#You owe it to yourself to put in the hard work to heel yourself

[allycat75]

Play careless, sloppy life altering games, end up with soul sucking, depression inducing prizes.

[golden1u5t]

mirrorball | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: fluff

ꨄ summary: spencer notices how you put other people before you all the time so he decides to do something special for just you.

"oh- um- here, elle. you can have it." you lowered the mug from your face, passing it to her with a fake smile on your face. you had fixed the last tea bag in the office's kitchen and just as you brung it to your face elle walked in talking about making her a cup of tea, only to see that there was no more. so, like you always do, you offered your cup to her.

"are you sure?" she looked down at the mug and then back at you, biting down on her lip. you shrugged your shoulders and nodded your head, handing the mug to her. "thank you! i owe you!"

elle turned around and walked out of the room, you watched her leave with a smile on your face until you couldn't see her anymore. you sighed and turned around, thinking about how you told yourself that you would stop putting other people before you. it's so hard though, especially when you can't stand the thought of making someone upset.

spencer walked into the kitchen just a few minutes later, immediately noticing the way your shoulders slumped. he glanced over at you as he reached into the cabinet to grab the coffee so he could fix a fresh pot.

"did you get your cup of tea?" he asked as he poured coffee into the filters, putting it into the coffee maker. once he got the maker started, he turned and faced you completely. you glanced up and put a smile on your face as you shook your head.

"no, elle came in wanting some tea but i had already used the last bag so i gave her mine." you shrugged your shoulders and looked down at your hands, you started to pick at the skin around your nails. "it's no problem really."

spencer looks down at you picking at your nails, he wants to reach down and grab your hands to stop you but he decides against. even though he's liked you ever since you stepped foot in the office, he's too shy to make a move. you spare him one last glance before walking out of the kitchen.

+++

spencer get's to work before you, before anyone really, and usually he takes the time to get a head start on his reports but this time is different.

before he went home the day before he stopped by the store to grab you some of your favorite things. pens and a new notepad so that you can doodle when you're bored, two boxes of your favorite tea so that you don't have to share with everyone else for a while, a bag of lollipops to refill the container you emptied by giving everyone else them, and some other things you've mentioned that you liked.

he had everything set up perfectly for when you finally walked into the office, your morning cup of tea in your hands and a smile on your face(which he knew was fake most of the time).

you noticed the basket on your desk and an expression of confusion spread across your face. you set your cup down and looked through the basket, a real smile shining through when you saw all your favorite things.

"did anyone see who left this?" you looked around but everyone just shrugged their shoulders and went back to whatever they were doing. though, you did notice how quickly spencer turned around and how red his face was, you walked over to his desk. "thank you, spence. i- i wasn't expecting it."

"it's no problem, re-really." he refused to look into your eyes but you could see how he got redder every second you stood there. you bit down on your bottom lip and turned on your heels, only getting halfway to your desk before spencer called your name. "would you want- could we- i would like to take you out... on a date. only if you want, of course."

you turned around, barely processing the words that were coming out of his mouth. you never expected spencer reid would be asking you out, in a room full of people nonetheless.

"i would love to."

[spongebobiscool]

Summary After receiving an injury from a villan named Boom while working on the job, you were ordered to bed rest for the next weeks. You assumed you’d be spending those weeks alone, but from the knock on your door and the person behind it, you couldn’t be anymore wrong.

Pairings Katsuki Bakugou x reader

WC/ 942

A knock came to your apartment door and you walked up to answer it. To your surprise, it was the Katsuki Bakugou behind it. He had a muscled arm against the doorway, straining all of his muscles. You felt your breath hitch at the sight.

“Well, if it isn’t the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” You said sarcastically. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He rolled his eyes, painting his usual scowl across his face. “Listen extra-“ oh, here we go, “I just wanted to apologize for today.” He began, his face becoming serious.

Before answering the door, you were busy honing your wounds due to today's villian. He called himself Boom. Boom wanted to be just like Bakugou, a copycat in a way. And he was a tough one, having the power to send explosives kind of like Bakugou’s quirk but a little bit of a cheap knock off. That didn’t mean it was any less painful when he directed explosions your way and sent you flying to the nearest building.

And it really didn’t help when Bakugou took charge of the operation and because of it, the next harsh explosion was sent your way. A quick trip to the hospital later and you were told that you had a sprained ankle, a couple broken ribs and that you’d need to stay off the job for the next few weeks. You didn’t blame him for what happened, you were heros. It happens.

You could see the guilt behind his vermillion colored eyes. It was hard to pick you but you could see it. You shook your head at him, “You don’t need to apologize for anything. Things happen,” you said, shrugging your shoulders.

“But I’m a hero, and I put you in danger. I’m sorry,” he bowed his head to you and you nearly smiled. Who knew Katsuki Bakugou could have so much compassion for others?

With as much as you could, you moved to the side to show him the door. “Would you like to come in?” You asked. He seemed unsure but continued to walk through the door. With your sprained ankle, it was hard to take a step back. Especially because you limped toward the door and left you crutches against the couch.

You couldn’t stop yourself from realizing just how tall and big Katsuki Bakugou was. He wore a black tank top and sweatpants but converted himself off with a jacket. “I have tea if you want some,” you choked out. He nodded and watched you closely.

To get away from his hard stare, you turned on a heel and started walking. “I’ll make you some,” you said, limping out of his way but it took one chord to nearly send you to the floor. Thankfully, strong arms and a hard body grabbed onto your waist to keep you upright.

“I’ll make the tea,” he grumbled. “Now sit ya’ ass down,”

You rolled your eyes and did as he said while he went into the kitchen to make the tea. It didn’t take him long to figure out which one you liked the most. You only had 2 boxes of both you really liked. While the kettle was running, Bakugou went to sit by your side. “What’s all this?” He asked.

You looked down at the bandages and felt your cheeks heat up. “Nothing. I was just cleaning myself up-“

“Let me do it,” the shock hit you like a slap in the face. He wanted to do what? You watched him grab the alcohol and gauze, realizing that he was indeed serious. The wound was a slightly deep cut that hadn’t healed yet. “Where are you hurt?” He asked.

Hesitantly, you turned your back to him. The wound was on a lower region on your shoulder blade and it would require you to nearly remove your top. You pushed your hair out of his way, revealing your naked back to him and the harsh bloody slash that laid in your back.

You winced as he began working on your shoulder, cleaning up as much blood as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

Wow, you never thought he would felt this guilty for a mistake. Things happen for us heros. It’s never one person's fault and it definitely wasn’t his. You shook your head again. “You don’t need to blame yourself.” You said. “It’s not your fault so please.”

He didn’t say anything after that and continued to clean your wound until he finally bandaged it up with another piece of gauze and a big ass bandaid. You felt his hand hovering over your back and you swallowed hard. The tension was so thick. “Why do you care so much?” You mustered up the strength to ask.

He scoffed. “I’ve always cared-“

You pulled up your shirt and turned to face him. You would’ve cowered from the intensity of his eyes if it wasn’t for the adrenaline rushing through your body and the alcohol you drank earlier. “Not like this,” you countered.

For the first time, you think you’ve might’ve broken him. Bakugou clears his throat and stands up. “I’m gonna check on the tea,”

You stood with him, calling after him, “Katsuki-“

He stopped. He stopped and turned around to face you. “Say that again,” he breathed. His chest rising and falling at a thunderous pace. His eyes, those vermillion colored eyes never left you.

“Say what,”

“My name,” he said. “Say it again,”

All the air left you, “and what if I don’t?”

He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips as he walked over, towering over you. He pulled you close and you could just then tell the reason as to why he wanted to hear his name so bad. Yep, definitely big. “I’m okay with spending the rest of this night making you scream it,”

[z0mbiezbite]

Modern Dedication (Draft)

Yandere Gotham x M!reader

Warning: these fanfic are gonna be for freaks by freaks. Also bad spelling and punctuation - this was posted for I can weed out anything unnecessary.

(Y/n) pulled a pack of Marlboros from inside his suit pocket. “Cigarette?”

A person was by his desk with a body of a battle axe and a cape that pools like a melted candle - Batman. chitty chitty bang bang, Batman. “The Joker, where is he?

(Y/n) struck the cigarette in his mouth, disinterested, “I’m not his keeper, babes.”

“A week before he escapes, the only outgoing mail he sends is addressed to you.” He said, and threw a stack of letters on (Y/n)’s desk - unintelligible and informal.

It was hardly evidence of anything. It only stressed that (Y/n) is one of the few who put up with the Joker’s insanity and Batman knew it. He had a sinking suspicion, Vengeance came for a different reason.

Quite foolishly, (Y/n) asked “Is a client not allowed to talk to their lawyer?” As his cigarette smoke blew over his shoulders like a locomotive.

"Your client is about to commit a crime. Legal confidentiality doesn’t protect you here.” Of course like all things that had to do with the Joker, the letters were incriminating.

Resigning himself, (Y/n) crossed his legs and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And you want me to...”

“Find him. He responds to you.” His voice held a slightly accusatory tone.

“Gross. Why’d you phrase it like that?”

“(Y/n).” Batman studied him with steal eyebrow only given to seasoned detectives. (Y/n) could practically feel Batman’s palpating anger.

Truthfully, (Y/n) didn’t find his particular reason a big deal, people die everyday whether from a stroke or strangulation from a clown. However, he knew Batman roughly cared and that was enough to throw a dog a bone.

“Alright, Alright.” (Y/n) held up a conciliatory palm. He reached for a pen in a cup on his desk and wrote laboriously on a note sheet; 50 W 33rd St. The ink was still wet and the hand writing, masculine.

He gave the note to Batman. “It’s a strip club” (Y/n) said “He goes there sometimes to blow off steam.”

(Y/n) unceremoniously tacked on, “You’ll like it there. They have big chested hard bodies that you can bury yourself in.”

Rather violently, Batman fisted his tuxedo in his hands. (Y/n) could hear his chair crackle underneath the weight. “You’re revolting. People are going to die.”

(Y/n) tried to animate his face in symphony. “Like that shit heel, Jason, did?”

That seemed to get him. Batman lunged his fist forward so hard and fast, (Y/n) felt his broad latex knuckles hit the back of his brain. His head dipped in a thunderbolt of pain with his broken nose and busted lip and a fury on his tongue,

“Fuck! You ass-“

(Y/n)’s frenzied sentence cut off jaggedly as Batman knuckled deep into his lapel once more and smashed their lips together in a ferocity that always seemed to always catch (Y/n) off guard.

Batman has always been restrained and aloof, a caution that comes with being vigilante. But now, from this close, (Y/n) could see the way Batman’s muscles worked, the flex of his shoulders - not out of shyness nor shame, but desire that only his skin could keep inside.

When they parted with hot and heavy breath, Batman, acutely missing (Y/n)’s cocaine tint tongue, said, “You owe it to me to find him.”

And, (Y/n), utterly dazed, licked his bloodied lip and said “You know how to keep a man wanting, bats.” then dipped his head in for another kiss.

The way Batman’s tongue lapped at the sliced skin of his bruised lip - (Y/n) knew he was a man possessed.

[bluesylveon2]

To the Most Handsome of Them All (800 Follower Special ft the third years)

Again, this is late but thank you for 800 followers!!

Summary: The third years fight over an apple (not clickbait)

Note: platonic third years x Yuu/reader (there is a hint of romance, but you have to squint), crack, chaos, humor, some second years cameo, and the third years being ready to fight each other.

Warning: fem Yuu/reader, not beta read, some cursing, Ortho threatening Idia, and possible ooc characters

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist: here

Somewhere within Pomefiore's lab was a short, feminine-looking-

"Hey! I can hear ya!"

(Sorry. Ahem. Where was I?)

A lavender-haired boy wearing a lab coat and stirring a suspicious liquid in a pot. 

"Mwahaha, you will pay for all the trouble you give me, Vil Schoenheit." The boy pulled out his laddle with a shiny golden apple in it. He carefully picked up the apple with one hand and whispered a charm into its glossy skin. 

"Let's give NRC a taste of drama." The boy picked up a knife and smiled sinisterly. 

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Trey and Cater rested in the courtyard under a tree, finally free from their classes. The area was quiet, and there were a few lingering students. Cater hummed a popular song as he scrolled through Magicam. Trey was coming up with the following experiment for the science club. 

"So I heard Vil's film about the sleeping princess was a hit. Everybody is talking about it!" Cater said, showing Trey the latest Magicam post. 

"Let's hope that Yuu uses her share of the profit on things she needs," Trey smiled, proud of his underclassman's hard work. 

"Like premium tuna cans?" Cater snickered before bursting out into laughter. "OW! What was that?" He exclaimed and held on to his sore head. 

"What do you mean?" Trey asked with concern, and then he saw it. From the corner of his eye, there was a golden apple lying not far from them. Trey picked it up to examine. "To the most handsome third year? What a weird thing to carve into an apple."

"Let me see that!" Cater swiped the apple and held it at eye level. "Hmm. Yep, that's what it says." His eyes lit up like a light, and he held the fruit close to his face. 

"Cater, what are you-" 

Snap

"Who is the handsomest of them all? #handsome #thirdyear #apple #golden #totallyme," Cater typed away on his phone until he hit send. 

Trey's eyes widen in alarm. "Cater, why are you posting that?"

Cater dramatically rolled his eyes. "C'mon, and think about it! Our class is filled with princes, models, heirs, you name it! Wouldn't you want to know who is the best-looking?"

Trey rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. "I guess? But that makes us look like chopped liver. We don't fit under that criteria."

"I wouldn't underestimate your looks, Chevalier of Rose. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, like the pomme in Monsieur Magicam's hands." A smooth voice chuckled. Cater and Trey looked up to find Rook sitting on a branch and smirking at them. The blonde swiftly jumped down and landed next to Trey. 

"I agree with Rook," The sound of heels alerted the trio of the newcomer. "Don't underestimate yourself, potatoes."

Cater sweatdropped. "I don't know if I should take that as a compliment."

Vil ignored the comment and walked up to Cater instead. "I saw your post, Cater, and I believe that apple belongs to me."

"What makes you say that?" a smug voice asked, causing Vil to roll his eyes. "Herbivore's post said it was for the most 'handsomest third year.' What makes you the one who deserves the apple?"

Vil smirked and crossed his arms. "I am the embodiment of being the fairest, and unlike you, Leona, I have many fans. Therefore, that apple belongs to me."

Leona put a hand on his hips. "Being fair has nothing to do with looks." He and Vil glared at each other like rivals, leaving the others to watch. 

"I feel like we are watching a drama show," Trey whispered to Cater. 

"Totally."

"Tres bien! Roi du Poison is so beautiful even when he is mad!"

"ORTHO PUT ME DOWN! I DO NOT WANT TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THESE NORMIES!" Idia's screams caused everyone to watch as Ortho carried his older brother like he was a wet cat. The humanoid's eyes sparkled as his eyes landed on the group of third-years. 

"There they are!" He flew to the group and dropped his brother on the ground. "Big Brother, you are going to prove to your friends that you are handsome, and you cannot return to Ignihyde until you prove yourself!" 

"B-B-B-BWAH?! Do you not see me compared to them?" He pointed at Leona and Vil. "I am literally an R card compared to the SSRs! I am not qualified for this! Can I go-" Ortho's glare caused Idia to stop rambling. The others didn't hold back their smirks as the younger Shroud placed a finger on Idia's chest. 

"You are going to stay here and spend time with your friends. Do I make myself clear?" For a cute and innocent-looking humanoid, Ortho was more than his looks.

"They aren't really my friends…" Idia mumbled and fiddled with his fingers.

"Big Brother."

"EEP!"

"Fufufufu. Don't worry, Ortho. I can help keep an eye on him," Lilia's mischievous voice sent chills down Idia's spine. The bat fae floated down from the sky and rested a hand on Ortho's shoulder. To Idia's horror, Ortho smiled with glee. 

"I assure you, younger Shroud. Your brother will participate in this contest," Malleus, the final third year of the ragtag group, said as he joined in and patted Ortho on his blue fire head. 

"Looks like it is time for me to go. Have fun with your friends, Big Brother!" Ortho flew off, leaving Idia to fend for himself.

"WAIT ORTHO! DON'T LEAVE ME!" Idia jumped up, only to be grabbed by the hoodie by Malleus. Idia blushed in embarrassment as Malleus held him up like a cat. 

"Honestly, it is like leaving a child in daycare," Vil sighed and turned to the group. "Alright, boys. How shall we settle this?"

"I propose we FIGHT TO THE DEATH!" Lilia exclaimed. Everyone's eyes widened except for Malleus, who was unfazed by it. 

"Not bad, Lilia. I can get behind that idea," Leona smirked, his eyes trained on Malleus as he spoke. 

"Oo la la! That would be a marvelous sight to see. A fight between Roi du Dragons and Roi du Leon would bless my eyes!"

"Lils' idea is cool and all, but can we not do something that can get us killed?" Cater popped in, and Idia eagerly nodded in agreement. 

"As much as I would like to see Leona and Malleus ruin each other's looks with bloodshed, someone who looks the most desirable deserves the apple." Vil picked up his magical pen and summoned a small jeweled box with a heart on it. He swished his pen. The apple floated out of Cater's hands and landed on the box's cushion. "This apple will remain here until a winner is determined."

"Can I be the judge of that?" Idia raised his hand. Lilia and Malleus looked at him, confused. "What? I'm not going to win anyway. Take me out of the running by making me the judge." 

Malleus sighed and dropped Idia to the ground. "Honestly, Shroud. You self-deprecate yourself, yet you are handsome already."

"Yeah, even the Ghost Bride thought so!" Lilia joined in.

Idia had never felt more embarrassed in his life. "That woman was delulu!"

"What we need-" Leona interrupted. "Is somebody besides Radish Sprout to judge this?"

Vil, watching the whole exchange, nodded in agreement. The staff would be a good idea, but they might confiscate the apple before he could get his hands on it. They needed somebody else. A lightbulb lit up in his head. Vil cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. 

"Gather around, potatoes. I have an idea."

"How kind of you to consult with me. My benevolence shall decide who deserves this apple."

"Cut the crap, Azul, and pick somebody," Jamil said with irritation. A vein began to pop out of his forehead. The poor vice housewarden could feel his stress building already. 

Vil's great plan led the group (along with a few second years) to Mostro Lounge. The group had managed to squeeze into one booth. On the other end of the table were the second years. The Octotrio didn't mind the company, Jamil looked pissed, and Kalim was just happy to be there. 

Floyd sat up straighter from his spot on the Lounge's leather sofa. "So let me get this straight. You guys want us to pick the most handsome to get an apple?"

Trey chuckled nervously. "As ridiculous as it sounds, yes." 

Floyd did not look convinced. "That's a dumb idea. Why should we be helping you out?"

Vil sighed. He did not need to sigh anymore, or he might get wrinkles. "You five are the only dorms without third years in this group. So, as neutral parties, you should decide who gets it."

Kalim's mouth opened in an o, "You know, I always wondered why that was…" 

"Fine, I'll start," Floyd rolled his eyes and pointed at the third years. eenie, meenie, minie, you-— His finger landed on Leona, causing the beastman to smirk at everyone. 

"A vote is a vote," Leona said, looking at Malleus, who was frowning. Meanwhile, Floyd unceremoniously flopped back down on the sofa. He closed his eyes, drowning out the incoming argument between the two princes. 

"That is not how it should be done, Kingscholar," Malleus said through gritted teeth. It surprised Lilia how his son was not blasting Leona into oblivion. Probably to not ruin his chances. "You were voted by chance."

"Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?"

"If I may," Jade interrupted and faced the third years. "I would like to cast my vote." The third years watched with curiosity as Jade's heterochromatic eyes scanned them. "Trey."

The lounge was quiet, minus the sounds of a clock ticking nearby. 

"WHAT" Everyone's eyes widen, and they turn to the man who looks as confused as they do. 

"Why are you confused, Trey? You're in the lead with Leona right now!" Cater exclaimed as he took selfies with Trey to post later. 

"I was expecting someone like Leona or Vil," Trey chuckled while ignoring glares from the two. 

Jade smiled. "Let me explain. According to a questionnaire from the East, most females prefer guys who fit Trey's description over others, hence my decision to pick him."

"Okay, so that's one point for Trey," Cater said while typing on his phone. "What about you, Azul?" 

Azul smirked and stood up. He let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, my decision is based on who would bring me the most money if I were to put them as the face of the Lounge." 

"Thank Sevens, that's not me," Idia muttered. He quietly tiptoed towards the door, only to be stopped by someone grabbing his hoodie.

"You're not leaving under my watch, Shroud," Malleus said sternly and dragged the poor boy back to his spot. His grip remained on the hoodie. 

Luckily for them, Azul did not seem to notice. "That leaves someone with beauty. Not someone rough and brutal." He glared at Leona before continuing. "Therefore, I would pick Vil."

Vil smirked and had an 'I told you so' look as he looked at the others. Leona felt the urge to wipe off the smug look on Vil's face. 

"And what about you?" He gestured to Jamil. "Let me also remind you who saved your ass from Radish Sprout over here." 

Idia rolled his eyes. "Yet the normies made it out alive in the end. Field trip with me was 7/10 tops." 

The overblot boys shuddered at the memory, unaware of the last member's internal crisis. 

Malleus leaned towards Lilia, a frown etched on his face. "The others got invited on a trip with Shroud? Why didn't I get one?"

Lilia smiled and patted Malleus on the back. "Soon, I promise you that. Now look, Jamil is going to make his choice."

The vice housewarden felt a headache coming on. After this monstrosity, a nap after tending Kalim was needed. "I would have to pick Cater. He is decent in my eyes." 

"Really?!" Cater's eyes went wide. "I knew I could always count on you!" He exclaimed and pulled Jamil in for a side to take a selfie. "This has to go on Magicam!"

Lilia wiped a pretend tear out of his eye. "Oh, poor me. What did a cute and young boy like me do to deserve this? Wah…” 

"I can think of many," Leona muttered.

Lilia ignored Leona's statement and turned to Kalim with puppy dog eyes. "Kalim, my dear friend, you must pick me to heal my fragile heart."

"What you need to see is a doctor before your back breaks too," Malleus added, but Lilia also ignored that. 

"Do I have to?" Kalim wailed. "This is too hard, and you are all my friends."

"Magnifique! What beautiful words!" Rook sighed and held his chest where his heart was.

"Asim thinks I'm his friend…" Malleus whispered to himself, a giddy feeling in his chest. 

"HECK NO! I refuse to befriend a cheerful guy like him! Not happening!" Idia exclaimed, causing Vil to elbow him out of irritation. 

"I know! I'll pick Malleus, Idia, Lilia, and Rook! That way, you all get a point," Kalim said cheerfully, his face bright like the sun. 

"That has to be the most wholesome thing I have ever heard," Rook wiped a tear from his eye. "Beaute!" 

The others did not share the same sentiment. Leona's ears perked up when he heard thunder booming at a distance. 

"Gentlemen," Azul stepped in casually or stupidly, depending on how Malleus will react. "It seems like you are going to need another person to seal the deal. Someone from a neutral party."

The thunder stopped, and Malleus turned to Azul with interest. "Oh? Do tell, Ashengrotto.”

Azul smirked. Oh, how his dear friend is in for a wonderful surprise. 

It was a peaceful day in Ramshakle, and Yuu spent it the best way she knew, ordering pizza and spending it with Grim. No ADeuce. No Sebek screaming her ear off. No Octotrio trying to scam her. 

(You get the picture)

Yuu was preparing the snacks just as the doorbell rang. 

"It's probably the pizza! I'll get it, Grim. You pick a show to watch," she yelled. Two tall figures were standing at the door. That looked different from the pizza delivery guy. Yuu opened the door to find the two Heartslabyul third years. 

"Hello, Yuu," Trey smiled. 

"Hey, bestie!" Cater grinned and pulled Yuu in for a hug. 

"Hey…" Her eyes wandered to their outfits. Both guys were not wearing their dorm or school uniform. Instead, Trey wore his Camp Vargas outfit, and Cater wore his Pop Music Club clothes. "Guys, is there an event going on?" 

"No, silly!" Cater said as he guided Yuu inside. "Though you have to agree that these fits just go with us, right?"

Yuu sweatdropped. She opened her mouth, but Grim's screeching stopped her. 

"YUU, I THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE JUST US TODAY!"

Yuu stepped away and pulled Grim into a hug. "Oh, Grim. It will be once these two leave," she glared at Trey and Cater. This was supposed to be a relaxing day—not this.

"It will be very quick, and then you can get back to your show," Trey said, causing Yuu to relax a little. 

"Fine," Yuu sighed. "Spill."

Cater grinned. "If you had to pick who is the most Cammable, out of me or Trey, who would you pick?"

Yuu blinked and tilted her head. "Can you repeat that?"

"Which one of us looks the best," Trey sighed. 

Yuu looked at her friends in confusion. Sure, she had heard weirder things since coming to Twisted Wonderland, but this was something she did not expect to hear. "I mean, you both have your own type of charms. I guess I would pick-"

"Oi," a familiar voice said, widening Trey and Cater's eyes. You can't make the herbivore choose when it is in your favor." Leona smirked as he entered the dorm. He scanned the area like he was hunting prey. "I almost missed the show."

Yuu did not hear Cater and Trey curse under their breaths as she took in what Leona wore. Leona wore the outfit from the Fairy Gala instead of his usual school uniform. He even went all out, from the makeup on his face to flowers decorating his hair. "Is there a fashion show Dad did not tell me about?" Yuu mumbled to herself. Maybe Crewel was too busy handling the guys to tell her?

"Hey, what is with the fancy getup?" Grim's voice broke Yuu's thoughts. The cat monster jumped onto Yuu's arms and glared at the third years. "You are ruining my night."

Leona rolled his eyes. "Look, furball. Herbivore has to pick which one of us she likes, and then we will be out of your way." His eyes flickered up to Yuu's. "Remember who was kind enough to share a room with you"?

"HOLD IT!" Vil yelled, causing Yuu to turn her attention to the newcomers. He strutted into the room with Rook trailing behind. 

"Is there a fashion event going on because why are you guys dressed up?!" Yuu exclaimed. Sure, the Pomefiore guys dressed nicely, but Scalding Sands and Halloween vampire outfits Vil and Rook wore respectively were too much. 

Vil sighed. "I wish, Potato. Then I could show them who is truly the most good-looking of them all." He smirked in the direction of the other third years. 

"Beaute! But a vampire has an allure you cannot resist, no? They are very good-looking." Rook winked at Yuu, causing the others to glare at him. 

Yuu frowned and whispered to Grim. "Good looking? What do you think they are talking about?"

Grim shrugged. "These guys are always spouting nonsense. What's important is our movie night."

"NOO I DON'T WANT TO BE NEAR THOSE PEOPLE!" Idia's voice cried out. The others turned to see said boy being dragged into Ramshackle by Malleus.

"Tsuntarou? What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like you're going to the City of Flowers?" Yuu asked Malleus as he let go of Idia, causing the housewarden to fall with a small "oof." 

Malleus only smiled. "I came here to settle some personal matters. You are one of my most precious friends, Child of Man."

"Great, looks like the star of the show has arrived," Leona said in disdain. 

"Why do you have to be like this?" Vil shook his head disapprovingly.

"Don't forget about me!" Lilia said as he popped out from behind Malleus. Yuu only frowned in confusion. She was used to Ace or Deuce showing up randomly, but seven guys? Something was not adding up. 

"What's with the fancy outfit? Halloween is over." Grim asked Malleus and then turned to Lilia. "How did you get that outfit? I thought that was from the past."

Lilia chuckled and flexed his muscles under his armor. "I have my ways."

The others in the room looked at Grim, confused. 

"Long story," Lilia answered vaguely and turned to Yuu. "But can't you see how cool I look in this? Like a knight in shining armor!"

"No way!" Cater intervened. "Lils is cool, but that fit is so outdated. Yuu, can't you see that Trey and I look the best?"

Yuu glanced at Grim in confusion. "The best?"

Grim eyed the group wearily. "These guys are more koo koo than normal."

"Clearly, you potatoes do not get fashion. I have a very unique taste, no Yuu?" 

"Uhhh…"

"Roi du Poison has excellent taste! Look at how the fabric goes well with his skin," Rook gushed and turned to Trey. "Great fabric choice, Chevalier of Rose!"

Trey chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's not talk about me…"

Leona jumped into Yuu's view. "Forget that wannabe. Clearly, I am better than him." Yuu was mesmerized by the fairy dust that followed Leona's movements. Until she was pulled away by someone else. 

"Child of Man, are you alright?" Malleus gently held onto Yuu's arm. 

"I'm just confused about why you all barged in here."

"I understand." Malleus smiled. "Although, would you agree that this outfit suits me?"

Yuu looked over Malleus's outfit before responding, "It does. The other students at the other schools would not stop talking about how mysterious you looked, either. I wonder if Rollo felt the same?"

"Yeah, well, I would rather not see that guy ever again," Idia muttered to himself. Malleus and Yuu turned to him, causing him to look up in shock. "Oh no! I'm caught! I need to get away before I have to socialize with the extroverts."

"Idia."

"EEP!" Idia stopped moving. 

"Why are you wearing that suit? Eliza is not here anymore." 

The others stopped to watch as Idia's hair turned slightly pink, and he struggled to speak. 

"I-uhh…It's for a cosplay convention."

"Yeah, you would never wear that unless-" Grim gasped. "You are getting married!"

Idia's face fell in horror and his hair turned fully pink. "NO!"

"Ohoho. I remember those days."

Everyone turned to the Ramshackle ghosts, watching the group as if it were a drama.

"Yeah, I remember fighting other guys in favor of a girl's hand."

The others froze as Yuu began to connect the dots. Luck was not on their side as the smallest ghost began to speak. 

"I heard from one of the chefs that these boys were arguing about who was the most handsome of them all."

"And you needed a girl like me to pick someone." Yuu finished aloud. A dark aura came out of her, and a vein popped out of her forehead. 

It was at that moment the third years knew they fucked up.

"AND STAY OUT OF MY DORM UNTIL YOU SOLVE YOUR CHILDISH GAME WITHOUT ME!" 

The school could hear the local therapist yell as the third years landed on the ground one by one.

"Ow, that totally is going to bruise later!" Cater whined as he assessed the damages with his phone. 

Trey chuckled from next to the redhead. "At least she did not make us bleed,"

"Who knew the Child of Man could kick so hard?" Malleus said, stunned while gently hovering to the ground. 

"I thought I was back home for a second," Leona said as he rubbed his head. 

"There goes my cute face!" 

"Enough, Lilia." Vil groaned as the bat fae lay on top of him. His hair was definitely a mess now. "Rook, remind me to hire Yuu to do stunts for my next movie."

"Oui. Madame Trickster has good form."

Idia rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you normies let yourselves get kicked out by a girl. That was like an arcade game where you're spamming the A button." He huffed, causing Leona to glare at him. 

"Speak for yourself. You got kicked out as well, Radish Sprout." 

"Monsieurs," Rook stepped towards the group with a gentle smile on his face and his hands up. "We should not focus on how we hurt Madame Trickster. Think about each other. Maybe the important thing was the friendships we made along the way?"

….

…..

"Don't ever say that again, Rook." Trey chuckled awkwardly. 

Vil sighed and shook his head. "I feel like that was something Neige would say," the model felt as like he was going to vomit at the thought. 

"I think I puked inside," Idia visibly cringed.

"Guys, we have important things to worry about, such as Rook's cheesy lines," Cater said. "Who is going to get the apple?"

"Monsieur Magicam has a point, although I have a suggestion," Rook said as the third years watched expectantly. "No one should get the apple since Madame Trickster chose no one."

"I agree. I can feel wrinkles forming on my youthful face." Lilia cried as Vil took out the apple from its box. 

"How do we get rid of it?" Idia eyed the apple suspiciously. If only Ortho were here, then he could shoot it with a laser. 

"I have an idea," Malleus said. He grabbed the apple with one hand, and instantly, the fruit lit up in green flames. "There. All gone." He looked up to see the other third years, minus Lilia, watching with their jaws dropped. Malleus wiped the charred bits off his gloves and turned to the group. "Should we all prepare for later?"

Rollo stood tall and walked through Night Raven College, his student council members trailing behind. As the Noble Bell student council president, it was his job to remain diligent and make a good impression on NRC, even if he had opinions about the institution. A twinkle caught his eye as he made his way down the path to the gates of NRC.

"Where are you going, Rollo?" His vice president asked as Rollo stepped out of the path. 

"I'm just inspecting something. You can go ahead without me," Rollo said until he was in front of the item. There, lying on the ground, was a golden apple that did not have a speck of dirt despite being on the ground. Rollo picked up the apple and inspected it. "Disgusting," he said, sensing the magic embedded in it. Rollo turned the apple to find something written on it. "To the most handsome third year…" the boy muttered. Suddenly, the apple was plucked out of his grasp and was floating in the air. 

Wait a minute.

"Reveal yourself!" Rollo pointed his staff at the apple. 

"Ooo, you caught me~," a voice said with glee. Rollo held his stance as legs magically appeared, followed by a torso and a head. "Long time no see, Rollo."

Rollo clicked his tongue. "It has, Chenya. Now, hand me that apple so I can dispose of it properly."

"Heh, heh, this thing?" Chenya threw the apple in the air like it was a ball. "I think I'm gonna keep it for myself. You know what they say? Cats like shiny things," he said as he began to disappear again. 

"Why you!" Rollo yelled, and his staff glowed. "I'll take it by force then."

"WAIT!" A girlish voice yelled. Neige Leblanche ran into the scene, huffing and puffing. Rollo froze and put his magic away. Meanwhile, Chenya revealed his whole body. 

"Purrfect timing, Neige. I almost got burned to a crisp." Chenya cried in glee. Rollo rolled his eyes. Dramatic much?

Neige ran between the two. "Guys, let's all stop fighting and be friends! We should not create a commotion while visiting another school. Think about friendship and world peace!" 

Chenya and Rollo remained quiet as if processing Neige's speech. Neither reacted until Chenya's infamous Cheshire grin graced his face.

"Nah." His attention turned back to Rollo. "This apple is clearly made for me. Who cannot resist these purrfect looks."

Rollo scoffed and crossed his arms. "A fool, really. Now give me that apple. I need to dispose of it." He lunged forward, but Chenya moved too quickly. The beastman grinned mischivously. 

"You gotta catch me first!” Chenya stuck his tongue out and laughed as his body disappeared again, leaving a floating apple running across campus. 

Rollo gritted his teeth, and his face turned red. "Stop hiding, Chenya!" he yelled, losing all composure as he chased after the Cheshire cat. 

"Guys! Let’s talk about friendship!" Neige exclaimed as he followed Rollo, leaving the Noble Bell vice president, who came to check on Rollo, confused. 

Meanwhile, the NRC third years watched the goose chase pass by them while returning to their dorms. 

"Was Chenya holding the apple Malleus just incinerated?" Cater asked randomly. The others thought for moment before shaking their heads.

"Let's just keep moving," Vil responded. "Before Crowley sends out a search party for us."

Just a typical day at Night Raven College.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-24. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

[xfgpng]

“𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞”

— : [nsfw] slight angst, smut, fluff, pet names, fingering + getting together

(tw.// kidnapping and auctioning of real people as a plot device.)

— : [ wc ] : 6.1k

a/n :: this is not stockholm syndrome at all. their relationship is and will be 100% consensual. i think it’s pretty obvious that it isn’t but it’s better to just address that.

she has always made sure to do right by her father. y/n knew his career was important and while her mother was out the country on vacation with her girls, he insisted y/n join him for a fancy dinner party.

she had to dress up and look good so she didn’t embarrass him or their family name. it was a simple matter and she enjoyed the new clothing.

this time it was a beautiful silk red dress that stopped at her ankles with a slit up the right side.

“you don’t look all that excited for this party” yuzuha sighs but she helps her fix your outfit and makeup.

“he parades me around like some .. trophy” she scoffs, “father feels the need to brag to everyone about me but he forgets that he was barely around, too busy with work”

“i wish you’d move in with me” yuzuha says gently, “hakkai has moved in with mitsuya now so i have the extra space”

“yuzu—”

“y/n you’re 21 now” she says, “you don’t have to do everything they tell you to do. you need to live for yourself”

y/n knew she was right but there was no arguing against whatever her parents wanted. they could’ve abandoned her but at least she had her nannies and everything she could’ve dreamed of.

she felt that she owed them this much.

“think about it okay?” yuzuha smiles, “and please, chifuyu really worries about you so don’t ignore his texts”

y/n grin up at her as she reaches for the lipgloss to finish up her makeup.

“maybe i like playing hard to get” y/n tease and yuzuha laughs, flicking her forehead.

going to these parties were never really her thing but this one was different, he made sure to remind her just how important this night was for him and their families entire fortune.

the limo was parked right out front and he slowly helped her get in, which was good because she felt her arm catch onto something. a tiny pin prick could be felt as she made her way inside and then everything went black.

the sounds of people talking outside jostled her into consciousness. she’s still in the limo, she doesn’t even remember falling asleep but the slight pain on her side had her much more aware now.

“dad?” she call out, stumbling out the car. she hated the stupid dress she wore because it felt shorter now and the heels were uncomfortable against the gravel.

“why are we at the back?” y/n ask, confused. “the entrance is—”

“take her inside and make sure she doesn’t make too much of a scene” her father tells one of the bodyguards

she look at him in confusion and the grip on her arm is almost bruising.

“dad? what’s going on?” she tries to pull away but the taller, much larger man pulls her along and she sees the sad look on her fathers face and she knows this isn’t a regular dinner party.

there are other women around her age, looking as beautiful as she does but even more afraid. they’re all dressed up like they were attending a fancy dinner party but they all had the same black collar around their necks with a colour in the middle.

“what the fuck is going on?” y/n ask, eyes widening when the men in the room force them all into pretty glass boxes. as if they were about to be put on display.

“if you don’t want to be sedated, you’d better behave and do as they tell you” a girl whispers. she looks younger than y/n is, meaning she could be 19 and y/n feel an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

her own father was about to sell her off. it had to be a nightmare and maybe she was still in the limo, passed out from the lack of sleep from all the school work at college.

the lights dim and then the curtains are drawn. there are women and men all around the room, rich people with money to waste and she felt dirty as she felt eyes on her.

“oh” sanzu chuckles, leaning back as he grabs another flute of champagne, “they have new faces”

“how sickening” ran rolls his eyes. he had no reason to be here but rindou was getting restless and mikey suggested they follow a lead on their recent customer who owed them a lot of money.

“he’s in the front” rindou nods, “he’s not with his wife so perhaps his here to buy”

“not quite” sanzu smirks, “look towards the stage”


mikey clenches his jaw as he sees what sanzu is talking about. none of them could be considered good people with morals but family was important and so was loyalty.

“what am i missing?” ran asks dryly

“pretty little thing in red” sanzu sighs

rindou grins when he sees her. she’s the prettiest one on stage, the red bringing out her eyes even from the distance. she didn’t look scared like the other women were. she looked angry and hurt?

his smile drops when he realises what’s going on.

“that’s his daughter” rindou says

“she is” sanzu shakes his head, “disgusting pig will do anything for money, even going this far”

“is he planning to use this money to pay us back?” ran asks

“i want her” rindou says

“rin you—”

“i want her” he says more firmly, eyes never leaving her as she stands uncomfortably on stage behind the pretty glass.

he has always had a special kind of love for dolls, porcelain was his most precious treasure but he needed to have her.

“he’ll owe us” sanzu smirks, “he doesn’t know we’re here so i say we make him squirm a little”

“do your worst” mikey says dryly and leaves with ran out the back.

ran isn’t sure he wants to leave his younger brother in a room with beautiful women in glass cases but he’s never really collected humans before. perhaps he was playing around .

“number 4!” the host calls out and she feels her blood run cold. this wasn’t a nightmare. her own father was really auctioning her off to a bunch of rich people who wouldn’t even see her as a person.

she felt sick and resisted the urge to run, she knew she wouldn’t get far with the amount of guards surrounding the place and she could see a weird looking man standing nearby with a briefcase. she had a feeling there was something in there that would be used on her if she didn’t cooperate.

everything feels like a blur as the host introduces her. she can hear him speaking about her achievements, her family and where she comes from. they have no shame admitting who her father is and the old bastard has the nerve to look smug as the people in the room cheer for him.

she felt like throwing up, head a little dizzy and she realises then that he had drugged her on her way into the limo. she forces her poker face and looks straight ahead. she would not cry in front of these people and she’d never give him the satisfaction.

did her mother know what he was doing? did she go away on purpose?

she sees two men approaching her father, one with pink hair and pretty scars and another much more stoic man, his purple hair catching her eye before she looks away again.

“good evening” sanzu grins

“what—”

“don’t try anything stupid or we’ll shoot you” sanzu warns, smiling brightly.

“you sell your own child?” rindou asks, “do you have any shame?”

“it’s not what—”

“here’s what i think happened” rindou cuts him off, “you thought you’d made some money tonight, have someone have their way with her and then when you’re done paying mikey off, you get her back and act like nothing happened?”

“rich people love to throw their kids in therapy anyway, isn’t that right?” sanzu adds

“well tonight, things are going to go very differently” sanzu pats his back, “we are going to put in the highest bid for her”

“no please don’t do this” he begs, “she’s my only child you don’t understand”

“i didn’t ask” sanzu scoffs, “you’re just another sorry motherfucker”

“you better find another way to get the boss his money or it’s not gonna end well for your sweet little girl or your wife” sanzu whispers, “she’s in macau isn’t she?”

he swallows hard and tries his best to smile when he sees another couple walk by and greet him.

“this is what happens to people like you” rindou downs the last of his whiskey and walks towards the host.

they knew who bonten was and no one would try and outbid them.

she looked scared now that she was alone with them. she kept trying to pull her dress up despite it not revealing too much. sanzu found her to be very pretty but rindou couldn’t stop looking at her pretty brown eyes.

“what’s your name pretty girl?” rindou asks, “we’re not going to hurt you”

“y/n” she says, “why did you—”

“buy you?” sanzu asks from the drivers seat

“your father is a very bad man y/n” rindou explains, “he owes us a lot of money and tonight, he was here to sell you off to pay his debts”

her eyes widen and she allows herself to cry, covering her face as she leans against the car door. she didn’t even feel like she was in her body.

“my name is sanzu” sanzu says, “and that’s rindou, he really liked you”

“do you always do this?” she asks

“no” rindou says immediately, “in our line of work, we have different departments and we don’t deal with these things”

“but you do” y/n says, scoffing as she holds her arms around herself.

“the women who choose to work for us come on their own” sanzu says, “it’s easier than having a pimp on the streets”

“am I going to be like that?” she asks softly

“never” rindou takes her hand, “no, that’s not why you’re here”

“you’ll stay with rin for now” sanzu pulls up in front of a huge house, “his maids will assist you with whatever you need while we do our jobs”

“are you going to kill him?” she looks at rindou, “my father”

“he knew what he was getting into” rindou explains, “it’s not up to me what happens”

“it’s been a long day” sanzu yawns, “go inside and sleep it off”

“what about my cell phone?” she asks, “or my bag?”

“it’s here” rindou says, “i’ll be keeping it for now”

“as long as you behave, there’s no reason to be scared” he adds and she doesn’t say anything. she can see they both have guns and she’d rather not try her luck and when she didn’t even know where she was.

his house is huge, filled with paintings and it was almost haunting. he guides her through the house and into a large bedroom.


she feels scared and can’t help but start crying again. she didn’t want this and she didn’t want him to touch her either.

“this isn’t my room” he says, “you’ll stay here and if you need something, you’ll call for me and no one else”

“you’re not —”

“despite what people think, we’re not disgusting enough to sleep with women against their consent, go to sleep”


she’s too stunned to say anything as she walks out and locks the door. she knows her friends will be worried about her and she doesn’t even know what she’ll say to them.

she couldn’t tell them the truth, it was far too scary but she swore she saw a familiar face last night. he looked shocked to see her there.

there’s no doubt he would tell yuzuha, their relationship had improved over the years. maybe they could help her?

she cried herself to sleep that night, dreaming of running away from home, far away from the city and far away from the family she thought she knew.

“are you sure you saw her there?” yuzuha is pacing the kitchen, “this can’t be right”

“can’t we go to the police?” hakkai asks

“no” taiju says, “she wasn’t bought by some random rich guy”

“rindou won the auction” he adds and that has yuzuha panicking even more. what business did her best friend have with bonten?

“calm down” taiju says, “last night her old man sold her off, i heard he did some shady business with bonten and ran with their money.. she’s safe for now, just let me find out more before you try anything stupid”

“what will they do to her?” yuzuha asks, she’s trying to not cry but she can’t imagine anything good coming from this.

“nothing” taiju says, “they’ve never done any shit like this before, they’re playing a game and unfortunately her father got her involved”

“are you going to see them today?” hakkai asks, “maybe you could at least find out where she is”

“no promises but i can try” he sighs, “this is a lot bigger than any of us because no one crosses mikey and gets a slap on the wrist”

“he has to make an example” hakkai whispers, “even if it’s at her expense”

“I can’t promise that i’ll find anything out but trust that they won’t hurt her and y/n isn’t weak” taiju says, “let me handle this”


yuzuha nods, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do anything even if she tried to.

she wakes up a little disoriented, having fallen asleep in the red dress from the night before. she tries to remember where she is when the memories come crashing back like a wave.

she sits up fast, glancing around the otherwise empty room. the bed is huge but she can tell this room has never been used before. she doesn’t know if that makes her feel better.

the door opens and rindou enters. he’s changed from the night before and he hands her a bag with clothing and a towel.

“you can take a shower and change into something more comfortable” he says and when she finally stands, she notices the glass case to the side of the room.

“are those—”

“antiques” he grins, “i’m a .. collector”

she doesn’t know what he means by that but she can appreciate the fine china though she doesn’t know why he’d keep the tea sets locked up in a bedroom.

“you’ll come have breakfast with me once you’re ready” he says and she can tell it’s not a question.

“my phone” she says softly, “please, my friends they’ll worry”

“if you do as you’re told, you’ll get your phone back” rindou explains gently, “i don’t intend to keep you as a prisoner though you’d look beautiful all dolled up”

y/n doesn’t ask what he means by that, following him into the on suite bathroom.

“this is your bathroom” rindou smiles, “you’ll be able to get new clothes and whatever else you may need but try and run from me and i won’t be so nice”

she nods and waits for him to leave before she takes a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror. her face is puffy from crying herself to sleep.

the entire night still doesn’t feel real but she can’t get the look of her fathers face out her head. her was willing to sell her off to anyone that would pay a high price to pay off his own debts. she was starting to realise she never really knew her own father.

the warm water relaxes her enough to let her guard down and she allows herself a moment to think about rindou. she didn’t understand what the man wanted from her. he didn’t want to sleep with her or maybe he did but he wasn’t going to push her.


he was being nice when he didn’t have to be. she supposes this might just be a lesson for her father or whoever else tried to cross bonten.

if she really thought about it, it might’ve been effective if she didn’t know all about bonten and the rumours she’s heard even at college.

she swallows hard. would she be able to go back to school after all this? she was sure some of the people there last night could’ve easily been parents to kids at her college and the thought has her running out the shower to throw up. her stomach was empty anyway.

“you can text your friends” rindou hands her the phone, “i don’t know what you’ll say but be careful, i don’t want to have to make an example out of your friends”

“that won’t be necessary” she says quickly, “thank you”

there are over 50 missed calls from Yuzuha alone and when she opens her text messages, she realises she doesn’t have to say a thing.

taiju was there and he told her.

she feels a knot in her stomach as she sends a quick message promising that she was fine and that she’d call whenever she could.

“what did he do?” y/n asks when she’s done drinking her juice, “my father…”

rindou sighs.

“you don’t think your father could run his business that successfully all these years without making some deal?” rindou asks, “do you remember when his business started getting successful?”

“he’s always been successful” y/n frowns, “but last year, he gave almost every single employee a bonus”

“which would’ve been bad for business if he couldn’t afford it right?” he asks and she nods slowly

“last year a friend of your fathers introduced him to my boss” rindou shrugs, “your old man had other interests outside finance”

“what do you mean?” y/n asks

“women” rindou grins

“no” she immediately shakes her head, “he wouldn’t”

“no?” rindou laughs, “and yet look where you are right now sweetheart”

she looks down at her empty plate and feels like crying again. she wasn’t sure how much more she could take before she really had a breakdown.

“don’t look so sad baby” rindou pats her head as he walks behind her, “you’re far better off with me than that old man of yours”

she doesn’t know what to believe right now but she feels too tired to argue. she just sighs and stands to take her plate but he stops her.

“how about we go for a drive hm?” he says softly, “i have some things to do for my boss but i’m all yours”

she doesn’t want to think about the shiver that runs up her spine at his words or the way he smells so good from being this close.

“okay” she finds herself agreeing. it’s not like she has anything else to do because she was off from college for a while anyway and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go back to her old life.

a life that seemed so distant now.

“where’s my daughter” he asks, slamming his hands on the table as ran lazes in his chair.

kakucho smirks as he watches the old bastard throw a fit.

“you weren’t this concerned about her last night” ran scoffs

“i had everything under control!” he says, “i knew the buyer-”

“you’re a sick fucking man” kakucho cuts him off, “selling your kid for a night for what? so you could pay off your debts?”

“i do what i have to for my family” he says angrily

“no, you do what you have to for yourself” ran rolls his eyes, “you’ll never see her again so you better just focus on getting mikey his money or your wife won’t be getting on that plane home tomorrow night”

“she’s just starting her life” he begs, “please,i’ll do anything”

“you should’ve thought about that before you paraded her around like some pretty little prize” kakucho moves from where he had been standing.

“we’re done here” ran says dryly, “see yourself out”

“i’ll go to the cops” he threatens but they just laugh at him. they were used to empty threats.

the drive seemed to make her feel less uneasy around rindou. he wasn’t very talkative but she liked the quite anyway. she didn’t feel like talking either and when they arrived home.

he still had business to do so she found herself walking around the house. it was beautiful but she wondered how he stayed by himself aside from his maids. it felt too big and cold for just one person.

at the end of the hallway, she stumbled upon a large oakwood door. it was bigger than all the other doors. she hated how curious she was as she slowly pushed the door open.

the room was covered from top to bottom in glass. it felt as though she was intruding but she slowly entered, eyes widening in shock when she saw all the dolls.

porcelain dolls of all shapes and sizes in beautiful glass cases. she gasped when she felt someone stand behind her, her back pressed firmly against his chest.

“i see you’ve found this room” he chuckles, “beautiful isn’t it?”

she wasn’t sure she’d call it beautiful. it was a lot more scary than she’d like to admit but she was also fascinated by it all.

“why—”

“i’ve told you before, i liked to collect pretty things” he gently places a hand on her waist

“like me?” she finds herself asking despite herself.

“i’ve never collected humans if that’s what you’re asking” he laughs, “though you are very pretty and i guess last night, i found myself wanting to keep you too”

“what about now?” she turns to face him

“i don’t want to see you the same way i see these antiques” he cups the side of her face, “if your father complies, you’ll be free to go”

“and if he doesn’t?” she whispers

he just chuckles, lightly patting her cheek.

“i have to go see mikey” he smiles, “behave yourself”

“are you going to lock me in the room again?” she asks and he sighs

“no” he shakes his head, “you’re free to roam, just don’t run from me because i will find you”

“i want to see my friends” y/n says

he runs his hands through his hair.

“okay” he agrees, “but remember what i said”

“thank you” she says, sounding relieved.

“and keep your phone on” he adds and she nods

yuzuha nearly drops her glass in the sink when y/n walks into the kitchen.

“y/n?!” she grabs her into a tight hug and y/n laughs, a little startled.

“what’s going on?” yuzuha asks, “how did you—”

“you’re squeezing me” y/n pats her arm, “i’m fine, let me go so i can explain”

“is it true?” yuzuha asks, “did he do anything to you?”

“he didn’t do anything to me” y/n promises, “he let me come see you so maybe this isn’t even about me right now”

“your dad… he really did that shit?” yuzuha takes a hold of y/n’s hand

“yeah” she laughs bitterly, “it feels like a horrible joke”

“so you’re just gonna … stay?” yuzuha asks

“for now, yeah” y/n shrugs, “i think it’s better to just do what he asks”

“did you … meet them all?” yuzuha asks after a while, handing y/n a glass of water.

“no” she shakes her head, “just the brothers, their boss and sanzu”

“he gave you one of his cars?” yuzuha looks outside

“it’s probably because it’ll be easy to track me” y/n laughs, “i could still technically escape”

“so why don’t you?” yuzuha can’t help but ask

y/n doesn’t know how to answer that question so she looks down at the glass in her hands. was it weird that she felt safer in rindou’s house than her own?

“i can’t go home and he knows to look for me here” y/n shakes her head, “word would get out that i escaped and he’ll come here first”

“i also don’t know if my mother is involved or not so they could easily get her too” she adds, “it’s just better to stay with rindou, at least he’s nice”

“nice?” yuzuha huffs, “y/n don’t tell me you’re crushing”

“crushing?” y/n scoffs, “i met the guy at an auction where i was one of the prizes, it’s not exactly a meet cute situation”

yuzuha laughs. at least y/n could make light of a serious situation.

“you came back” rindou says and she’s surprised at how shocked he seems to be.

“did you think i’d run?” she asks, giving him his keys back.

“i gave you an out” he admits, “this has nothing to do with you”

“i don’t..want to go back there” she says, “my fat— that man, auctioned me off like a piece of meat.. he could do that again without hesitation”

“hey it’s okay” rindou says gently, “can i?”


she nods and he pulls her in for a hug. he pats her head gently. he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be doing. he never had this kind of intimacy with his past relationships. it was always about the sex or business, nothing more and yet here he stood comforting the daughter of the man that crossed them.

“take a nap if you need to” he tells her, “dinner will be ready later”

“thank you” she sighs

“do you want to let her go now?” sanzu smirks, “that’s interesting”

“i don’t” rindou admits, “but i didn’t think it would get like this”

sanzu laughs. it was fun seeing rindou like this. the man was never girl crazy but he had his fair share of fun but rindou haitani didn’t care for anything other than his brother and work.

“word on the street is her father hired some low life gang bangers” sanzu grins, “think he’s trying to get her back by kidnap”

“what does mikey want to do?” rindou asks

“nothing” sanzu shrugs, “we’ll wait and see what the old fucker does”

“hm” rindou nods, reaching for his drink.

“isn’t glass dolls so much easier to deal with?” sanzu asks, “they can’t talk back and they don’t cause you to feel anything”

“and you have complete ownership” he adds

“i don’t want to own her” rindou scoffs, “not in the way you think”

“you have a soft spot for the girl” sanzu laughs loudly, tipping his head back.

rindou thinks his friends is so much prettier with his mouth shut.

y/n finds it harder and harder to sleep. a week has gone by but it feels longer and there’s been no calls or texts from her mother either. she’s starting to realise they must’ve been planning this for a very long time.

how else would her father know about that type of auctions? he had to be apart of it. she feels sick to her stomach that laying down only makes her feel dizzy and nauseous.

“you’re still awake” rindou says when he sees her in the kitchen. she startles and he grins, standing next to her as she pours him a glass of wine as well.

he likes how comfortable she seems to be in his space and that could pose as a problem because how would he be fine with her leaving?

he leans closer and if she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“you haven’t been sleeping well” he says and she sighs. it wasn’t like she could deny it.

“would you like me to keep you company?” rindou asks

“rin—”

“i’ll just lay with you until you fall asleep” he adds, “i meant what i said, i won’t touch you unless it’s what you want”

“okay” y/n nods and lets him take her hand, leading her to the room she’s been staying in.

“just close your eyes for me darling” he smiles, “you’re safe with me”

she finds that she believes him. his warm next to her and she falls asleep.

“he gave you his card to go shopping?” yuzuha laughs, “oh my”

“it’s not like that” y/n says, “i don’t have anything of my own and i don’t think i’ll get it right now”

“have you spoken to chifuyu?” yuzuha asks, “he’s been asking about you”

“i texted him this morning” y/n shrugs, “i don’t want anyone making a big deal about this right now”

y/n walks around the clothing isle to look at dresses when she feels 2 men come up behind her.

“you scream and I’ll shoot your friend” he says, “walk forward and don’t make a scene”

she swallows hard and nods quickly. she doesn’t know what’s going on, was this bonten? was this rindou’s plan all along?

she wills herself not to cry as she walks out the store, she doesn’t look back even when she hears yuzuha call after her.

her phone vibrates in her pocket but she knows she can’t reach for it. none of this feels real.

“your fathers been expecting you y/n” the other man says, “get into the car”

father?

when she gets inside the black suv, she feels like throwing up. her father looks far too pleased to see her and he takes her hand and squeezes.

“you’re safe now dear, don’t cry anymore”

she hates him.

“i didn’t know who else to call” yuzuha cries, “one moment we were shopping the next she’s walking out the store with two men dressed in black suits”

taiju looks over at mikey who clenches his jaw. he looks angry, this wasn’t them.

“what’s going on?” yuzuha asks, “is this her father?”

“i’ll handle it” rindou says

“rindou” mikey says but rindou ignores him

“i said i’ll handle it” rindou walks out with ran following close behind.

“you aren’t hurt, are you?” her father asks but she doesn’t answer him. she won’t even look at him as the guards force her to sit down in his office.

he dismisses them and he sighs.

“you need to understand that i do what i must to take care of our family” he says

“you do what you must to take care of yourself” y/n scoffs, “you’re disgusting”

“you say that but i did everything for you” he laughs, “how else would you have everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“your mother was too soft on you” he adds dryly, “this was character building and you’ll do right to remember everything i do for you”

“what—”

“you’ll do as you’re told” he cuts her off, “i have spoken to a friend in italy and his son is around your age”

“excuse me?” y/n widens her eyes, “you’re still trying to sell me off?”

“don’t be so dramatic” he rolls his eyes, “it’ll be a legal marriage”

“i hate you” y/n stands and tries to leave but he grabs her arm.

before she can yank her arm away or scream, the sound of gun shots rings loud outside. she can hear the commotion and shouting before her father knocks her out.

the last thing she hears is the sound of the door opening and another gunshot.

her head is spinning when she opens her eyes. she feels the softness of her pillows and she’s got a cold cloth on her forehead.

“y/n?” rindou whispers

he dims the lights when she squints, sitting up slowly. she looks around the room and she feels herself crying.

“hey, it’s okay baby it’s just me” rindou sits beside her and she moves closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“it’s okay, you’re okay now” he says softly, “he’ll never hurt you again”

“did you…” she trails off

“i wanted to but i didn’t” rindou admits, wrapping his arms around her, “i did shoot him in the arm but he’ll be fine”

“he wanted to send me to italy” she sniffs, “he was never worried about me”

“i’m sorry” rindou says because he doesn’t know what else to say. he wasn’t good at comforting people but he’d try for her.

“do you want —”

“please just… kiss me” she says, “i want to be distracted for a while”

“your adrenaline is high” he pats her head, kissing her cheek, “you don’t want this”

“rindou i’m not a child” she frowns, “i want this”

“how long?” he asks

“when you stayed with me the other night” she says, “i think i started liking you before then but i do”

“this situation isn’t exactly ideal” he sighs

“i don’t remember a time where a situation was ideal in my life” she scoffs, “especially after everything he said to me”

she did feel like her life was a lie, everything until now.

“rin” she whispers and he caves, leaning in to kiss her softly. he’s been thinking about this since the first night he saw her but it was so much better.

her tiny gasps and the way she wraps her arms around his neck makes him feel dizzy.

he pushes her gently onto the bed and she’s never been more happier to be wearing a skirt. it’s a pretty skirt that rindou had complimented her on.

“so fucking beautiful” he groans, spreading her legs further to fit himself in the middle.

she was far pretty than any doll he’s ever collected and her skin was soft and warm. she was real and all his.

“tell me what you want baby” he grins, “I’ll give you whatever you want”

“i just want you” she smiles shyly up at him and he’s imagined this moment far too often to ruin it.

“you have me” he smirks, running his fingers up her thigh before he reaches her panties.

“lift your hips” he playfully hits her thigh, “i’ll make you feel real good”

she does as she’s told and the next moment she finds herself flipped over onto her stomach. he doesn’t give her a moment to breathe before he slips his middle finger into her pussy.

she whines and he bites back a loud groan. she was so tight and wet, he needed to keep his composure because he had no desire to hurt her.

not unless it’s what she wanted and since this would be the first of many, he planned to make her remember this moment forever.

“so good” y/n moaned when she felt him add a second finger. he leaned down to bite down on her ass before kissing his way between her pretty legs.

“such a pretty pussy” he moans before he slips his tongue between his fingers.

she cries out, arching her back and he uses his free hand to spank her. he then grips her firmly so she can’t move away and begins a slow rhythm of eating her out and fingering her open.

“want more rin” she slurs, “please”

she's never been this open during sex, has never felt this good before and she knows she doesn’t want the feeling to go.

“so impatient” he chuckles but he’s already undressing. he wants to take his time with her but he can feel how hard he is and he knew he’d have enough time to explore.

right now, she wanted him and he’d be the perfect distraction for her.

“spread your legs a little more sweetheart” he says, rubbing his tip through her folds before pressing into her.

she bites down onto the pillow and he smirks. he knew he was big and thicker than most. this wasn’t the first time he’s had sex but he’s never had feelings for anyone before now and he feels lightheaded when he finally bottoms out.

“fuck” he grunts, “shit baby, keep still for me”

he could use the excuse that he just wants her to get used to the feeling but he’s the one that needs a moment. he didn’t want to embarrass himself but she felt so good around him that he couldn’t resist thrusting forward.

her moans are so pretty and she’s not shy to call his name over and over again.

“that’s it pretty girl” he says, “it’s all yours”

he feels her squeezing and clenching around him and it’s so hot and sticky that he can’t help but pull back a little to stare down at where he’s fucking into her.

they needed to be careful and they did have a lot to talk about but that could all wait.

“god baby, fuck yourself back on my dick” he groans, throwing his head back.

talking could wait, he wanted to focus on her and only her.

[pparacxosm]

hunger is ugly

(blue-eyed son 3 !! which, as any third and final installation of a franchise ((back to the future and spiderman withstanding !!!)), is obviously the best one; i’m only half kidding; homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; see parts one and two; tw eggnog; tw coworkers; cw smut but nothing crazy; if you’re seeking closure don’t hold your breath; i’m sick of these two; they clearly don’t know what they want; and i refuse to take blame; tw fitted sheets; tw cocaine talk)

He once told you he couldn’t wear a suit. I couldn’t, he’d said, I’d look ridiculous in a suit. But he cleans up quite nicely, actually.

In fact, he looks good, and you’re not above admitting that. He looks better, actually. Healthier. And he looks handsome in his casual blazer and charcoal linen slacks. Oh God, are you gonna look frumpy beside him?

“I’ve always wanted to go to an office Christmas party,” he says.

You’re on the floor before him, straddling your full length mirror, and all your tumbledown, halfway gutted makeup products are strewn wildly about you.

Your bed, behind you, is a skeleton state, too. When he’d come over, he’d nearly laughed at the fact that you’ve apparently been so busy, your clean bedding is still sitting in a laundry hamper in the corner of the room, and you’ve been sleeping in the inserts on a bare mattress for who knows how long.

Patrick doesn’t pass judgment on the mess in your apartment. He still feels he owes you in some weird, kiss-the-hand-that-fed-you sort of way.

You’re not a slob. You always look put together when you leave the house. You’ve just had to focus on work. You can’t stumble at the finish line. Or… the glass ceiling. Or the penultimate rung on the corporate ladder. Whatever. If you can successfully execute this next product launch, who knows what other doors might open for you. Probably doors in buildings very similar to the one you’re already working in. But that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every morning, you see your reflection in those immaculate windows.

So anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Things just get away from you sometimes.

Patrick’s standing above you pensively reflecting how many undone buttons says Corporate Shindig Eyecandy (Please Give My Date That Promotion) as opposed to Reformed Tennis Heartthrob. His shins are sort of bracketing your hips.

“Well, it’s half an office Christmas party, and half—like—a congratulatory… thing. For Deirdre’s successful proposal,” you murmur, leaning forward, tugging your temple to flatten your eyelid and flick on your liner.

“Aw, what?” he frowns, “Deirdre? We fucking hate Deirdre.”

You laugh. You try not to delude yourself, not to let these moments exist in some flowery vacuum in the eye of your mind, not to ask him to fix your bedding for you. But it’s hard.

Whoever let Sam replace the DJ halfway through the party was either a genius anarchist or too drunk to care.

You know it’s probably the latter. You down the cognacheavy eggnog from your glass and make a disgruntled face. You don’t know what you expected. Shania Twain is belting from the speakers while Sam wiggles his headphones in a dumb, awkward dance.

He’s pretty funny, all things considered, but you’d still like nothing better than to whack him up the head with an ink cartridge.

One of the blousy interns from your department is haplessly flirting with Patrick, pretending he bumped into her and made her plash some eggnog on herself, but she’s trying to be selfaware about it.

“Oh gosh, isn’t this such a cliché: the boss’ plus one wiping a dairybased drink from the subordinate’s—… oh no, I know she’s not technically my boss, but she’s sort of my senior within the company, like on the general corporate ladder, argh, I know, I hate it!”

She could’ve said superior, you think, instead of senior.

You’re feeling too pissy to go and save him from that failed interaction. You turn your back to the crowd and look out of the glossy black windows. That chorus keeps stomping its pointed heels over your fragile nerves.

The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun!

Do you have a little fun? Are you a Good Time? You have to laugh. It’s just a stupid song. But you need the validation.

That’s why Patrick picks the wrong moment to come and talk to you.

“Hey, this chick is chasing me with a napkin around the room.”

You snort. “Not my problem.”

Patrick leans against the buffet, delivering a wry salute when Sam points at him from the DJ booth and winks. “That guy’s something,” Patrick chuckles, “He asked me to sign his dick.”

“Did you?”

Patrick hums like he’s ambivalent and places a large hand on the small of your back. “Would that be good for you, if I did?”

“I’m fun, right?”

You swirl the remains of eggnog in your glass. You ask the question like he’s been holding out some big secret from you.

Patrick blinks. He scoffs in disbelief, but also smirks pointedly at your glass. “You’re asking me?”

You stare at him through the briar lace of your eyelashes. Everyone who’s met him today has had their own lashes drenched in laughter. You hadn’t realised it first. You’d figured those were mutually exclusive things, downandout charm and the breathing room of comfortable success. But no. He’s charming, anyway. It’s just that he’s not haggling for scraps of generosity anymore so much as he’s lapping at the fleeting dregs of likability. And you hate that you notice that, and you hate that you notice him, that you know him, in a sense. Because what are you supposed to do about it?

“Everybody loves you. Just… be objective.”

Patrick still laughs. He rubs his stubble. He should’ve shaved this morning. He thought he was doing something for you, something nice, by coming with you to this thing and wooing everybody’s pants a little tighter, but maybe he’d missed the mark. “You know I can’t be objective.”

“Why not?” You sound petulant, leaning angrily against the buffet. You’re old enough to know what he’s saying, of course. He’s being nice. He’s telling you he thinks you’re fun, that the rest shouldn’t matter, but then he doesn’t need anything. Even when he had nothing. So he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t notice.

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes in that way he does when he’s vivisecting you, then clears his throat. “You’re drunk.” He laughs again, a little gratuitous. Then, after a while, “I have fun with you. You’re engaging.”

“Engaging?” you echo, frowning. “Seriously? What am I, an essay?”

“No, I just— Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

You clench your jaw. Okay, you are drunk and you’re at this office party from hell and a hard rain’s a-gonna fall, so goddamn it, he will call you fun.

So you get right into his face. You’re good at that, even if you barely reach his shoulder. “Tell me I’m fun, because I am, and you think I am.”

You try to swat his hand away, but his palm stays put, a hot magnet just above your tailbone, and he doesn’t even look like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just that he feels an emptiness in his stomach, depressing but also thrilling. Like taking a hit. Like you’re a little bag of white powder. Beyond the dark windows it starts to snow. He used to do a bit of coke, when everything around him dropped dead and started to rot, and he couldn’t stomach the smell. He doesn’t seem like the poster kid for moderation, but the coke was good, and he didn’t let it be any more than that. In fact, at times, the coke was great. The coke was fun. But he couldn’t live with the coke. You understand? He couldn’t settle down in New England and raise a cat with the coke.

“I don’t think I can win with you,” he murmurs, and, for his part, he at least sounds like he needs to change that.

It’s supposed to be a comfort fuck—and you call it fuck in your head dismissively—but it’s too raw and unknown. You’ve spent so much time in this questionable relationship with existence in his life. In and out. You thought you’d learned him, or at least learned the both of you, but his hands on you, his mouth on you—it’s frightening, finite, foreign. Somehow divorced from this man who, for all his egofueled casual mania, doles out intimacy like free samples.

This is what it feels like to watch him unravel, but it’s not just beggar’s desperation. No, he’s making room for someone else beside him in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He keeps touching every part of you, frantically, trying to feel all of you, sinking his head between your thighs with a groan of relief, immersing himself in another body. But not just any body, because he keeps mouthing your name. As if to remind you that he is here, and you let him in. Because it matters that it’s you, that someone who knows him is letting him in. He’s humming to himself as you come against his fingers and mouth.

... hunger is ugly... souls are forgotten... I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it...

You like his full weight on you, sinking you into your undressed mattress, trapping you, suffocating you under his bottomless gloom. He has one hand on your thigh. He lifts it at an uncomfortable angle, sinking his cock deeper into you, making it ache. How does he know you like that, anyway? He doesn’t. He noticed.

You want to resent what he’s doing here, which is trying to ‘win with you’. Because he’s been on a winning streak, and you’re not about to spoil that.

And these demeaning, mechanical thoughts probably aren’t reflective of his inner monologue at the moment, but it’s easier to believe he doesn’t respect you than to contend with this whole thing.

You want to tell him, you don’t know what I like, but he starts talking about this tournament. There’s a match in Boston, for real this time. You’re having trouble paying attention.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, head on your chest, and you, crushed comfortably by his weight.  

You wake up before him. He must have rolled off you in the middle of the night. He’s sleeping next to you, one hand stretched towards you, head on the pillow at a strange angle.

You turn away quickly.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, staring at the heap of his cocktail wear on the floor. You feel sore and stupefied. You feel cramps in your muscles. You feel weak in the best and worst way possible. You keep breathing in and out, hoping you’re keeping quiet.

But he wakes up anyway.

You can feel his gentle eyes on the slightly hunched line of your back.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” you mumble, throat dry. Why does it have to be morning? Why does it always have to be morning?

“Come back here,” he says, as if it weren’t morning.

You shake your head softly.

His silence is edifying. It goes on for too long.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” you ask, serious and formal, gripping the edge of the mattress. You clench your jaw, body taut.

You can hear him swallow, throat working to get the syllables out.

“I’m not, like… leaving you.”

You close your eyes.

“No, I mean—yeah,” you chuckle miserably. “You’re probably doing the right thing. The best thing for you.”

You feel the tears slide out one by one, and your shoulders shake slightly.

“Please don’t cry.” He’s using that soft and primordially tentative voice he uses with your cat. “I’m not worth it.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “Then why is it so fucking hard to watch you go?”

It’s only recently you’ve started getting angry with him. You used to get grudgingly amused, perhaps vaguely reproachful, but now his stupid face just makes you livid.

His eyes tremble pensively. “I don’t know. But that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You turn your head away, rolling and wiping your eyes at the same time. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

And there’s a door he could open for you. There’s something he could say at this juncture to reassure you, momentarily, that it could. But he can’t bring himself to lie, because he cares about you too much to take a bump of that powder.

He hangs his head and looks at the beautiful line of your back, memorising it.

Then he gets up.

“I’m gonna make coffee, then we can get that fucking fitted sheet on, alright?”

You nod absently. You don’t turn to look at him as he puts on his clothes.

He comes up to you before he leaves. He runs his finger under your chin and lifts it up. There’s a kitten scratch on his cuticle.

You could come watch the match.

But he doesn’t say that. You haven’t seen him play since New Rochelle. “I’ll fill the demon’s bowl. I think she’s starting to like me.”

You laugh, wiping more tears.

Patrick takes that hand, your hand, wet with tears, and brings it to his mouth. He kisses and licks the salt away. He keeps it there for a moment longer than he should. You gently pull away.

You only exhale when he’s gone.

Toby slinks out from behind your mirror, swishing her tail back and forth in contempt.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, shut up,” you whisper.

[yjhariani]

You were on the bed, facing each other. It had been a few minutes, maybe even a few hours. Neither of you could shut your eyes. Neither of you could form words either.

Thoughts were floating in your minds, things that had happened and might as well as might not happen spread across your field of thoughts. Your limbs were cascading over one another, weaving the empty space with each other’s presence. Your eyes were dancing over each other’s faces, doing a waltz, maybe, or a tango across one curve to another.

“Have you ever looked at yourself?” Simon asked out of nowhere.

“In the mirror. Almost every day,” you answered. “Maybe every day. It’s hard to tell.”

“Not like that,” Simon said. “Have you ever looked at yourself? Actually looked at yourself?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Simon gulped down his hesitation. His mind tried to shock his tongue so it would actually help him express a thing or two. It was not an easy thing for him to do and he almost believed that a gun in his hand would help a little more with this part of life.

Another moment he took to straighten and loosen his tongue. Simon forcely banished the lump in his throat. This last few seconds, his eyes were wandering away from your face, not sure if he had made a mistake or not.

The only thing that told him that he was not making a mistake and that he should be free to speak out was your hand that lied on his upper arm, the sweeps of your thumb on his skin, the smile of your eyes, the soothing hale from your nose, the heaving of your chest that matched his.

“If I could,” Simon started, “I’ll scoop your eyes out.”

Simon took his moment again after making sure that he raised his tone by the end of that sentence so you knew he was not done yet. However, your eyes widened slightly, your eyebrows were raised a little, but your lips started to spread.

“Then, I’ll scoop my eyes out and put them into your skull,” Simon continued. “Look in the mirror, so you could actually look at yourself. The way I look at you.”

Now your eyes were the one wandering away from his face whilst his eyes were fixed on your face.

“Even when you look away,” Simon added. “Especially when you look away.”

Your hand turned into a fist that weakly knocked on his chest as your legs shifted out of bashfulness and your smile was like a flower that flourished in dawn’s air.

Simon wrapped his hand on your hand that knocked on his chest. He peeled your fist off and flattened your palm against his before ever so slightly twisted your hands by the heels, to fill the spaces between your fingers with his. He hooked his fingers on the valley in between your fingers before you did the same.

“I can’t look at myself when I’m with you,” you said. “All I can look at is you.”

A light scoff puffed out of Simon’s lips. He kind of hated it. He kind of hated how you made his heart did a flip. As if he was startled. With a pleasant surprise. He hated how it felt as if you jabbed a mixer into his stomach.

Unfortunately, your flattery did not work that well this time. Simon never wanted you to look at him the way he looked at you. He would feel like he owed you something every time you did. He would feel like all the stars in the universe would judge him, like the sky would give him a mean look and make the sun cook him eventually.

However, every time as well was the only time Simon felt like he deserved all the good things in the world. Your gaze made him felt like he had no sin. Like he was confined in a room that no one could enter without his permission and the only person who was allowed to enter said room was you.

“How ‘bout we start looking at us instead, then?” Simon asked.

If your smile could elongate more, it would bridge a continent. The urge to bury your face somewhere was unbearable and you ended up flopping your face against Simon’s chest. You removed your hand from his hand and slid it around to his back.

Simon also did the gesture, he pulled you closer to him. He would rip his chest open and encase you in his ribs if he could. He would stitch your skins together if he could. Nothing was ever close enough.

However, this would have to do. Your legs tangled with one another, your arms casing each other, your face on his chest, his cheek on your hair.

“Alright,” Simon lightly chuckled before pressing his lips on your forehead. “Get some sleep.”

[georgiebrits]

Fighting temptations - Yang Jungwon

You are in a spacious and well-lit taekwondo gym with Jungwon. His body glistens with sweat as he demonstrates various kicks and drills. You are a novice, dressed in a white taekwondo uniform and feeling nervous but excited to learn. Jungwon patiently guides you through the basics, correcting your technique and encouraging you to push yourself. As the lesson progresses, the two of you work up a sweat together.

"Watch closely, [Your Name]. You need to snap your heel like this and bring your leg up higher. Now, try it again." Jungwon demonstrates the move again and then watches as you attempt to mimic his high kick.

Jungwon winces in pain as your foot lands hard in his groin. He doubles over, clutching himself and gasping. "O-ow! Dammit, [Your Name], you need to be more careful where you're aiming!" He takes a few deep breaths to recover, then stands up straight.

"I'm sorry, Jungwon. Is there anything I can do to help with the pain? Can I get you some ice or something?" you ask with concern, hoping to alleviate his discomfort.

Jungwon looks up at you with a pained expression and says, "Most pains go away with a little kiss on it." He gestures to his crotch and adds, "If you don't mind."

Jungwon moans as you give him a kiss, but then he grabs your arm and pulls you close. "Actually, that feels really good. Would you mind doing it again?" he asks, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jungwon lets out another moan as you kiss him again, but then he takes it a step further by putting his hand in your hair and holding your head in place. He grins mischievously as he says, "You know, a kiss might work better if your lips actually touched the skin you bruised... like down there."

Jungwon's suggestion takes you by surprise, but looking up at him and seeing how turned on he is, you feel a little thrill of excitement run through you. Before you can say anything, Jungwon takes charge and decides for you by grabbing your hair more firmly. He forces your head lower until your face is inches from his bulge, and commands, "Pull the pants down. Suck it, [Your Name]."

You quickly obey Jungwon's command and yank down his pants, freeing his erect cock. He's so impatient that he immediately grabs your head and pushes it down onto it, forcing you to take him deep into your mouth. You gag a little at first, but soon find your rhythm and begin to suck him eagerly.

Jungwon takes control and dictates the pace by pushing your head faster and deeper onto his cock. You feel tears in your eyes from all the gagging, but you keep going as Jungwon moans and thrusts into your mouth. Finally, he reaches the edge and holds your head firmly to his pelvis, forcing you to take his load and swallow every drop. As you finish, he releases your head and pants heavily, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

Jungwon gives you a satisfied smirk and without pause, he pulls down your pants and panties, revealing your already wet pussy. He dives in without delay, licking and sucking at your clit, and thrusting his tongue deep inside you. Your legs shake as you moan uncontrollably, your hands grasping at his hair, urging him on.

Jungwon's words of praise only drive you wild as he adds his fingers to the mix, curling and thrusting them inside you while continuously stroking his tongue over your clit. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge as you moan louder and louder.

With his skilled fingers and tongue, Jungwon brings you to the brink of orgasm quickly. As you get close, he pulls away teasingly, grinning at your frustration. "Not yet," he says huskily. "I want to make you come hard."

Jungwon bites your inner thigh before diving in again, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. This time, he expertly targets your G-spot while using his other hand to massage your clit. As you feel yourself building up to another orgasm, your body tenses up and you squirt uncontrollably, your juices coating his face.

When he comes up, you see your cum all over his face, but he doesn't seem to mind as he plants a kiss on your lips. "Now, I know it's not the right order, but how about a date with me?" he asks with a grin. His confidence and charm make it hard to say no.

Jungwon chuckles and pulls you in for another kiss. "Oh, I'm full of surprises, darling. And I have a feeling you're going to love every one of them," he says, his hand slipping down to your ass and giving it a playful squeeze.

You both laugh and part ways so you can clean up. Jungwon heads to the locker room while you gather your things and head to the showers. As you wash up, you can't help but feel excited for what's to come. When you finish, you see Jungwon leading his next class, his eyes catching yours and giving you a wink before focusing on his students. You can't wait to see what surprises he has in store for you next.

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 4

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, so many flashbacks, more awkwardness, more funerals, more drinking, more murder, some fluff and a sprinkle of smut too

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Life got a little busy, so I've been a bit absent recently, but I'm so happy and grateful you guys are enjoying this series so far! All your sweet comments really put a smile on my face during all the chaotic and exhausting times 🥹🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 4: Rewind

A tequila hangover required copious amounts of coffee to battle the raging headache you felt. Your eyes stung when they met the blinding sun this morning, not even your darkest pair of shades bringing much relief.

Your whole body ached, a welcoming soreness between your weak and wobbly legs as you stalked inside the little bakery and coffee shop on Main Street USA. Beau had already scolded you for calling it that, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Helena’s sheriff then had sent you here for your morning coffee run, hoping this way you’d avoid the questioning and curious stares of Jenny and Cassie. Needless to say, you had never made it to Cassie’s place last night. Beau had been very convincing (and successful) in making you stay.

Hands, lips, teeth, and tongue – you clenched at the thought alone, cursing yourself for soaking through your fresh underwear. How good were your chances for a quickie during lunch break in his office if you promised to thoroughly lock his goddamn door this time?

“Y/N, hey.” Carla’s voice made you flinch and pulled you from your naughty reverie – about her ex-husband no less.

Had you mentioned how much you hated small towns?

“Hey, Carla,” you greeted her with a flushed smile, hoping you hid your blushed cheeks and fluster well. You definitely felt caught with your hand in the cookie jar, although it was thankfully impossible for her to read your mind.

Was there no safe place to quietly get coffee in this goddamn village?

“Listen, Y/N, again, I’m so sorry about yesterday,” she apologized and nervously fumbled with her coffee cup in her hands, her gaze focusing on her heels.

Carla was usually confidence personified. She was strong-willed, assertive, and dauntless – all the traits that made her a fierce and excellent lawyer and a force to be reckoned with in court. It was rare for her to lower her head, so you knew she must really be trying to make amends.

“No, don’t be. Like I said, we’re good,” you assured her and swallowed the lump of embarrassment down your throat. “I get it. I really do. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I never meant for any of this to happen, you know?”

You never had gotten a chance to say it before. You had always felt bad for the way the two of you had left things. Carla was by far not your closest friend, but the tight friendship between both your husbands and the nature of your jobs had forced you to spend time together occasionally. You’d meet at barbecues on the weekends, drinks after work, and life events like Emily’s middle school graduation. You never meant to betray her. You never meant to hurt her. And you never meant for your friendship to implode like it did.

“I know. It’s okay, really,” Carla said. “I already told Beau this yesterday, but I want him to be happy. That goes for you, too. I found my happiness after the divorce. At least for a while…”

Upon her sad look, you gave her a sympathetic smile. You knew she wasn’t married to Avery for long, but that didn’t matter. You understood better than anyone what it was like to lose someone you loved.

“Hey, if you ever need someone to talk, call me, okay? I feel like I owe you a whole pitcher of margaritas,” you offered with a chuckle.

She returned your kindness with a soft smile. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Well, if this ain’t interestingly awkward.”

Both you and Carla turned to Beau in surprise as he strolled through the doors of the coffee shop. Leave it to him to voice the uncomfortableness of the situation out loud.

“Hey, uhm… you,” you said with wide eyes and fist-bumped his arm. Obviously, you weren’t equipped to handle awkwardness very smoothly, either.

Beau sent you a tight-lipped smile that barely hid his amusement. “Do I need to pull out the sheriff’s badge here, or are you two good?”

“We’re good,” you assured him.

“Oh, relax, Beau,” Carla told him with an amused laugh and patted his shoulder in passing on her way out of the shop. “Don’t kid yourself. You could not handle either one of us, anyway.”

“Probably true,” Beau quipped in agreement as Carla waved you goodbye.

Beau waited till the door safely closed behind his ex before tilting his head at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You really good?”

“No!” you exclaimed frustratedly.

Laughing, he slung his arms around you and pulled you against his chest. Embarrassed, you buried your face in his shirt, clasping it with your palms for good measure.

“Tomorrow I’m getting coffee in the next town over. I really hate small towns,” you grumbled.

“So, I’m guessin’ you’re not a big fan of staying after the case is over, huh?” he asked carefully and rubbed his beard.

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought about it until now. But Beau clearly had as he nervously chewed his lower lip and waited for your answer.

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Well, uhm… Montana doesn’t have a field office. The next one’s in Utah, and I hate Utah.”

“Yeah, everyone does. It’s Utah,” Beau agreed jokingly. “Could always work here. Sheriff’s Department could use someone like you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, not gonna happen. You’re not gonna be the boss of me. That’ll have to stay a fantasy of yours.”

“Too bad. It was a good one,” he retorted with a cheeky smile and wiggled his eyebrows. Then, he became more serious. He scratched the nape of his neck in an anxious gesture. “But look, uhm, I was about to retire anyway, so I’m just putting that on the table, okay?”

“Alright, good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

You smiled softly up at him, thinking it was cute he wanted to follow you wherever you went. He’d never handled your relationship so open and secure before. In the past, everything always dangled in the air – his feelings, your future. Unlike the North Star, nothing was fixed.

You had always been a flag he’d never preferred to wave.

You let out a small sigh and pecked his lips. “But this case is far from over, so we’ve got time to figure it out, okay?”

He nodded, a bit more relieved at your answer. “Okay.”

August 2020

Beau rubbed his face clean as best as he could. His eyes were red and stung, his vision blurry as he stepped out of the church’s back room on shaky bow legs. He had to talk to you and make things right. He felt like he not only failed you but also his best friend. Again.

The funeral guests filtered out of the church one by one as he trudged down the red-carpeted aisle. Beau could feel their stares and judgments on him. He knew he looked like the biggest mess, his suit and tie in disarray, tousled hair, and bloodshot eyes. How many of them blamed him for his partner’s death?

“Dad?” Emily’s voice made his heart ache as his thirteen-year-old daughter looked at him with a mix of worry and disenchantment. He barely resembled the father she’d known all her life and held high on a pedestal.

“Emily, honey, go wait in the car,” Carla told her swiftly, taking immediate note of her husband’s disheveled status.

“But Mom–”

“Now, Emily,” Carla ordered more firmly and watched her daughter quietly leave the church.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Beau asked, trying his best to swallow any shame he felt down. He hated that his family had to see him like this. The disappointment and hurt were visible as clear as day in both their faces.

“You gotta be kidding me…” Carla scoffed in anger and disbelief, a part of her hardly grasping the current state of her husband. “Where the hell were you, Beau? Jesus, you reek! Have you been drinking?”

“I already went through this today, okay? I don’t need a replay,” he replied flatly, every part of him hating how she looked at him. “Have you seen Y/N or not?”

“Beau, what’s going on with you? Just talk to me, please,” Carla pleaded with him as the anger subsided, concern etched into her brow. “What happened during that shootout?”

Beau ran a hand over his face, his head spinning and his eyes burning. “I can’t do this right now. Just take Em home, okay?” he told her and pushed past her.

“Where are you going? Beau!” Carla called after him, but he stubbornly headed out the door to the parking lot.

Fortunately, you still hadn’t left, but what he was seeing didn’t put him more at ease. He watched as you put a clip into your gun, a duffel bag hurriedly packed with clothes lying in the trunk of your SUV.

You threw your black pumps carelessly into the backseat before slipping into a pair of worn jeans under your black dress, which you discarded next, leaving you momentarily in only a black satin bra. He averted his gaze and tried not to stare, even though you had your back turned to him, and he couldn’t see much anyway. Still, his heartbeat quickened as he approached you, while you pulled a white t-shirt over your head and tied your wavy hair into a ponytail.

“What are you doing?” Beau asked, the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the determination in your eyes already giving him a good guess.

“What does it look like? I’m going after them,” you said sternly and tied the laces on your boots. “DEA is going down to Mexico in a couple of weeks. Cody’s leading a task force. I fought my way in. They wanna scope out some locations tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding me? Y/N, just look at you! You’re not going after them alone in this state,” Beau snapped, throwing his arms up in utter incredulity. His gut ordered him to protect you no matter the cost. He owed as much to his dead partner to look out for you. It was a constant debt in his mind.

“My state?” You cocked an eyebrow and snorted caustically, shaking your head at him. “Have you fucking looked at yourself recently? Compared to you, I’m fine. And I also won’t be alone.”

“You’re not fine,” Beau gritted with anger in his eyes and worry in his heart. “We’re all fucking far from fine. You’re gonna get yourself killed like this!”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” you brushed him off with a roll of your eyes and slammed the trunk shut, hurrying to the driver’s side. But a rough grab of your arm stopped you in your tracks and made you spin and glare at Beau.

“Dammit, Y/N!”

Your features softened when you saw the desperation in his look. “I need to do this, Beau,” you insisted calmly and looked deeply into his watery eyes. Tears filled your gaze and threatened to choke you. “I want them to pay for what they’ve done to him. They can’t get away with it.”

His grip on your arm loosened before he let you go completely. He ran a palm over his face and carded it through his messy hair.

“Fine,” he barked resolutely, the despair replaced by determination. “But I’m coming with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

“What, so you can get me killed, too?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as the words rushed out and pinched the bridge of your nose. Immediate regret flooded your veins.

When you finally dared to glance at him, he looked hurt and averted his gaze to the burning asphalt below. He smacked his lips, head bobbing. It felt like you had just thrown an ax to his heart, whipped him, bludgeoned him with a baseball bat, and shot him in the knee – all at once.

“Beau, I’m so sorry.” You could see in his eyes that your apology already came too late. He was spiraling, blaming himself for Randy’s death. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean it like that. I just-… It’s been a long day.”

“Nope, no, you’re right. Don’t apologize,” he rebuffed your efforts to patch the wound you’d opened with a dark chuckle. You felt like utter shit. “I let him down. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be alive, so…”

“Beau, don’t do this. He wouldn’t want you to. And neither do I for that matter…” You reached out and clasped his hand reassuringly. But it didn’t feel like it was enough, so you wrapped your arms around him, too, and pulled him into a hug.

Beau was frozen for a moment when he felt your body pressed flush against his before he wrapped his arms around you as well and held you tightly. Carefully, he rested his chin on top of your head, the scent of your shampoo winding its way to his nose. And for a mere second, he let go and allowed himself to be comforted, soothing warmth spreading throughout his body.

“I gotta go,” you said quietly as you released him. But Beau held onto your hand with his for a heartbeat before realizing the strangeness of his touch and withdrew his arm quickly with a clear of his throat, fingers ripping apart at the seams.

“Lemme come with you. Lemme help,” he stated.

“Beau, no offense, but you’re a mess,” you said with gentle honesty. “Can you even walk a straight line? Stand on one leg and touch the tip of your nose? Recite the alphabet backwards?”

He actually snorted at that, his lips forming a small smile. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I’ll get better. Promise, okay? Just please… I need this, too.”

As you stared at him, you heaved a deep sigh. “Fine, get in,” you relented and gestured with your chin to the passenger’s side of your car. “But let’s hit a Denny’s first. Get some goddamn coffee and toast into you. Maybe a shower would help, too.”

Beau chuckled a little at that, nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

February 2012

Randy groaned loudly as he passed Beau the football, letting his head fall back between his shoulder blades. “Ugh, I can’t believe the Captain agreed to give the case to the stupid FBI. It was our case, man. We almost had the guy!”

“Yeah, I know. But hey, we could still follow our own leads. Solve it before the feds do. What’s Harper gonna do?” Beau suggested with a cocky smirk.

“I don’t know. Suspend us? Fire us? Just to name a few,” Randy quipped sarcastically and threw his partner a raised look.

Beau scoffed playfully and rolled his eyes. “Always by the book. You’re no fun,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Well, I can still bash the feds who are stealing this case from us. It’s probably some dumb asshole in a suit and sunglasses,” Randy joked and laughed, not noticing Beau’s facial expression change as he lowered his gaze to the floor, lips pursing.

You cleared your throat behind the chuckling detective, causing him to turn around and blink up at you.

“Well, I’m an asshole. I can admit as much. Definitely not dumb, though. I hate suits, and I don’t wear sunglasses indoors. Only douchebags do that,” you quipped and sent him a complacent smile upon his wide-eyed stare. Then, you arched a brow at the guy. “And stealing, really? You guys haven’t made progress on the case for weeks. Probably because you keep playing football instead of working.”

“Whoa, hey!” Beau threw in, furrowing his brow. “It’s a brainstorming technique, okay?”

“Yeah, for dumbasses,” you retorted. “Did you already get a concussion? Would explain a few things, mainly how you screwed up this case so much. It’s not rocket science, boys.”

“Okay, listen, missy. We did not screw up this case. We have leads, alright?” Beau argued fervently and took a step closer to you, his shoulders tensing as he was only inches away from your face.

You had the urge to tiptoe just to keep up with him for a proper face-off. He was tall, gigantic really, and now you were left to glare more or less into his chest.

“Who? The buyer for the jeweler? It wasn’t him. I already checked him out,” you said dismissively and could tell by Beau’s frown that it indeed had been his only lead. You then glanced at his partner. “Is he gonna say something or just stare? It’s not helping to refute my concussion theory, you know?”

Beau knitted his brow and shot his partner a look. As soon as he realized what was going on, he rolled his eyes and sighed. His best friend was running hot for Agent Hostile. Granted, you did look very sexy with all that fire burning in your eyes.

“Ey, Randy!” Beau snapped his fingers in front of his partner and hauled him from his surely naughty daydream.

“Uhm… I’m Randy,” he told you, dumbfounded.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline, your mouth itched to smile in amusement. “Wow, okay… Does that come with a last name?”

Randy still gave you that same vacant and infatuated stare in his hazel eyes. “You can call me whatever you want.” He sent you an insecure smile with a halfway shrug.

“Oh, can I call you a moron?” you countered snappily.

Amused, Beau actually snorted into his shoulder as he dipped his head, but then decided to step in for his best friend. “Okay, c’mon, leave him be.”

“Look, just gimme the file, and I’ll be outta your hair,” you submitted your peace offering, which Beau accepted, handing you the folder.

“Uh… drinks?” Randy looked up at you hopefully, like a shelter puppy waiting to be adopted. You honestly found his fluster quite endearing.

“Is he asking me out?” you checked with Beau, a smile playing on your lips.

“I think so.” Beau chuckled and nodded. “Look, uh–”

“Y/N,” you provided, noticing him fumble for a name.

“Y/N,” he repeated with a warm smile that reached his green eyes. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. We could help you with the case. We know it better than anyone. Could save you some work.”

You smirked slightly, recognizing what he was doing. First of all, he wanted in on the case, clearly having a hard time letting go. You knew the type all too well. Sometimes people in law enforcement behaved like bratty toddlers when it came to cases – they all hated sharing their toys, but you knew how to play nice. And secondly, Beau wanted to ensure you got to spend more time with his partner – the perfect wingman. He deserved a medal for his efforts.

You lifted a knowing eyebrow at him. “Didn’t your captain already say no?”

“But what d’you say, darlin’?” He shot you a mischievous grin.

“You’re a troublemaker,” you noted and received an acknowledging shrug in return. “Are you gonna behave, Ferris Bueller?”

“Yes, ma’am. Hand on my red-blooded and beating heart,” Beau promised charmingly and did as advertised, placing his palm on his chest like he was swearing a Boy Scout oath.

Rolling your eyes, you groaned and caved. “Fine. I’ll talk to your captain. You guys can come along, I guess.”

Beau handed you their card with their numbers on it before you disappeared out of the station again. Comfortingly, he patted his partner’s back as soon as you had left, Randy still staring after your goddamn shadow.

“I wanna marry her,” Randy sighed dreamily.

“Whoa… Moving way too fast here, buddy,” Beau tried to rein him in. “Maybe try speaking a straight sentence to her first.”

“I can’t. I’m in love with her. She’s the one.”

“She called you a moron,” Beau countered and crossed his arms over his chest, although he kind of understood where Randy was coming from. If he hadn’t been married, he would’ve given you his best shot as well.

“That only made me love her more,” Randy insisted.

Sighing theatrically, Beau rolled his eyes back. “Dear Lord, help me…”

Randy then went on a long tangent about everything he loved about you. The words he’d been missing when you were around suddenly spilled out of him. And while Beau acted annoyed, he smiled internally for his friend’s happiness. He’d never seen him before like this.

June 2013

“Oh God, I think I’m gonna puke,” Randy said and swallowed what felt like bile in his throat. With his hands on his hips, he took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. “Can you give me that trash can?”

Beau handed him the bin next to him with an amused chuckle. “Alright, but just remember – no matter what you do, don’t puke on the suit.”

Randy scowled at him, panic taking over as he nervously paced the fancy dressing room. “Not in the mood for jokes right now, man,” he huffed.

Beau laughed heartily and raised his hands in surrender. He got up from his seat on the small and uncomfortable sofa and patted his friend on the back, squeezing his shoulders encouragingly. “Okay, calm down. Everything will work out fine. Why are you so nervous anyway? Is this you having cold feet? Should I do somethin’? Start a getaway car?”

Taken aback by the suggestion, Randy’s brow furrowed, close to offended. “What? No! I love Y/N. I can’t wait to marry her,” he stated with absolute certainty. “I just-… I don’t wanna stand up there and, you know, look like a moron. I want today to be perfect for her.”

Beau snorted a laugh. “Alright, you won’t, okay? That’s what I’m here for. If you do somethin’ stupid up there, I’m gonna distract everyone with somethin’ stupider. That’s basically my duty as best man.”

“Yeah, Y/N’s gonna love that,” Randy quipped sarcastically and chuckled. But the lighthearted distraction didn’t last long before his nerves burned through him again. “You think I can make her happy?”

Beau smiled at him warmly. “The way she looks at you, you already are. Trust me.”

“Okay, good.” Randy nodded in relief. “‘Cause sometimes I really wonder how I got so lucky. I swear I didn’t speak in straight sentences for, like, the first three dates.”

“Oh, I remember.” Beau snorted.

“Man, were you this nervous, too, when you married Carla? I swear this is killing me,” Randy asked with his wildly beating heart in his throat. “I think I’m having a heart attack… Or a stroke. My head keeps spinning. Is that normal? Doesn’t feel normal…”

Beau hesitated for a moment before he nodded with a light swallow. “Yeah, sure. Everyone’s nervous,” he assured his partner, although the truth was a little different.

Carla was already pregnant when they tied the knot, so they did the right thing to appease their parents. But sometimes, Beau wished they would’ve waited. He could tell Carla did, too. They were both young. She had still been in law school, chasing her degree, and Beau had barely finished police academy and had still been working patrol.

Sure, he was nervous on his wedding day, but it wasn’t a puking-your-guts-out-and-jittering-to-your-bones kind of nervous. But Beau loved his family more than words could say and wouldn’t trade his daughter for anything.

“Hey, uh, can you ask Y/N about the marriage certificate? I’m supposed to give it to the officiant or something,” Randy said with a confused brow, scratching his sweaty neck.

“Yeah, of course. Be right back,” Beau replied with a saluting gesture and strutted to the door, encouragingly patting Randy’s shoulder once more on the way out. “Try not to soil yourself,” he teased, chuckling.

Beau then strolled down the lavish hallway of the five-star hotel and stopped in front of your dressing room door. He knocked twice and heard a “Come in!” bounce through. But when he opened the door and peeked his head carefully inside, he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

“Wow… uh…” Beau’s forest-green eyes went wide as he blinked at you. He was rendered completely speechless. How did he turn into Randy so quickly?

As you sat in front of your vanity, you glanced at him over your naked shoulder before you stood up and greeted him with a bright smile.

Your white dress hugged your curves perfectly, strapless but with a bit of cleavage, giving a perfect view of your clavicle and shoulder blades. It wasn’t one of those puffy princess dresses. It was smooth, uncomplicated, and delicate just like you.

You looked absolutely stunning.

“Wow,” Beau repeated and felt like a moron. He cleared his throat to haul himself out of his shameless staring and tried to recover his composure. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” You beamed with blushed cheeks. “You think Randy’s gonna like it?”

Beau smiled kindly, unable to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah, he’s gonna love it. It’s gonna make him even more nervous,” he replied, chuckling.

But your brow creased in concern, your lips parting. “He’s nervous?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Beau swiftly brushed your concerns away, “He’s nervous in a good way. No cold feet or anythin’ like it. He might just pass out and puke at the altar when you walk out. That’s all. Maybe some stuttering, too.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “That’s all, huh?” you teased. “Kinda like when we first met then,” you remembered fondly. “Or our first three dates, too, I guess.”

Musingly, Beau pursed his lips, his head bobbing in thought. “Hey, uh, can I just ask… Why did you keep going out with him? I mean, like you said he didn’t really speak for the first three dates. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good-looking guy, but, you know, you’re, well… you.”

You snorted lightly and cast your gaze down as your cheeks flushed even deeper red. “Thank you, I guess? But, uhm, to answer your question – I kinda liked that he was so flustered. It was endearingly sweet,” you replied and smiled to yourself at the memory. “‘Sides, every time he did say something, it was oddly complimenting. He’s also the only guy who ever bought me flowers after our first night together. It came with an extensive ‘thank you’ card.”

“Oh, Randy, you sweet little idiot…” Beau sighed affectionately.

“He never told you that?” you asked curiously.

“Ha, no. For obvious reasons.” Beau laughed. “But hey, it’s great material for my best man speech later.”

“Oh God,” you groaned playfully and laughed. “Just so you know, though, I’m gonna cut you off after fifteen minutes.”

Beau threw his head back, laughing loudly. “Alright, I hear ya. Your loss, though.”

You watched him for a moment when your laughs quieted down. He scratched his bearded chin, gazing down at his feet and making no efforts to move.

“Beau?”

“Hm?” His eyes found your arched eyebrow.

“Did you come here for a reason or just to chitchat?” you asked with curious amusement. He seemed obviously lost.

“Oh, uh, right! I’m supposed to ask you about the marriage certificate and the officiant thingy,” he remembered.

You smiled. “Tell Randy it’s already taken care of. He doesn’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll-, uhm, I’ll do that,” Beau said and awkwardly cleared his throat, walking to the door.

“Oh, and Beau?” He spun on his heel when you called his name. “Make sure Randy doesn’t puke on his suit.”

An amused smile shaped on his lips at that, and he nodded. “Oh, I’m on it. Trust me.”

When Beau left your room and wandered down the hallway again, a weird sting plagued his heart. Deciding it was a feeling he didn’t particularly care for, he pushed it deep down, not even admitting his true thoughts to himself under duress and torture.

He’d feel like an ass if he ever did.

Beau looked up from his files on his desk when a knock ripped him from his reverie. It was already getting dark outside, the sun setting behind the mountains. He smiled up at you from his chair when you peeked your head inside.

“Hey, Jenny and I are back from the crime scene,” you informed him as you stepped inside his office, closing the door behind you.

“And?”

“It’s definitely the woman from the video,” you confirmed sadly.

“We got a name yet?” Beau asked, his face stern, concern and compassion carved into every crease.

“Yeah, Addison Hughes. Husband reported her missing four days ago in Jefferson County. I already talked to the sheriff there. They’re handing us over the case,” you told him and noticed his suspiciously cocked brow.

“Uh-oh, I know what that means,” he quipped teasingly. “Were you nice?”

You gasped in mock-disbelief at his accusation. “What d’you mean? I’m always nice.”

Beau snorted in amusement. “Uh-huh, that means no…”

“Wha-… Anyways,” you continued with a clear of your throat and a playful little glare at him, “Jenny and I talked to Mr. Hughes afterwards. He didn’t wanna admit that he cheated at first, but Jenny and I kinda went in on him till he fessed up.”

“Poor fella…” Beau muttered under his breath.

“Hm? What?”

“Nothin’. I said nothing.” He shook his head and gave you an innocent smile, but it didn’t stop your eyes from narrowing at him.

“Careful,” you warned and ambled over to his side of the desk. He pushed his chair back, making room for you between his thighs. “You don’t wanna defend a cheater. He got his wife killed. I have little sympathy for that.”

“Well, he’s definitely an ass for cheating, but even you gotta admit he didn’t really kill her. That’s still on the psycho running around out there,” Beau argued, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. You involuntarily clenched when his face was in front of your crotch.

“Fine,” you conceded with a roll of your eyes, sliding your hands up his arms till they locked around his neck.

“‘Sides, I kinda get how quickly a mistake can happen, you know?” he said thoughtfully.

You arched your brow. “Do you mean me with that?”

Beau’s eyes widened, immediately shaking his head. “What, no! I mean, yeah, a little,” he stammered. Your frown deepened. “Not like that, obviously. Just remembered some stuff today… But we never cheated. I know that.”

“Do you?” you questioned rhetorically.

“I do,” he assured you and took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles in an attempt to soothe you. “Just sometimes feels like I betrayed him, you know?”

“I know. I get that. But you did nothing wrong, okay? You did not seduce me and steal me away from him, nor did you take advantage of me when I was a vulnerable and grieving widow. I’m a grown-ass woman. I make my own choices. And I chose you like you chose me. After Randy’s death and all those months in Mexico, I fell in love with you, too.”

A coy smile clawed at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you idiot,” you confirmed, your smiles matching.

He then pulled you onto his lap and claimed your lips in deep passion. You straddled his thighs and rocked against him, feeling the blooming erection in his jeans rub against your clothed cunt.

You unbuckled his belt and opened the zipper, Beau pushing down his jeans over his ass a little. Supporting one palm on his shoulder, your other hand climbed inside his boxers and grasped his dick. You thumbed his head and dribbled a few drops of spit down on his cock before moving your hand down his shaft, spreading it like lube on his velvety skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the backrest. With hooded eyes drunk with lust, one hand snaked under your shirt and pulled down the cup of your bra, palming and massaging your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers. Your moan of pleasure was his reward as you pumped him with a tightening grip.

Both of you jerked up, however, as the door to his office suddenly flung wide open. Beau and you froze in your place, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, but luckily, neither of you was fully naked and your back hid most of the explicits. To your visitor, it just looked like an intense and very heated make-out session.

As you peeled your gaze over your shoulder, you recognized a woman in her mid-thirties who covered her eyes and quickly retreated through the door.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I’ll wait outside,” she excused and shut the door behind her again.

Beau gaped at you, green eyes wide in disbelief. “Y/N, did you not lock the door?”

You clasped your mouth with both hands, shaking your head with pupils as blown wide as his. “No, I thought everyone had already left when I came in here.”

“That’s the second time in three days,” he reminded you scoldingly. “Three days, Y/N! Twice!”

“I know! I’m sorry,” you whispered apologetically, still in shock, but a laugh of amusement escaped your throat. “Who was that lady?”

“I don’t know.” Beau’s brow furrowed in the same questioning manner as yours.

The two of you then sorted yourselves quickly, pulling pants back on and smoothing out shirts. You then stepped outside the office, where your female visitor was still waiting in the hallway.

“Uh, so sorry for that little, uhm…” Beau stopped mid-sentence, clueless on how to proceed and describe the scene while still sounding professional. “Anyways, how can I help you, darlin’?”

You threw him a small sideways glare at that and crossed your arms over your chest, Beau giving you one of his charming “can’t be helped” shrugs. Did he have to put so much flirt into it?

“Oh, uh, I apologize. I should’ve knocked,” the woman replied with a keen giggle, her cheeks blushing in fluster. She cleared her throat and regained her composure, introducing herself. “My name is Diane Newton. I’m the new DA for the Lewis and Clark Sheriff’s Department. I got assigned the serial killer case and wanted to look through your files on it. See what you’ve got so far.”

“Oh, uhm, sure,” Beau spluttered and swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind jumping back into work mode. Of course, it had to be the new prosecutor to find him with his pants down in his office. What a great first impression.

“Hi, uh, Sheriff Beau Arlen. Nice to meet you,” he said and reached out his hand for a shake. He then glanced at you. “This is actually Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She’s leading that case,” he introduced you before he nervously chuckled. “She’s, uh, my girlfriend. That’s why we, uhm… Wouldn’t want you to think that we-… I do this all the time.”

“No worries and no judgment here,” she said and waved off his concerns. “What you do after hours is completely your business.”

“Well, uhm, how about I show you the files now?” you offered and ushered her to your desk in the main room of the station.

“Oh, that’d be great!”

You threw Beau a wide-eyed look over your shoulder as you walked down the hall, mouthing “Why would you say that?” with a chiding shake of your head.

Beau only twitched his shoulders in a comical apology like a cartoon character and swiftly disappeared back into his office.

Diane stayed for two more hours before finally leaving. You went over every victim in Montana with her, not sparing any excruciating details, and told her a little about the other victims in the other states as well. By the end, you were exhausted and almost fell asleep at your desk, your head resting on the pile of files with closed eyes.

Just a few minutes…

“C’mon, let’s go home. You’re tapped out,” you heard Beau’s deep voice and soon felt his grasp around your arm, hoisting you gently to your feet.

You slung your arms around his neck and tiredly rested your head on his warm, broad chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath. He’d always been the best pillow. “Mmm, I don’t have a home here,” you murmured sleepily.

“Well, you know what they say, home is where the heart is, and I’m going back to my trailer, so…” He shrugged and grinned down at you.

“You’re such a dork,” you quipped. As you looked up at him, you bit your bottom lip. “You introduced me as your girlfriend earlier.”

He licked his smirking lips. “Well, you are my girlfriend.” His brow then creased momentarily. His insecurity was somewhat cute, you thought. “Right?”

You beamed and nodded, giggling. “Yes,” you confirmed and tiptoed up to plant a sweet kiss on his lips to seal it.

“How about before we go home, we finish what we started in my office,” he suggested cheekily and added, “I’ll even teach you how to lock a damn door.”

You snorted a small laugh and gave him another gentle kiss, this one lasting a bit longer and swinging with promise. “Alright. Teach me, Sheriff,” you agreed and smoothed your palms up his chest, smirking up at him.

“Oh, this just took a turn. Now, I know what I’m gonna do with you.” He chuckled wickedly and scooped you up in his arms, bolting down the hallway to his office as you squealed and giggled.

Chapter 5: Illicit Affairs – MAY 29

Will they ever learn? Probably not... 😆 We've had some juicy flashbacks these week... Past scenes that include Randy always make me sad 😭

More murder stuff and flashbacks next week! See ya 🫶

(Also I've been a bit slow with comments these days. It's been crazy busy life things, but I hope I can catch up with everything this weekend 🤍)

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[propertyofkylar]

kinktober day 14: being forced to beg (m!wren x gn!pc)

word count: 897

tags/warnings: begging, criminal activity mentioned, blowjob, kinda not what the prompt is at all actually but idc

You groaned as you crouched on the ground. Another fucking empty box. Tonight’s attempts at looting the docks was basically a failure. Where the hell had all the good stuff gone?

“Well, what do we have here?” A voice from behind made your blood run cold. You quickly weighed your options and were about to run away when a hand met your shoulder. 

In fear, you turned around, only to come face-to-face with Wren. You let out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. “Oh, it’s just you,” you rolled your eyes and stood up, tugging down your face mask now that you knew you were safe. 

“Just me,” Wren echoed, eyes searching over your body. “Someone having a difficult night? Bummer.” He held up a nondescript bag and shook it slightly. Your eyes widened as you jumped towards him.

“The hell?” You tried to reach for the bag, but he pulled it away. “I worked all day to memorize what was where. How the fuck did you beat me to it?”

He shrugged casually, holding the bag away from you. “I have my sources too, you know.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled, turning on your heel. Might as well just leave. But instead, Wren called your name.

“Hey,” he said, and you turned back, feeling more annoyed than ever. He had a devious look in his eyes. “I’m not evil. I’m willing to share, since you worked so hard. But…there’s a price.”

You thought it over. You didn’t want to owe Wren anything. But money was tight right now, and you knew right now you didn’t have enough to pay Bailey, and it was due in less than two days. So you relented. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”

Wren smirked. “You have to beg for it.”

Begging? Begging Wren in particular didn’t sound fun. Though, in the grand scheme of things, maybe it wasn’t too bad. Even a fragment of the loot would be enough to pay Bailey this week. Then it could give you some time to figure out a better plan for infiltrating the docks so you wouldn’t go through this again.

“Yeah, okay,” you sighed. Wren grinned.

“Ah, come on, you could show a little more enthusiasm!”

Rolling your eyes, you clasped your hands together. “Oh, pretty please, Wren, share with me?” You said sarcastically.

“Mm, nope,” Wren said. He tugged you to the side where you were hidden from view. “Try harder.”

You got down onto your knees and looked up at Wren through your eyelashes. “Please, Wren. I need your help.”

That one must’ve worked better, because Wren faltered momentarily before regaining his composure. “Better.”

You inhaled deeply, gearing yourself up for what could end up being some of your best work. “Please. I don’t know what to do. I need your help, Wren. I can’t do it without you,” you even managed to get some crocodile tears forming. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

That caught Wren’s attention. “Anything?”

“Yes,” you whispered, trailing your hands up his legs. “Anything.” 

Wren sucked in a breath, placing a hand on your head. “Show me how bad you want my help.”

With nimble fingers, you unzipped Wren’s pants, pulling them down slightly. You ghosted your fingertips across his lower belly before pulling his underwear down too, revealing his still mostly-soft cock. You gently took his shaft into your hands and began stroking.

“You’re so kind and helpful, Wren,” you said, feeling his cock growing harder in your hands. “You’re always there when I need you. Won’t you help me out, even just this once? It would make me so happy.”

“Fuck,” Wren mumbled, his fingers threading through your hair. “Keep going.”

You kept begging as your hands worked his cock to full hardness. “Please, please. I’ll do anything for you. Anything you want. Just please help me out.”

He looked down at you, eyes dark. You put on the most innocent-looking face you could muster, and then swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering precum in your mouth. Wren hissed.

You smiled at him as you kept pumping his cock. “You’re the best, Wren. Such a great guy for helping someone like me. A poor little orphan. Please help me.”

With that, Wren shoved his cock into your mouth, fucking your face as your braced yourself with your hands on his hips. You hummed around his thick shaft, swirling your tongue around and around as he kept fucking you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, balls slapping against your chin as you took in his full length. “You’re just so fucking–” his words were cut off by his own moan.

As you choked on Wren’s cock, you kept looking up at him innocently, keeping your eyes wide and channeling your begging through them, since you obviously were unable to speak. “God, your mouth feels so good,” Wren gasped.

You smiled and kept at it, sucking hard. You could feel his dick twitching in your mouth and you suddenly pulled off, replacing your lips with your hand. “So nice,” you cooed. Wren’s face was beet red and he was breathing heavily.

You closed your eyes and stroked his cock until you felt his hot, sticky cum splatter on your face. Then, licking your lips and opening your eyes, you offered Wren a sweet smile. You could feel the cum dripping down your face.

“So, was that begging enough for you?”

[hamsterclaw]

Sanctity

Your ex-husband is at a wedding with you, and it feels like you don't exist. Part of the Love series, read the rest here.

Pairing: Namjoon x afab! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Exes, angst

Warnings: Swearing

When you were invited to this wedding, your university friend Soojin had told you that Namjoon was going to be best man.

Soojin’s groom, Alex, has been friends with Namjoon since childhood, so you weren’t surprised at all.

You’d texted Namjoon about the wedding but he hadn’t bothered to reply.

You’d assumed that he was busy, you’ve been slammed at work too, it’s always hectic in the runup to Christmas.

The wedding ceremony is in a 15th century chapel, tucked in the side streets of the very edges of the city, and the wedding celebration in a boutique hotel nearby.

You’re chatting to one of your old university friends at the drinks reception after the ceremony when Namjoon arrives.

He looks irresistible in his navy suit. Perfect. Unattainable.

He’s not alone.

He’s got a stunning woman on his arm, and they’re both laughing like she’s just said the funniest thing in the world.

Your ex-husband’s dimples flash, and he bends down solicitously, steadying her as her heel gets caught in her beautiful gown.

Their show of unity hits you like a kick in the chest.

Namjoon looks up, catches the stricken look on your face that you aren’t emotionally nimble enough to hide.

Your eyes lock.

A breath is all it takes before he turns away like he never saw you.

***

There’s a startling clarity to your feelings as you try your hardest to avoid your ex and his date at this small, intimate wedding.

You’re hurt.

Hurt that he didn’t bother to tell you he was bringing a date to this wedding.

Hurt that as much as you’re trying to avoid him, he seems to be just as keen to avoid you.

You know he’s been dating since the divorce, well, you both have.

You owe each other nothing.

You smile distractedly at the ex-classmate you’re struggling to find common ground with.

What’s his name?

Louis? Lewis? 

You’re too scattered to remember.

He’s telling you about his recent divorce, which is making you think about your own divorce.

Two years ago.

Have you and Namjoon really been fucking around for two whole years after the divorce was finalised?

Shit.

You can’t blame him for wanting to move on.

Louis steadies you as someone bumps into you from behind, jostling you.

There’s kindness in his eyes.

You force yourself to focus.

‘Divorce is hard,’ you say, a lame attempt at keeping the conversational ball going.

Louis, the gentleman that he is, says, ‘People who’ve been through it tell me it gets easier over time.’

‘I don’t know that it does,’ you say, the first truth you’ve spoken tonight.

Louis looks at you curiously, but you’re in no mood to extrapolate. 

You swallow the rest of your drink and excuse yourself to use the bathroom.

You don’t recognise yourself in the mirror, that’s the honest truth.

Sure, you’re wearing the clothes and jewellery you put on earlier today, and your hair is still how you styled it, but you look completely different.

You’re flustered and frazzled and anguished.

Worst of all, you’re a fool.

You add colour to your cheeks to hide how drained you look, top up your lipstick in a desperate attempt to fix your face, but you know it’s futile.

You emerge from the bathroom and realise everyone’s heading to their tables for the meal.

You check the table plan and head for your seat.

You force a smile for the vaguely familiar people at your table and are pulling your chair out when a hand lands next to yours on the back of the chair.

You follow the line of the arm, up to the shoulder, up the curl of hair just touching his collar, up to his face.

Min Yoongi.

‘Let me,’ he says, smiling at you politely.

He seats you, then sits in the chair next to yours.

‘I didn’t know you were coming to this wedding,’ you say.

The truth is, you’re grateful for his familiarity.

You don’t know Yoongi well, but he and Namjoon are close friends and he’d joined you for dinner a few times whilst you and Namjoon were still married.

‘I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it back in time,’ Yoongi admits. ‘I wrapped up a project in Kowloon last night.’

You know Yoongi works for his family business.

‘Have you been busy lately?’ you ask.

Yoongi signals to the waiter, hands you a glass of white. 

‘No busier than usual,’ he says. ‘I think Namjoon’s been busy though.’

‘Yeah?’ you say, carefully neutral.

‘Seen much of him lately?’ Yoongi asks, taking a sip of his wine.

‘Not a lot,’ you say, truthfully.

‘Me either,’ Yoongi says.

You take another sip of wine.

‘So how come you’re at the singles table?’ you ask, trying to change the subject.

Yoongi rakes a hand through his hair.

 ‘No one will put up with me,’ he says, straightfaced.

‘I’m really taking one for the team, sitting next to you,’ you say, deadpan.

‘You definitely deserve extra dessert,’ Yoongi shoots back.

The laughter that bubbles out of you at his remark goes a long way towards easing the tension you’ve been feeling all night.

Yoongi smiles. His hand lands on the table, rings gleaming as he fiddles with the wedding favours scattered on the white linen.

‘I’m hungry,’ he tells you. ‘I hope the food’s good.’

You’re not sure you’ve got any appetite but you murmur in agreement anyway.

At least you can’t see Namjoon and his date from where you’re sitting.

Yoongi’s got a knack for filling in the blanks in the conversation, but even better, he doesn’t mind silence. 

His company carries you through the different courses so well you feel like you need to thank him. 

You’re about to, when a delicate tinkling fills the air. 

You turn around to see that it’s your ex-husband, standing, tall and handsome in his suit, especially now that his tie’s loosened a little. 

He’s holding up a glass of champagne. 

‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your meals everyone. As Alex’s best man, I’ll be guiding through the speeches this evening,’ he says, smooth, confident, charming. 

He’s always been good at commanding a room. 

You feel disconnected, numb as Namjoon introduces Alex’s father, Soojin’s father, Soojin’s maid of honour for their speeches, applauding mechanically. 

You don’t take in a single word any of them have said. 

Through it all, Namjoon provides a charming, easy commentary, until it’s time for his own speech. 

‘I’ve known Alex since we were kids,’ Namjoon says, ‘and believe me, there are stories that I could tell, but I did promise that I wasn’t going to embarrass him in front of his nonna.’ 

There’s a ripple of laughter. 

You’re transfixed. 

You’re trying to remember when you last heard Namjoon speak like this. 

All of your interactions for years have been snappy, impactful, sexy, but he hasn’t sounded like this in years. 

He sounds relaxed, confident. 

Happy. 

You sit rigidly as Namjoon shares an anecdote, to the hilarity of the room. 

It’s the final part of his speech that breaks you. 

‘I can truly say that I’ve never seen a couple more perfectly matched than Soojin and Alex. I can only hope that all of us have the privilege of experiencing a love like theirs at one point in our lives.’ 

You can’t help yourself. 

You’re staring at him, wondering if he can feel your gaze on him. 

Namjoon raises his glass in a toast. 

There’s a sigh from the room, followed by a wave of applause. 

It’s the perfect ending to the speeches. 

Namjoon never once glances your way. 

****

You don’t stay for dancing, just exit as quietly and discreetly as you can. 

You slip on the beautiful coat you bought just for this wedding, do up the buttons mechanically. 

Head out the entrance, sighing with relief when the front of the hotel is empty, save for you. 

Well, not quite. 

There’s a shifting to your left, you turn just in time to see Yoongi straighten up, ice cubes clinking in his glass as he steps forward, out of the shadows. 

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he says mildly. 

‘You didn’t,’ you reply. ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow, I should get going.’ 

Yoongi nods. ‘Can I give you a ride?’ 

‘I’ve got a taxi on its way,’ you demur. ‘Besides, I don’t want you to have to leave because of me.’ 

Yoongi nods again.

Then he gives you a half-smile. ‘Want the rest of my drink?’ 

You glance at him, surprised. 

He holds out the drink to you. 

The whiskey goes down smooth, a mellow fire that warms you. 

‘Thanks,’ you say. You put your hand on his arm as he takes the glass back. ‘Thanks for tonight.’ 

Your words brim with meaning, you don’t want to explain but you get the sense he knows, anyway. 

He’s been friends with Namjoon for years. 

There’s kindness in his eyes as he covers your hand with his, gives yours a gentle squeeze. 

The sliding doors to the hotel slide open, but your taxi’s arrived, so you don’t look back. 

You get into the cab and breathe the first breath you feel like you’ve taken in hours. 

You turn your head to wave goodbye to Yoongi, only to see Namjoon standing next to him. 

Your eyes meet for the briefest of moments before the taxi drives you away. 

©hamsterclaw 2023

[moonydustx]

Alligator Tears

completely based on Beyoncé's song alligator tears. Smut, angst with no happy ending.

Crocodile x F! reader

a/n: reptiles, tears and angst. Sorry, irresistible combination.indented dots are song lyrics

MDNI | MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

High tides in the city, I'm in too deep And I'm runnin' on fear Oh, dear, you and your alligator tears Works me over and through

The sound of your heels echoed loudly through the hallway and reached Crocodile's ear before your figure even graced his tired vision. When the door slammed behind you and your lips weren't adorned with a smile, it didn't take much to know that something had made you furious.

"Good evening, I guess." Crocodile allowed himself to relax in the chair, seeing you still looking angry. "What do I owe the visit for?"

"What the hell is this idea of ​​us infiltrating that damn city?"

"It's business, darling." He said cynically, seeing you snort. "I need you to investigate who is behind the latest attack, this could cost me a lot of money."

"As if the tyrant who rules that place wasn't enough, the marine protects every inch of that land." your hands hit the table. "Do you want to kill us all?"

"Miss Honeymoon, I wouldn't take you away from someone so fearful." he laughed, lighting one of several cigars. After a long drag, he offered it to you. "What's so distressing?"

"This suicide mission!" you snapped and saw the man remain motionless, almost oblivious to your concerns. Just the way he looked at you indicated that you didn't have many other options. "I understand, Mr.0, we will be leaving in the morning."

"Hey!" he said louder once you turned your back and were ready to leave. "Lock the door and come back here."

"But…"

"Lock the door." he insisted, putting out his freshly lit cigar. Now, he had other priorities to deal with. As soon as he heard the key click and saw you turn around, he asked. " Come here."

Your heels echoed much softer than the first time he heard it that night. With slow steps - and in his view, sensual - you approached, stopping on the opposite side of the table and crossing your arms. A light laugh passed through him as he noticed that it wasn't long before you pouted.

"Not there." he emphasized, moving the chair he sat in a little further away. "Come here."

Still looking frustrated, you complied. Not that he had many options other than that. After all, besides obeying, being what he needed, what else could you be? This was no time to think about that.

You barely reached it and felt the hand - the one that actually belonged to him - touch your waist and gently pull you until you were sitting on his lap.

"I hate it when you call me that."

"By your name, which you chose yourself." you let a cynical smile escape your lips. "What would you prefer me to call you, Mr.0?"

"My name used to sound much prettier than that when I left here." He touched your lips gently and trying to control your impulses, you had to try hard not to kiss the tips of his fingers.

"I have no reason to please you with this, Mr.0, not now."

"Your luck…" he pulled you, allowing your faces to be millimeters apart. "It's just that I need you in one piece and well for this mission. You deserved a good punishment after this."

"What if I want to be punished?" your voice became low, provocative, the way you knew it would set him off.

"Not today darling." he adjusted your legs so that they were around him. "That doesn't mean you don't deserve some attention."

His hook stuck against your back as his tongue delved into your lips, taking what belonged to him. His hand ran over your skin exposed by the tiny dress, allowing the straps of your dress to slide down and with just a few movements, the expensive fabric became just a puddle on the floor of his room.

His hand went down between your legs, opening your lips and letting two fingers circle your clit, hearing you gasp. The movement of your hips against his hand indicated how much more contact you needed. Your hands, which before were only used to support yourself on the shoulders of the man beneath you, now dug in your nails in an effort to demand contact.

"That's what you needed all this time, wasn't it?" he whispered, giving a small bite to your neck. "You deserve some encouragement before you go on your mission."

His fingers had already found your entrance and enjoyed a rhythmic back and forth. Your gasps were now contained moans, the fear of being discovered by a colleague made the little adventure even more exciting.

"Croc…"

"I'll give you what you want. You've been so good." his wet fingers came out of you and just placed his dick at your entrance. Then, they continued, still wet with your essence, to your lips. Without hesitation, you grabbed the digits, feeling the lust that came from his eyes hit you straight. "Get what you need from me."

"It's too much." you slid down a little, feeling him open you up.

"My girl can handle it, i know you can babygirl" he helped push your hips down

You moved slowly, savoring every inch of him inside you. Your mouth, now without being taken to him, was where the requests for more escaped and at the same time, where the loud moans that you could have made were contained.

It didn't take long for you to briefly lose your support. Crocodile's body, which was sitting, was now standing and placed you on the table, increasing the intensity of each thrust, his fingers were already marking your waist just as the hook was digging into your skin. However, you were too lost to feel any kind of pain.

Soon you felt him fill you. The hot liquid of his cum along with his agile touch on your clit was what you needed to get there. So that huge room above you became just a white blur. Pulling you back to sit on his lap and ignoring his possible grumbles, you lay down against Crocodile's chest. The hand that actually belonged to him slid down your back, causing small goosebumps.

"What scares you so much about going there?" His hoarse voice interrupted your daydreams, his eyes searched yours. "What bothers you so much about this mission?"

"I think you've heard what that tyrant does to anyone who stands up to him." You curled up in his arms, feeling him squeeze you.

"Good thing that won't happen to you, to any of you. I don't have weak people working for me."

"And that's all I am, little lizard, just another worker?" You said in a cynical tone and then his hand pulled your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"The fact that you call me a little lizard and still alive proves exactly the opposite." He took your lips quickly, wanting to make it clear what he meant - even if it was still difficult to put into words. "I need people I trust in this, so I put you and Daz in this lead."

"I understood." you said in a resigned tone, your eyes downcast. "Can I ask you something?"

"With you like this, naked and on top of me, I believe I could ask for anything in the world." he laughed, seeing you mumble. "What do you need, my honeymoon."

"Sleep with me, just tonight?" You asked and saw him thinking, even so, you decided to insist on your proposal. "We don't know what will happen from tomorrow onwards. This could be my last night here."

"Don't say that kind of nonsense." he became serious again. His hand began to hold your face more firmly, it was as if he read your soul just by the way he looked at you. "Don't you dare get hurt there, or else…" he let the sentence trail off, seeing you smile slightly. "I have some things to finish and then I'll sleep with you."

"That's a great start, little crocodile." You made to get up, but he promptly kept you there.

"Stay here in the meantime. I promise it won't take long."

Without responding, you snuggled against him, your face finding his favorite spot against his skin. While his hand was busy writing, he occasionally rubbed the one with the hook against your skin, this time, almost affectionately, being careful not to make such a strong gesture.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep there.

Sunrise in the morning, you're all I need All I need is rain or roots get weak Sweet things need time to grow Thinkin' about leavin'? Hell no Squeeze every ounce of love on my body, yeah

It had been a long month since you left on a mission. A long month filled with worry on Crocodile's part. As much as he didn't want to take it on, he knew the mission was risky and he knew everything would work out.

At least that's what he believed until his right-hand man, Daz, walked through the door to his room, haggard and injured.

"Daz, what happened?" he asked, without much patience to know about the bruises that marked his colleague's face. He knew something had gone wrong, it was obvious.

"We were ambushed, we lost a good part of the contingent." the man, ignoring Crocodile's possible complaints, took a small list from his pocket. "A contact of mine was able to tell me who was captured and who died in the attack."

"Anyone interesting?"

Daz started to list but soon the names became a blur in Crocodile's mind. Your name, at the top of the list of losses. His words echoed through such a blur, "This could be my last night here."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understood." the not so common request left his lips. "That's the list…"

"Of those who died in battle. Some I got to see in person. Miss honeymoon was…"

"You don't need to inform me. She's dead, the way this happened won't change that." the words seemed to weigh tons as they left his mouth. "Go. Get some help for those injuries." Crocodile responded coldly, almost impatient with the delay it took the other to leave.

Feeling the weight of the news fall off his shoulders, Crocodile allowed his body to fall onto the massive chair behind him. You had warned him, hadn't you? All the signs there were clear, except that he ignored them.

At the same time as he didn't want to know what had happened, he wanted to be able to know every detail. Did you suffer a lot? Was Daz sure you were dead?

The immense room was, for the first time, a blur.

His hands felt almost blindly at the false bottom of the drawer closest to him. It didn't take them long to reach the two precious things he kept there, two photos that now only he would know existed.

The first was your naked body, partially lying down, not so exposed. The light was dark in the background and the only thing there was besides you and your thin heels in the image was a glass of wine between your fingers.

The second, however, is the one that affected him the most. Your messy hair, your face wrinkled after a night's sleep, his shirt unbuttoned on your body, Crocodile's arm held you tightly against him - and it was the only thing about the man that appeared in the image. Image of a morning when - the night before - he had lied that he would need you to accompany him on a mission, just to have you in a fancy hotel, to keep you safe in his arms.

Only when he felt something wet touch the tips of his fingers that were holding the photos he realize. The visit he hadn't received in so long and for someone made of sand, it would be almost unthinkable to see that again. After so much time, so many reasons, tears were flowing from him. Perhaps, that was a feeling that had come too late. And maybe, you had left him too soon.

I adore you, your alligator tears

[loulouk]

adult content: dub-con, manipulation, nicknames, degradation, belly buldge, pnv, guilt tripping, overstimulation, cervix fucking (p hitting cervix) no pleasure just pain.

thinking about ajax (tartaglia) absolutely ruining you, mentally. He’d pamper you oh so much, you owe him right? You’re just a poor girl, struggle to get by :( oh! but Ajax is here, and all it cost you is for you to feel indebted to him, give him anything and everything he wants. Not hard right? So when he tells you to finger yourself on his bed what do you do? You do exactly that… aw! But you’re just so incredibly stupid and inexperienced! He scoffs as he watches your fingers being stuffed inside your cute little cunt. It’s so pretty but oh so pathetic! He would mock you, asking if that’s really all you could do… oh embarrassing for poor you! you’d whimper out his name before giving him excuses. “I-I’ve … mngh.. don’t do this often..” or “sorry.. em-embarrassing..” as you look down at the fingers stuffing your cunt— he only chuckles crawling towards you like a predator would pray. Holding your legs open with his own legs, as he takes his now ungloves hand, teasing your wet poor sensitive slit. “w-wait” he didn’t listen, did you really think he would? How pathetic of you really. “shut up, you like it” his voice turns cold, not the usual voice that had you head over heels. he doesn’t say another word as his long slender fingers are now pounding into your tight hole. Your poor legs shaking- constantly trying to shut together but his knees pinned them both down. You could only arching your back and let out whimpers and moans which made your cute voice crack, when you felt you were close, he would pull away you practically started to cry without his fingers, they felt so good even though it’s slightly uncomfortable! “gonna make you cum on my cock, yeah? you’d like that huh— I bet you would” he simply grabbed your face with his non-dominant hand, opening your mouth in which you looked up at him confused, oh.. now he’s making you choke on his fingers! Has anyone ever told you how cute you look sucking:( he’s practically melting, runting his clothed hard-on against your wet, soft pussy. when he pulls it out, your mouth is left agape. “N-no .. won’t fit..” you pleaded, arching your back in a way to tell him to stop, moving your cunt further from it. It’s so.. pretty though. :( aw! Poor little you, just don’t know what to do. you never know do you? When he slips it in, your screaming, voicing breaking as tears ran down those cute little cheeks of yours. It hurts so good… poor you. Pleasure didn’t last long when his tip is banging against your poor little cervix. it hurts! No pleasure, it just hurts! your weak little hands go to his chest, hitting him as you begged for him to stop, to pull out, to stop moving, but no, when you grabbed his hair to see if hurting him would get his attention, he slapped your hands away. How mean! “god…jus’ shut up and take it - fuck!” He hissed at you, nothing but annoyance and lust dripping from his words. But you couldn’t! You couldn’t take it, you didn’t even cum? How did this even work! He doesn’t care if you cum or not, do you even deserve it? I mean just look at you, begging for him to stop using you like a little fleshlight simply cause he’s hurting you. Have you no respect for his needs? His desires? How selfish.

“a-aja..x!” you’re smaller frame trembled, the force of his thrust making the bed creek. He looked down at you, a sweat fell from his forehead onto yours.

“fuck- cmon now, stop being a Whiney bitch. This is the best- mgh! Pussy I’ve had in so long— lemme enjoy- mng- this cunt.” You only whined, your legs wiggled their way out, and finally you had pushed him away using your legs. He was so pussy drunk he didn’t even realize until he moved his hips, where did that sweet pussy go? When he opens his eyes and looks down at your broken figure he swears he just gets harder. He takes his large hand, putting them behind your knees positioning you in the most helpless position he could think of in the moment, a mating press, when he slips his cock back in its even deeper.

“Fuck- I hope .. mngh.. you won’t always be this annoying. I picked you up from the fuckin’ streets, baby- fed - gave you a place to sleep… bought you everything you desire and this is the thanks I get? Huh? Maybe I should mhh.. just throw you out huh? After I’m done using this cunt?”

you wish you could listen to his words, his voice, but his dick plowing inside you making your poor belly buldge had you fucked, brainfucked. You could only roll your eyes back, moan and scream, as he tested your flexibility while ruining your cunt.

“hah… maybe I should…nt- pussy to good..” he moans to himself as if he doesn’t even notice you, just the feeling you give his cock.

oh how he loves to ruin his pretty helpless girl <3

[ladyelissarose]

Pls pls pls it u havnt done this already (if u have LMK) but ghost comforting civilian!reader who is really sick but they are in denial and want to go to work!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hello babes!! No I haven’t done such yet so here you go!!!

Thank you sm for the ask too!! Makes me happy🤗 Let me know what you think…

————————— ☠️

“Darliiiing… please stay it’s.. it’s too early-“

Simon Riley’s words slurred a bit as he whined into his pillow, growing upset at the feeling of his hand on the side of your bed, feeling the fading warmth from when you were there minutes ago snuggled up by his side.

“Simon I have a presentation to give at work today for the new employees and I’m already running late because I couldn’t stop trembling in the shower and feeling dizzy- woahhh….”

Simon immediately lifted his head from his squished and hugged pillow (something he wished was you instead under him as he squeezed you impossibly tight and refused to let you go) and he looked at you with wide eyes as he caught you holding onto the wall maintaining your balance, with a hand holding your head as your doe eyes were screwed shut, as if you were in pain. Before you could move you felt a pair of warm steady hands clutch onto your chilling waist and give a light squeeze with soft words,

“Love you ok?”

To his sweet words you desperately wanted to say, ‘No love I feel awful please carry me to bed and hold me until it stops.’

But you had a mean boss that wouldn’t take sick days kindly and pile excruciating triple work to make up for it, something you passionately hated because the hours were sickening and the work was close to slavery.

And plus, Simon had just come back from a long mission and all you wanted to do was take care of him, love on him, cook and do all the things for your hard working man, so.. you reluctantly stood straight and mustered your best smile. “Oh love I’m ok, just got a little dizzy, I think I- oh!”

Soon that warm hand found your forehead followed by Simon gasping lowly,

“Darling you’re burning up! No no, we need to- love!!”

You snatched yourself away from him as you stood up straight again and put your foot down with a supposed authority,

“I’m fine Simon! I promise! I took a hot shower and and- we’ll you know I got to go. Get back in bed and rest, you have a lot of hours to make up for sleep because- we’ll you know-“ Simon huffed out and placed a hand on his hip where his sweats hugged him nicely, and the other pinched his crooked nose while he breathed heavily through it.

Why in the world did he get stuck with such a hard working woman who was just as stubborn as he was? He didn’t know, but he loved you regardless and would do anything in his power to break you, to protect you before something else did and hurt you.

Simon could see it in you, he’s seen it in himself; the tired dark circled eyes, slumped shoulders probably stinging in pain from trying to remain straight, the slight quiver to the lips because your holding all the unsaid words in, and the fiddling fingers attached to shaking arms, aching to be held in a reassuring and loving hold.

“- its for the best for you to rest Si, come on don’t worry about me-“

Simon raised a hand up to signal you to stop rambling as he lastly said,

“Love, don’t fight it- get in my hoodie and in bed now.”

Silence filled the room before a shaky breath was released from your lips followed by a hesitant yet firm,

“No. I need to go to work Simon. I’ll see you later.”

Before Simon could say another word you had already spun on your heel and began to walk towards the door, leaving him a tad upset that you were refusing to take care of yourself. And he didn’t want to push you harshly to the point you cried- caused he hated to see you cry, but he needed to find another way before you left and faced the hard day feeling the way you were.

“Bye Simon- Oh- *bang* OW!!!”

That sounded like you had just fallen- maybe because you had gotten dizzy again but it was worse.

“LOVE?!!”

Simon called out panically as he raced out of his room, to see you at the front door on your knees with your hands flat on the ground, your trembling becoming more visible since you didn’t get up. In an instant Simon was on the ground with you trying to get you to talk since you also refused to look up from the ground.

“Love? Sweetheart are you ok? You probably hurt your knees- look at me.”

He gently grabbed your chin but you held firm, making him sigh when he also felt you trying but failing to stand up. Simon knew you were a tough one but jeez he just wished you’d take a moment and stop- “Love c’mon that’s it-“

“*sniff*.. m’sorry Si, I just don’t feel good.”

Finally, you broke, you soft sniffles breaking Simon’s heart in the process, he hated to see you in pain too.

“Tha’s my good girl.” Simon mumbled such under his breath as his heart dropped with sympathy while he watched your face finally lift up to his. Eyes now puffy and watery as your bottom lip jutted out,

“I jus’ wanted to *sniff*- m’sorry-“

Simon reached down to kiss your now red nose before cooing,

“No no, no apologies. It’s ok, c’mon sweet girl, let me take care of you.”

Under Ghost was the most gentle man named Simon Riley, the man that could be a killing machine on orders but in his freedom he was an angel at heart. Under his spell of love and true devotion to you you crumbled in his arms as he lifted you carefully bridal style.

“i’s alright now- I’ll take care of everything-“

“But my boss-“

“Can kiss my ass if he wants to drag you out of my arms, and then meet my fists for doing such eh?”

A little giggle mixed with a dry cough came out of you but Simon only smiled as he squeezed you tighter.

Soon you were all cocooned in your shared bed after Simon helped you get into his comfortable hoodie and helped you take some medicine- (well he practically had to hold you down between his legs so you could take it) then now you watched him with bright eyes as he walked in slowly with some warm soup.

“Jus’ for you love… oh and you won’t be hearing from your boss for a while-“

Knowing what he was capable of you right away asked with a slight sternness.

“What did you do Simon Riley?”

Raising a brow at your tone Simon chuckled,

“Thought you’d tune that attitude down a notch but to answer you- let’s just say he’s still in tact but well aware of another shape he could have if he didn’t listen.”

“Si-“

Shaking his head at you Simon placed the warm soup on his lap as he settled by your side with a spoonful already in hand,

“Simon says to be sweet and to eat your soup- now open up my love.”

He attentively looked into your eyes which made you blush and smile sheepishly as you listened,

“Thank you Simon.”

Placing the spoon between your lips gently Simon smiled back as he watched you sigh happily at its taste. Then he bopped your nose with his pinky as he replied,

“You’re welcome love.”

[aleskie-hischier]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐧 Summary: Shutdowns and Serious Conversations Ice to Meet You Masterlist Previous

Word Count: 10.3k Warnings: This chapter features toxic parenting, mental shutdowns, and disordered eating. If that makes you uncomfortable, please prioritize yourself and do not read this chapter!

“Milana Petrova, how dare you do this to us?” Her mother’s voice booms, cutting through the air in Mila’s apartment like a blade. “How could you be so selfish? So thoughtless?” She strides back and forth, her heels clicking against the floor as she runs a hand through her perfectly styled hair, frustration etched into every sharp movement. “Are you not thinking? Do you not care about your future? Do you not think you owe this to us?”

Mila’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, her body curling into itself. She can barely muster a response. “Mom...can we not do this right now?”

“No, Milana. We are having this talk right now,” her mother snaps, “You always do this! You always run away when things get hard, when things start to challenge you. You’ve been doing this your whole life and I’m sick of it!” Her mother glares at her. “First, you couldn’t handle the thought of training through video calls, so you ran off to Boston. Then, homeschooling because real school was too much for you. And now? Now, you can’t even handle a single major at university? Do you even realize your brothers are applying for a double major?”

“I just need time,” Mila says, her voice small. “It’s just until after the Olympics and then—”

“Of course,” her mother interrupts, voice dripping with disdain. “Because it’s always about skating. Skating, skating, skating. You only ever think about skating! Do you have any idea how much effort your father and I put into getting you into that program? Do you understand how humiliating it is to have to explain to people why our daughter—our brilliant daughter—isn’t pursuing a straight degree?”

“It’s just a break!” Mila insists.

“Just a break?!” Her mother scoffs, eyes narrowing. “Do you really think skating will last forever? Do you think it will pay the bills? Do you think it will feed your children? Support you when you’re no longer relevant?” She shakes her head, her lips curling in disgust. “You’re throwing everything away for this—this hobby of yours. You’re not thinking! That’s your problem, Milana, you never think!”

“You don’t understand!” Mila’s voice cracks. “I can’t do both, I’ll burn out—”

“Then burn out!” Her mother snaps, her voice rising. “But don’t you dare quit. Do you hear me? I don’t care what it takes. You will not disgrace this family!” Her back is rigid, her expression cold. “God knows you’ve failed us enough already.”

“But I’m not failing! I’m good! Mom, I’m good—the best! I’m pursuing my dreams—”

“Dreams?” Her mother lets out a bitter laugh. “This isn’t a dream. This is a delusion. You’re throwing away your life for what? Applause? Attention? Do you even understand how smart you were, Milana? You could have done anything. You could have been someone.”

“Someone you wanted,” Mila mutters.

“Obviously, Milana. We’re your parents.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a breath. “And as your parent, I’m telling you right now that you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. But we can still fix this. We can pull a few strings, retract your leave application, and—” “I’m not going back!” Mila shouts, her voice trembling with emotion.

Her mother’s eyes narrow, a look of icy contempt settling on her face. “What did you just say?”

“I said I’m not going back,” Mila repeats, her voice quieter now. “I can’t. It’s too much. It’ll kill me.”

“Then let it kill you.” Her mother’s words are cold, unfeeling. “I’d rather see you destroy yourself with work than live your life like this, embarrassing your father and I. Do you know how humiliating it is to have a daughter who can’t even finish a simple degree?” She stands tall, posture rigid and perfect, her face twisted in a look of pure disappointment. “Why can’t you be more like your brothers? They know how to work hard. They have ambition. They don’t quit the moment things get hard.”

“I’m not quitting,” Mila whispers, tears stinging her eyes. “I just—”

“You are quitting, Milana,��� her mother cuts in. “And you’re doing it because you’re being stupid. You’re wasting your potential on something pointless, something that will leave you with nothing.”

Silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating. Mila struggles to hold back her tears, but it’s no use. She feels them welling up, blurring her vision.

Her mother’s gaze sharpens as she notices. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she mutters. “There you go again, crying like a child. You’re pathetic, Milana. Do you think anyone could want you like this? When you break down at the smallest dose of reality?”

Her words are like knives, cutting deeper with each syllable. Mila swallows hard, trying to compose herself, but it’s impossible. The tears spill over, and her mother’s expression hardens.

“You’re too sensitive, Milana. How could anyone ever love you if you keep acting like this?” 

Mila’s chest tightens as her emotions finally spill over. “You’re my mother,” she chokes out, her voice trembling. “You’re supposed to love me no matter what.”

Her mother’s face is a cold mask, utterly unflinching. “Love is earned, Milana. And right now?” She lifts her chin, her tone ice-cold and dismissive. “You don’t deserve it.”

The words hang in the air, suffocating Mila, as her mother spins around to leave. She feels hollow, the ache in her chest expanding.

“You didn’t always hate me,” she whispers, barely audible, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. Her mother doesn’t spare her a glance.

“I don’t hate you,” her mother responds, voice detached, “You’ll understand when you’re a parent. I do this because I worry.”

Mila stays frozen, watching as her mother walks away, the argument echoing in her mind leaving her with no comfort—only emptiness.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

Mila’s phone died a couple of days ago, but she can’t seem to bring herself to charge it. She hasn't spoken to anyone in two weeks. The last conversation she remembers was with Nicole, who had shown up at her door a few days into her self-imposed isolation after she missed a training session with no warning. 

There were no words between them—thankfully—but Nicole did for her what she couldn’t do for herself. She drew a bath, gently washed her hair, and made her food. The taste of the food doesn’t stick in Mila’s memory—everything is bland, like the days themselves—but she knows she would’ve loved it if she were better. Nicole’s presence alone was soothing, her warm hands, her gentle voice.

Nicole had asked, her tone calm and loving, what had happened.

“Mom,” Mila had whispered, and that was all it took. The dam broke. The tears came, and Nicole wrapped her up in her arms, rocking her gently and humming an old tune. Mila didn’t even have to explain the fight—Nicole knew. She always did.

Later, Nicole tucked her into bed, like she was a child again—back in her old bedroom in Boston, when times weren’t so hard and stakes weren’t as high. Mila’s phone was plugged in and charging on the nightstand, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it. Georgi called that evening, letting her know she was getting the rest of the month off, no questions asked. Mila had murmured something resembling thanks, but the weight in her chest remained.

The days blurred together after that. She wasn’t sure how she was spending her time. She would wake up, wash her face, take a quick shower, and brush her teeth. Then she’d sit on the couch, staring blankly at Netflix or Prime, though nothing from the shows registered. Most of the time, she just stared at the ceiling, wondering when her brain might start working properly again. When she got tired of that, she’d curl up on the couch and drift off, only to repeat the same routine the next day.

Her phone was charged now, at least. It buzzed every so often with messages, but she never picked it up. There were probably twenty missed calls from her mother alone—each one more pressing and furious than the last, no doubt. She didn’t have the energy to face that storm, not yet.

And her friends. They didn’t deserve this. They didn’t deserve to be ghosted, ignored, treated like they didn’t exist. But, still, they kept messaging her. Little texts checking in, trying to pull her out of her shell. Maybe they didn’t hate her after all. Not yet. 

Nico’s texts had been among them, steady and patient at first, until they stopped altogether a few days ago. That stung. He probably thought she was done with him—thought that she was a coward for not explaining herself, for leaving him hanging. He deserved better than being ghosted after what had been a perfect night. She owed him at least an explanation, but that would require energy she didn’t have and courage she wasn’t sure existed anymore. Leave it to her to ruin something before it had the chance to start.

Maybe her mom was right. Maybe she was a quitter. Or worse—maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t quit at all; maybe she just ruins everything she touches. She’s already ruined so much. Her knees are shot, her mind is frayed, her body a mess of aches and pains she’s learned to ignore. She thinks of all the bridges she’s burned, friendships that have crumbled into dust because she didn’t have the strength—or maybe the courage—to hold them together. She thinks of the scars etched into her feet, the bruises that never seem to fade, constant reminders of the battles she fights with herself. She thinks of the pack of cigarettes hidden in her bedside drawer, waiting for the next moment when the weight of everything will become too much to bear.

The thoughts swirl in her mind, sharp and relentless. Exhaustion clings to her, pulling her down, but her mind keeps racing, keeps tearing at the seams of her peace. She needs to stop. She needs to rest. Maybe she just needs to sleep. So, she buries herself deeper into the couch, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself to stop thinking. It was all too much. 

It was all too much.

She’s asleep for all of ten minutes before the doorbell rings. She ignores it, curling tighter into her comforter. Whoever it was, they could leave. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone.

The bell rings again. And again. And again.

By the fourth ring, Mila’s sure her neighbors are cursing her under their breath. Begrudgingly, she stomps over to the door, already irritated and ready to lash out at whoever was ruining her attempt at peace.

But when she swings the door open, her breath catches in her throat. Standing in front of her, wearing a sheepish smile and holding a bouquet of bright Tulips, is Nico.

“Hey,” he says softly, offering the flowers forward like a peace offering.

Mila’s heart skips, her irritation melting into a jumble of confusion, guilt, and something soft she doesn’t quite want to name.

“Hi,” she whispers, her voice cracking, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Nico says, his smile gentle but his eyes searching her face with concern. “So, I thought...maybe you needed these.” He lifts the flowers slightly.

Mila can only stare for a moment, unsure of what to say. The weight of the last few weeks presses down on her, but seeing Nico standing there stirs something inside her—a flicker of warmth she hasn’t felt in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” she finally manages to say, her voice barely audible. 

And then the tears come—hot, uncontrollable, spilling down her face before she can stop them. Nico doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward and pulls her into his arms, enveloping her in warmth, in kindness. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. His embrace is strong, steady, and full of unspoken comfort.

In his arms, Mila understands everything he’s trying to tell her.

It’s alright. I’m here. I forgive you.

And for the first time in weeks, she lets herself believe it might be true.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

“I can’t believe you let yourself survive off fruits and water,” Nico chides gently. His tone is light, but there’s a quiet seriousness in his voice as he moves around Mila’s kitchen, whipping up something with what little she has in her fridge. Whatever he’s making, she assumes it’s soup, though she’s been banished to the kitchen island and can’t see much beyond his broad shoulders.

“Couldn’t stomach anything else,” she mutters, and it’s almost the truth. Every time she’d tried to eat something—cereal, hummus, the meal-prep kit Nicole had sent—her head swirled with nausea. But what she doesn’t say aloud, what she keeps buried deep inside, is the guilt that gnaws at her. The shame that sits heavy on her chest.

She doesn’t deserve a meal. Not when she’s knee-deep in a mess of her own making, tangled in regret over choices she could have avoided by not...quitting. Every bite feels like a betrayal, like a privilege she hasn’t earned. It’s easier to deny herself, to live off scraps, nibbling on fruit and sipping water every other day. Like punishing herself could somehow cleanse the weight of failure pressing down on her. It’s not just the nausea that keeps her from eating—it’s the belief that she doesn’t deserve anything more, the belief that she doesn’t deserve anything.

“Big bowls of fruit though,” she lies, trying to make it sound better than it was.

Nico huffs but says nothing, leaving the pot to simmer before turning to face her. Leaning on the island, he studies her, his eyes full of concern. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” His voice is soft, without pressure—just a gentle invitation.

Mila’s eyes flicker to the tulips he brought. Where does she even start? Her mom? The fight? The overwhelming sense of failure? She takes a deep breath.

“There’s this jump I can’t do,” she begins, her voice hesitant. “It’s called a Salchow. I’ve been struggling with it since I started skating. I land it in training, but during competitions…I always screw it up. Every time. I hate it so much that I beg Georgi to take it off my programs every time.”

“Why doesn’t he?” Nico asks, brow furrowed. “That’d make sense, right? If it’s giving you trouble.”

“There are rules,” she explains, staring at the marble counter. “You can’t repeat jumps, and certain elements are required. But that’s where it all starts, I think. I hate something so much that instead of trying to make it work, I just quit. I always…leave.”

Nico’s confusion deepens, but he nods, urging her to continue.

“I filed for a leave of absence so I could focus on training. I mean, it’s Olympic season again so…y’know…” She trails off. “I need to focus. I can’t do that if I’m struggling with whatever anatomy or biology bullshit I can’t grasp. I…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don’t even like biology. I didn’t even want to come back here. I wanted to stay in Boston. I just wanted to make my parents happy for once.” 

Mila looks up at Nico. “Remember when you dropped me off after the arcade?”

He nods. 

“My mom called. She found out about my leave of absence because people she knows at my university were congratulating her. She didn’t say much on the phone, but she showed up at my apartment that night to yell at me.” Mila lets out a hollow laugh. “She said things, I said things. It was bad. Really bad. She called me a quitter…said I always quit when things got hard…She was just…” Her voice wavers, tears welling up as she relives the moment. “She was so mean, Nico. So mean.”

She’s crying again before she can stop herself, and Nico’s by her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her as she sobs into his chest.

“I wish she didn’t hate me,” Mila whispers, her voice fragile and barely audible, like the softest breeze. Her eyes are downcast, fixed on the floor as though the weight of her words is too much to lift. “She didn’t always hate me. She liked me when I was a kid…We used to laugh so much.” She pauses, her breath trembling as she struggles to keep her emotions in check. The memory of simpler times feels distant, almost unreachable now.

“I get that she’s worried,” she continues, her voice wavering, but there's a flicker of understanding in her tone. “I know she’s concerned—in her own shitty way. But...she doesn’t have to be so mean.” Her words falter as the frustration and pain she’s held back for so long threaten to spill over. “She doesn’t have to call me names or compare me to my brothers. She doesn’t have to make me feel like I’m doing everything wrong. She doesn’t have to—” Her voice catches, breaking under the weight of unshed tears. “I just wish she could be nicer.”

“I know,” Nico whispers, holding her tighter. “I’m sorry.”

Mila pulls back slightly, wiping her face. “No, I’m sorry,” she says, her voice shaky. “I’m sorry I ghosted you. I’m sorry I made you worry, and I’m sorry you’re dealing with this mess.” She gestures to herself. “I’m just…I’m really, really sorry.”

Nico doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he wraps her up in his arms again, fingers gently combing through her hair. He holds her like that for a while, letting the silence speak for them both, before finally chuckling softly. “I’m just glad you don’t hate me.”

Mila’s eyes widen in surprise. “I could never hate you!” she blurts out. “You’re…” She pauses, thinking about him, about the man she’s come to know over the past months—kind, funny, with a heart as golden as his smile. “You’re wonderful. You’re good to me.”

Nico laughs, bright and genuine. He pulls her in even closer, if that’s possible, and rests his chin on her head. “You’re good to me too,” he murmurs, the warmth in his voice wrapping around her like a blanket.

What goes unsaid lingers between them: You’re good for me.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

“You do know New York has a limited amount of tulips, right?” Mila teases as she opens the door, a small smile tugging at her lips. She steps aside, letting him into her apartment.

Nico’s had a rough stretch—four consecutive losses against the Rangers. The first two ended with the Devs being shut out, followed by a 6-3 defeat and then another 5-3 loss just this afternoon. Mila had watched each game unfold on TV, each more painful than the last. She knew he hated losing, hated it even more when it felt like the whole team was drowning in what was now a six-game losing streak if you include the two games they lost against the Penguins.

“If New York runs out, there’s always Jersey,” he replies, flashing a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His usual playful energy is dimmed, exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders sag. The frustration radiates off him like heat. The weight of losses, the media, and pressures of leading a team taking a toll.

Mila notices it all—the slight slump in his posture, the weariness etched into the lines of his face. She wonders how he still manages to find the energy to come over after days like this, always with tulips in hand, as if that simple gesture could make everything feel lighter.

Mila notices all of it—the slight slump in his posture, the weariness etched in the lines of his face. She wonders how he still manages to find the energy to come over after days like this, always with tulips in hand, like he believes that this small gesture could somehow make everything feel lighter. He’s switched it up tonight though. He also brought takeout from the Asian-fusion spot just down the street from her apartment.

“You didn’t have to come,” Mila says softly as he steps inside, setting the flowers on the kitchen counter. “You should be resting.”

Nico shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “Resting is overrated,” he jokes, though his tone is tired. He pulls out the takeout containers from the paper bag, the familiar smell already filling her space. “Figured we could eat something good and relax.”

Mila smiles as she takes each container from his hands, setting them on the coffee table in her living room. “You’ve earned it.”

They settle on the couch with their food, Mila putting on the show they’ve been binge-watching—a fantasy drama filled with action, romance, and a painfully complicated love triangle. They eat in comfortable silence, occasionally throwing out comments about the characters' romantic choices.

But Mila finds herself watching Nico more than the screen, noticing how natural everything feels between them. The dinners, the flowers, the quiet conversations—it feels…easy. Like everything has fallen into place without either of them trying too hard.  The domesticity of it all—the simple act of sharing a meal and talking about something as trivial as a TV show—grounds her. She hasn’t felt that kind of ease in a long time.

She smiles to herself, watching his brow furrow as he goes off on a tangent about how the main character should end up with the blacksmith instead of the elf.

“He treats her better,” he argues, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “The elf puts her through all kinds of crap. Tests her loyalty. The sword guy just likes her for who she is. Things are simpler with him.”

She nods in agreement, though her mind drifts. Maybe that’s what makes this work—the simplicity of it all. She wants to be his, and in moments like this, it feels like she already is. But things right now are nice. Whatever is growing between them is new, but it’s comfortable. It’s easy. Nothing much to worry about. She knows they’ll have to talk eventually, figure out what they actually are to each other. But tonight? Tonight is for the quiet, for the simplicity of each other’s company.

By the time the end credits roll, they’ve finished eating. As they pack up the takeout containers, separating the trash from the leftovers Mila is grateful for—she won’t have to cook tomorrow—she can’t help but steal a glance at Nico. He looks worn out, but at least here, he’s letting himself relax.

When they settle back on the couch, she notices the way his shoulders sink into the cushions, the tension easing out of him. Before she can think too much about it, she opens her arms wide, her voice gentle. “Come here.”

He looks at her, surprise flashing in his eyes, but then he smiles—a real one this time. He shifts closer to her, sinking into her embrace. His larger frame engulfs her, and as his head rests against her shoulder, she runs her fingers through his hair. If she catches a slight flush on his cheeks, she doesn’t mention it.

“It's been a rough day for you,” Mila murmurs, more of a statement than a question.

“It’s been a rough month,” Nico admits, his voice hollow with frustration. “We’re trying, but nothing’s working. I’m supposed to pull us out, but I can’t. You can only say so many words of encouragement until it starts to feel forced. Fake.” He sighs deeply. “I feel like I should be doing more.”

She hums in response as he abruptly sits up and looks at her. “It’s more than a rough patch. It’s like we can’t get out of this slump, like we aren’t moving forward. And I just…” He takes a breath. “It’s all on me.” 

Mila takes his hand in hers, drawing small circles on the back of it with her thumb. “You know it’s not.”

“It feels like it is,” he says, his voice quieter now.

They sit like that for a while, only quiet reassurance and the soft hum of the city filling the room. There was a quiet understanding between them—outside was heavy with expectations, with responsibilities, and pressure. But within these walls, with each other and the space they share, it’s peaceful. It’s just them.

After a moment, Nico intertwines his fingers with hers and gives her a small, tired smile. “I like being with you,” he says softly, “You’re safe.”

She feels her heart dance at his words, and she returns his smile with one of her own. “I think it’s the tulips. They might have magical powers.”

He chuckles, the sound low and comforting. “Or maybe it’s you.”

They fall into silence again, but this time, it feels different—heavier, more charged. Nico pulls her closer, their faces only inches apart, eyes meeting in a quiet exchange that speaks of feelings neither of them have the energy to explore tonight. 

She rests her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek. It’s calming. His hand continues playing with her hair, the gentle strokes grounding them both in the quiet intimacy of the moment. He feels real.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

"Why is there takeout in your fridge?" Cole asks, brow raised as he peers inside. He’s always been nosy, but this time, there’s an edge of curiosity that Mila can’t ignore. “You never eat takeout. You think it's too unhealthy.”

Mila’s on an apology tour, inviting those closest to her over for lunch. Georgi and Nicole are lounging in the living room, chatting away while some show plays in the background. Chloe’s sprawled on the couch, half-listening to the conversation, half-scrolling through her phone. Michelle has taken up the role of sous chef, standing beside Mila at the counter, dicing vegetables with practiced ease. Cole, naturally, has declared himself the official ‘taste tester,’ sneaking bites of whatever comes within arm’s reach.

"I had a friend bring it over a couple of days ago," Mila says casually, trying not to let the onions sizzling in the pan distract her too much.

"You have other friends?" Cole teases, leaning against the fridge, though his curiosity is evident. His tone is playful, but Mila can feel everyone’s attention shift to her, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Michelle chuckles, setting down the knife. "He’s got a point, Mila. You’re not exactly the most sociable person."

Mila pouts in mock offense, stirring the pan. "I have lots of friends, thank you very much."

"Sure," Michelle says with a grin, placing the freshly chopped vegetables next to her. "Here’s the rest of the veggies. Coley, c’mon, let’s leave her alone before she burns the onions."

Cole shoots Mila a mock salute before following Michelle out of the kitchen. Mila listens as they join the others in the living room, and she lets out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the temporary reprieve. But she knows that question isn’t going away anytime soon.

By the time lunch is ready, the apartment smells like roasted chicken and fresh herbs, the warm, savory scents filling every corner. They all gather around the dining table, a spread of roast chicken, pasta, and salad laid out in front of them. The atmosphere is light, filled with the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses as they dig into the food.

As the conversation starts to wind down, Mila clears her throat, her fingers fidgeting with her napkin. "I just wanted to say I’m sorry…for ghosting," she begins, glancing around at the people who mean the most to her. "I know I’ve been distant lately, and that’s on me. I fought with mom again, but that’s not an excuse to ignore you guys. Especially when you’ve all been trying so hard to check in on me."

“We get it, hun.” Chloe smiles softly from across the table, her eyes warm. “No offense, but your mom’s an ass."

Her blunt statement earns a round of chuckles from everyone, easing the tension.

Mila can’t help but laugh too, shaking her head. "I know," she admits, her voice soft. "But still, I feel like I should’ve handled it better. I can’t keep shutting down just because my mom gets mean. So...I’m sorry. Really."

Georgi nods, his expression understanding. "We’re right here, Mila. You’ll be okay.”

There’s a comforting reassurance that wraps around her, soft and gentle. A reminder that things will be okay, that things can get better. For the first time in a while, she feels like she’s back—back with the people who matter most. Everything falls into place.

But then, of course, Cole breaks the moment.

"You can make it up to us by telling us who brought you the leftovers," he says, grinning mischievously as he pops another bite of chicken into his mouth.

Mila tenses, trying to keep her cool, but after a beat, Georgi—always too perceptive—adds, "Probably the guy who picked her up from training the other week."

Mila nearly chokes on her salad, her fork clattering onto her plate. "Georgi!" she splutters, almost whiny, eyes pleading at him as the entire table swivels their attention back to her, wide-eyed.

"He picked you up from the rink?" Nicole asks, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "You’re that serious already?"

Mila waves her hands frantically. "We’re not serious!" She blurts out, her voice a little too high-pitched. "Not yet, I mean...I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like that. Not yet, at least! We’re—" She trails off, realizing she’s making everything sound even worse.

“Oh my god!” Chloe exclaims, her eyes wide with excitement. “You’re totally deflecting! You guys are so serious!

“We’re not!” Mila practically whines, her face flushing. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“So, what do you even do?” Michelle asks, poking at her salad with her fork. “You just...hang out?”

Mila shrugs. “I mean, yeah. He comes over, we eat, watch stuff on TV… you know, that kind of stuff.”

“Okay, wait,” Cole cuts in, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “So, in the two months since you last complained about Mystery Man, you suddenly find a new guy to canoodle with?” He smirks, crossing his arms. “Unless...” He shoots Mila a knowing look, which the rest of the table immediately catches onto.

The room falls into a thick, anticipatory silence, eyes glued to Mila, eager for her confirmation.

Mila shifts uncomfortably under their stares. “His name is Nico,” she admits quietly, face flushing even deeper. “He’s a hockey player and he’s sweet to me.” She stabs a tomato with her fork and pops it into her mouth, hoping to avoid the onslaught of reactions. 

It doesn’t work. The table erupts in an explosion of laughter, cheers, and gasps.

“Mila Petrova!” Chloe yells, practically bouncing in her seat. “You bagged your Mystery Man!”

“And he’s a hockey player!” Cole adds, pointing his fork at her, grinning.

Mila lets out a small chuckle, shaking her head. “I didn’t bag anyone. We’re not even official. We’re not anything yet.”

“But you want to be?” Nicole asks, her voice teasing and slightly probing, but sincere. 

Mila’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile. The table erupts again, the excitement palpable.

The rest of the evening is filled with light-hearted conversation, laughter flowing as easily as the wine. They hop from relationships to love advice, skincare routines, and the most random, obscure topics imaginable. It’s a cozy, carefree gathering, and Mila feels a sense of normalcy she didn’t realize she missed so badly.

As the meal winds down, everyone helps tidy up. Michelle and Chloe wipe down the dining table, while Cole and Georgi hover over the sink, rinsing off plates and loading the dishwasher. The clatter of silverware and the hum of idle chatter fill the space.

Mila and Nicole linger at the kitchen island, quietly chatting as the rest of the group moves about.

“I’m really glad he makes you happy,” Nicole says, her tone gentle, warm. “He seems like a nice guy. You’ll have to introduce us sometime, yeah?”

Mila nods, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “He’s really kind. He brought me to an arcade the other day. We go for walks. He even gets me flowers.”

Nicole’s eyes drift to the tulips in the vase nearby. “Did he give you those?”

Mila follows her gaze and nods, her smile widening. “Yeah, he gets me tulips every time we see each other.”

Nicole hums in approval, her smile mirroring Mila’s.

Just then, Mila’s phone buzzes with a notification. She glances down at it and a wide grin spreads across her face as she scans the message.

Her smile is apparently enough to catch Michelle and Chloe’s attention. They exchange knowing looks before sneaking a peek at her phone.

Nico 🌷: Bad game tonight 🙁 You should come to one! Maybe you’re my lucky charm 😁

“Oh my god!” Chloe exclaims, nearly startling Mila as she peers over her shoulder. “You have to say yes!”

“Yes to what?” Cole asks, his interest piqued as he wanders over with Georgi trailing behind him.

“He asked her to a game!” Michelle announces, barely able to contain her excitement. “And he called her his lucky charm!”

The news hits the room like a spark, and suddenly the whole table comes alive with energy. Voices overlap in a mixture of teasing laughter and playful jeers. Chloe claps her hands together, Michelle shakes Mila's arm in encouragement, and Cole’s eyes light up with a mischievous grin.

Mila, now flushed a deep shade of crimson, bites her lip to hold back a grin. She quickly types out her response, her fingers moving a little too fast as her heart races in her chest. The noise around her is a whirlwind of playful banter, teasing questions flying at her from every direction.

Mila: Just tell me when and where, cap 😘 

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

Hockey games, Mila decided, were electric. The energy in the arena was unlike anything she had experienced at her own competitions. Figure skating was elegant, almost serene, with moments of hushed anticipation and polite applause. Sure, fans waved flags and held up banners, but hockey fans were an entirely different breed. They brought a certain chaotic joy to it all—the jerseys, face paint, wild costumes, and booming chants. It was loud, exhilarating, and so new to her, but she couldn’t help but get caught up in the thrill of it all.

Though distancing regulations kept the crowd smaller than usual, the atmosphere was still alive with excitement. The cheers echoed around the arena, bouncing off the walls. Nico had managed to snag her an incredible seat with a clear view of the rink, and she now wore a jersey with his number proudly displayed on the back.

"I'll score a goal for you," Nico had said over the phone earlier, his voice filled with playful confidence. She could almost hear the smile in his words, which brought a smile to her lips in return, anticipation bubbling in her chest.

The familiar cold inside the arena felt comforting. She watched the game, fascinated by the contrast between her world of graceful performances and the gritty, fast-paced intensity of hockey. The physicality, the crashes against the boards, the speed of the game—it was rough and raw and real and captivating. 

She leaned forward, her eyes following Nico as he skated across the ice, his focus sharp and movements powerful. Watching him was mesmerizing, the way he was so sure of himself, the way he knew just where he needed to be. 

Where the puck is, Mila doesn't really know. She’s sure Nico had it just a second ago—she'd been watching him intently—but then she blinked, and in that split second, it vanished from his stick and someone else had possession. A quick skirmish follows, and she loses track of the puck entirely. Suddenly, the crowd around her erupts into cheers, the energy around her surging. She hesitates for a moment, confused, but joins in, clapping and shouting with them. It takes her a second to realize what happened—she spots the team gathering around Nico, patting him on the back—and then it hits her: It was his goal.

She breaks into a wide smile. The first goal of the game, and he got it. For the team, of course, but a part of her can’t help but wonder...maybe for her too? The thought sends a flutter through her chest, warming her cheeks as she blushes quietly to herself.

The rest of the game is intense, far more nerve-wracking than she had anticipated. There are moments where the energy crackles—fights breaking out on the ice, fierce skirmishes for control, missed shots that make her grip the edge of her seat, and penalties that leave players sent off in frustration. The Devils take an early lead, but it doesn’t last long. The Flyers are relentless, catching up with every opportunity, and what follows is an almost dizzying back-and-forth of goals. Every time one team scores, the other seems to retaliate almost immediately.

Mila finds herself holding her breath with every passing second, her heart pounding in time with the chaotic pace of the game. As the clock ticks closer to the final moments, the tension in the arena is palpable, but the Devils pull ahead one last time, sealing their win at 6-4. The cheers are deafening, and Mila, now fully caught up in the excitement, cheers wildly with the rest of the crowd, the familiar thrill of victory coursing through her.

It was a completely new experience for Mila—cheering for someone else. Her life had been wrapped up in the competitive world of figure skating, where every win or loss felt intensely personal, and every rival was just another obstacle in her path. Outside of skating, sports had never really captured her attention, so the idea of celebrating someone else’s victory, especially in such a fiercely competitive environment, had always felt a little foreign to her. After all, in skating, the victories she witnessed were often at her expense.

But this was different. There was something so pure and uncomplicated about watching Nico on the ice, knowing that she wasn’t competing against him. She wasn’t comparing herself or measuring up. She was just...supporting him, and it felt good. It was light, freeing in a way she hadn’t expected. Cheering for someone else didn’t diminish her own success or sense of self-worth. Instead, it added something, a new layer of joy she hadn’t realized she was missing. And for once, she could sit back, relax, and enjoy the moment without any pressure holding her back.

This was something she could get used to.

After the game, Mila makes her way to the tunnel, following a group of fans who seem to know the way. It’s a mix of excitement and anticipation—she’s never done this before, but she wants to see him, to congratulate him in person. She finds a spot in a corner and waits patiently, her phone in hand but her attention flicking up every now and then to watch the scene around her.

The tunnel is bustling. Some fans linger, hoping for a glimpse of their favorite players. There are women she assumes to be the wives and girlfriends of the team, some of them sporting elegant rings and wearing passes around their necks that mark them as more than just spectators. Friends, family members, and staff stream about, all high with the post-game energy. It’s a bit surreal, being here, but also oddly comforting.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, she spots him—Nico, walking toward her. He looks tired, his hair damp, but there’s a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there the last few weeks. The tension in his shoulders hasn’t completely disappeared, but he looks...better. Happier, in a way that eases something inside her.

Mila smiles softly to herself as he approaches, feeling that familiar warmth again. He had promised her a goal, and he’d delivered.

“Did you enjoy the game?” Nico asks, his voice a little tired but filled with that signature tease.

“I did,” she grins, “Though I really enjoyed that first goal. My favorite player got it in, y'know?” She raises an eyebrow playfully, the teasing note in her voice matching his.

Nico chuckles, his eyes catching on the jersey she’s wearing, the one he gave her—his number stretched across her back. A soft look passes over his face. “You look good in thirteen.”

Mila pouts, feigning offense. “I always look good,” she counters, lifting her chin in mock pride, “You might just be reeling from the high of winning.”

He lets out a short laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Winning does feel good,” he agrees, “But I think I have to thank my lucky charm for it.” His gaze lingers on her for a moment, warm and affectionate.

Her heart skips a beat at his words, a blush creeping up her neck. She doesn’t know how to respond to that without giving away how much those simple words affect her, so she just nudges him lightly with her shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips. 

“You’re just lucky I showed up,” she quips, her voice softer now, the banter giving way to something more tender.

“I’m glad you did,” he says, equally gentle. His voice lowers, almost intimate, “Did I impress you tonight?”

“You always impress me,” she replies with a small smile, lifting her hand to brush a few stray strands of hair away from his face. “Now go change and finish your stuff so you can walk me to my car.”

Nico chuckles, his eyes lingering on her for just a beat longer than usual. “See you later,” he murmurs before heading off to get dressed.

As she waits, Mila’s eyes trail over the remaining fans, watching as they drift away one by one—some clutching freshly signed jerseys or sticks, others hurrying off to catch the last glimpse of their favorite players. She notices the wives and girlfriends, with their rings and VIP passes, leaving with their partners. In the quiet hum of the arena, her mind wanders.

She pictures a future—their future. A world where she wears a ring, his ring, and they head home together, to a cozy apartment, where their dark brown Newfoundland would be waiting by the door. In this imagined life, everything is simple. Everything plays out as it should. Perfect. They make it. They’re real.

She wants it so badly—wants them to be real, to have that consistency, to know they belong to each other. She wants more than this in-between, more than just the undefined territory of friendship. She craves the security, the label, the clarity of knowing he’s hers and she’s his. It’s terrifying, how much she wants it. 

She’s taught herself to stop wanting. Wanting only gets you hurt. Wanting only leaves you alone and friendless. Wanting leaves you with nothing. But with him? God, she wants it more than anything.

“Ready to go?”

Nico’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts, and she looks up to see him standing there in his dark blue suit and sneakers. He’s skipped the tie, making him look relaxed but still striking. He looks…hot. Dashing. Like a prince.

“Yeah,” she smiles.

The walk to her car is quiet, a comfortable kind of silence. His hand is warm in hers, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on her skin. They talk, but it’s easy conversation—she asks about the game, and he patiently explains the details, the calls, the plays. She finally learns what a power play is after months of forgetting to look it up. It dawns on her that she could probably learn everything about hockey if Nico were the one teaching her.

She enjoys hearing him talk about hockey. He’s so passionate about it, so in love with the sport and its culture. Even when things aren’t going great, there’s an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes when he talks about hockey—his eyes would light up and he instantly got more animated. It’s in these moments she realizes just how deeply he loves it, how ingrained it is in him. She loves seeing him like this, so alive with something he cares about.

As he talks, she watches him, realizing with every word, every smile, how hard she’s fallen. It’s not just his passion for the sport or the way his eyes sparkle or the way his hair flows. It’s the way he always makes sure to match her pace when they walk, how he gently maneuvers her when she’s not paying attention so she doesn’t bump into anything. It’s the way he watches her shows with her and gets just as invested as she does. It’s his gentle voice and playful teasing. It’s the infectious sound of his laughter and the way his hand fits so perfectly in hers. It’s all the little things, she realizes—the kind of things not many people have ever done for her.

She doesn’t know if it’s love. But she knows she could love him. She knows she’s on her way there.

“You alright?” he asks, breaking her out of her thoughts. They’re standing by her car now, and he’s looking down at her with that soft, familiar smile. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just…” She hesitates, glancing up at him, her heart racing. “You.”

Nico’s expression shifts, his smile turning both amused and curious. “Me?”

“I think about you a lot these days,” she admits, her cheeks flushing, the vulnerability of the moment sinking in.

“Oh really?” His voice dips as he reaches out, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. His hand lingers, cupping her face as she leans into the touch. “What do you think about?”

Mila meets his gaze, her eyes searching his for a sign—something to show that he’s thinking it too, that he’s thought of everything she’s thought of, that this isn’t one-sided. “Everything,” she whispers, her voice steady but her heart pounding in anticipation. She hopes he understands. Hopes he feels the same. Hopes this is the start of something more.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

They’re hanging out at Nico’s apartment today—he had suggested a “change of scenery”—and she’d brought him a bouquet of tulips. It seemed only fair given the number of times he’d brought her flowers before.

“I thought tulips were my thing?” he teases, letting her in with a playful smirk.

“They can be our thing,” she responds with a grin, handing them over.

After a bit of back-and-forth banter, she’s eventually banished to sit at the kitchen island while Nico takes charge of dinner. As he moves confidently around the kitchen, they talk about everything under the sun.

Mila tells him about how she’s recently picked up embroidery. She describes the beginner’s kit she bought, the stitches she’s learned, and how much she enjoys the slow, meditative process. Nico listens, asking questions and nodding along, before deciding this was when he was going to just casually drop the fact that he spent some time in mandatory military service. He tells her stories about the old teammates he got to reconnect with back in Switzerland and the emergency medical techniques he learned. 

Their conversation shifts from light to serious, but it’s always easy, never forced. They laugh, swap stories, and continue talking even as they clean up together afterward, loading the dishwasher in an effortless dance of shared tasks.

It strikes Mila how soft and…domestic their time together feels. The easy rhythm of their conversations, the long shared meals, the way they both naturally fall into tasks like tidying up—it all feels so effortless, like they’ve been doing this for years. There’s a comfort in it, a sense of home, even if they’ve never defined what they are. It's as though the space between them has closed entirely, leaving only this familiar intimacy that she hadn’t realized she craved so badly. She could imagine this being their life—a quiet routine of shared meals, late-night conversations, and lazy afternoons together. 

Eventually they end up on his couch and, as usual, he lets her take control of their show for the day. It takes a while, but she runs into a completed playlist of Monster High episodes and decides she’d introduce him to one of her childhood favorites. To her surprise—and amusement—he quickly becomes invested, particularly in the endless cycle of drama surrounding Deuce and Cleo’s relationship.

“Why don’t they just break up?” Nico remarks, his voice full of disbelief as he watches another argument unfold. “They’re so…toxic.”

“Hey now, they have their cute moments.” She laughs, the sound bubbling up easily. “Besides, you’re getting way too into this.”

“Drama is drama,” he shrugs, though there’s a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I didn’t expect to care this much either.”

The thought of telling anyone that New Jersey’s captain got hooked on Monster High drama makes her laugh even harder. 

By the time they’ve made it into Volume 2, Nico’s head has found its way to her lap, his eyes heavy with exhaustion from his game yesterday as her fingers absentmindedly comb through his hair. His arm is wrapped snugly around her waist, and he curls a little closer, the comfort of her lulling him into a restful state.

He looks up at her, his eyes soft. “I feel like you need to come to every game. We’ve won all three games you’ve been to.” He’s referring to her attending the Flyers games last week and yesterday’s game against the Bruins.

Mila smiles, laughing softly. “You guys also won the away game I didn’t go to.”

“But we lost the first game here against the Bruins, which you didn’t go to,” he pouts, burrowing his head further into her torso. “If you’re there, it’s a guaranteed win.”

“Too bad I have a job,” she teases.

“If you want to quit being an athlete and become my professional lucky charm, I’ll take care of you,” he says, his tone playful but with a hint of something more. She can feel the smile forming on his lips as he presses them gently against her torso.

Her heart skips a beat. She knows he’s joking—or at least mostly joking—but still, the idea lingers. A future where she goes to all his games, where she’s wearing his jersey, where maybe—just maybe—she’s wearing his ring.

“You’ll take care of me?” she asks, her voice soft and almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” Nico says quietly, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard. “I’ll take care of you.”

There’s something so gentle in the way he says it that it almost feels like a promise, and Mila wonders if maybe, just maybe, that future she’s imagined isn’t so far off. 

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

The off-season for an athlete is probably the closest thing to heaven. The freedom from strict training schedules, the ability to eat whatever you want, and the unregimented daily routine where you can sleep in as long as you like—it’s the sweet taste of living life on your own terms. For once, there’s no pressure, no expectations, no looming competition. Just space and time to do what you want, whenever you want. 

Mila’s own season had ended a little over a month ago, leaving her with a reduced training schedule and an abundance of time. Whether she spent her days doom-scrolling through social media or tackling something productive, it didn’t matter. She had the luxury of choice. She'd crossed off every book on her ever-growing 'to-read' list, cleaned out her closet, indulged in some retail therapy, caught up with friends she hadn’t seen in months, and even picked up a new hobby—embroidery, of all things.

Nico’s season, on the other hand, had just ended last week after a series of away games. But now, for the first time in months, they were both absolutely free. Mila loved this first week of them both being in the off-season. The time they’d gotten to spend together felt like a reward. With no demanding schedules hanging over their heads, they could simply be.

They had hit the gym together, gone hiking, explored museums, and treated each other to lunches and dinners at their favorite spots. One day, Nico had taken her on a tour of his favorite places in Jersey, and the next day, Mila showed him around New York. But her favorite so far had been the day they spent at the boardwalk. They ate ice cream, got far too competitive at an arcade, and wandered into local bookstores. Mila had watched, laughing, as Nico slightly struggled under the weight of her book haul, stubbornly insisting on carrying all of them himself.

“Are you really going to read all of this?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow while loading the stack of novels into his car.

“It’s the off-season,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “I have all the time in the world.”

On the drive back, they talked about plans to return for a beach picnic sometime soon. Everything felt perfect. It was simple. It was safe. And Mila found herself wanting so desperately to freeze time, to keep this easy, happy bubble they were living in intact for just a little longer. The off-season was a happy occasion after all, a time to unwind, to relax. But there was an undeniable shadow lurking in her mind—off-season also meant Nico would soon be heading home.

And home wasn’t anywhere near here.

A day before his flight back to Switzerland, Mila sat curled up in an armchair in his apartment, his phone in her hand, scrolling through a list of essentials he needed to pack. They went through it one by one, checking to make sure everything was ready. His suitcase—a massive one, large enough to hold everything he needed for the months-long trip—sat open on the floor beside her. Each time she glanced at it, a tight knot formed in her chest. The suitcase felt like a symbol of something larger, something more unsettling. It was big enough to carry everything he needed to leave—and never come back. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, even though she knew how irrational it was.

But what if, when he did come back, things had changed? What if, after spending time away, he realized he didn’t want this anymore? What if they didn’t mesh together the way they used to? What if he came back and decided he didn’t want her anymore?

Mila’s fingers tightened around his phone as the fears she’d been keeping at bay finally broke through. She hated herself for even thinking this way, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She had no right to be upset if that happened. After all, they weren’t together. Not officially, anyway. They hadn’t defined what they were, hadn’t put labels on anything. But even so, the thought of losing this—losing him—made her stomach twist. They weren’t anything…yet, she couldn’t help but wish they were.

She’s had so much fun with him recently that she’d nearly forgotten that what they are is…undefined. And for the first time, that fact scares her.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she sat in the armchair, still holding his phone.

“First thing in the morning,” he replied. He was sprawled out on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. His bags were already packed and sitting by the door. The sight of them made her stomach churn. This was really happening. He was really leaving.

And for the first time, Mila wasn’t sure what would happen when he came back—or if he’d want to come back to her at all.

Mila rises from the chair, her heart racing as she moves to join Nico on the couch. He shifts to make room, resting his head on her lap, a comforting weight that grounds her in the moment. They settle into a quiet silence, the kind that envelops you like a warm blanket, both of them relishing the simple pleasure of each other’s presence. As Nico scrolls through his phone, Mila absentmindedly plays with his hair, the familiar gesture soothing her nerves.

“What if you don’t like me anymore when you come back?” she asks before she can stop herself. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, tinged with vulnerability.

He glances up, brows furrowed in concern. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” Sitting up, he turns to face her fully. “What makes you think I’d change my mind about you so easily?”

Mila’s gaze drifts around the room, avoiding his eyes. She knows if she looks at him, the dam holding back her emotions might break. “I just…” She takes a steadying breath. “We’re not really anything.”

“Do you really think that?” he asks gently, his voice softening.

“I think we’re something,” she admits, her voice trembling. “It’s just…confusing.” Meeting his gaze, she continues, “We cuddle on the couch, go on dates, you watch all my shows with me. I know more about you than my own siblings. You bring me tulips.” Her voice trails off for a moment. “And yet we aren’t anything.”

Nico inches closer, his eyes never leaving hers, a mixture of concern and affection swirling in his expression. “Do you want to be something?”

“Do you?” She hopes he doesn’t hear the tremor of fear in her voice. She needs him to respond, to give her the assurance she craves.

He cups her face in his hands, his touch warm and tender, and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. “If you want me, then yes.” The sincerity in his voice wraps around her like a comforting blanket. It’s gentle, sweet, and filled with a kindness that pulls at her heart. She wants him, and he wants her too. It feels perfect. So why does a wave of anxiety wash over her all of a sudden?

Looking at him, she sees the good—the light he brings into her life. He’s the kind of person anyone would admire, the type people would willingly follow into battle. But what about her? 

“I could ruin you,” she whispers, squeezing his hands gently. “I ruin a lot of things.”

“You could never,” he replies, his voice firm yet soothing.

“I could though,” she insists, her voice trembling. “What if I hurt you? What if you hurt me? What if we end up fighting all the time and hate each other’s guts? What if we get together only to realize it was a mistake?” She takes a shaky breath. “I couldn’t live with that.”

“You’re scared,” he observes simply, his tone not judgmental but understanding.

“I am.” She can feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. “You’re real, Nico. You’re so real. And I’m so scared. I—” Her voice catches in her throat, a lump forming. “I’ve never felt like this before. I want to be with you. I want this to be real, but I’m just—” She stops herself, the weight of her feelings pressing down. “What if one day you realize you don’t want me anymore?”

“You’re good to me,” he replies, his eyes sincere and unwavering. “You make me laugh. You listen. You’re kind, funny, and so incredibly talented. I love taking walks with you, watching your shows. I love being with you.” He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on her wrist, a simple gesture that sends warmth coursing through her. “I don’t think there’s a universe where I wouldn’t want you.”

In that moment, as she feels the sincerity of his words settle over her, she wonders if she can dare to hope for more.

“But what if—what if it gets hard? What if we can’t handle it? God, what if we end up like my parents?” The words tumble out in a rush, her voice trembling as she swallows hard. “You’re one of the few good things in my life. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to settle. I just—I don’t want to lose you.” The admission hangs in the air, a fragile confession that feels almost like a plea, cutting through the silence that envelops them.

Nico takes a deep breath, his grip on her tightening as if he’s holding on for dear life. “Mila, I don’t know what the future holds. But I know I want you in mine.” His smile is warm and sincere, a beacon of hope amidst her fears. “I want you when things are fine, and I’ll want you even when things get hard. Especially when things get hard.” He caresses her cheek, his touch tender yet grounding. “I choose you.”

In that moment, she falls silent, her chest heavy with the weight of his words. The realization washes over her—she’s never been someone’s choice before. It’s a terrifying and beautiful thought all at once. Tentatively, she lets out a breath, her heart caught between fear and something deeper, something that feels like hope.

“I’m—I’m choosing you too,” she replies softly, her voice gaining strength. “I want to figure things out with you. I want to go through this with you, day by day. I want you. Even though it scares me.”

Nico leans in closer, wrapping her in his arms, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then we’ll figure it out. Slowly. One day at a time. Together.”

She closes her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing against her own. In this moment, the world feels fragile, like glass poised on the edge of a precipice. But for the first time in a long while, she isn’t afraid of it breaking. She isn’t afraid of them breaking. 

“I’m all in,” she murmurs against his shoulder, her voice firm and resolute. “I’m all in with you.”