#X-Y tables

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

shouto’s the type to feel too far away from you when you’re not at arms length. so whenever he has homework to do he does it on his tatami floor while holding your hand. he’s unbothered too, arm not cramping or moving while he writes perfectly well (or he tries) with his other hand. when you think about your position you can’t help but laugh from your spot laying on the floor. shouto never gets what you find funny.

[freemusicdonut]

#avoidplastics#FollowTrafficRules#ourbestqualityproduct#ontimematerialdispatch#bestproducts#goodwillenginnering

#DrugFreeSociety#linearbushbearing

The Linear Bush is a linear guide used in combination with a LM shaft that has a cylindrical shaft. This product makes linear movements with a minimum of frictional resistance to provide highly accurate and supple movement.

A linear-motion bearing or linear slide is a bearing designed to provide free motion in one direction. There are many different types of linear motion bearings. Motorized linear slides such as machine slides, X-Y tables, roller tables and some dovetail slides are bearings moved by drive mechanisms.

A bearing or bushing can be used for linear or rotational motion. While most bearings and bushings are designed for only one type of motion, there are some parts that can combine both.

There isn't really a difference: a bushing is a type of bearing. In general, a “bearing” facilitates movement between two parts while reducing friction. Simple in design, the typical bearing has two surfaces that roll over each other, enabling two mating components to move friction-lessly

Linear bearings are used in 3D printers, sliding doors, and several automated applications where guiding rail motion is required. A linear bearing is a critical component of a linear guide assembly.

Linear bushings consist of load-bearing plates, a ball retainer, steel balls, end caps or rings, and seals. External loads are transferred from the load plates (analogous to the outer race of a radial bearing), through the steel balls, and to the shaft (analogous to the inner race of a radial bearing).

[lightseoul]

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (squint harder y'all), a lot of cussing (wouldn't be a bkg fic w/o 'em), reader has an ex-boyfriend, our boy kiri finally makes an appearance

words. 2.7k (i had to stop my head was aching)

masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

If you were to suddenly rise to fame overnight, for what reason would it be?

The answer you’ve always had for these silly icebreaker questions was simple. That one passion you’ve nurtured as a hobby, perhaps? Or the hidden talent—party trick, really—that your friends always goaded you into demonstrating during get-togethers? Or it could be getting recognized for the work that you do and how much of your soul you put into it.

Really, it could have easily been any of the three.

Which is why you couldn’t have seen this reality hurling straight at you even if it was waving a shining red flag at you from a safe distance.

You adjust the face mask that’s snug against your cheeks for the umpteenth time, vaguely aware of the child seated in front of you who’s also staring like he’s trying to make out who you’re supposed to be under the barrier.

Tamping down the annoyance springing in your gut over a kid occupying a precious chair in this crowded subway train during rush hour, you shift on your feet and tug down with your extra hand the hat that you quickly threw on on your way out this morning.

It was the least you could do after unceremoniously finding out through your best friend at 5:37 AM that you’ve become one of the Internet’s sensational hits overnight, now being dubbed as #2 Pro-hero Bakugou Katsuki’s heavy-handed girlfriend, emphasis on the heavy.

Needless to say, the news sent you into panic and you couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard you tried. Your emotions and thoughts went into overdrive, and you found yourself at the crack of dawn mulling over the options you had in front of you.

You knew you were grasping for straws when you started thinking about stealing someone else’s identity and moving far, far away from Japan where the concepts of pro-heroes and the World Wide Web were unbeknownst to the living population.

That pipeline got you nowhere.

Which leads you to the present: decked out in a flimsy disguise, horridly sleep-deprived, anxious as hell, squished between late salarymen and chatty high schoolers in a cramped train carriage, and subject to the increasingly scrutinizing stare of this kid in front of you.

To your relief, you arrive at your station before the child can put two and two together and expose you to the rest of the crowd. You quickly shuffle out and expertly weave yourself through the sea of people, desperate to get out of the public space and into the safety of Ground Riot agency.

Though your imagined bubble of safety is immediately popped the moment you enter the building and feel what has to be dozens of pairs of eyes on you.

You hurriedly scan your employee ID and head for the elevators, heaving a relieved sigh when no one follows you into the space.

It’s barely 8 AM, and you’re already drenched in sweat. You’re in the middle of wondering if you’re already sporting a fucking pit stain when your phone chimes its familiar tune, signifying a text message.

You peek at the notification banner to see Bakugou’s name, alongside a short directive.

(7:51 AM) Bakugou (Dynamight): Conference Room A—be there in 10. PR and the rest want to see both of us.

Fuck.

The room’s not empty by the time you stumble in seven minutes later. Hiramasa Hikari, your direct subordinate in charge of employee relations, is seated on one of the comfy office chairs circling the long, oval table, looking indubitably harrowed as she thumbs through an all-too-familiar booklet.

Wordlessly, you walk towards where she is and plop yourself down on the seat across from her, right on the side of the end-of-the-table throne where Bakugou usually plants his butt during meetings.

You might have moved a little too silently because she startles when she looks up and sees you looking at her like you don’t know what to say.

Because you don’t.

Instead, you flash her an uneasy smile, which she returns right back. Although it morphs into a frown, “I’m guessing we both recognize how comical the situation is right now?”

At that, both of your gazes drift to the said document, conveniently titled ‘Workplace Relationships: Policies and Protocols,’ with your name written underneath as one of the principal authors.

You purse your lips into a tight line, suddenly feeling the tiniest bit of shame spurring in your gut.

You wouldn’t call yourself militant when it comes to carrying out rules and regulations related to your job, but being on the receiving end of a lecture regarding workplace relationships is—for the lack of a better term—humbling.

Even if the whole thing that led you here is fake.

Before you can stutter out an appropriately vague enough response to your colleague, the glass doors open like flood gates and in comes Bakugou in his hero costume, followed by Mikuri (the PR head you’ve talked about during your meltdown), and a group of coworkers who you’ve identified as a portion of the agency’s legal team.

You and Hikari stand up at their arrival, and sure enough, Bakugou pulls out the seat to your right, barely sparing you a glance as he situates himself.

The rest quickly follow suit, the atmosphere so tense you could cut it with a meat cleaver.

Nobody says anything for a while before Hikari clears her throat awkwardly, evidently feeling self-conscious over speaking in front of her higher-ups. “I guess I can start, then?”

You give her an encouraging nod as if you’re not about to be roasted by the very same girl you’ve been training directly since she got recruited two years ago.

Hikari clears her throat again before fixing her firm gaze on you. “It has come to our attention that multiple news articles have been circulating since last night,” she pauses as her eyes dart between you and Bakugou, “about the two of you.”

A pregnant pause.

“…Care to explain?”

You can’t believe it. You’re about to expose yourself and this embarrassing stunt you pulled. And you can’t help the dread that courses through your system at the thought of admitting out loud how you roped in your boss, of all people, to pretend as your date so that you could hide from the ex who dumped you over the phone how much of a loser you are.

How much a loser you’ve become, the present moment in mind.

It couldn’t get any more pitiful than that.

But you have to face the truth, and you realize that time is running out fast as you survey the expectant looks directed at you one by one as if everything’s in slow motion.

Finally, you open your mouth to blurt it out and get it over with, but Bakugou beats you to it.

In fact, he doesn’t miss a beat.

Which is fucking astounding, because what he’s about to say next quite literally causes your jaw to drop.

“We’re dating,” he states, voice even. “There’s your explanation.”

The exact moment he says that outright, blatant lie, it’s like all the air in the conference room gets sucked into a vacuum. You find yourself feeling lightheaded and it takes everything in you not to collapse like a boneless heap on the lawyer beside you. You think Bakugou notices because his eyes shift to look at you, and his eyebrows furrow so minutely as if he’s telepathically saying ‘Get it together.’

And so you do.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s thinking, lying like this to the very people who need to know the truth to effectively clean up the mess you’ve inadvertently made in just one Sunday, but at this point, you know better than to contradict Bakugou’s words.

“We’re dating,” you parrot, voice wobbly, “…yes.”

You will yourself to look up from the clasped hands on your lap, only to immediately regret it. Some of the members of the legal team are staring at either Bakugou and you with straight-up disbelief, while the others toss you a playful wink. Hikari, Mikuri, and Sawamura, the lead lawyer, however, look unsettled at best.

“Since when,” Sawamura starts, although he sort of chokes on his spit. He clears his throat, “—since when has this been happening?”

The pro-hero’s reply is almost instantaneous. “Why the fuck would I tell you that?”

Ignoring Bakugou’s defensive retort, you instead jump in to respond as calmly as you can. “Around two months ago. When we worked late nights on that issue under Hikari’s unit. We, uh—” you chance a glance at Bakugou, who’s looking at you intently, “—we were actually planning to disclose it to HR today, if you can believe that.”

“And you punching the groom at the wedding you attended,” Mikuri suddenly adds, voice pointed. “Was that part of the plan, too?”

At the reminder of your act of sin, you visibly cringe in front of your colleagues. You hear Hikari hold back a snort, and you flush further in embarrassment.

To your surprise, Bakugou speaks up. “That was her dickhead of an ex, and he was being an asshole to her.” He grunts, “She was only defending her name.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but gawk at the man. The last thing you expected was for him to defend you. And so sincerely, at that. He could be a great actor.

“Well, regardless of the intentions, we have to deal with the act and its resulting consequences,” Sawamura sighs, before turning to face you. “We already briefed Bakugou on the way here but the guy and his family are threatening to sue for damages.”

“S-sue?” you choke out.

Mikuri nods solemnly in response. “I know Bakugou here wants to fight fire with fire by exposing the guy’s character but we believe it’s best to keep things as hush-hush as possible to prevent any more repercussions on his general popularity rating.” She gives you a once-over, “Would that be okay with you?”

You barely manage a nod, although she seemingly finds it more than enough.

“We’ve since been in contact with their lawyer and are on our way to a settlement,” the head lawyer packs on. “We’re scheduled to meet them in,” he checks his sports watch, “two hours.”

“In the meantime,” Mikuri interjects, “we might suggest you stay off your non-essential social media sites as we wait for the issue to die down.”

You nod again, failing to repress a weak laugh at the belated advice. “Don’t worry, I’m already on that.”

“In fact,” you quickly add before anyone else can interrupt you, “So much so that I don’t know what the hell is going on out there. How is Bakugou fairing in the ranks right now?”

Again, you feel the said man eyeing your side profile.

Mikuri cocks her head to the side in reflection, “Surprisingly, he’s holding up okay. We’ve had a marked increase in activity from the adolescent to young adult female demographic especially, but they’re all mixed reviews.”

At that, Bakugou sneers. “What am I, a fucking movie for these extras to rate?”

You snort, and now you see Bakugou side-eye you, although there’s no bite to it.

“Anyway,” Sawamura interjects, “That’s more or less it from us and PR as well, I believe. We’ll keep you both posted.” The man glances at Hikari, “Hiramasa-san, anything else from your department?”

“Oh, yes,” she quickly riffles through her documents before settling on the booklet from earlier and timidly handing it to Bakugou, who accepts it gingerly. “My supervisor here knows the guidebook by heart so you two should be good in keeping yourselves in check.”

Her eyes quickly dart to you as if to watch your reaction before they just as quickly dart back to Bakugou. “But just to reiterate, we strive to keep everything professional here at Ground Riot agency, so that means drawing a clear boundary between your work and personal lives. That also means no inappropriate PDA.”

“Tch.”

You gulp, feeling all sorts of weird all of a sudden. Accidentally demonstrating PDA with Bakugou should be the least of your worries but there’s no denying the pulse of anxiety that resonates at the mention of it.

After you and Bakugou begrudgingly agree to the terms and conditions, the meeting finally gets adjourned and your workmates pile out of the room one by one. You don’t realize how tense your shoulders are until you’re left alone with Bakugou, and you allow yourself one deep exhale.

Your boss, who’s still sporting a sour expression on his face, shifts his attention to you at the sound. You feel yourself shrink in a bit under his penetrating gaze, although you try to straighten your spine soon thereafter.

You take a few steps towards the doorway and peek through the hall for any bystanders. Once sure that you’re most definitely alone, you turn to Bakugou. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He’s not looking at you but his eyebrows furrow still, revealing his listening. He doesn’t say anything, though.

You continue. “It’s obviously bothering you that we’re keeping up this charade. Never mind your ranking potentially slipping, what about the stress of having to pretend and hearing people talk? You don’t need that on top of—”

“I don’t give a single fuck what people say about me.”

You knew that, yet you still frown at his tone. “But you give a fuck about being number one.”

At that, Bakugou finally moves to face you. “Look, I hate that I have to say this, but even if I had no dating scandal affecting my popularity rating, good or bad, all this doesn’t make a difference in helping me get past shitty De– Izuku, at least in a way that matters.”

He huffs before looking away to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “That popularity shit’s out of my control and has nothing to do with my abilities. The other metrics are.”

As you gaze at his back, you think about how image is in fact important when it comes to being the ultimate hero—mind drifting back to All Might and how he served as the pinnacle of safety with his powers and impactful symbolism. But then it gravitates to Endeavor and how, despite his far from amiable personality akin to that of Bakugou’s, he earned the people’s trust in his own way as the new #1 upon All Might’s retirement.

“Okay,” you exhale again, “I believe you. Still doesn’t explain why you seem so bothered, though.”

Bakugou immediately whips around to look at you, frustration etched on his pretty features. “Why did that jackass even invite you in the first place?”

That’s what’s bothering him?

You chuckle, although what you’re about to say probably isn’t a laughing matter. “I think it’s because he saw me as a charity case,” you pause, debating whether or not to tell him the embarrassing truth, eventually opting to do so. “He always made me feel like I should thank my lucky stars I scored him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought he was doing me a favor by inviting me to his wedding.”

“…You know you can do better than that dipshit, right?”

You smile despite yourself, “I know… That’s why I’m dating you, right?”

You only meant to lighten the mood after what has been a grueling, impromptu meeting, but you didn’t expect Bakugou to redden in what you think is annoyance at the innocent quip.

You immediately backtrack. “I was just—trying to, uh—’m just joking around…”

Bakugou doesn’t get the chance to potentially snap at you in irritation because Kirishima, Red Riot, waltzes in with a big, toothy grin on his face.

He beams at you then turns to regard his best friend, grin growing even more in size as if that was still possible.

And what he says next confuses the shit out of you and grants him a hard shove from your now fake boyfriend.

“Congrats, Bakubro! Freaking finally!”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are much appreciated <3 they really do make a difference! have a lovely day~

[qtboni]

New to leaving requests but Simon with a s/o who's new to using toys in bed and is super shy about trying them out

i hope this is okay 4u anon !! so sorry this took soo long for me to write :'( emphasis on long , have this almost 2k words smut cz we're freaky like that ☝️😻

╰﹒ 𝐒𝐇𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 !

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon encourages and guides you on what he wants to do to you ;)

C/W: MDNI. smut w/ fluff + dom!simon riley, sub!f.reader, petnames (love, baby, sweets, good girl, pretty girl), use of toys (vibrator), teasing, kinda rough sex, praises, clit stimulation, semi-fingering, orgasm denial, semi-overstimulation, aftercare

W/C: 1.7K

"What?" you incredulously questioned.

"Just like this, love."

You watch Simon grab ahold of the vibrator again and clicked it on.

"You want that thing to stick.. inside my..." You anxiously stared at the material in his large veiny hands. It wouldn't fit inside you. Like at all. It was too protruding and you feel like it would hurt you if you did put it in. You shivered as your thought rummaged on.

"Simon..." you started, shyly looking at him through your lashes. "Um, I don't know about that.. whole thing inside me."

He kneels in front of your sprawled form on the bed. The vibrator still sits in his hands, unmoving. You watch as his expression turns to genuine confusion. He tilts his head, thinking about your words. Then he laughs.

"No, baby..." He cooes at you and leaned in closer to you. "Just goin' to lay it on top of... here, hm?"

You felt your body heat up when his hands softly carressed your things, fingers dangerously close to your core.

"My thighs?" You whispered, your breath turning heavy.

"I could," Simon smirks as he feels you trying to not move too much when his fingers now teasing alongside of your inner thighs. "But where's the fun in that, sweets?"

Your eyebrows furrowed as you hummed in confusion.

"Just relax, baby," He replied as he now moved even closer to your body. You abruptly squealed as he grab ahold of your legs and pulled them to lay beside on each of his hips, still kneeling down. "Let me take care of you, hm?"

You felt his lips peppering soft loving kisses on your thighs and he got you nodding, breathless.

"Atta girl," He leaned back and you wanted to whine from the lost of contact when he swayed back again, the vibrator back in his big palms. You didn't even notice when he placed it back at the space behind him. "Y'know our color rules, baby, right?"

Simon watches you slowly nodding your head again.

"Alright," He continued, his thumbs now stroking circles on to your hips. "Tell me, pretty girl."

"Red, yellow, and green," You shyly replied as you try to regulate your breathing. You clenched your hands on to the velvety sheets.

"What a good girl you are," He hums in delight, satisfied with your answer. "Ready, baby?"

You breathily replied a yes to him as you bite your lip. You feel the hot tingles start to spread throughout your body and you haven't even gotten it to it. Yet.

Shit.

You tensed up when Simon pressed the tip of the vibrator in your folds. You meekly squirmed and felt a whimper coming out of your lips when he slid the vibrator up to your clit.

Simon watches you closely, and when you look up at him, he smiles softly, eyes ever so soft for you. You blushed and squirmed from his touch.

"Si..." You whined.

"Relax, baby." He mumbles softly, as his finger gently rubs your thigh. "'S not even on yet, hm?"

You take a deep breath and try to calm down. Just breathe. You close your eyes and lean back on the bed, giving in to Simon's touch.

The moment he clicks the vibrator on against your sensitive clit, a wave of pleasure immediately washes over you. You squirm from embarrassment, but Simon doesn't seem bothered by it.

"I'll be gentle, love." You hear Simon gently say but the pleasure you felt right now was almost blocking your hearing senses.

The vibrating sensation sends a jolt of pleasure and excitement through you. You let out a sweet moan as he continues to press the toy gently on to your clit.

"Please," You plead at him. Your hands unconsciously went up to his hand. To what exactly? You don't know. To stop? Definitely not. Simon must've had sensed your neediness when he grabbed your hand with his free hand, intertwining your fingers together.

"Right here with ya, love," Simon smiles at your action and kissed the back of your palms. He leaned back and continued presssing down the vibrator on your sensitive spot.

You mewled and moaned for him, bubbling away. You feel him lightly running the toy from side to side over your bundle of nerves, causing your hips to squirm if not for your intertwined hands holding your right hip down.

It's when Simon slowed down the vibration when he sees your slick spilling out of your hole, flowing down and soaking the sheets.

"Fuck, baby," He drawls out the vibrator as he prepares himself to do what's next.

You raised your head to look at him through your half-lidded eyes, panting heavily. You were about to call out for him to ask why'd he stop when you felt his finger move down to dip beneath your folds.

You cried out as he started lathering up your wetness and rubbed at your already puffy clit. And fuck, did you scream in pleasure when he put the vibrator back so suddenly again on to your cunt. This time, the vibrator you felt was somehow faster. It was so good. Your hips stuttered as you felt your orgasm building up.

Simon thought that you were trying to squirm away, so he grips your hips with his other hand, holding you in place, pulling the vibrator away from you, as well as your awaiting orgasm. "Color?"

"Green..." You whined and raised your hips up out of neediness. You began to dumbly blabber to him with pleases and how he was so mean to you depriving you of your pleasure.

That irked him, but in the good way as possible. As long as you were okay in this whole scene, then fine.

He was just concerned for you is all.

You sobbed out loud as you suddenly felt the familiar vibrating hum on to your sweet spot again.

But that doesn't mean you can insult him, do you, pretty girl?

Your legs shook violently to the deep vibrations. You’re already drooling all over yourself as your mind fogs up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can feel yourself reaching that sweet orgasm already.

Simon saw the way your body quivered and trembled from the slick still gushing out of you and to your hips occasionally stuttering. The vibrator was still against you and he really cannot contain himself.

Seeing your thighs quiver and shake sets off a hunger in him. He wants more, he wants all of you. He was filled with a primal desire for you.

Simon wants you to surrender, to let go and fall into his arms. He wants to see you melt into nothingness. He wanted to see you lose yourself in pleasure.

Grunting, he adjusts his grip on your hips and turned the vibration higher. You cursed so loud you thought the heavens were going after you.

“Simon,” you plead, already feeling the build up of your orgasm. "Feels s' g-good, please.. faster, I.. AH!"

The vibration heightened and it feels like it’s spreading like fire in your stomach. It's becoming harder to suppress your mewls as the pressure is becoming more and more intense. You close your eyes as you threw your head back, feeling the intensity grow.

Simon's ears were gracefully blessed with your cute needy moans as you arch your back from the bed, cries and sobs spilling out from your lips.

Simon, with a devious grin, increases the vibrations once more. You cried out his name and you feel tears welling up to your eyes as the pressure keeps building and building, about to burst. Your mind is spinning. Your body is at its breaking point. The pressure is unbearable, you are unable to suppress your sounds as it builds up.

You feel his warm hand on your thigh, then a finger is suddenly pushing in your drenched pussy. That drives you over the edge of the line and your orgasm came, causing you to clutch tight on his thrusting finger.

Your body tensed up as your tears spill out from your face. The pleasure was overwhelming you. Your whole body was so overstimulated with the vibrations that had you crying out.

"Si’," You whined, your legs tightly enclosing his hips between, the vibrator still vibrating in your cunt. "Can't.. anymore.. Red.."

"Fuckin’ hell, baby," You hear him groaning from his spot, swiftly pulling the vibrator away from you, turning it off. "Sorry, my love."

Your legs still shook as the aftermath of your hard orgasm. You lay there, panting for a second, as you watch your lover hovering your shivering form.

"Did so good f'me, hm?" Simon holds you close, caressing your skin and kissing your sweaty forehead. "How do you feel, love? You okay?"

"Mm-hmm... I feel..." You trail off as you're still trying to process what just happened and how it made you feel. You feel so happy, warm, and safe in his arms. "Better than a fine."

You shyly smiled at him and chose to hide your blushing face away from him when you lean your head into his neck. You feel his breath hitting yours as he laughs, adjusting his body to lay beside you.

"Glad to know," Simon continues to hold you closely. He rubs your back and kisses your neck, making sure you feel cared for and loved. "But did the toy bother you at all?"

"No." You answer neutrally when a subtle smirk formed on to your lips. "I don't think I'll ever be bothered by it, s'long as you're the one holding it."

"Oh? Where'd this freaky girl come from?" He pulls you close to him. "Where's my shy little lovie?"

You lean into Simon's chest and smirk as he comments on how much more confident you've become.

"Oh, she's still here, Si'" You say, your voice quiet and breathy as you kiss on his sternum, smiling when you feel him tensing up to your touch. "She's just not as quiet anymore."

You hear Simon exhale softly, your touch and words sending a tingle through his body. You laugh softly as you continue to kiss and nibble on his jugular. You feel his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes. You look at Simon in the eyes and smile.

"Mm, said you liked her, didn't you?" You whisper close to his ear, nibbling as you do so, your voice full of confidence. "You like it when she's not as quiet."

Oh?

Oh.

Oh.

God, was Simon fucked.

navi / masterlist

[sydneys-adamu]

I’m just not surprised. this is the exact way we were told he was going to be acting. like a new york ego maniac that drives everyone crazy especially syd. idk the more I think about it the more I get everyone’s frustration with carmy but like he’s supposed to make us wanna rip our hair out. like he’s supposed to be annoying and ruinous. there would be very little story if he wasn’t. we always naturally wanna see things work out nice and easy and joyous and perfect but it was never gonna be a straight upwards line like that.

I actually think that this season showed syd’s feathers more than anything. marcus makes a speech about how special it is to have someone pay attention to you and really consider you and then right after we have syd literally adjusting the margins so carmy would be more comfortable writing. and he’s so taken aback by someone doing something so small for him like it’s nothing. like despite the fact that he’s driving her insane, she really cares about him, and her wanting to leave has so much to do with not him but how he’s acting, alongside the fact that she wants to have a voice in the kitchen he keeps on saying he’ll give her and then doesn’t. it feels like she knows this isn’t who he is and she keeps waiting around to see if he’ll open up to her but it doesn’t happen so then we have half conversations and half truths that are frustrating and so true to character.

one thing that was made blatantly clear is that these two are so hungry to know the other more. they want to be more involved but are both so emotionally stunted when it comes to each other they don’t know where to start. like when they look into each other’s eyes the words just go out the window. when they’re not talking about work they don’t know where to go from there even though they want to.

I can easily say I have never seen chemistry the way these two have it. you can do whatever you can to wipe it but you can’t. even if you don’t give them a big table scene it’s still there. it’s always going to be carmy and sydney, even if they can’t find each other yet. what they want and where they’re at are two different things and it may take a bit for them to get there. I think the not knowing of it all is intoxicating.

[lunarw0rks]

simon the type to keep a spray bottle within his reach, for you;

you slouch? one spray to the nape of your neck

you bite/chew your nails, god forbid? two aggressive spritzes to your face

[skelecentral]

you think of him when he’s not there? 🥹 He’s not gonna stop thinking about that for the next week

Day two of Bad Sansuary (hosted by @owl-bones): Romance!

[konigsblog]

yandere!reader, who is corrupted and sadistic, manipulating and convincing könig to love you. eventually, once he's fallen head over heels with you, he'll lock you away and collar you in the basement.

i mean, you'll really do anything for him, ja?

[realmsturkishdelight]

the usual.

pairings ; rafe cameron x fem!barmaid!reader

warnings ; alcohol, mentioned rafe fighting with his dad like once, drugs, banging a guys head, blood, being harrassed, cursing, mention of wanting to kill someone aaaand reader is a pogue!!

a / n ; this is inspired by season 2 rafe, aka my favorite pyscho <3

rafe never thought he could be an alcoholic.

yes he liked to drink, or liked to get wasted at parties, and the occasional drinking night usually topper orginized where it was just kelce, him and rafe.

but he never thought he'd be a regular customer at a local cafe-bar, where he didn't really noticed until one day he had a shitty fight with his dad, the usual, and wanted to clear his head in a place they didn't know him much.

it was cozy, rafe thought. you could have your drink and sit down on the comfortable sofa's, or at the bar table if you prefer. and to rafe, bar table was gonna be his favorite in the whole cafe.

he sat on that chair without giving a single fuck to who was there or who was working, ordering a simple 'neat whiskey.' the soft voice of your reply, an enthusiastic "comin' right up!" made his head raise and that's when he saw your pretty frame.

only you could rock a simple worker outfit in a way that made rafe drool.

he was in a daze when you put the whiskey in front of him with a soft "there you go," too busy observing the way that working outfit fit your curves perfectly, the way your hair was made in a sweet and simple french braid, and the way you seemed so bubbly. and he forgot to say thank you.

he knew you were a pogue, and he knew he was breaking his own rules by thinking romantic stuff with you—yes, not a hookup, a relationship—basically eating from the bowl he shit to.

but you were so.. captivating. you seemed like an innocent girl with a fun personality, but he could see that fire in your eyes too. one that matched his.

perfect, was the first thought that came to his mind. beautiful, was the second.

you made him forgot why he was there in the first place, or why his mind was so loud before. it felt like you put something in that whiskey that put him in a trance, where it blurred everything but you. he nearly forgot his own name.

after he read your name tag, he started calling you by your name. y/n. it just rolled on his tongue perfectly. a pretty name for a pretty girl. it had it's own melody, one that become rafe's favorite tune to repeat.

you, on the other hand, were aware of his little interest. you simply didn't wanna get your heart broken by a kook, especially from no other than rafe cameron's himself. he was known by his short temper, addiction to coke and friendships with dangerous dealers like barry. but why was he so gentle with you? maybe only because he was sugarcoating his way to get you in bed, or have you as his little toy to visit whenever he felt like it. but everytime you thought he was gonna make a move, he would simply order his drink, and watch you work with the softest gaze ever seen on mankind. so unlike him.

rafe didn't wanna drag you into his mess, was the answer of your question. cliche, he knows it. hell, he's been the most cliche man he's ever seen for the past month. but it came so natural to him. made him fucking understand the stupid romantic movies sarah used to watch with wheezie. you made him so soft inside that it made him wanna kill someone to remember his original self. he swears you put something in that whiskey that night, because he found himself speaking and acting soft near you for fucks sake.

one night, where he was late unlike the usual time he came by, he saw someone trying to grab your arm, your expression hard and troubled while the boy around his age seemed to almost drool over you. it made something in him snap, making his own cruel self return.

without you could even process what was happening, he held the guys head and banged to the bar table, not a flicker of emotion in his face as he did. after the guy was knocked out, your eyes wide, your mouth dropping with a small gasp, he covered your vision so that you can't see the way boy was bleeding.

"sorry for the mess sweetheart, are you okay?" he murmured, leaning down to see if you were still functioning. because you felt like you didn't, finally withessing what rafe cameron's rage looked like. he didn't liked the thought of scaring you, his soft expression returning with a hint of fear and vulnerability. losing you was scarier than anything to him. "i couldn't help myself... m'sorry if i scared you."

honestly, you didn't know if you were scared shitless or turned on by that.

"it's- it's fine, um... thank you, rafe." you stuttered out, breathing slightly heavy because of the overwhelming things you witnessed in one night. "m'glad you were around." you added softly. rafe let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding, glad that you were at least not running away from him. he moved away a strand of hair that was stuck in your lip with his fingertips, barely touching the corner of your lips while your coworkers took the guy outside. he wasn't dead, appearently. not what he planned but he could deal with that later. and your coworkers were scared to call the cops on him. they knew better.

rafe didn't realised he forgot to reply, only noticing when you spoke again. "you're late one night and look what happened." you managed to joke softly, a little smile on your face. it made rafe feel things. things a guy like him didn't even know existed. it made him smile too, even letting out a huffed chuckle. "m'sorry sweetheart, i got some stuff to do."

you decided to shoot your shot as you walked behind the bar table, a sweet smile on your face. rafe was afraid of what he could possibly do to keep that smile on your face, it was too much at once. "shouldn't be more important than me, hm?" you raised a brow with a smile, pouring neat whiskey. his usual. and instead of putting on the table, you handed him, making your fingers brush against eachother.

rafe smirked, his dimple showing on his handsome features. you never denied that he was drop dead gorgeous anyway, just a deadly one at that. "nothin's more important than you, sweetheart." he stated bluntly, his voice smooth. making you swoon while you wiped the blood of the guy's head from the corner of the table, acting like it never happened.

you huffed a chuckle, your eyes shining with his sweet words. "my shift is about to end..." you said softly, hoping he'd get the hint.

and he did. of course he did. you could tell by the way he looked down and scratched the back of his neck like a teenager, first time getting flustrated by a girl's implication. "then i'll walk you home, yeah? gotta make up for being late after all." he replied as he looked at you with a cheeky grin.

you smiled with a nod as you cleaned a glass with a wet towel, your gaze playful and confident once you got the message of your effect on him. "great way to apologise, that's for sure."

༝༚༝༚

[baby-yongbok]

I can't stop thinking about Chan excusing us from the table while we sit with my family for Thanksgiving dinner. Pulling me into an empty room and pushing me up against the door and finger fucking me until my arousal is dripping down his forearm and ruining my panties.

I'm thinking about him kissing me with so much hunger that he ruins my lipstick, smearing the pigment on both of our faces and trailing it down my neck as he leaves marks on my skin that my cousins and aunts are bound to ask about later.

I'm thinking about how he'll groan and whimper as I palm him over his slacks and tell him how badly I want to take him down my throat and stain his pretty cock with sloppy lipstick kisses. I won't let him fuck me though, that's for dessert.

[sirhamburrger]

DOUBLE LIFE (T. KUROO)

wealthy socialite and philanthropist by day, cape-wearing superhero by night; tetsuro kuroo’s life has never seemed better. but when his two worlds overlap and you seem to be at the heart of all of it, he wants to find out more - needs to. who will you be tonight?

PAIRING: kuroo x f!reader

TAGS: batman!kuroo, nightwing!reader, superman!bokuto, oracle!kenma, flash!yaku, cyborg!akaashi, violence (crime-fighting), blood, but nothing nsfw

PLAYLIST: kuroo’s airpods

AUTHOR'S NOTES: in honor of spooky season, as i dare not venture into the unfamiliar world of kinktober yet, have this absolute dumpster fire of a story. inspired by @afyrian's follow me like the moon and @eggyrocks's into the spider-verse! generally also motivated to write this by my interactions with @nectardaddy (this is how you find out i'm lt. anon LOL) also ignore how my inspiration for this is literally that one pharrell williams song for despicable me

CHAPTERS:

prologue: oracle's laptop chapter 1: you don’t buy drinks at a gala

TAGLIST: @kr1nqu, @weezerbby, @honeytwo, @honeyfewr (open, send an ask to be added!)

haikyuu masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[earthtoharlow]

From the Dining Table

chapter 01

20 Years Ago

Jack sat on the couch with his hands pressed against his head, hoping that the pressure against his temples would stop the war that was going through his mind. The engagement ring sat on the coffee table between them. Across from him sat actress Scarlett Hayes, his fiancée for barely six months—she stared at him in disbelief, her voice shaking.

“Are you trying to hurt me?” Scarlett whispered, her fingers curled around the edge of the chair, as if holding on to something, anything would keep her from crashing out.

Jack couldn’t even look at her. He knew her eyes were full of questions that he didn’t have the strength or balls to answer. Jack’s chest tightened as her voice grew louder, more desperate.

“Talk to me! We’ve been through too much for you to just walk away like this. You owe me a reason.”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The words were stuck in his throat, a tangled mess of guilt, fear, and love. How could he tell Scarlett that it wasn’t her fault? That he was breaking her heart to save her from something worse? That deep down, he wasn’t sure he was the man she deserved?

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Scarlett stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. “You can’t what? You can’t explain? You can’t love me anymore? What?” Her frustration spilled over, and she ran a hand through her hair, pacing the room. “Do you even care about how this is affecting me? I thought we were happy, I thought we were going to—”

“Stop.” Jack's voice cracked. He could barely stand hearing her hope shatter with every word. But still, he couldn’t give her the explanation she wanted. What was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t ready? That he felt like he was losing himself in this life they were building? That his career, his demons, and the past he carried were dragging him away from the future they were supposed to share?

“I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, his eyes glued to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes welled up, and she stood there for a moment, staring at him like he was a stranger. He knew what she was thinking—how could someone who claimed to love her so deeply suddenly become so distant?

“I deserve better than this,” she finally said, her voice barely holding together. “I deserve to know why.”

Jack clenched his fists, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms, to kiss her forehead like he used to and tell her everything would be alright. But he couldn’t make that promise anymore. The truth was, he didn’t trust himself not to hurt her again. He wasn’t the man she needed him to be.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and it felt hollow, empty—just like him. He stood up and walked toward the door without looking back. She didn’t try to stop him this time.

Just as his hand reached for the doorknob, her voice pierced the silence, sharp and broken.

“I hate you.”

Jack froze, his back still to her. The weight of those three words hit him harder than anything she could have said. He felt it in his chest, a pain so deep it was almost physical.

“You’re pathetic, I hate you,” she said again, louder this time. “And I’ll always hate you.”

He stood there, unable to move, Scarlett’s words echoing in his mind. He deserved them. Every last syllable. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Without turning around, he opened the door and walked out, leaving behind the woman he loved more than anything, knowing she would never forgive him. Knowing he had lost her forever and it was all his fault.

***

Twenty years later, Scarlett sat in front of a row of reporters at a press junket for her latest film. The years had been kind to her—she’d rebuilt her life, piece by piece, becoming one of the most respected actresses in the world. She was on the brink of becoming an EGOT winner—a feat few could claim.

Life had moved on, and so had she. She’d married another actor a few years after the breakup. They had a beautiful daughter together, though the marriage didn’t last. Despite the divorce, she and her ex-husband had managed to co-parent well, and their daughter, Maya, now 14, was the light of her life.

Yet, certain memories from the past had a way of creeping into her mind when she least expected it.

As the last few questions were being asked, one reporter raised their hand. “What advice would you give to the person you were 20 years ago?”

Scarlett paused. The question wasn’t unusual, but it took her by surprise. Twenty years ago. The number tugged at her, pulling her back to a version of herself she hadn’t thought about in a long time. A version who’d just had her engagement broken off without an explanation. A version who felt shattered, blindsided, and unsure of where to go next.

She took a breath before answering, her voice calm and thoughtful. “I would tell her to trust herself more. To understand that sometimes the things that break you aren’t meant to destroy you, but to reshape you into someone stronger.” She paused, her eyes softening, as if she were talking directly to her younger self. “And that the pain, as overwhelming as it might feel in the moment, will eventually become the foundation for the person you’re supposed to become.”

She smiled, a small, almost private one, as if the advice wasn’t just for the person she was 20 years ago, but also for herself in the present. The reporters scribbled down her response, sensing there was more behind her words than just a general piece of advice.

But Scarlett didn’t elaborate. She thanked the reporter for the thoughtful question and moved on to the next, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself.

When Scarlett returned to her hotel room. She closed the door softly, the quiet of the room a welcome contrast to the frenzy of the press junket. Dropping her purse on the table, she exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the emotions that had surfaced when she answered that last question. Memories of the past always had a way of creeping back when she least expected it.

Maya was lounging on the couch, looking up from her phone as Scarlett walked in. She was 14, full of energy and curiosity, with the kind of bright eyes that reminded Scarlett of herself at that age. But there was also a resilience in her daughter—one that seemed far beyond her years.

“Hey, Mom,” Maya called out casually, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How did it go?”

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It went well. Same questions, different faces.”

Maya set her phone down, sitting up a little straighter. “You look tired. Want me to order room service or something?”

Scarlett chuckled softly. “Maybe in a bit.”

Maya hesitated for a moment before her expression shifted to something more excited. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something. And don’t say no right away.”

“Oh boy,” Scarlett said, playfully bracing herself as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “What is it?”

“Well,” Maya began, drawing out the word like she was preparing for a big reveal, “I found out that while we’re in town, Jack Harlow is performing. And… I really want to go.”

Scarlett’s stomach knotted instantly at the thought. Jack Harlow. The man who had walked out of her life without an explanation two decades ago. The rapper who had become even more successful over the years, topping charts with multiple number-one albums and winning five Grammys. He was everywhere, even if they had managed to avoid each other at every awards show, every industry event, every red carpet. They had perfected the art of pretending the other didn’t exist.

Now, the idea of seeing him again—of watching him perform while sitting in the audience with her daughter—made her chest tighten. But how could she say no to Maya? She adored her daughter, and Maya was at the age where she idolized the rapper, just like millions of others.

She swallowed, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Jack Harlow….?”

“Yes!” Her daughter’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’ve been dying to see him live, and it’s crazy that we’re here at the same time. Please, Mom? I know you’re busy this week, but I have to go to this concert. It would be amazing.”

Scarlett tried to keep her tone casual as she spoke. “You know, sweetie, maybe your dad could take you to the concert instead? I’m sure he’d love to go with you.”

Maybe paused, looking at her mom in disbelief. “Dad?” she asked, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. “No way.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Why not? He loves concerts, we used to go to concerts all the time together before you were born.”

Maya plopped down on the bed, shaking her head firmly. “Mom, you don’t understand. Dad can be so embarrassing sometimes. I mean, he’d probably try to rap along to the songs and think he’s cool, or worse—he’d make some weird joke in front of people. I can’t have that happening in front of him,” she said, referring to Jack.

Scarlett stifled a laugh. She knew her ex-husband’s quirky sense of humor all too well. He was a great dad, but yeah… maybe not the best choice for a situation like this. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad,” she tried.

Maya wasn’t convinced. “Mom, I love Dad, but he’s not exactly cool, you know? When you mention TikTok he thinks you’re talking about that Kesha song.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please, Mom. You’re way cooler.”

Scarlett sighed, her plan to avoid the concert quickly unraveling. “I don’t know, honey,” she said, hesitating. “It’s just… I’ve got a lot going on with the press tour, and I might be too tired. Maybe—”

Maya looked at her, wide-eyed and pleading. “Mom, this is literally a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You’re always working. Just this once, can’t we do something fun together? Please?”

She felt a pang of guilt. She had been so focused on her career, the press, and everything else that had happened over the years that she hadn’t made enough time for moments like this with her daughter.

But the idea of being at his concert, seeing him again, was terrifying. Still, as she looked at her daughter, who was practically begging her, Scarlett found herself trapped. Maya didn’t deserve to be punished for something that had happened long before she was born.

“Okay,” she said, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded. “We’ll go.”

Maya squealed, reaching over to hug her tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is going to be the best night ever!”

***

Backstage, Jack sat in front of the mirror, his head bowed as he tied his new balance. His crew moved in and out of the dressing room, prepping for another sold-out show. Tonight was special. Every show was, but something about performing in this city always felt like coming home.

His phone buzzed on the counter beside him, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the rhythm pulsing in his veins. It was the pre-show adrenaline, the high he chased every time he stepped on stage. The crowd would be chanting his name in a few minutes, and he needed to be in the zone.

Urban pushed through the door camera in hand and a knowing grin plastered on his face.

“You’ll never guess who’s here tonight,” Urban said, his voice full of intrigue.

Jack didn’t look up, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Urban always had something to say, always some gossip or story to break up the tension. He figured it was just one of the usual celebrity guests, a fan or two from another showbiz circle.

“Who?” he asked, humoring him as he stood and stretched out his arms, preparing himself mentally for the setlist.

Urban leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, that grin not fading. “I’m serious, man. You’ll never believe it.”

“Alright, then. Hit me with it. Who’s in the building?” he asked, half-paying attention, still in his pre-show mode.

Urban paused for dramatic effect, letting the silence stretch just long enough before dropping the bombshell. “The one that got away.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed his jacket from the chair. “Man, stop playing. I ain’t got time for that.”

Urban didn’t blink. Didn’t laugh. Just stood there, his smile shifting into something more serious. “I’m not joking. She’s here. She came to see you.”

Jack froze, his hand hovering just above the jacket. For a second, he thought Urban was still messing with him. But Urban didn’t play like this—at least not about her.

He turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Who you talkin’ about?”

Urban didn’t miss a beat. “Scarlett Hayes.”

At first, all Jack could do was shake his head, the disbelief settling in. He laughed again, though this time it came out more as a breath of surprise than humor. “Nah. You’re trippin’. No way.”

But Urban’s expression didn’t budge. “I’m telling you, she’s here. Saw her myself. Came in with her daughter, I think.”

His heart stopped for just a moment. Her. After all these years?

Twenty years since they’d last spoken, twenty years since he’d walked out of that apartment without looking back, twenty years since the day she told him she hated him. The memories flooded back in an instant—the way her voice had cracked, the look in her eyes when he left her without an explanation. He had convinced himself long ago that he wouldn’t see her again. Not face-to-face. Their worlds were too big, their circles wide enough to avoid each other. And they had—for two decades.

But now?

“She’s really here?” he asked, his voice quieter this time, disbelief still hanging in the air.

Urban nodded. “Yup. Sitting somewhere out there with her kid. And from what I heard, it wasn’t even her idea to come. The girl wanted to see the show.”

Jack let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he processed it. Of all the people who could’ve been in the audience tonight, Scarlett was the last person he’d expected. Part of him had always wondered if they’d cross paths again, if there’d ever be a moment where the universe would force them into the same room, the same space. But after all these years, he had convinced himself it wouldn’t happen.

And now she was here.

He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of it settle over him. “Guess she couldn’t avoid me forever, huh?”

Urban chuckled. “Seems that way. But what you gonna do about it?”

Jack hesitated for a beat, staring at his reflection in the mirror, trying to reconcile the man he was now with the man who left her behind so long ago. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure if she would want to see him after everything that had happened.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head, trying to focus on the show ahead of him. “But I know one thing. I ain’t letting it mess up my set.”

Urban gave him a knowing look, camera still in hand. “Good call, but she’s here, man. And something tells me the past ain’t just stayin’ in the past tonight.”

With that, Urban turned and left the room, leaving Jack alone with the thought that after two decades, she was finally in his world again. And for the first time in years, he didn’t know how to feel.

***

Jack stood center stage and took in the sold out crowd. This was his zone, his sanctuary, where nothing could touch him—where he controlled the crowd and their energy, night after night.

But tonight, something felt different. His mind kept drifting, thoughts circling back to what Urban had said backstage. Scarlett here. He had tried to shake it off, but the thought gnawed at him, even as he performed. The crowd roared louder as he transitioned into his next song, one that hadn’t been on the original setlist but was a personal favorite for fans.

“Can I slow things down for a little bit?” Jack asked the crowd as he grabbed the mic stand. The opening chords echoed through the stadium, and a hush fell over the audience. They recognized it immediately. It wasn’t one of the hits that charted on Billboard or made it onto the radio, but it was the song that fans knew had come from the deepest part of him. It was the song he wrote about Scarlett around the time he first met her.

Yeah, they fine, but they not you. You a catch and I caught you. I wanna pull up and flaunt you and take some pics for Getty Images. I like all your beauty marks and blemishes…

The lights dimmed, and the spotlight shone solely on him as he moved across the stage when he looked out into the crowd, he saw her.

Scarlett was there, in the crowd, just like Urban said. In the sea of faces, she stood out—her face illuminated by the soft glow of the stage lights, eyes locked on him. For a split second, the entire world fell away. His breath hitched in his throat, the words almost dying on his lips as they stared at each other. It was like time had stopped, and all the years between them collapsed into this moment.

She hadn’t changed much—still as stunning as she had been when they were younger, though there was something deeper, wiser about her now. She wasn’t the woman he’d left behind; she had evolved, become someone bigger, stronger, untouchable in her success. But her eyes… her eyes still held that same fire.

The next line came out rougher, almost a whisper:

Girl, you're poison, poison, poison, poison, but the good kind. It's crazy how you're on my mind. Kind of crazy how you're on my mind

Jack remembered everything—how he left, how she had yelled at him, tears in her eyes as she said she hated him, how he hadn’t been able to say a single word back. He had never told her the real reason, had never given her the closure she deserved.

The final beat hit, and the crowd erupted, cheering wildly, oblivious to the tension swirling beneath the surface. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She hadn’t moved, her expression unreadable from where he stood, but he could feel the energy between them—like a cord that had been stretched thin for years was finally being tugged back into place.

For a moment, he thought about saying something, about calling out to Scarlett right there in front of everyone. But what would he even say? How do you fix something that’s been broken for two decades?

Instead, he just stood there, the mic heavy in his hand, staring at the woman he had never really stopped thinking about, wondering if she would turn and walk away like he had so many years ago.

Urban standing off to the side of the stage with his camera, had been watching everything. He saw the moment Jack’s eyes locked with hers in the crowd. He knew his friend better than anyone, knew that despite all the bravado, all the fame and success, there was still a part of him that had never gotten over her. And there was no way in hell he was going to let this moment slip by.

Jack handed off the mic to his stagehand, blinking as if trying to clear his head, but Urban was already a step ahead. He turned to Jack’s manager standing near the stage, a determined look on his face.

“Yo, get them backstage,” Urban ordered, his voice low but firm.

Kat raised an eyebrow. “You mean—”

“Scarlett Hayes. Her and her daughter. Bring them back here. Now,” Urban insisted, waving his hand toward where they’d been sitting. “Don’t make a scene, but get it done. He’s not gonna have the balls to do it himself.”

Kat hesitated for a split second but then nodded, understanding the urgency. This wasn’t just a regular concert guest—it was someone who could change everything for the man they all worked for. She quickly made her way toward the crowd, slipping through unnoticed as the concert continued.

Meanwhile, backstage, Jack had retreated to his dressing room, the rush of the show fading as reality crashed back in. He had avoided Scarlett for so long, convinced himself that whatever they had was buried in the past, but seeing her out there had brought it all rushing back. He ran a hand over his face, pacing the small space, still replaying that moment in his head—the way her eyes had locked on his, the way she hadn’t moved an inch, frozen in place just like him.

Urban burst into the room, camera hanging from his neck, smirking like he knew exactly what had to be done.

“What the hell was that, man?” Urban asked, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. “You looked like you saw a ghost.”

Jack shot him a look, but his usual cocky demeanor was nowhere to be found. “I wasn’t expecting to actually see… her.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of it all.

“No kidding,” Urban said with a knowing smile. “You gonna go talk to her?”

He hesitated. “Man, I don’t know. It’s been too long. What’s there to say?”

Urban crossed his arms, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’re telling me after all these years, you’re gonna let this slip? Scarlett is here, in the same building, and you’re just gonna pretend like you didn’t see her?”

Jack opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. Urban was right. This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, but the fear—the same fear that made him walk away all those years ago—was creeping back in.

Urban could see it. He rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I already handled it.”

Jack frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I told Kat to bring her backstage,” Urban said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. “Figured you’d need a little push.”

Jack’s eyes widened in shock, his heart leaping into his throat. “You did what?”

Urban shrugged, unbothered. “Relax. I didn’t have them drag her here or anything. Just made sure she knows she’s welcome. I know you, man. You’d never make the move on your own.”

Jack stared at him, panic swirling in his chest. Part of him wanted to bolt, to disappear before she showed up, but another part—maybe the part that had been carrying this regret for twenty years—knew this was his chance. This was the moment he had been avoiding, but also the one he couldn’t let slip away.

Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door.

His heart stopped.

Urban shot him a quick look, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your cue.”

Jack took a deep breath, steeling himself as he walked toward the door. When he opened it, his breath caught in his throat.

There she was. Standing in front of him was the woman who had once been his entire world, but as soon as Scarlett saw him, her expression became eerily calm, like she was slipping into a role she’d played many times before. She smiled—a smile he recognized all too well—and extended her hand toward him, as though they were meeting for the very first time.

“Hi,” she said smoothly, her voice dripping with polite indifference. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m—”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack interrupted, his voice tense as he took her hand, gripping it lightly. The casualness of the gesture was almost unbearable. The weight of their history was right there between them, but she was pretending like it didn’t exist.

Her daughter, Maya meanwhile, wasn’t pretending at all. She stood beside her mother, wide-eyed and practically bouncing with excitement. The second she saw Jack, she let out a tiny squeal, covering her mouth with her hands, her gaze darting between him and her mother as if this were some kind of dream.

“Mom! Oh my God, it’s really him!” Maya whispered loudly, her excitement spilling over. “You didn’t tell me we’d actually meet him!”

Scarlett, still holding onto her mask of politeness, glanced at her daughter with a calm smile. “Well, sweetheart, it was a surprise. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Jack blinked, momentarily stunned by the surrealness of the moment. Scarlett was really going to do this—pretend they’d never met, never loved, never been ripped apart at the seams. And her daughter had no idea.

The girl’s energy was infectious, though, and she stepped forward eagerly, her hands trembling as she extended her phone toward Jack. “Can I—can I please get a picture? This is like, the coolest thing ever! I’ve been a fan for years! I love all your songs!”

Jack glanced at Scarlett , searching her eyes for some kind of signal, but all he found was that same polite smile, so perfectly controlled. He swallowed his emotions, nodding toward Maya with a forced grin. “Of course. Anything for a fan.”

Maya practically jumped up and down, handing her phone over to Urban, who was grinning like he knew something nobody else did. The girl bounced to Jack’s side, beaming up at him as he put an arm around her for the picture.

Scarlett stood off to the side, watching the whole thing with a detached expression, her hands folded in front of her. She looked like a spectator in her own life, watching from a distance as her daughter unknowingly gushed over the man who had once broken her mother’s heart.

After the photo was taken, Maya looked up at Jack, her eyes wide with admiration. “I can’t believe this is happening. You’re such a legend! I’ve been to all your concerts. Mom, isn’t this crazy?”

Scarlett smiled again, that same well-practiced smile. “It’s quite something,” she agreed lightly, not giving anything away.

Jack looked at her, his chest tightening. He could see what she was doing—how she was keeping everything locked up, pretending like this was just another encounter, but it felt like a punch to the gut. He wanted to say something, anything, to break through that wall she’d built, but every word he thought of got stuck in his throat.

Maya, still buzzing with excitement, pulled her phone back out. “Oh! Can I get your autograph, too? I didn’t bring anything to sign, but I have my concert shirt! Wait, do you need a pen?” She began frantically digging through her bag, clearly overwhelmed by the moment.

As Maya fumbled with her things, Jack looked back at the actress, who was watching him with that same unreadable expression. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t let this moment slip by without acknowledging what was really happening.

“You sure we haven’t met before?” he asked quietly, his voice low so her daughter wouldn’t hear.

Scarlett paused for a moment, her eyes locking with his. For a split second, something flickered there—something real, raw, and unguarded. But just as quickly, she blinked, and the mask was back in place.

“I’m sure,” she said softly, her tone as smooth as ever. “Just two strangers, passing through.”

And with that, she turned her attention back to Maya, who had finally found a pen.

Jack swallowed hard, nodding numbly as he took the pen from the girl. “Yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Just two strangers.”

***

AN: Hello hi ! New series! Please please please let me know what you think and if you’d like to see this series continued 🙂‍↕️

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[visionarymode]

Acknowledgement

✧ warnings: smut, language, 18+

✧ pairing: roman reigns x female reader

✧ word count: 2,397

“Y-yes my tribal chief.” Paul fearfully stuttered as he got up in a hurry and left the room as he obeyed the tribal chief’s orders. Roman let out an annoyed and impatient sigh as he glared at Paul with those piercing evil eyes. The screen transitioned into the crowd as AJ Styles’ entrance music hit with the bell ringing to indicate the start of a new match segment. was sitting at the mini table backstage as she just finished watching Roman on TV in his backstage segment for the night. She loved watching him in character because he was so damn brilliant at what he does. There was truly no one like him. Not to mention his incredible dedication and sexy execution of his character…the tribal chief. Roman was the perfect man but my god, something about the tribal chief just made her want to jump through the screen and as he always says, acknowledge him, in many different explicit ways she could imagine. She sat there as her sexual frustration built up not being able to forget that segment or his fine self. you know what? She thought to herself. She grabbed her phone and got up to walk down the hallway. She was about to send him a text before she abruptly bumped into someone.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry-“ she stopped to notice who it was. Paul Heyman. 

“Someone’s eager to get to her destination.” he joked as he crossed his arms raising his eyebrow. Oh, he has no idea…

“I just tend to walk fast Paul that’s all!” she giggled as she crossed her arms as well. “Is he still in his locker room?” she questioned as if he’d know the answer. 

“Yes he is. he has some free time before our next segment in about half an hour.” he patted my shoulder as he continued to walk past her. 

“Thank you Wiseman!” she called out jokingly. She continued her walk until she stopped to read what was in front of the door to her right. Roman Reigns. finally. 

She left two quick little knocks on the door before opening it to see him lying up comfortably on the black leather couch scrolling through his phone. He looked up and immediately put his phone down as he flashed his pearly whites smiling in response to her presence. 

“Hey baby.” he greeted her as he got up from the couch.

She locked the door behind her and she started walking towards him to embrace him. He picked her up as she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. She giggled as she broke away to look at him. He looked so fucking sexy. When did he not though? His hair was slicked back in his usual bun, and his thick salt and pepper beard glistened from the oil he put on it to make it shine. He was wearing his 1000 days t-shirt with his track jacket over it zipped down.

“What?” he chucked. 

“Nothing you just look so…fucking…sexy.” she paused after each word to peck his lips. 

“Yeah?” he seductively mumbled against her lips trying to slide his tongue into her mouth. She granted access as she sucked on it. she broke the kiss for a split second to respond. 

“Yeah…”  

“You’re so…fucking….beautiful.” He mimicked her actions pausing after each word to leave sloppy kisses on each side of her neck. 

“Mmm I was watching your backstage segment and I don’t know. Something about the tribal chief makes me so horny…” she whispered in his ear. 

“Ahhh I see. You wanted to pay the tribal chief a visit huh?” he asked as he moved his hands from her waist down to her ass and grabbed a handful. 

“I just wanted to stop by & acknowledge you properly…” 

He lifted his face from her neck to look at her and smirked. Before she had a chance to say anything else, he sat her down on the leather couch. He leaned in to lift her chin and kissed her slowly and passionately. He rubbed her thighs up & down without breaking eye contact as he licked his lips admiring how beautiful she was. 

She could feel her panties get more and more damp with each motion of his hands. 

“The tribal chief really appreciates you putting time aside for him.” he professed. 

His rubbing turned into massages as he slowly moved his way up to her thighs spreading them slowly apart. 

“Oh does he now?” she asked playfully, but was screaming on the inside as her breath hitched in her throat. 

He left sloppy kisses all over her inner thighs before he stopped abruptly and noticed how wet she already was.

“Mmm look at you…” he muttered under his breath as he swiftly ran two fingers down her panties. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet…” he stopped mid-sentence to run his tongue over her damp panties. 

“…and you’re already dripping wet for daddy.” His eyes remained on hers as he grabbed her panties with his teeth & slowly ripped them off of her. If she could, she could cum right this second. 

“Tell me how much…” he spread her folds apart as she felt his breath on her wet pussy.

“…you acknowledge me.” 

“I acknow-“ Before she could finish her sentence she gasped as she felt his thick tongue swirl over her clit. 

“What was that baby?” he mumbled as he lapped his tongue up and down steadily yet slowly as he stared her down. She let out a moan that couldn’t be prevented and that was his cue to cover her mouth with his hand as the other pulled her right thigh over his shoulder to pull her closer. She managed to moan louder than before despite his hand being over her mouth as he ate her out like it was his last meal on earth. She suddenly felt him pull away which caused her to drop her jaw as she panted in frustration. 

“Wh- why’d you sto-“ 

“Shhhh. Who told you you could question the tribal chief huh?” he glared at her not to the point where she felt hurt but to the point where she was heavily turned on. She shook her head as she understood what he was doing. he wasn’t gonna break character. damn, he’s so good. 

“Or are you gonna be a good girl and do what daddy says?” he asked raising his eyebrows. She nodded her head eagerly so he could just put his mouth back on her needy and aching pussy. He set her thigh back down on the couch as he pulled his shirt over his head exposing his chiseled and tanned body. His tattoos on his pec & right arm were in full view as she bit her lip yearning for him. He grabbed her hand to pull her upwards in a seated position inches away from his face. He rolled up the shirt and stuffed it in her mouth. 

“Since you can’t control yourself this is what we gon' have to do huh?” 

Their eyes stayed locked for what felt like an eternity before he gently grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back on the couch.

“Now be a good girl and let daddy eat his pussy.” He dragged her legs towards him in the quickest motion and folded her so her knees were touching her shoulders. He kept his eyes on her as he let a long drop of spit slowly fall into her pussy. She was holding onto the back of her knees whimpering into the shirt that was stuffed into her mouth just moments ago so he could work on her. He used two of his fingers to spread the saliva along her entrance before he slowly slipped those same two fingers inside of her. They both moaned in unison as she was falling apart from pure pleasure. He started pumping his fingers in and out at a faster pace. Her muffled moans were growing louder and practically matched the same speed of his fingers. He licked her clit before he started sucking on it as she was on the verge of her climax. 

“Look at your pretty pussy soaking for me. you gon’ cum baby?” he asked licking his lips as he continued to finger fuck her. Her eyes were shut and her head fell back on the head of the couch as she struggled to form any words. He removed his shirt from her mouth and questioned her again. 

“Speak up baby. what’s my name?” 

“Ro-roman…” she was seconds away from releasing as she felt his fingers slow down the pace and tease their removal from inside her. 

“Nah…try that shit again.” he softly demanded. Then the lightbulb popped in her head. 

“my- my tribal chief…oh fuuuuuuuck…” she cried out as she came all up in his face as he sucked and licked every ounce of her juices making sure there wasn’t a drop left. That earth-shattering orgasm made her moan so loud that he had to bring his hand back up to clasp her mouth while he cleaned her up with his tongue. She was panting heavily as he lifted his face from in between her thighs licking his wet lips with the biggest smirk on his face. His beard was glistening but this time it wasn’t from the beard oil, it was from her. 

“Mmm there you go baby.” he praised as he winked at her. this majestic motherfucker. holy shit. 

“Now…” he started to say as he wiped her leftover cum off the corners of his mouth and sucked it off his thumb. He got up from the floor and took a seat next to her. He spread open his legs and rested his arms on opposite sides of the couch. 

“Your turn baby.” he winked while flashing his smug grin. 

She felt like she needed a breather after he just completely wore her out. She expected to come in here and finally pleasure him first for a change but he was never one to not pleasure his girl first. It was always his main priority whenever they got intimate. Making her cum before she could return the favor for daddy. 

She slid off the couch and got on her knees struggling to make eye contact because of how flushed and nervous she felt not only by his presence but by that insane fucking orgasm. His sweats and boxers slid off together as his long, hard, and pretty dick sprung up ready to be devoured. She felt her inner thighs getting hot once again as she prepared to take him all in & pleasure the fuck out of the tribal chief. He cupped her jaw as she was forced to meet his gaze. 

“Now be a good girl. open that pretty mouth and acknowledge me,” he ordered in a low voice. She quickly obeyed and started slowly stroking his shaft with one hand. Her tongue met his tip with a slow lick before swirling around it savoring his pre cum as he let out a low groan from her captivating eye contact. 

“Mmm say it…” 

“I acknowledge you, daddy,” she whispered before wrapping her lips around his tip and putting as much of him in her mouth as she could. She kept her eyes on him while sucking as his mouth slightly fell open with his head falling back. He was holding up her hair with his right hand in a slightly tight grip but she didn’t even care. She loved that he was in this vulnerable state as she had all the control to make him completely convulse and let go in her mouth. 

“Fuck baby just like that…take daddy’s dick like the good girl you are…” he struggled to finish his sentence as he groaned in pure satisfaction.

She studied him as he let out shaky pants while his left arm gripped the back arm of the couch so tight that his knuckles were turned white. She liked seeing him completely fall apart slipping out of character due to her mouth driving him completely fucking insane. Her mouth & tongue quickened the pace as she moaned around his length. He struggled to stay still and bucked his hips forward wanting her to take it all. His dick was so thick and big that she started gagging because of the struggle to fit it all in her mouth…but she didn’t give a fuck. She was enjoying this. She was enjoying fulfilling the tribal chief’s desires. 

“fuuuuck I’m cumming baby…” he groaned as she felt him getting close with tears prickling in her eyes from gagging on his dick. He gently pulled her hair back to take her off him and he let out a low moan as her tongue flicked on his tip once again. He quickly came down from his high to recover and immediately channeled his dominance. 

“Open that pretty mouth for me baby girl,” he ordered as he jerked himself with his left hand. 

She obeyed as she opened her mouth & stuck out her tongue keeping her eyes locked with his. He hummed and licked his lips and came all on her tongue as it dropped to the back of her throat. Droplets of his cum landed on her chest as they started swirling down to her breasts. He smirked at the sight of his mess all over his princess. 

“Swallow for daddy…” he instructed in a deep whisper. 

She obeyed swallowing every last drop of his seed. He wiped the leftovers on the corner of her mouth with his thumb and grazed it over her lips. 

“Say it,” he whispered slowly sticking his thumb in her mouth not taking his eyes off hers as she sucked it off and removed her mouth from his touch with a final slow lick.

“I acknowledge you…my tribal chief,” she responded with a raspy voice. He gestured for her to come sit on his lap with the flick of his finger. She was face to face with her man as he pressed his tongue flat on her chest licking up what was left of her neck and leaving soft kisses. He cupped her face as their lips were inches away before he praised her with the words she melted for once again. 

“Mhm. that’s my good girl.” 

---- thank you for reading! this is the first fanfic i’ve written so i hope y'all liked it :)

you can read more of my fics here ❤️‍🔥

tag list: @harmshake @cyberdejos2

[badcaninecemetery]

Touya: *rushing into the room, panting* *greasy hair plastered to his forehead, chip dust and crumbs on his shirt and fingertips, sweaty, hasn't showered in four days* *standing in doorway* "Do you love me, babe?"

You: "Of course, Touya."

Touya: *a relieved sigh* "Radical." *flops over, face down on the floor, passes out*

[thebunnednun]

The Fawn and the Wolf John Wick X Assassin! Reader (Part 1)

Warning: Eventual smut and violence. Size difference, predictor/prey, and other kinks.

Summary:

"Who the hell wants to marry a man they've never met?" Certainly not you. After staging your own death to escape a forced marriage orchestrated by your ruthless family, they retaliate by sending the infamous John Wick after you. Now, you're fucked in more ways than one. Evading Baba Yaga himself is no easy feat, especially when he's sympathetic to your plight but bound by a marker to bring you back. Amidst the chaos, you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to John, his allure undeniable as you embark on a thrilling game of cat and mouse across the globe. As the stakes escalate and the danger intensifies, you're caught between loyalty and freedom, you face a daunting choice that could change your life forever. What are you going to do? Marry the man your family has picked for you? Or do you start over with the surprisingly kind killer you meet?

Notes:

This is my First John Wick fanfic! I just finished the movies and wish I watched them sooner. In this narrative, certain deceased characters resurface, their roles pivotal to the plot, although not all events adhere strictly to canon. The timeline aligns closely with the events leading up to the fourth movie The only original characters are your family members. I will add a playlist for this later.

-----------------------Chapter 1: A Rainy Reception-----------------------

The rain fell heavily, each drop a tiny hammer against the pavement, as John Wick stepped out of his car, the relentless downpour quickly soaking through his coat. Beside him, the Bowery King emerged from the passenger seat, his fedora pulled low over his brow.

They moved with purpose toward the grand mansion ahead, its lights a faint beacon in the night. A tall, silent butler waited at the entrance with an umbrella, shielding John and the Bowery King from the worst of the rain as he led them inside. The transition from the cold, wet night to the warm interior was jarring. The mansion was dimly lit, corridors lined with rich, dark wood and plush carpets that muffled their footsteps.

The butler ceremoniously pushed open the imposing wooden doors, revealing a cavernous living space ensnared in a palpable tension. In one dimly lit corner, two figures loomed, engaged in an intense, hushed altercation, their silhouettes etched with conflict against the subdued light.

Across the room, a woman occupied a plush armchair, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby lamp. Her posture rigid, she seemed lost in the glow of her phone screen, oblivious to the charged atmosphere enveloping her.

Meanwhile, at the love seat, another woman's furrowed brow betrayed her vexation as she meticulously sifted through a stack of papers. The lamplight cast harsh shadows across her features, accentuating the strain etched upon her face as she wrestled with the weight of her responsibilities.

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, their senses keenly attuned to the tension in the air. 

The first man broke off his argument and approached John, extending a hand. "Mr. Wick, thank you for coming," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and urgency. He was a man of moderate stature, with a tailored suit that bespoke both elegance and authority. His dark red hair was meticulously styled, framing a face marked by sharp angles and a gaze that flickered with a blend of admiration and barely contained arrogance. 

John shook his hand, noting the faint red marks on the man’s face, resembling a slap with claw-like scratches. "You called, I came," John replied, his tone neutral.

John’s eyes swept the room. This family was different from the others he had encountered in his line of work. There was a genuine sense of concern here, a seeming desire to protect one another was rare among the families he typically dealt with. 

"Please, follow me," the man said, leading John to a side room—a cozy, well-appointed office. The décor was traditional, dominated by dark wood and leather. A photograph on the desk caught John’s eye: a young girl, smiling brightly as she held a bouquet of flowers at what appeared to be her birthday party. Her expression was one of pure, unfiltered joy.

"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," he said, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken concerns. "I'm Nick. Nick Morales."

The man gestured to a chair. "Have a seat," he said, taking his own seat across from John. "We need your help to bring back our Fawn."

John raised an eyebrow. "Fawn?"

The man nodded. "That’s what we call her. She has these big, doe eyes." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She’s gone missing, and we can’t let this disrupt the family’s image."

The younger man who had been arguing with him followed them into the room. He looked noticeably younger, perhaps in his early twenties, with a lean build and an intense expression. His eyes darted between Nick and John before he took a step back, clearly sensing Johns curious gaze. 

He had a slight smirk on his face as he glanced at his older counterpart. "A tantrum," the younger man said, prompting a glare from the elder.

John's curiosity was piqued. "Tantrum?"

The elder man sighed, the red marks on his face catching the light. "Yes. Things got out of hand."

The younger man chuckled, earning another glare. "She’s got spirit, I’ll give her that." After a brief moment, he excused himself and slipped out of the room, leaving the three of them to the tense atmosphere of the spacious living room.

John leaned back in his chair, assessing Nick. "I’ll need more information. Each of you will give me your version of what happened. Maybe then I can piece together the truth."

The elder man nodded. "Fine. We’ll tell you everything you need to know. Start with me."

As John prepared to dive into the first interview, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone in this room wasn’t being entirely truthful. The question was who, and why. He would have to tread carefully, piecing together the fragments of their stories to uncover the real reason behind the young woman’s disappearance.

John and the Bowery King sat side by side, facing Nick across his expansive wooden desk. The photograph of the young woman at her birthday party stood prominently, her smile bright and full of life. John noted the detail—it was clear Nick valued tradition and perhaps had stood in for her father during the celebration.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his expression one of contemplation mixed with worry. "She’s always been spirited," he began, a hint of fondness in his voice. "Born stubborn. We often butt heads over it.Trying to punish her was often futile. She usually gets the upper hand."

John listened intently, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me more about the night she disappeared."

Nick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She was frustrated. We had a disagreement about the future. The family has... other plans for her. It escalated, and she stormed out. Later that night, we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King interjected, "And the slap mark on your face?"

Nick’s hand unconsciously moved to his cheek. "During our argument, she lashed out. It’s not the first time. She’s got a fiery temper, but this time... it was different. She was more determined, more desperate."

John leaned forward slightly. "What about her aspirations? Getting out isn’t a typical path for someone in this... environment."

Nick nodded, his expression softening as he looked at the photograph. "She’s smart, driven. Always wanted to do something more with her life. I understand her wants, but we have to do what's best for the family. Sacrifices have to be made. Everyone does their share here. We all do."

John’s eyes narrowed. "So she left because she felt trapped?"

"Partly," Nick admitted. "She’s always been our Fawn, the youngest, so we’ve always looked out for her. Losing her means losing more than just a family member.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Nick’s words hanging heavy in the air. John considered everything he’d heard so far. The story was starting to take shape, but there were still pieces missing.

Nick broke the silence. "Each of us has a different opinion on the matter. Maybe talking to the others will give you more insight."

John nodded. "I’ll speak with everyone.”

Nick met John’s gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. Within a slip second, his gaze hardened. 

"We just want her back. Safe and sound."

With that, Nick stood, signaling the end of the first interview. The Bowery King gave Nick a reassuring nod as they both followed John out of the office, ready to piece together the rest of the story from the other family members.

“I’m coming in!”

As David entered Nick's office without hesitation, his presence was like a gust of wind, stirring up the calm atmosphere. He was dressed in a casual yet refined style, reflecting his laid-back personality. His dark blue curly hair, with streaks of vibrant colors, framed his face, giving him a distinctive look. The family symbol faded into the sides of his haircut, a subtle nod to his roots.

Ignoring the usual formalities, David addressed Nick directly. "I'm here to poach them, Nick," he declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nick, slightly annoyed, waved them off, knowing David's penchant for impulsive decisions.

As they made their way to David's office, the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the change in David's appearance. "What's with the hair?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

David chuckled, running a hand through his colorful locks. "Bright Eyes did this. She wanted to leave her mark before she left."

“So, David, we heard you got some insight into what happened with the Fawn,"John said, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

David, slightly shorter than Nick, sported dark blue curly hair cut in a taper, with the family symbol faded into the sides. He exuded a laid-back demeanor, contrasting with Nick's more formal disposition. His tanned skin was complemented by his navy suit. "Yeah, we've been trying to piece it all together. Starshine’s been like a ghost since she left." 

John nodded, his mind was still processing the details Nick had provided. David had led them down a hallway and stopped at a painting of a log cabin seven doors down from Nick’s office. John watched as David’s fingers quickly found a latch allowing the image to pop open. They reached another door, which opened to reveal David’s office. The room was more personal, less formal than Nick’s, with a distinct sense of nostalgia hanging in the air.

“Welcome to the lounge!” 

In David's office, the fusion of modern technology and Caribbean aesthetics was striking. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, complementing the sleek gadgets scattered around the room. The space felt inviting, with comfortable couches inviting them to relax.

David gestured for them to take a seat on the comfortable couches, a contrast to the formal setting of Nick's office. 

"Make yourselves at home, fellas," David said, his voice warm with hospitality. "Take a load off, fellas," David said, gesturing to the couches with a sweep of his hand. "Can I get you something to drink? Rum? Whiskey? I've got a few options that might suit you."

John nodded appreciatively, while the Bowery King opted for a glass of rum. As David poured the drinks, John's eyes wandered to the photograph on the coffee table. In the picture, you were clad in pajamas, and beamed with youthful joy. Surrounded by the family on what appeared to be a Christmas morning.

"That's a beautiful photo," John remarked, his voice soft with genuine admiration.

David's gaze softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites. That was a good day, you know? We were all together, no worries, just enjoying each other's company."

He paused, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Those eyes of hers... they've seen a lot, but they still have that same innocence somehow."

John leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned the nickname 'Sunshine.' What's the story behind that?"

David chuckled, a hint of fondness in his tone. "When she's grumpy, I call her Sunshine to lift her mood or be an ass. Just depends, really."

The Bowery King studied the photographs adorning the walls of David's office, his gaze lingering on one in particular. "Ironic you call her a Fawn. Her eyes... they're so bright."

David's expression softened as he glanced at the picture. "Yeah, she hates it when we call her that. But you can't deny the resemblance.” He chuckles and hands the men a different picture. “She looks just like a deer in headlights if you startle her. The nickname stuck through childhood." He leans back into the coach with his eyes trained on the photos. 

As John methodically flipped through the binder Nick had handed him, each page revealed a new layer of the Fawn’s past assignments. His gaze shifted to David, a silent promise reflected in the depths of his steely eyes.

The Bowery King leaned forward, his curiosity evident. "What sort of tasks did she undertake while she was with the family?"

David's features darkened, a bitter edge seeping into his expression. "She had her hands in everything," he admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. "From infiltrating crime rings by posing as innocent girls, ransoms or kidnappings, to carrying out seduction missions. She mostly got rid of the garbage."

John's jaw tensed as he absorbed the weight of each revelation. "And her age when she started?" he inquired, his tone betraying his growing concern.

David's face contorted with bitterness as he spoke the words. "Seven," he admitted, the syllables heavy with the burden of the truth. He set down his glass and faced the men head on. Now, he was serious. 

The gravity of that admission settled heavily upon John's shoulders, John's resolve only strengthened. Seeing the shift in David, John settled into his chair, the Bowery King beside him, both men attentive. 

The Bowery King's brows furrowed in disbelief. "Seven? That's young to be involved in all of this," he remarked, his voice tinged with questioning.

David's expression grew more solemn. “Despite everything she's been through, she still sees the good in people. With her job I don’t know how the fuck she does it."

John shot him a sharp glance, a silent warning to tread carefully. He understood the implications of such a revelation. But dwelling on it now would only distract them from their goal.

"We need to focus on finding her," John said, his tone clipped and to the point. "The past is done. We're here to bring her back, no matter what it takes."

David nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He knew better than to dwell on the past, to let it cloud their judgment in the present.

"Tell me about the night she left."

David sighed deeply, his eyes reflecting the weight of his memories. "We were all here, trying to have a family dinner. But tensions were high. She and Nick had another argument. It was about her future again. She’s been so focused on becoming a lawyer, but... the family business demands sacrifices." 

He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "After the argument, she left the table. I thought she just needed some air. It wasn’t until later that we realized she was gone."

The Bowery King spoke up, his tone probing. "And the slap mark on Nick’s face?"

David’s expression darkened slightly. "She’s got a temper, no doubt about it. She slapped him, her sharp nails left those claw marks. But it wasn’t just about anger. There was hurt there, deep hurt. She feels like we’re holding her back, trapping her."

John leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Do you think she left to pursue her dreams? Or is there more to it?"

David hesitated, glancing at the photograph again. "She wants to be free, to follow her own path. But it’s not just about becoming a lawyer. She feels suffocated by the expectations, the pressure. She wants to help people. And here... she feels like she’s just a pawn."

John considered this, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. He needed something more. "What does she mean to you, David? Personally.”

As David hesitated, his gaze shifting to the photograph once more, he spoke with a mixture of fondness and concern. "She's everything," he admitted, his voice softening. "More like a daughter to Nick and a sister-like cousin to me."

John nodded, understanding what he meant. "What do you think happened to her?" he asked, his tone edged with urgency.

David sighed deeply, a troubled expression crossing his features. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "Starshine turned off all her trackers before she left. Here," he reached for a remote on the coffee table, selecting a video of a burning estate. "This might shed some light."

As they watched the footage, David explained, "During her youth, Nick was taking care of her while in the military. He sent her away while on tour." He paused, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She was sent to live under the care of Cordelia, a terrible woman of the underground. She was known as a prominent matchmaker. She used stolen girls to carry out arranged marriages. If you weren’t married off she’d use you for…. other missions."

As David played the video of the burning estate, the screen flickered with images of flames engulfing the once-grand structure. The news report accompanying the footage described the scene in vivid detail, with some locals referring to it as an inferno that consumed everything in its path.

"The fire broke out in the dead of night," David explained, his voice grim as he recounted the events. "It spread quickly, devouring the estate within minutes. The rest of the area is fine though."

The news anchor's voice echoed through the room, detailing the confusion of firefighters about the containment of the blaze as it raged on. Smoke billowed into the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the surrounding area.

"Authorities are still investigating the cause of the fire," the anchor continued, "but eyewitnesses report seeing mysterious figures fleeing the scene before the flames erupted."

John's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. The Fawn’s connection to the estate and its destruction raised more questions than answers, adding another layer of complexity to the mystery surrounding her disappearance.

As the news report concluded, David turned the volume off and kept his eyes on the screen, the room enveloped in a heavy silence. The burning estate loomed large in their eyes.

“You know, you live with someone your whole life and watch them grow up to be so sweet. It makes you forget how dangerous they can be.”

David's caramel skin contrasted with the cooler tones from the TV. "I suspect she's somewhere near New York by now," he added, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

The Bowery King, intrigued by David's role in the family, posed a question. "What do you do, David?"

David hesitated, his gaze shifting to John before answering. "I work as the family accountant and tech personnel," he replied before shifting back into his easy going nature. "If you mean in the familiar sense, I'm the one who often stirs the pot, taking Bright eye’s side in most arguments and helping her wiggle out family duties so she can live her life."

John studied David's features, noting the similarities between him and the Fawn.

"Nick and I often clash over what's best for her," David admitted, a hint of defiance in his tone. "But we both want her to be safe, no matter what. You know what happens in this life when your family isn’t there to protect you."

While David's gaze turned back to the flickering images of the burning estate John absorbed his words, the weight of their meaning settling heavily upon him. He couldn't help but mentally note the differences between David and Nick, their contrasting appearances reflecting their divergent personalities.

Turning his attention back to David, John posed a question that had been weighing on his mind. "Between you and Nick, who do you think she'd listen to more?"

David's brow furrowed in thought, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "It's hard to say," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Nick is stricter but he does love her. I've always been the one she turns to when she needs a favor." 

John nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of uncovering something more sinister.

Before John could stand, David opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. He slid it across the desk to John. "I almost forgot. We’ve placed trackers in her earrings and her earbud case. I can’t get a read on her location yet. Once I override the bugs you’ll be able to track her exact location."

John opened the box, inspecting the discreet tracking devices. "This will be useful. Thank you, David."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of their shared mission hanging heavy in the air. With each passing moment, the urgency of their task became more apparent.

The silence was broken by the clicking of the lock, a sound that reverberated through the corridor like a distant echo. John and the Bowery King exchanged a quick glance, their senses sharpened by the unexpected interruption. Instinctively, John's hand drifted towards his holster, ready for whatever might come through the door.

As the woman skillfully undid the lock, David couldn't help but whine, "You better not teach Nick the code, Joselyn."

She chuckled, her fingers deftly working the mechanism. "Oh, come on, David. It's not that much of a secret. If Nick wanted to come in, he absolutely would."

With the lock finally disengaged, Joselyn swung the door open, greeting John and the Bowery King with a warm smile. "Welcome, gentlemen," she said cheerfully. "Please, follow me."

She led the way down the corridor, her lively persona filling the air with energy. As they walked, Joselyn couldn't resist taking the Bowery King's arm, a simple gesture of respect for her elders.

"We're just across from David's office," she explained, her voice bright and welcoming. "I've got some tea brewing if you're interested. And maybe a few snacks, too."

As they reached her office, Joselyn ushered them inside, the space reflecting her eclectic tastes and organizational prowess. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for them to make themselves comfortable, her warm demeanor putting them at ease.

Her office was meticulously organized, with a sense of order and precision. A picture of the reader, much younger, wearing a kindergarten graduation cap and holding a diploma for "Best Future Lawyer," was prominently displayed. Another picture of her wedding stood next to it

Joselyn gestured for them to sit, taking her place behind the desk. "Would you like some snacks?" she offered, pointing to a tray of assorted nuts and dried fruits on her desk.

The Bowery King nodded appreciatively. "Don't mind if I do," he said, reaching for a handful. John politely declined with a slight shake of his head.

"Now, what can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How can I assist in your endeavors today?"

As John and the Bowery King settled in, John couldn't help but ask, "Joselyn, what exactly is it that you do here? 

The Bowery King, always one for understanding the full picture, pressed on. "But the jobs you do now, what are they exactly? And the Fawn’s current role?"

Joselyn leaned back, her demeanor shifting to one of professional seriousness. "I run an agency that focuses on finding missing children and disrupting human trafficking networks. It’s dangerous work, but it’s what drives me. The Fawn, when she isn’t in hiding, assists with some of the more covert operations. Her skills make her invaluable in rescuing those who have been taken and dismantling trafficking rings."

"And she started this life so young," the Bowery King mused, shaking his head.

"Yes," Joselyn replied, her voice tinged with regret. "It’s a harsh reality, but it's also what makes her so effective. A double edged sword, really.”

John nodded, appreciating the gravity of what Joselyn was saying. "Thank you for sharing this with us. It helps us understand the stakes."

Joselyn smiled softly, though her eyes remained serious. "Just be careful. Mamita is young but she isn’t someone you want to underestimate. She's survived this long for a reason."

“And what’s the story behind the Fawn being sent to Cordelia?"

The mention of Cordelia sent a noticeable shift through Joselyn. She took a deep breath, her usual warm demeanor clouding with anger. Her voice lowered to a hushed tone. "Unfortunately, I am still a ‘made woman’. As for the witch, I tried to get custody of her, you know. But I was denied because I was 'too young' and not married yet. That poor girl... Cordelia was a nightmare. It was impossible to get her out of the contract."

She took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking. "Mamita was just a child when she began her training. It’s something I never agreed with. She was far too young, as was Amalia, who was trained at the same time. Amalia, fortunately, has retired now."

John’s curiosity was piqued. "How did Amalia manage to retire?"

Joselyn's expression softened slightly. "Mamita always loved Amalia like a blood sister. She made sure that when Amalia wanted out, she could get out safely. I don’t know what she did. She refuses to tell us. Amalia now leads a quiet life and can keep her children away from all this."

The Bowery King nodded, absorbing the information. "And what about your marriage?”

A wistful smile touched Joselyn's lips. "Yes, when it came to my marriage, I had to complete an impossible task. She was my cheerleader. I can’t go into the details, but she did it because she really wanted my now-husband in the family."

John's curiosity deepened. "Why was that so important to her?"

Joselyn's eyes sparkled with warmth and a hint of mischief as she recounted, "Mamita’s exact words were, 'Because you're soulmates,’ cute, isn’t it?

Turning the conversation, John asked, "Tell us about the Fawn’s relationship with your husband." He couldn’t allow his mind to start flooding with images of Helen.

Joselyn smiled wistfully. "He calls her 'muñeca,' meaning baby doll. He respects her dream and sees her as the goofy kid he once met. She gifted him a pair of golden-rimmed glasses that he often wears to match mine. Despite everything, he tries to make her feel safe and loved."

The Bowery King interjected,”The sister he never had?” 

“Exactly.”

"Would he be hiding her?" John probed.

Joselyn shook her head firmly. "No. If he knew where she was, he would have taken her home, even though he doesn't agree with everything we do."

John leaned forward slightly. "And why didn't you leave to join your husband’s family?"

A shadow passed over Joselyn’s face. "He's an orphan. We decided not to have kids until we can raise them without worrying about the family’s constant turmoil."

The Bowery King nodded, appreciating the depth of Joselyn's commitment. "You've sacrificed a lot."

Joselyn shrugged with a sad smile. "We all have. But we do what we must to keep those we love safe."

The Bowery King’s curiosity was piqued. "And who is this 'Mamita’s' best friend, Michelle?" He passed over a picture of a young woman with platinum hair and a slender figure from the binder. 

Joselyn’s expression softened slightly. "Michelle is actually Nick's age. She was almost sold off when Nick tried to rebel and leave the service.” Her hands turned to shredding a stress ball on her desk.

Joselyn’s shoulders were tense as she recounted the night. “Mama assassinated Cordelia and helped the other girls escape. We had to pay billions to cover it up.” She closes her eyes before sighing deeply through her nose. “Michelle disappeared the same night Mama left after going to confession, and we assume they're together. Nick wants to find Michelle on his own."

The Bowery King frowned. "Confession?”

"Michelle is Catholic, and Mama enjoys going with her to pray for her victims," Joselyn explained. John noted this mentally, intrigued by the implication of an assassin clinging to religion.

Joselyn took a moment, her expression grave as she met John's gaze. "I think it's time I'm completely transparent with you. Mama isn't just an assassin for our family's interests. She's a hired gun, servicing the highest bidders, whoever they may be."

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he absorbed her words. It struck him as peculiar that a family would send one of their own daughters to carry out such perilous tasks instead of relying on their established network of operatives. His mind raced with conjecture, weaving a tapestry of suspicion and intrigue.

Why would they entrust such responsibilities to someone so young and potentially volatile? Was there more to the Fawn's involvement than met the eye?

As Joselyn's voice faded into the background, his thoughts grew more insistent. Perhaps the Fawn had stumbled upon a secret, something she wasn't meant to see. And this arrangement—her role as an assassin—could be the family's way of ensuring her silence. It was a chilling possibility, but one that resonated with the shadows lurking beneath the surface of their world.

He blinked, refocusing on Joselyn's earnest gaze. "Thank you for being honest with us, Joselyn."

Joselyn's nod held a hint of understanding. "Just be careful, John. You know an animal is more dangerous when wounded."

John acknowledged her warning with a curt nod, his mind already racing with strategies and contingencies. As they delved deeper into the intricacies of their mission, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were treading on treacherous ground. 

John leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Joselyn. "Where do you think your Fawn might have gone?"

Joselyn sighed, tapping her fingers lightly on the desk as she considered the question. "There are two likely places. New York or Japan. She has an apartment in Japan, and New York was our home base."

"Where would she be in those cities?" John pressed.

"In New York, you'll most likely find her in a park or casino. She doesn't like to gamble—it's more about the thrill of the card games. If you need to keep her attention, playing a game with her might be your best bet. But be warned: she's very cunning and deceptive. If she thinks you're a threat, she'll leave. Mama doesn’t like to fight unless absolutely necessary."

"And in Japan?" John asked.

"Adores the scene culture there- especially dance clubs. She could be hiding Michelle in one of her apartments there. If you find Michelle, she will come after you. But you need to be extremely careful.” Her hands were now flat against the polish glass of her desk. “If she believes Micheale is in any danger, she'll kill you on sight. She's fiercely protective."

The Bowery King interjected, his voice thoughtful. "And why would she hide Michelle in Japan?"

"Japan's a place where she can lay low and blend in. She has friends and safehouses there, and it's far enough from here to avoid immediate detection. Michelle didn’t agree with the decision either and she probably wants time away from Nick." She slowly slides her hands into her lap. “I couldn’t go with her because of work. So I’m glad someone is with her.”

John nodded, digesting the information. "So, New York or Japan, dance clubs or casinos. And if it comes down to it, I should be prepared to play a game with her."

"Exactly," Joselyn affirmed. "But remember, she's unpredictable. She's been through a lot, and her instincts are sharp. Approach with caution."

"Thank you, Joselyn," John said sincerely. "This gives us a direction."

Joselyn nodded, her expression a mix of concern and determination. A debating look crossed her face before Joselyn reached for a small frame on her desk, a recent picture nestled inside. With a gentle smile, she handed it to John.

"Here," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness. "You should take a more recent picture of her. She's... she's quite beautiful, isn't she?"

As John accepted the picture from Joselyn, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the image. His eyes were drawn immediately to the subject—you. In the photo, you exuded a softness that seemed to radiate from within. Your complexion was flawless, with a natural glow that hinted at youthful vitality. Your features were delicate yet defined, each contour lending an air of elegance to your appearance.

Your hair cascaded in soft waves around your shoulders, framing your face in a way that accentuated your delicate features. A gentle smile played at the corners of your plump lips, adding a touch of sweetness to your expression. 

But it was your eyes that captured John's attention the most. Large and doe-like, they held a sweet mischievousness that seemed to pierce through the photograph, drawing him into their depths. At the same time, they were pools of warmth and innocence. He could tell you had a figure under the sweater dress you sported. Yet beneath the outfit, there lay a quiet strength in your arms and legs that spoke volumes.

In that moment, you really did reminded him of a deer, graceful and vulnerable yet capable of resilience.

As John studied the picture, he couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was a vision of purity and innocence, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of their world. And yet, there was a strength in your gaze as you looked into the camera. 

"She is," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joselyn's gaze softened as she watched him, her own sadness mirrored in her eyes. "I’m still fighting the marriage order.”

The Bowery King leaned over to glance at the picture, his expression contemplative. "She looks too young," he remarked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

The words snapped John out of his reverie, his thoughts jolting back to the task at hand. Whatever he was thinking, he dismissed it immediately. John nodded in agreement, his mind shifting gears as he placed the photograph in his suit's breast pocket.

"Thank you," he said, his voice steady once more. "We appreciate your help, Joselyn. We'll be in touch."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement. "Yes, we appreciate everything you've done for us."

Joselyn smiled warmly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "It's been my pleasure. Thank you for trusting me."

A small, soft knock echoed through the office, drawing the attention of John, the Bowery King, and Joselyn. They exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the interruption. Rising from their seats, they approached the door together.

As she stepped aside to open the door, a figure appeared in the doorway. With a soft smile, Joselyn stepped back to allow the newcomer to enter.

"Amalia," she greeted warmly, her voice tinged with affection.

Amalia, the retired operative, stepped into the room, her presence calm and composed. She nodded politely to John and the Bowery King, acknowledging their presence with a small smile.

"Joselyn," she said, her voice gentle. "I heard you had visitors. I hope I'm not intruding."

Joselyn shook her head, her smile widening. "Not at all. These gentlemen were just leaving. Thank you again for your help, John, Mr.King."

With a final nod of farewell, John and the Bowery King made their way out of the office, leaving Joselyn and Amalia alone together. As the door closed behind them, the room fell into a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet camaraderie of old friends reunited.

“Come along, mine is the second to last one.”

The hallway was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the sporadic flashes of lightning that streaked across the sky outside the large window at the end of the corridor. As John and the Bowery King made their way towards Amalia's office, the sound of rain battering against the windowpane filled the air, adding to the somber atmosphere of the building.

Amalia's office stood apart from the others, a solitary beacon of light as almost everything inside was creme or white with black accents. Situated next to the expansive window, it offered a view of the storm raging outside, the turbulent clouds casting eerie shadows across the room. The minimal decorations within only served to accentuate the starkness of the space, a far cry from the warmth and liveliness of Joselyn's office.

As they approached, John and the Bowery King couldn't help but notice the scattered toys strewn about the room, a stark contrast to the seriousness of their mission. Squishy toys lay abandoned on the floor, their bright colors standing out against the muted tones of the office. A small play kitchen sat in one corner, its plastic utensils and pretend food scattered haphazardly across the miniature countertops.

Amalia greeted them with a weary smile as they entered, her tanned skin glowing softly in the dim light. Her long wavy black curly hair cascaded down her back, framing her face in a halo of darkness. Despite her petite stature, there was a quiet strength in her gaze that spoke volumes, a resilience forged through years of hardship and sacrifice.

"Excuse the toys on the floor," she said quietly, her voice tinged with resignation. "I haven't had much time to tidy up."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, a small chuckle escaping them as they gently set aside a squishy toy that had been inadvertently sat upon. The tension in the room eased slightly, replaced by a sense of camaraderie amidst the chaos.

Before they could ask their questions, Amalia took a deep breath, her expression serious. "I'm over this," she said firmly. "I'll be explaining everything."

Her words hung in the air, a solemn promise of revelations to come. And as the storm raged outside, it seemed as though the tempest within was about to be unleashed.

"We were inseparable," she explained, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "After my father was taken out during an assignment and my mother was killed in a tuff war, we only had each other. Our grandmother raised us, but it was [Name] who became my rock.”

John couldn't help but notice that it was the first time anyone had used your first name, and he couldn't deny how lovely it sounded. But he quickly refocused, his attention returning to the weight of the conversation at hand.

"The same thing happened to [Name]," Amalia continued, her voice heavy with emotion. "We witnessed it, and we killed the people responsible. And that's when it was decided that we would become assassins."

John and the Bowery King listened intently, the gravity of Amalia's words hitting home. They knew that the life of an assassin was fraught with danger, but hearing about the tragic events still spurred something within them.

Amalia paused, her gaze flickering towards the window where the storm raged on outside. "I'll spare you the whole sob story of the training," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "But I hated having to be both people. A daughter of a prominent family and a trained killer. And [Name] hated it too. It was destroying her mental health."

The notion of Amalia's last name caught John's attention, and he couldn't help but wonder about its significance. "Morales," he said, his voice thoughtful. "Is that your husband's last name?"

Amalia shook her head, her expression somber. "No," she said quietly. "But I only kept it out of obligation. The truth is, I've never felt like I truly belonged to that family. And now, with everything that's happened... I'm not sure I ever will."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, recognizing the significance of the family name in the context of their world. They knew that in the shadowy underworld they operated in, family ties ran deep, binding individuals to a legacy of blood and loyalty.

"I see," John replied, his tone respectful. "Family is everything, especially in our line of work."

Amalia nodded, a hint of resignation in her eyes. "Yes, it is," she agreed quietly. "But sometimes, family can also be a burden, a weight that drags you down when all you want is to break free."

Her words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the complexities of their shared existence. And as the storm raged on outside, it seemed as though the tempest within her heart was taking physical form. 

The Bowery King's question hung in the air, the weight of its implications sinking in. "What happens hypothetically if we can't find her?" he asked, his tone somber.

Amalia's reaction was immediate, a surge of anger bubbling to the surface. "I have to take over!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration. She paused, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing, her tone tinged with bitterness. "I never wanted this life, but I have no choice. If [Name] isn't here to fulfill her duties, then it falls to me."

John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, the gravity of Amalia's words not lost on them. They had known that the consequences of your disappearance would be severe, but hearing it spoken aloud by someone who would bear the brunt of those consequences drove home the reality of their situation.

Amalia's anger simmered beneath the surface as she continued to speak, her voice strained with emotion. "You want to know why I'm so angry?" she asked, her eyes flashing with intensity. "BecauseI fell in love with the oldest son of a rival family."

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his shock mirrored by the expression on the Bowery King's face. "You did?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Amalia nodded, her anger momentarily overshadowed by the weight of her confession. "We dated for years in secret," she explained, her voice trembling with emotion. "But none of the elders in his family approved of him. They saw me as nothing more than a pawn in their game of power and influence."

As Amalia recounted the demands placed upon her by the elders, a bitter laugh escaped her lips, carrying with it the weight of years of resentment and frustration. "Finally, one of the elders agreed to our union, but only if I agreed to do the impossible," she continued, her voice filled with bitterness. "They demanded that I take on a series of missions that no one could possibly accomplish."

John's eyes widened in shock, his mind struggling to comprehend the enormity of what Amalia was revealing. "But how... how did you manage it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amalia's expression hardened, her anger and fear surfacing. "I didn't," she said, her voice trembling. "I was secretly three months pregnant and terrified. So, [Name] offered me a way out. She pretended to be me and did all of the missions herself in a single month."

John was struck silent, his shock evident. The Bowery King interjected, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That's impossible."

Amalia shuddered, closing her eyes briefly. "I don't know how she did it," she admitted, her voice heavy with emotion. "But she did. And now I have two children and one on the way." She placed a hand tenderly on her growing belly, a mixture of love and fear swirling in her eyes.

The Bowery King glanced at John, then back at Amalia. "She must have liked your husband," he remarked.

Amalia's anger flared again. "She hates him," she spat, her words dripping with venom. "But she did what she had to do to protect our family, just like I'm doing now."

John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fit together. "You were the one who commissioned me?"

Amalia nodded, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. Without another word, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a marker. John recognized it immediately as one of his. Before he could ask where she had gotten it, she tossed it to him. "Give my sister-in-law my regards."

Now he understood why the family had been so open.

She stood up, motioning for them to follow her across the hallway to the last office. As they walked, she reached for a chain around her neck, pulling out a key to unlock the door. With a click, the door swung open.

Inside, [Name]'s office was a sanctuary of unexpected tranquility. The walls were painted a soft, inviting color—clearly her favorite—creating a serene and almost ethereal atmosphere. Several carefully chosen works of art adorned the walls, each piece adding depth and personal significance to the space. The large windows allowed the stormy light to filter in, casting a moody yet gentle glow over the room. Plants adorned the windowsill, their flowers in full bloom. 

Scattered toys on the floor hinted at a lingering sense of playfulness, an odd juxtaposition to the gravity of their conversation. A locked closet stood ominously in one corner, suggesting secrets guarded closely. John’s gaze was drawn to a large stereo system complete with CDs and vinyl records, a record player sitting proudly beside a plush, inviting sofa.

The desk was strategically placed in the corner, maximizing the room's openness and making it feel expansive despite its purpose. Weights lay neatly under the desk, alongside a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers—unexpected touches that spoke volumes about [Name]'s need for both comfort and stress relief. A large bookshelf, filled to the brim with an eclectic mix of titles, suggested a mind constantly in search of knowledge or escape.

John took a moment to absorb the room's details. Every element seemed meticulously curated to reflect [Name]'s duality—her strength and vulnerability, her chaos and order. It was a room that spoke of a life lived in the shadows yet yearning for more.

Amalia watched him closely, her expression a complex mix of pride and sorrow. "This is her office," she said softly, her voice heavy with unspoken memories and regrets. "It's where I saw her last."

John nodded, the seriousness of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. The room was a testament to [Name]'s resilience, a stark reminder of what she had been forced to endure and what she sought to protect. 

The Bowery King glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the scattered toys. "What’s with the toys in her office?" he asked, his tone curious yet cautious.

Amalia sighed, her eyes softening as she glanced at the toys. "Some of them belong to my children," she explained. "Even though [Name] hates my husband, she's always been kind to my kids. They adore her."

The King raised an eyebrow. "If she hates him, why does she keep toys for your kids here?"

Amalia's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "Because despite her feelings towards Aaron, she's still family. She loves my children as if they were her own." She walked over to a shelf, plucking a picture frame from it and handing it to John and the King.

The photo depicted [Name] in a church, taking vows, with two small children standing beside her. The image captured a rare moment of softness and grace, a gentle smile on her face as she knelt before the altar.

Amalia chuckled softly, a hint of irony in her voice. "It’s funny, really. She hates Aaron but was the one who married us. She stood as our officiant and performed the ceremony herself."

John studied the photograph, his eyes lingering on [Name]'s serene expression and the tender way she held the children. It was a side of her he hadn’t expected to see, the Bowery King leaned closer, inspecting the picture with a critical eye.

"She does look genuinely happy here," he remarked, almost to himself.

Amalia nodded, her expression distant as she recalled the day. "She hides her pain well, but it’s there, just beneath the surface. She did it all for the family, even when it tore her apart."

John’s mind raced, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily on him. He glanced at the toys again, then back at the picture, a new layer of determination forming within him. He had to find her, not just for the mission, but for the person she truly was beneath the layers of duty and sacrifice.

John studied the photograph in his hands, a soft, reflective expression crossing his face. He looked up at Amalia, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You feel for her, don't you?"

Amalia's gaze drifted past him, landing on the various pictures decorating the office. Each one seemed to tell a story, snapshots of moments frozen in time. The pictures were clearly taken by [Name], as they rarely featured her but captured the world through her eyes.

One photo showed Amalia's children playing in a sunlit park, their laughter almost audible through the image. Another depicted a serene beach at sunset, the colors vibrant and warm, evoking a sense of peace and longing. A third photo captured an intimate family gathering, everyone smiling, with [Name]'s presence felt more than seen, the angle suggesting she was just out of frame, watching over them all.

As Amalia's gaze traveled through the photos, she took a deep breath. "My duties as a mother come first," she said quietly, her hand gently resting on her growing belly.

"Everything I do is for my children. [Name] understands that, even if it means making sacrifices."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of Amalia's words settling heavily in the air. John and the Bowery King exchanged a glance, both sensing the depth of emotion and history that lay beneath the surface of this family's intricate dynamics.

John's eyes wandered to more photos. There were pictures of Nick and [Name], their bond evident in the way he looked after her with a protective gaze. There were pictures of David being goofy and pranking Nick, capturing the lighter moments. Another series of photos showed Joselyn and her husband from high school until their wedding day, her husband looked to be of middle eastern decent.

Pictures of Amalia were abundant, spanning from her youth to the present day. There was a photograph of her debutante ball, and another of her wedding, noticeably absent of Aaron. Images of her pregnancies were also displayed, as well as breathtaking shots of the sky during sunrise and sunset, capturing the fleeting beauty of those moments.

A picture of the family at Christmas, dancing in their home country with your face obscured by your country’s flag, added a sense of tradition and unity. There were also photos of Nick and Michelle together, and some of Michelle at a café and in a casino bar, her expression pensive yet serene.

John’s gaze lingered on Michele at the casino bar. "Can I take this one?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

Amalia glanced at the picture and then at John, nodding slowly. "Yes, take it. It might help you find her."

John carefully pocketed the photograph, feeling the weight of the mission settle more heavily on his shoulders. He turned back to Amalia. "She’s given up a lot for the family, hasn’t she?"

Amalia nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "More than anyone knows. She’s carried burdens that weren’t hers to bear, all for the sake of duty and love."

The Bowery King looked at the picture of the children again, then at Amalia. "And yet, despite everything, she’s still kind to your children."

Amalia’s smile was bittersweet. "Because that's who she is. No matter how much she’s hurting, she always finds it in herself to care for others. That’s why I owe her everything. And that’s why we have to find her."

John’s resolve hardened. The mission was no longer just about finding a missing person; it was about bringing back someone who had given so much of herself for the sake of others. And he knew, deep down, that he wouldn't rest until she was safe.

John's eyes drifted to the other shelves in Amalia's office, noticing a collection of academic accolades. Certificates and plaques attested to [Name]'s intelligence and dedication, showcasing her achievements in various fields. He took a moment to absorb the extent of her talents, feeling a pang of admiration mixed with sorrow for what she had become.

The Bowery King broke the silence with a pointed question. "If the family wants to marry her off, why bother finding her?"

Amalia's gaze sharpened, her expression fierce. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth'?"

She paused, looking around the room as if searching for the right words. Slowly, she walked to the bookshelf. "We were always taught to honor those that came before us, but no one remembers the saying, 'Do not provoke your children to anger.'" Her fingers traced the spines of the books before she pulled out a green one. As she did, a section of the wall shifted, revealing a hidden room.

"Don’t get me wrong," Amalia continued. "She really is a sweetheart when you get to know her. But she changed after I got married. She always had a bubble around her and she's picky about who gets inside. She never gives out markers because she hates the idea of owing anyone anything."

The hidden room was a stark contrast to the main office, its coldness sharply contrasting with the warmth just outside the concealed door. John scrutinized the space, feeling as if he had stepped through a portal into another world. Though small, the office was meticulously organized.

A wall on his left was covered in photos and leads of your targets, with notes scribbled next to each photo detailing information about them, their families, and whether they had children. Strings connected some of the photos, forming a complex web of connections and motives.

Your monitor and desk were tucked away in the corner just before he walked in. The desk was devoid of personal touches, looking meticulously clean and functional, with only essential items—pens, a notepad, a closed laptop—neatly arranged. John ran a hand over the smooth surface, noting the absence of fingerprints and the almost clinical precision.

Across from the wall of target photos was a glass-fronted weapons case, showcasing a variety of deadly instruments. Swords, daggers, and firearms were displayed in an orderly fashion, each item meticulously maintained. The glass glinted under the dim lighting, revealing the sheen of polished metal.

However, John noticed that a few weapons were missing, leaving empty slots that hinted at recent use. He bent down slightly, examining the labels below each empty slot, trying to deduce what had been taken. 

The Bowery King nodded, his gaze shifting back to the empty slots in the weapons case. "Looks like someone's been busy.”.

As he continued to take in the room, John noticed a faint scent of gun oil and leather, a reminder of the deadly purpose behind the immaculate setup. He straightened up and turned his attention back to the wall of photos, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the detailed notes and connections. 

Behind him, the Bowery King entered the hidden office, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the scene with a discerning eye.

"Quite the setup you've got here," he remarked, his voice low and appreciative. He walked over to the weapons case, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass. Amalia let out a hum of acknowledgement having not moved from her place between both worlds. 

"Does she have a boyfriend? Any friends outside the family?" John inquired, his voice slicing through the tense silence as he turned to face Amalia.

Amalia, standing in the door frame, shook her head slowly, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the polished wood. "She never dates. As for friends, she keeps quiet about them. She doesn't delve deeply into relationships, fearing they might die or she might have to eliminate them."

John's gaze continued to roam the room, finally landing on an unexpected sight: a photograph of himself, discreetly tucked into a corner of the wall behind a stack of books. His brows knitted in surprise, but he chose to remain silent about it. Meanwhile, the Bowery King, who had been pacing near the weapons case, stopped and leaned in to scrutinize its contents again. 

"Why aren't these weapons readily accessible?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Amalia sighed, her gaze softening slightly as she looked at the King. "Because [Name] doesn't want my kids stumbling upon any of this stuff and easily accessing it out of curiosity. We actually appreciate the precaution," she replied, standing up and walking over to join the King. She carefully unlocked the case with the same key and retrieved a small, intricately designed dagger, holding it up for him to inspect.

John, still taking in the details of the room, pressed on with his questions. "What's her daily routine like?" he asked, moving to stand over his own photo, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

Amalia returned on her heel, the dagger still in her hand, and settled back against the wall. "[Name] is primarily focused on school when she's home. She rarely makes calls or texts anyone. She attends family meetings and diligently performs her duties. The only time she engages socially is during or after her missions. She doesn't typically stay out for long," she explained, her voice tinged with melancholy as she placed the dagger on your desk, its blade catching the light.

The Bowery King, still appraising the room, turned his attention back to Amalia. "Do you trust her, Amalia?" he asked, his voice low and probing as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

She paused, her eyes reflecting a turbulent mix of emotions. "I don't know anymore," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the dagger in her hand, the weight of her uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. She gently placed the dagger back before locking the case again. She glared at the glass before turning to face John. 

"The arranged marriage was the straw that broke her back," Amalia sighed, her frustration palpable. "Joselyn and I are married so she’s the only girl left.”

John scanned the room, disturbed by the shift in atmosphere. "I know what she's like out there," Amalia continued. "She's a completely different being. So cold, quick, and effective. If someone couldn't handle a job, she dismissed them and did it herself. No one escapes her. She's made a career out of being unknown."

John frowned, puzzled. "Is that why I have never heard of 'The Fawn' before?"

Amalia's eyes darkened. "She only works for the highest of the elite. You can't just request her services. There are rules for that. Dear God, she hates rules."

John’s gaze returned to the hidden room, a mix of awe and sorrow washing over him. The woman they sought was a paradox—capable of immense kindness yet driven to cold efficiency by circumstances beyond her control. As he studied the evidence of your dual life, he realized the depth of the challenge before them. Finding you would be hard enough; convincing you to come back might be impossible.

Amalia, noticing his troubled expression, sighed. "She always looked like she was a deer caught in headlights, vulnerable yet ready to flee or fight. That's why they called her 'The Fawn.' It's ironic, really. So delicate yet deadly. They underestimated her, thinking they could control her. But she’s smarter and stronger than any of them ever gave her credit for."

Without warning, Amalia grabbed John by the neck and slammed him against the door, her small frame vibrating with rage. The Bowery King instinctively backed up, his eyes wide, but John, sensing her condition, didn't reach for his gun.

"Don't you fucking dare underestimate her," Amalia hissed, her eyes blazing. "I don't care how innocent she looks. If looks could kill, you'd be dead twelve times over before you even knew what happened, Baba Yaga." She spat out his nickname with palpable disgust.

John remained still, the intensity of her anger washing over him. "She's strong, she's smart, and she's anything she wants to be. If you fuck up, she'll get you. I know her fight better than anyone else. I've seen what she can do. You cannot fail at this."

Her grip on his neck tightened momentarily before she released him, stepping back to compose herself. John's hand instinctively moved to his throat, feeling the lingering pressure of her grasp. He could see the raw emotion in her eyes, the desperate need for him to understand.

The Bowery King watched in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. John straightened, meeting Amalia's gaze with renewed determination. He knew she was right. Failure was not an option. He had to find you and bring you back, not just for the family.

But how could he not feel for the woman who had already sacrificed so much to protect those she loved?

Amalia's breathing slowed, and she placed a protective hand on her belly. "You can’t fail at this, John. Promise me."

John nodded, his voice steady. "I promise."

With a final glance around the room, Amalia led them back out into the office. The storm outside seemed to mirror the turmoil within the mansion. 

Amalia’s grip loosened, and she let go of John gently, straightening his tie and collar with a shaky hand. “She hated this job because she felt like a murderer. I understand why she wants to be a criminal defense attorney. But if her marriage keeps our family safe…” She looked into his eyes, her own filled with tears. “If it means my children never have to grow up in this life, so be it.”

Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she stepped back, turning away quickly to hide her emotions. The weight of her words hung heavily in the room. Overwhelmed, she excused herself, rushing to the office trashcan and spitting up. The Bowery King, his face a mix of concern and respect, offered her some tissues, which she took gingerly to wipe her mouth.

John's mind raced, running through the information he'd gathered from each family member. There were inconsistencies and gaps, pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. He replayed the details: Nick’s exclusion of Michele and his focus on the marriage. David’s guilty expression and lack of knowledge about your whereabouts despite having trackers on you. Joselyn’s warm yet firm demeanor, her openness to share. The anger and protectiveness in Amalia’s voice, the deep-rooted family loyalties, and the sacrifices made.

Amalia, now composed but visibly drained, leaned against the desk. “She’s not just a tool, John. She’s my sister. We grew up together, suffered together. She deserves more than this. But I have a family of my own now.”

John nodded, his thoughts aligning. He needed to understand why [Name] had been forced into this role, why the family insisted on her marriage, and what it all meant for her future. He couldn’t afford to overlook any detail, any potential lead. The stakes were too high, not just for [Name], but for the entire family.

The Bowery King broke the silence, his voice gentle yet firm. “John, we need to get started. We can’t miss anything. Every detail matters.”

John agreed, his resolve strengthening. He turned to Amalia. “We’ll find her. And we’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Amalia nodded, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you, John. Please… bring her home.”

With a final, solemn nod, John and the Bowery King left the office, as they were escorted out of the estate by the butler, Nick emerged from the shadows, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. John and the Bowery King exchanged nods with him, acknowledging the unspoken agreement between them. Nick watched them until they disappeared from view, his mind undoubtedly swirling.

Back in the car, the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of their conversation. The engine hummed softly as John navigated the winding roads, the only sound the occasional patter of rain against the windshield. After a few minutes of silent driving, John broke the silence.

“Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s go over everything.”

As John drove away from the estate, his mind buzzed with thoughts and suspicions. The Bowery King sat beside him, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he recounted their discussions with each family member. They dissected every statement, every subtle nuance, searching for inconsistencies and hidden truths, trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance.

“I don’t trust Nick,” John said, his brow furrowing in thought. “He’s hiding something, I can feel it.”

The Bowery King chuckled, shaking his head. “You never trust anyone.”

John nodded in agreement, his gaze distant as he replayed their conversations in his mind. “And what about David? He seemed sincere, but there’s something he’s not telling us.”

As they delved deeper into their analysis, John and the Bowery King couldn’t shake the lingering questions that gnawed at them. The road stretched out before them, winding through the darkness as their conversation veered into speculation.

“What’s with the contrast between Joselyn’s husband and Amalia’s?” John mused, his voice tinged with skepticism. “Joselyn’s husband seems to have passed her test, but Amalia’s… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

"She also didn't mention Michelle and Nick's marriage during the interview."

The Bowery King nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in thought. “And what about Amalia? She seems genuinely sad about everything happening. But she’ll let her ‘sister’ take the fall before she does. It’s… unsettling.”

Their conversation turned to the possibility of David’s involvement in your disappearance. “Do you think David helped her escape?” John asked, his tone grave.

“Something about his demeanor… it’s off.”

The Bowery King considered this, his mind racing with possibilities. “And Michelle… is she really hiding out, or is there more to her story?” he pondered aloud. “She’s been missing for too long, and Nick’s desperation… it’s barely palpable.”

John furrowed his brow in thought, a realization dawning on him. “I didn’t know Sofia had a brother…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he mulled over this new information.

The Bowery King chuckled lightly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe they aren’t close,” he quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Despite the levity of the moment, John couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over him. There were still too many unanswered questions, too many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. But he was determined to uncover the truth, no matter where it led.

How hard would it be for the Big Bad Wolf to find a little Fawn?

______________________________________________________________

This was long as shit, also posted on my ao3. If you see any mistakes just let me know. I don't have an editor yet.

Part 2 is here.

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THOUGHT ABOUT MY F/O A LITTLE TOO MUCH FOR A LITTLE TOO LONG DISEASE. UNCURABLE