, nothing,” Remus says while flicking open his copy of the Daily Prophet. Peter looks like he's almost chocking on his laughter. “Just your engagement.”

“My what?” The look on Sirius' face as he sits down on the bench next to James is one of pure horror.

“Don't look so alarmed. It's not a nasty surprise from your family,” Remus reassures, pushing the toast basket closer to Sirius.

“Although they might be happy about it, it's a pure-blood after all,” Peter snickers and then squeaks when he gets kicked in the shin under the table. James is not sorry about it.

“What the fuck are you taking about?” Sirius demands and grabs a slice of toast. He drops it onto James' plate without looking and takes another one for himself.

“Regulus is spreading the rumour that you'll be a Potter soon,” Remus explains, picking up his tea cup. “Though marriage.”

Sirius turns his head and looks at James and James – he just can't look away. He stares into Sirius grey eyes. He has looked into those eyes so many times but something feels different about it this time, like Sirius is searching for something and James just knows he will find it. His heart is beating so loud he's almost sure Sirius can hear it too. The noise of the Great Hall at breakfast time gets dimmer and his hands get all clammy and James just knows his face is all red.

“Oh,” Sirius says all soft and it makes goosebumps erupt all over James' skin.

“Oh no,” Peter says but it sounds far away. “Is this where they realize this engagement stuff can be a thing?”

Remus chuckles softly into his tea cup. “I think so.”

[add-atelier]

Fusion Dance:

I think someone mentioned this on discord but how would Lord Billy react to a pocketverse Billy?

So I wrote a bit of a ficlet to go with this Tagging @neonponders and @wrecked-fuse as well XD enjoy this little blurb I vomited out!

-------------

Sometimes, Billy wonders why he even bothers anymore. Steve Harrington has gotten along well with his children, it was important to him. But that came with getting involved with his children's antics. Both him and that boy-child of his. Sorry. Dustin.

He was getting better at remembering his name. For the sake of Lucas, who has a little crush on Steve's son. Regardless of that fact, the castle had been livelier than Billy has ever seen. Or was used to. Even with his servants bustling around. Anyways. "Steve...darling. What is that in your hands?" he asked slowly staring at the cupped hands of his lover. Steve only grinned, holding his hands out towards him, "Have a peek, Lady Bird~" His children claimed that they had found something in the courtyard and dragged Steve to go and check it out. Billy hadn't cared much, it might have been another bug or small mammal. Not...whatever this was.

It was small and...

Billy pressed his lips into a thin line, he really had no idea what he was looking at. Where was that-ah there it was, in the bottom left drawer. He didn't use it all that much anymore, his magnifying glass but it helped. Especially now, squinting as he peered through the glass. He said nothing at first, just staring at what he was seeing. "What a peculiar creature you are." Everything and everyone was small to him, he always had to be careful not to crush the many good things he had in his life with his abnormal strength. But this.

Glaring up at him was a mini version of him. Well, kind of. This one had a mullet, an opened red shirt and jeans. With a small pout on his face. It-he, well he was adorable. The poor thing was shaking though, might be through fear. Billy had that affect on people, for better or for worst.

Billy guessed that he could fit into his pocket if he put him in there. "I suppose your name is...Billy?"

"Where's my Biwwy!"

Billy raised an eyebrow at Steve who shrugged a little bit, "The little guy apparently got lost, stumbling into some weird portal or something from what he said. He's far from home."

"Clearly," Billy muttered in response, reaching out with one finger to poke at the little's cheek. "I won't hurt you." Billy wasn't going to comment on the warm feeling he felt when the miniature version of him clung to his finger, his eyes watering with tears and bottom lip puckered.

"Okay...where's my Stevie...?"

Oh. They were a pair. He and Steve looked at each other, the other mouthing 'no Stevie' to him. Huh, the poor thing really did get lost then. Steve grinned up at him, "We are a pair."

"Seems like I can never get rid of you then," Billy said with a smirk, leading over to give Steve a kiss. "We should get this one something to eat first, and maybe getting that agent of yours to help get him home." Steve scowled with a roll of his eyes, opting to bringing the little Billy to his chest, allowing him to slip inside of his coat pocket.

"Hopper isn't my agent."

"Hm."

"Billy!"

---------

"So that was how they found him in hanging on one of the candle holders. Sorry about that, you must have been really worried about him."

Billy paused in his reading, the quiet chomps and clattering of the plate next to him were the only other sounds in the main hall. He had to bar the kids from coming around the little Billy with their sickles. They had pouted only to relent when the little guy had yelled at them. Billy closed the book in his lap, taking up the crimson wine glass and taking a sip.

"I think your friends are here-"

"Biwwy!"

Little Billy jumped up from the saucer, waving his arms at the people following Steve. Billy raised an eyebrow at the two...well regular versions of themselves. Then again, they had the little ones already, there shouldn't be that much of a surprise.

"You're big."

Billy smirked, snapping his book shut and standing up from the couch. He grinned at the shock on both of the other Billy and Steve standing before him with a little Steve in that Steve's pocket. "9 foot 6, but who is really counting here?"

"Stevie! Cwere! He has coowkies!"

[dont-f-with-moogles]

The Envelope (Part 2) (NSFW) Dazai x Reader 1261 words

Cold morning. A tentative blue threaded with pale clouds. Mist had gathered in the corners of the windows. The double doors remained closed for now; you still had time to unload the gleaming cups and saucers from the dishwasher. Your manager - Uzumaki’s renowned, veteran barista - passed by the counter. His mouth was pulled to the side as though he was suppressing an uncomfortable smile.

“I, ah… think someone is trying to call you.”

With a wave of his hand he gestured to the lit smartphone which lay, singing idly to itself, nestled between a tray of glasses and the petty cash tin. A leaden weight had settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t need to check to know who it was.

As you continued stacking the cups within a wall-mounted cupboard the phone’s melody ceased, only to be followed by the sound of a chime. One insistent ping followed another; a flurry of notifications without pause. With a pained sigh, you retrieved your phone. Refusing to scroll back and read the long reel of previous messages, your eyes settled on the most recent.

Not that I want you to rush back of course! It’s only a small fire after all.

There came the rapid tap of your thumbs in reply.

I told you this morning that I’m not coming back until after my shift.

Dropping the device down with a thud, you continued to put cups, glasses and cutlery away, all the while ignoring the series of shrill sounds which rang impatiently from your phone.

“Sounds like someone wants to talk to you,” the café owner observed, unlatching the double doors and releasing a flood of warm light into the long room. Rather than answer, you pretended to search for something in the dishwasher’s cutlery basket.

“Perhaps you ought to answer him?”

“What makes you think it’s a him?” you countered, looking up at just the wrong moment. The café manager’s smile was all-knowing. He was a people watcher; an inadvertent gatherer of secrets. He had held his position with quiet pride for many years, unobtrusively pouring coffee as the lives of his customers played out around him.

Lifting a small bag of sugar cubes, you began to refill the ceramic containers on the tables.

“...in any case, if you don’t answer, he might come up here.”

Hesitating, sugar tongs still in hand, you managed a derisive snort. It did not take long for your false bravado to cower upon itself. Thinking better of it, you stalked back to the counter to seize your phone.

I won’t be back til 6. Grab a shower or a coffee or some fresh bandages if you have indeed set fire to yourself - whatever you need, but don’t wait for me to get back. Spare key in the teapot.

The device had hardly touched the surface when its screen glowed in response.

Good to know there’s another spare. I took the key you hid in the sconce. Think I’ll hang onto it ;)

You do that. Think I’ll have the locks changed.

Ah! You’re driving me insane! <3

“Miss?”

“Coming!” you called, relieved by the distraction. A steady queue of customers had formed from the cash register, snaking out into the hallway beyond. Stifling a yawn, you poured coffee into paper cups, adding a dash of milk here; a shot of syrup there. Plastic lids were fastened on in succession. You stretched your arms and arched your aching back. Names were penned on cardboard. The morning rush was always this busy, only to be followed by… silence. There was the respite after the madness. The calm before the storm. Only a visit from your rather irregular regulars could break up the monotony now. The Armed Detectives from the fourth floor, with their wild antics and raucous laughter… You ground your teeth. Not that you were thinking about him though. Not that you were, even now, considering checking your phone for his messages. Too often you had witnessed those poor souls who fell for his superficial charms. They would weep, helpless, struggling to comprehend the reason for his sudden absence. How ignorant they were, never knowing he had already moved on to his next person of interest…

Even as you stood, reasoning so calmly with yourself, your hand was inciting a mutiny against your mind and body. You reached for your phone again.

Ditch work. Tell the boss you have a headache and need to stay in bed ;)

I think he might see through that brilliant scheme?

Cruel mistress! Don’t make me beg :(

This is on you. I’m not making you do anything.

Three little dots danced, taunting, as he crafted his reply. You set the device to one side each time the café owner strode past. It was more than your job’s worth to be caught sending messages to one of your regular customers.

As the manager stooped to clear one of the tables, your phone buzzed irritably.

Don’t pretend. And for the record, I hate being made to wait.

Wait for what exactly? You smiled; it wasn’t like you to behave so coyly but, somehow, his persistence had reeled you in like a spider’s silk.

Seriously? Don’t forget that I’d been trapped behind bars for WEEKS. You know I couldn’t stop thinking about you in there. I thought last night was all I needed but holy fuck, I already miss your pussy…

The weight in your stomach shifted. Something sparked, like flint on stone.

It’s 9:28 am! We’ve only just opened.

Well what time does your pussy open? Cause I’m

Heat flooded your cheeks. You felt your pulse beating in your throat; blood roared thunderously in your ears. You looked up - another poorly-timed gesture - to witness Ranpo glance away thoughtfully, his finger tapping his chin. The detective who saw through everything.

You dropped your phone with a clatter.

“I thought the temperature was mild today,” he observed dryly, such was his way of small talk. “Is it hot in here?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically, placing your phone face down before you could read the rest of Dazai’s message. Given the brief glimpse of the words hard scream beg and gag you could only assume it contained some tangible threats. You dusted down your black skirt self-consciously and reached to tighten the fastening in your hair, remembering that you had been forced to wear it loose today. Only its dark curtain, as it swung about the white frill of your collar, could hide the blemishes he had left upon your skin the night before. Incriminating marks which had branded you as his.

“Sorry, I uh- Let me pass you a menu-”

“Sweet curry,” Ranpo declared without pause. “And, not that it’s any of my business, but Dazai thrives on dysfunction. Nothing bores him more than having his own schemes go smoothly. I wouldn’t be so quick to give him the replies he wants.”

You gaped in astonishment. “That’s not- that’s-”

“One doesn’t need ultra deduction to read it in your distracted demeanour; the way you’re repeatedly picking your phone up, cursing to yourself… we’ve seen it all before. It’s the Dazai effect. Not to mention the circles under your eyes, your constant yawning…”

“Plus those hickeys speak for themselves.” Yosano had appeared behind him. “Pour us both a coffee - you look like you need it.”

Ruefully brushing your hair down against your neck, you turned away, poured out two cups and grabbed a blue Ramune from the fridge. What had ever made you think that sleeping with Osamu Dazai would have gone unnoticed by a group of professional detectives?

Part 1 (tw)

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

A few days have passed since I arrived at the hideout.

Galileo: "What's this?"

Galileo furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the baguette, omelette, and soup I had laid out on the table.

Mitsuki: "It's breakfast. I feel bad doing nothing, so I thought I'd help with chores."

Mitsuki: "Besides, I heard dhampirs feel hunger since they're half-human. Please feel free to have some."

Galileo: "There's no need for you to do something like this."

Drake: "Ah, my bad. I told Mitsuki she could do as she pleased."

Drake, coming from behind Galileo, flashed a bright smile upon seeing the breakfast.

Drake: "Wow, that looks delicious. Having a cute girl make breakfast for you in the morning is really the best."

Galileo: "Drake..."

Despite Galileo's slight glare, Drake seemed unfazed.

Drake: "Is it freshly made? Can I have some right away, fawn?"

Mitsuki: "Sure, help yourself."

Mitsuki: "Galileo, please have some while it's warm."

Galileo: "............"

After a moment of hesitation, he let out a heavy sigh and took a seat on the sofa.

Drake: "You gonna eat?"

Galileo: "Better than wasting it."

Though he seemed reluctant, I felt relieved, as I had prepared the meal with some concern.

(I'm glad. I was worried about his health after seeing him eating some flowers and struggling on the other side of the door.)

Drake: "Why don't you join us for breakfast, Mitsuki?"

Mitsuki: "Are you sure? In that case, I'll do just that."

Since Galileo didn't say anything in particular, I brought my meal over. However, I noticed he didn't drink from the coffee cup he lifted and just placed it back on the saucer.

Mitsuki: "Do you not like coffee? We also have tea if you prefer it."

Galileo: "No, coffee is fine."

Despite saying that, he didn't touch the cup and instead began stirring the soup carefully.

(Could it be...?)

Mitsuki: "Are you sensitive to heat?"

Drake: "Wait, really?"

Galileo: ".........."

Drake widened his eyes, and Galileo shot him a glare. It seemed like I hit the nail on the head on that one.

Drake: "Haha! So you have a weakness, too, huh?"

Galileo: "Keep your unnecessary comments to yourself, Drake."

Mitsuki: "Galileo's body temperature is low, so maybe he feels the heat more."

Drake: "Body temperature? When did you two get so close?"

Mitsuki: "Huh? It's not like that!"

Mitsuki: "We've touched hands a few times, but that's all."

Galileo: "I'd rather eat alone in my room than entertain such nonsense."

Drake: "Alright, alright. Professor Galileo is quite serious."

It was the first time the three of us had a conversation like this, and I couldn't help but let out a small smile.

(Come to think of it, this might be the first time I've genuinely smiled since coming here.)

Our first meal together passed with a bit of tension and a strange sense of distance.

After breakfast, Drake watched Galileo and Mitsuki head towards the university from the window.

Drake: "The woman of destiny, huh?"

His piercing gaze was fixed on Mitsuki's back.

That day, just like the day before, I spent my time staying in Galileo's office.

In the afternoon, he and I walked side by side through the town, each carrying a shopping bag.

I’d asked if he would accompany me to buy groceries since I was going to help with the housework, and surprisingly, he agreed.

(He even had breakfast with me this morning, which was unexpected.)

(I never thought he would agree to accompany me shopping either.)

I glanced up at him, but suddenly, an apple fell out of the shopping bag I was carrying.

Mitsuki: "Ah..."

He caught the apple in midair.

Mitsuki: "T-Thank you. That was close!"

Galileo: "Isn't this a bit too much?"

Mitsuki: "Sorry. I got carried away thinking about what to cook for you and Drake."

Galileo: "..........."

Galileo: "Let me carry some."

(Huh?)

Before I could react, he took half of the bags from my arms.

Mitsuki: "It's okay, I can carry them myself! You're already carrying so much."

Galileo: "Being burdened any further would just be bothersome."

Mitsuki: "I understand. Thank you very much."

With a deep sigh and a frown, he left me with no choice but to quietly rely on him.

Mitsuki: "..........."

Galileo: "..........."

(Unlike this morning, it's just the two of us now.)

While searching for a topic, I remembered the book I borrowed the other day.

Mitsuki: "Oh, right. I'm almost done reading the book I borrowed."

Galileo: "Ah, that one."

It was an old book with an unknown title that I found in his office.

Upon reading it, I discovered it was an academic text where Salviati and Simplicio each assert their own theories, while Sagredo takes a neutral stance.

(While the debate contains scientific and complex aspects, the dialogue format makes it easy to read.)

Mitsuki: "There's a scene where one of the characters asks, 'But why have you not observed this instead of reducing yourself to having to believe the tales of others? Why not see it with your own eyes?'"

Mitsuki: "That scene was very impressive."

Galileo: "..........."

Mitsuki: "I think there are times when we end up taking information from our surroundings at face value."

Mitsuki: "And in doing so, without confirming with our own eyes, we end up hurting someone based on assumptions."

(Such as discrimination or persecution.)

Mitsuki: "That's why I was reminded in that book how important it is to verify the truth with our own eyes."

Galileo: "I see."

As I expressed my thoughts in detail, Galileo replied briefly.

(I wonder what he thought about it.)

I was wondering what he thought about it since he also read the same book.

Galileo: "The truth is something one should pursue with their own eyes. However, even if one finds the truth, it doesn't necessarily lead to righteousness."

(Huh?)

He spoke without facing me.

Mitsuki: "Um, does that mean knowing the truth isn't always a good thing?"

Galileo: ".........."

He nodded in silence at my question.

(Sure, that could be the case sometimes, but...)

(Oh...)

As I pondered a bit, I recalled something he mentioned before.

Mitsuki: "You mentioned something similar before, right?"

Galileo: "Did I?"

Mitsuki: "Yes, you did. Back then..."

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo: "Humans are creatures who define what's convenient for themselves as truth."

Galileo: "Even if the truth is revealed, if it's inconvenient, they'll be condemned and excluded."

---------Flashback Ends--------

Mitsuki: "Even though you understand the importance of seeking the truth, you called those who acted upon it stupid."

Galileo: "Yeah, and I'm not going to take those words back."

Galileo's profile remained steadfast, as if expounding an unwavering theory.

Mitsuki: "Sure, your thoughts may be the truth as seen from your perspective."

Mitsuki: "But from my perspective, that person still appears very brave and deserving of affirmation."

Galileo: ".........."

Mitsuki: "Each person's truth may vary depending on their viewpoint. That's what I've come to realize."

I didn't intend to argue against his opinion.

But just like the characters in the book engaged in dialogue, I express my thoughts without fear.

After a moment of silence, as if contemplating something profound,

Galileo: "Truth changes depending on how you look at it, huh?"

Galileo: "Then I suppose the truth in you will change when you learn of the sacrifices made by fools."

(Huh...?)

Mitsuki: "What do you mean by sacrifices?"

Galileo: "This conversation is over."

Galileo: "You always manage to irritate me."

(.........)

Galileo interrupted my question with a hint of anger, but his expression seemed somewhat pained.

(Did I say something unnecessary again?)

An awkward silence hung in the air, making it hard to keep talking.

We walk silently along the way back home, but suddenly...

Mitsuki: "Kyaah!"

Curly-Haired Boy: “Sorry about that! Ah!”

As we almost collided in the corner, we locked eyes.

With his golden curls and clear blue eyes, I recognized the boy.

Mitsuki: “You... We met in town before.”

------------Flashback-----------

Curly-haired boy: "I'm thirsty."

Mitsuki: "Wait here. I'll go get you some water!"

Curly-haired boy: "It's fine! I'm okay."

Mitsuki: "But you look like you're in so much pain."

Curly-haired boy: "Don't worry about me. My little sister is waiting, so I have to go."

---------Flashback Ends--------

Curly-Haired Boy: “You’re the lady from the other day.”

Mitsuki: “I was worried about you after that. I’m glad to see you again!”

The unexpected reunion and his seemingly improved condition compared to before brought me a sense of relief.

The boy glanced briefly at the person beside me, then returned his gaze to me.

Curly-Haired Boy: “Sorry for being rude last time, Mademoiselle.”

Mitsuki: “No worries. Are you thirsty?”

Upon asking, he seemed to tremble for a moment.

Curly-Haired Boy: “Um, I’m okay. Sorry, I have to go now.”

Mitsuki: “Oh, wait. Take this if you like.”

I offered him one of the apples I’d bought earlier.

He hesitated, but then accepted it with a “thank you” before running off.

(I wonder what made him look scared for a moment.)

As I pondered his reaction...

Galileo: “Do you know that child?”

He asked me in an unexpectedly stern tone.

Mitsuki: “Not really. I just saw him wandering the main street before and spoke to him.”

Mitsuki: "Is everything alright with that kid?"

Galileo: "No, it's nothing."

Galileo: "Whatever you're involved in, it's none of my concern."

The day ended without me understanding the true meaning behind those dismissive words.

Late into the night, Drake visited Galileo's room.

Drake: "How many days has it been since Fawn came here? Never mind the days; how's she doing?"

Looking up at Drake leaning against the desk, Galileo glanced at him before averting his gaze.

Galileo: "If that question refers to her, then I don't see any special powers. That's my answer."

Drake: "Yeah. She looks like a normal girl to me, too, but that doesn't mean we haven't misjudged her."

Drake: "What if you're already caught up in Mitsuki's fate?"

Galileo: "........."

Though he recognized Drake's teasing, Galileo furrowed his eyebrows.

Drake: "It's just a thought. I never expected us to end up living together like this."

Galileo: "I admit it was selfish of me in that regard."

Galileo: "For some reason, I couldn't ignore that girl who confronted me head-on."

Remembering Mitsuki's straightforward gaze, he clenched his hand with a bitter feeling.

Drake: ".........."

Galileo: "However, she will eventually come to realize how much she has lived in idealism and her powerlessness."

Galileo: "I won't be caught up in the gears of fate. I will accomplish my purpose no matter what."

Leaving his room, Drake reached for the gun hanging at his waist.

Drake: "I even thought about getting rid of her if she interferes with our goals."

The golden embellishments on the gun glinted faintly in the darkness.

Drake: "The woman of destiny is a hindrance to the destruction I want to see."

Drake: "But, Fawn, I'm starting to wonder what you will bring to him."

------------Flashback-----------

Mitsuki: "So you're one of the important brethren Galileo managed to save."

Mitsuki: "I'm glad you're by Galileo's side."

---------Flashback Ends--------

Recalling the conversation in the garden under the moonlight, Drake holstered his gun.

Drake: "Well, let's see what happens from here."

Drake: "But seriously, I didn't know Galileo was sensitive to hot food."

Like distant, undiscovered stars, no one knows how this fate will unfold.

However, the events that follow are about to reveal some small truths.

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Next Part

[boromirswife]

A very short snippet of Faramir coming to tell Aeroniel that Boromir is (not actually, but neither of them know that) dead. TW for mentions of death, and the loss of a child. I wrote this a long time ago so I hope it’s still good :)

****

“Oh, dear Faramir! Come in, please! I shall make you some tea!” Aeroniel was as cheerful as she always was when Faramir came to visit her — which didn’t happen as often as he would have liked — her hand resting on her ever-growing belly. It broke his heart to know that his little niece or nephew would never have the chance to meet their father.

Faramir followed his sister-in-law inside of her home, his heart heavy with the dire news he was bringing to her. Boromir and poor, sweet Aeroniel had only been married for a few months before her husband’s duty bid him to Rivendell, tearing them asunder, and now… well, now they would never see each other again. He allowed her to lead him to the dining room, where she flitted around preparing the tea.

“Please, sister, allow me to take care of the tea. You should be resting,” Faramir said, standing from his chair.

“Oh, Faramir, I am fine! And you are a guest, it is only right that I should wait on you.” The young woman smiled widely as she placed the teacup and saucer on the table in front of her brother-in-law, pouring the steaming liquid into the cup before serving her own. Then, Aeroniel sat down in the chair across from his, smiling at him expectantly.

“Tell me, do you bring me news of my love? Shall I be expecting him home soon?” Oh, how she had missed her darling Boromir! His strong arms holding her, making her feel safe and warm… his kind smile which always made her giddy… once she knew when he’d be home, Aeroniel would be sure to prepare his favourite lamb stew for supper, as she was sure that he would have missed such comforts after so long away.

“I… I do bring news of Boromir, though it is not the news that we have been hoping for.” Faramir’s voice trembled, trying hard to keep himself together for Aeroniel’s sake. His resolve crumbled, and a traitorous tear managed to escape his eye and roll down his cheek. How could he be expected not to weep, when his brother, his best friend, was gone forever?

“Faramir?” Aeroniel asked, tilting her head to the side slightly in confusion, though her hands were beginning to tremble. “F-Faramir, please… what news of my Boromir?”

“Aeroniel,” he said, his voice cracking. Faramir reached into his bag, retrieving something which he then placed in Aeroniel’s lap. She looked down at the object, quickly realising what it was — the Horn of Gondor, split in two. There were a few moments of silence, which were soon broken by the sound of Aeroniel’s teacup — having slipped from her hand — shattering on the floor.

Though Faramir had not said the words, Aeroniel knew what it was that he meant.

Boromir was dead.

“N-no… no, it cannot be true. Boromir told me, he promised me—”

“I am so sorry, Aeroniel… the horn washed up on the banks of the Anduin, cloven in two. We have no news of what happened, but we assume that he fell in battle.”

Before Faramir had even finished his sentence, Aeroniel clutched at her stomach, letting out a cry. It did not take Faramir long to realise what was happening, and he quickly carried her upstairs to her bed. A few hours later, he had delivered her of a tiny baby boy, who was far too small to survive, since it was not his time to come into the world yet. Aeroniel named him Boromir, after her husband, and the boy passed away in his mother’s arms shortly after. Faramir knew that he must take Aeroniel to a healer to ensure she was healthy after her ordeal, but he also knew that due to the secrecy of her and Boromir’s marriage, no one must know who the father was. When the healer asked, Faramir simply told her that Aeroniel was a widow.