#an entire wall of family photos in his home

[bumblingbabooshka]

Sek, T’Nia & their precious angel daughter: T’Meni

[nexus-nebulae]

it's kinda funny how similar to my grandpa i am considering my birthday was three days after his

[pedroscurls]

secret crushes (one-shot)

summary: you've known hugh for years, having not only a personal friendship with him, but also a professional one. then, ryan decides to play matchmaker unbeknownst to you or hugh. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader word count: 4.5k warnings: this is complete filth bc how can you not look at that first photo and just be fine??? anyway - porn with little plot, unprotected p in v, public beach sex, seated cowgirl, oral - m receiving, light dirty talk, no use of y/n. a/n: this is for the anon who requested this spicy idea! i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing it. i haven't opened up my requests since 2017 (i think), but ya know, that might change after this lol. i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman! this is purely fictional.

“All expenses paid,” you hear Ryan say over the phone. “You deserve a vacation. Even Blake agrees.”

“Ryan, no,” you protest, beginning to clean up your small coffee shop for the day. When you opened your own coffee shop so many years ago, you didn’t expect that not only would it be great business, but that you’d be very close friends with Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman. 

“Oh, come on!” he says. “When was the last time you took time for yourself, hm?” 

There’s a silence that engulfs the two of you.

Before you can even speak, Ryan chimes in. “Exactly. You’ll have your own hotel room. You don’t have to spend the entire trip with us, though, we will be hurt if you don’t hang out with us, and–” he teases. 

“Okay, fine! Fine,” you huff. “I’m sure after Deadpool & Wolverine, you need some time for you and your family too.”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies. “I feel like I can be a good dad now.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You’ve always been a good dad.”

“Eh,” he chuckles. “So, we’ll see you at the airport this weekend?”

“Sure.”

“Actually, we’re going to pick you up.” Ryan decides. “That way, I know for sure you’ll be coming with us.”

“God, you’re annoying!” you laugh. “Fine. I’ll see you and the family this Friday night. After I close up.”

“No, no. We’re leaving in the morning. Your coffee shop will be fine.”

“I know, it’s just–” you sigh, resting the phone between your ear and shoulder as you rearrange the bags of coffee on the display. Your mind drifts momentarily when you see the Laughing Man coffee beans, thinking about Hugh. “Nevermind.” 

“You think too much,” Ryan points out then his voice turns serious for a moment. “You’ll be okay. Your shop will be okay. In the time we’ve known you – Hugh and I – you’ve always been working, busting your ass.”

“I know,” you then move your gaze to the amount of photographs on your wall behind the counter. They are photographs that you’ve taken, candid ones of your employees, landscape portraits of the trips you’ve taken to find the best coffee beans, even personal photos of you and your family and friends, including Hugh, Ryan, and Blake. 

“So…” he says. “Pick you up Friday morning?” 

“Yes, Ryan. You can pick me up Friday morning. You’re very convincing, do you know that? You just never quit until you get your way.” 

“What can I say? I’m very persuasive.” He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll see you Friday. Have a good rest of your week. Call me if you need anything.” 

“I’m sure I’ll see you and Hugh before then,” you tease. “At this rate, all this free coffee I give you does amount to a free trip.”

“Exactly! Talk to you later.” 

—

You hadn’t spoken to Hugh in weeks, knowing that he and Ryan had been doing constant press conferences and interviews after Deadpool & Wolverine came out. You’d never admit it to either of them, but you did go out to watch the movie and it only fueled the crush that you had on Hugh. Especially that final scene. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t go home that night with thoughts filled of him. Shirtless and glistening. It was rather inappropriate, really. Not only did you and Hugh start out as friends, but you also had a partnership with him where he sells his brand of coffee at your coffee shop and takes a cut of what the sales make. It’s worked for years now and you never really looked at him in a way that was more than a friend or partner. You knew he was good looking, so sweet and funny, but it wasn’t until months after his divorce that you started to look at him differently. You had to wonder if he looked at you the same way because you started to notice how often he would come by when you were closing up to help you clean, or how his gaze on you would linger, his touches seemingly becoming more and more less friendly and more intimate. 

You’re already on the plane with Ryan, Blake, and the rest of their family. It never felt like you were the odd one out. Both Ryan and Blake always made you feel like you were part of their family. There were plenty of times where you and Hugh would babysit Ryan and Blake’s children while they were busy and always, they’d ask for Uncle Hugh to sing songs from The Greatest Showman. You were always right there next to him, singing and performing alongside him to entertain the kids. 

When you moved to New York, it was a big leap of faith. It wasn’t always easy, but Hugh, Ryan, and Blake made you feel less alone when there were times you weren’t sure you were ever going to make it out here. Now, you can’t even think of leaving New York. It has become your home. These people�� They have become your family. 

You look up from your notebook to see Blake and Ryan staring at you, both with big grins on their faces. You can tell they were hiding something, so you shut your notebook and point at them.

“Okay, spill.”

Ryan feigns a gasp, palms raising up in surrender. “Can’t my beautiful wife and I stare at you lovingly?” 

Blake lets out a quiet laugh and rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re both really bad liars,” you point out. “What is it? Why are you both smiling at me like that?”

“We’re just happy that you’re finally taking some time to yourself,” Blake replies, moving to sit next to you. 

“You’re much more convincing than your husband,” you say loud enough for Ryan to hear.

“I take offense to that,” Ryan says. 

Blake turns to you and looks down at your notebook, tilting her head in amusement. “Even away from your coffee shop, all you can think about is how to improve it. Don’t you ever stop working?” 

“Never,” you laugh, opening your notebook for her to look through. “Fall is right around the corner, so I’m just thinking of a few specialty drinks that I can introduce for a limited time. I hear pumpkin spice is very popular.”

You and Blake stare at each other and then erupt into a fit of laughter, both of you shaking your heads. “Can you promise me one thing on this trip?” she asks.

“I can try.” 

“Try to have some fun, don’t think so much about work. It’ll be there when you get back. We’re in Hawaii for two weeks. Just–” Blake shrugs. “Be open and let loose.” 

You arch an eyebrow. “I feel like there’s a hidden meaning there somewhere.”

“Oh, there is!” Ryan nods, a grin lining his lips. “Or is there?” 

“The both of you,” you shake your head. “Are ridiculous.”

“Ah, but you love us,” Blake grins. 

“Unfortunately,” you tease. “But okay, I’ll do my best. No work. No thinking about work. I’ll try and focus on being in the present.” 

“Maybe you can meditate,” Ryan calls out. “You know, Hugh swears by it.” 

Hugh. The mere mention of his name makes your heart flutter and you subconsciously bite your lower lip. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Blake who tries to bite back a smile. 

“Yeah, maybe.” You stand up and then motion towards the bathroom, excusing yourself from both Blake, Ryan, and their kids. 

Blake then turns to Ryan and grins. She whispers very quietly. “I think it’s going to work.” 

“I sure hope so. Neither of them have any clue what we’re trying to do.” 

“You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. They’re the only ones who haven’t seen it,” Blake says. 

“Oh, Hugh’s seen it,” Ryan winks. 

Blake chuckles. “Well, let’s see how this trip goes.”

“If it all goes well, they’ll be leaving together,” Ryan replies. 

—

You’ve been in Hawaii for three days now. You’ve possibly spent every moment with Ryan and his family since arriving. You didn’t mind though. Being in their company helped keep your mind away from work, away from the responsibilities that await you at home, away from Hugh. Today, though, Ryan and Blake want to spend the day at a secluded beach to allow their kids to roam free and have fun without worrying about possible paparazzi. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a deep blue bikini set – a halter triangle top tied at the base of your neck and back, and a cheeky bottom with side ties that rest on the side of your hips – with a white, long sleeve cover-up. You take a few pictures of yourself, wanting to send it to Hugh or even post it on social media, but you don’t. Instead, you turn off your phone and set it inside your bag before you leave your room to meet Ryan and the family. 

Throughout the entire ride to the island, Ryan and Blake can’t keep their eyes off of you. You busy yourself, though, with playing with their kids, hearing their laughter fill the car. You can tell they’re excited, jumping up and down in their seats as they talk amongst one another about the things they’ll do once they get to the beach. 

It isn’t until you all arrive at the beach and climb out that you notice another car in the lot. Ryan had mentioned before that it would just be his family and you, so you had to wonder if maybe he had gotten something wrong along the way of planning this. But if you were concerned about it, he certainly didn’t show it himself. Instead, he climbs out of the car and grabs the kids’ bags from the trunk before he and Blake motion for you to follow them onto the beach. Your toes hit the sand as you slide your sunglasses on your face. You tell Ryan and Blake that you’ll be at a distance, allowing them at least some time to spend with their kids without you and it gives you enough time to try and meditate. Maybe it will work, you tell yourself. 

You don’t see anyone else nearby and you’re at a good distance from Ryan and Blake, so you set down your towel and bag, removing your cover-up and sunglasses. You make sure to reapply more sunscreen before you walk towards the water. It’s cold and it causes a shiver to run down your spine, so you force yourself to dive in to get acclimated to the temperature of the water. 

The beach had always calmed you down, kept you grounded. It was one of the reasons why you had been so hesitant to leave your hometown of California. From one side of the coast to another. Once you come back up, you run your hands through your wet hair, slicking it back away from your face as you stand, the water only reaching your upper thighs. When you open your eyes, though, your jaw drops. 

Hugh is within a few arms reach as his eyes meet yours. The surprise look on his face tells you all that you need to know. 

He had no idea you would be here.

And neither did you. 

You can’t help but let your eyes take in his frame. His broad chest, water trickling down his frame, disappearing into the waistband of his black board shorts. He’s pulling his shorts up just a bit, but it gives you a good view of the v-cut he has and immediately, you’re aware of the feeling between your legs.

But just like you’re checking him out, Hugh’s also allowing his eyes to roam over your frame. The bikini you’re wearing is so tiny and tight around your frame. He tries to tell himself not to get excited at the mere sight of you, but it’s hard. He’s getting hard, so he does his best to think of other things that could lessen his excitement. 

Since his divorce, Hugh had taken comfort in your presence. What started out as a friendship turned partnership had blossomed into something else. Surely, you felt it too. Or at least that’s what he told himself. 

“Hello, you,” he calls out. 

The both of you begin walking towards each other, meeting in the middle as the waves crash around you. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say softly. Out of instinct, you reach out to give him a hug, warms snaking around his shoulders. This feels good, hugging him like this feels fucking great. You feel his hard chest and hair against you. He’s so wet, so slick and you just want to–

“I think Ryan may have forgotten to tell us both,” Hugh says, voice deep and husky against your ear as his arms wrap around your waist. Hugh shuts his eyes as he feels your breasts against him, his fingertips resting just above your backside and he feels his manhood stir awake. 

Quickly, Hugh pulls away, slowly lowering himself in the water to cover the growing erection between his legs and also to keep some distance between your bodies. You do the same, swimming further into the water as you both continue to float. 

“And Blake,” you add. “You think it was intentional? You ask, turning to look over your shoulder to see both Ryan and Blake staring at the both of you. 

Hugh looks over at them and lets out a quiet chuckle. “Dunno,” he answers. “But I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Me too,” you blush, heat rising in your cheeks. “How long– How long have you been here?”

“Three days.”

“Those fuckers,” you chuckle. “They totally set this up.”

Hugh laughs alongside you and tilts his head in amusement. He watches you closely, seeing you gnaw at your lower lip nervously (it’s something he’s noticed about you very early on). You bring your hand up to stroke your hair back away from your face and Hugh can’t help but smile to himself. He likes you. Really likes you and he knows that he shouldn’t act on it, knows that there should be some boundary, but he can’t help himself. 

“You nervous?” he asks quietly. 

“What?” you answer, looking up at him. “No…”

“You’re doin’ that thing you do,” Hugh points out. He gently reaches out and runs the pad of his thumb along your lower lip, causing you to release it between your teeth. 

“What thing?” 

“You know what thing,” he chuckles, slowly swimming closer to you. “You bite your lower lip a lot when you get nervous or when you’re deep in thought. So, you’re either nervous or you’re thinkin’ about somethin’. Which is it?”

“Neither,” you lie. 

Hugh narrows his eyes slowly and drags his thumb at the center of your lower lip and down to your chin until he hooks it in his grasp. “Now, I know you’re not someone who lies,” he begins, moving his thumb across your jawline. “Don’t tell me you’re lying now.”

“I’m both,” you blurt out, leaning against his touch. “I’m nervous and I’m thinking about something.”

“You’re always thinking about something,” Hugh points out. “Do I…” he asks hesitantly and drops his hand back into the water. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Right now you are.”

“Why?” 

“Because…” you whisper, looking deeply into his eyes. “One, we’re both basically half naked.”

“We’re at a beach,” he says with a small smile. “We’re in our bathing suits.”

“Half naked,” you correct. “And two, you’re just–” you stop yourself and drop your eyes to his lips then back up to gaze into his eyes. You then remember what Blake told you. Try to have some fun. Be open. Let loose. Now, you understand exactly what she meant by that. So, you let out a shaky breath and continue. “You’re just so fucking hot, Hugh, and yes, you’re making me nervous because you’re literally shirtless and wet, and you’re muscular and it’s just–”

Hugh’s laughter interrupts your rambling. You notice the way his nose crinkles upwards when the laughter comes deep within the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, you’re very aware that you just made a fool out of yourself and you gently shove him. 

“It’s not funny! You asked and so I told you. I was being honest!” 

“I’m not–” he sighs, his laughter dying down. “I’m not laughing at you, baby.” The term slips past his lips so effortlessly and he reaches out from underneath the water to grab a hold of your hip, pulling you to him. “I’m laughing because you think I’m hot to a point that you’re stuttering over your words. Have you seen yourself?” The smile remains on his lips and his thumb begins to rub circles at your hip. “Because if anyone should be nervous, it’s me.”

“You?” 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that I’ve got the biggest crush on ya.” 

“Wait, you what?” your eyes slightly widen in surprise, but you can’t help the way your stomach flips in excitement. 

“I’ve got a crush on ya,” he whispers. “And I shouldn’t even be having crushes at this age,” Hugh chuckles nervously. “But I do. I like you.”

“You’re not joking?”

“Why would I be joking?”

“Because you can have literally anyone you want and–”

“I want you.” Hugh says, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “Do you want me to?” 

“More than you fucking know, Hugh.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your lips against him. You sigh against him moving your legs to wrap around his waist underneath the water as you move your lips against his own. 

Hugh growls against you, both hands moving to your hips as he leans further into you, tilting his head to get a better angle of your lips. He didn’t realize this was how his trip was going to go. After Ryan convinced him to take some time off, especially after the success of their movie together, he was hesitant. He didn’t want to take time off. He was used to being busy, especially after his divorce, but Hugh had only agreed to come on the trip to figure out his feelings for you. 

He just didn’t realize that you’d be here too. 

In the distance, you and Hugh can hear a faint clapping and hollering. You both pull away to look over at the noise and see Blake, Ryan, and their kids jump up in excitement, cheering for the both of you. You see them wave in your direction before they begin to grab their things, making their way back to the parking lot. You then look at Hugh and gaze into his eyes.

“Are they leaving us? Leaving me?” You ask. 

“I can take you back,” Hugh says softly. 

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Only if it isn’t–”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if our hotel rooms are right next to each other,” Hugh chuckles, slowly then moving his hands down as he grasps your backside in his large hands, pulling you flush against him. His gaze darkens as he stares into your eyes. He thinks maybe he might have moved too fast, but when you roll your hips against him, he knows exactly what’s going to happen next. 

You want him just as bad as he does. 

“Hugh,” you whisper, voice laced with desire. “Please.” 

“Tell me, baby.”

“I need you.” You bury your face in the side of his neck and gently nip at his skin, feeling his hands move under you, his long fingers brushing against your core as it causes you to gasp. 

Hugh’s painfully hard against his board shorts and he lets out a low groan when he feels your teeth scrape against the skin at his neck. He feels you squirming against him, moaning into his ear and he has to pull away briefly to look into your eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“If I have to say please one more time…”

“I don’t mind hearin’ you beg,” he winks. “Come on.” Hugh leads you out of the water and towards his towel in a much more secluded area. You drift from him for a moment to grab your things before following him, watching him lay out his towel before he takes a seat on it, legs spread wide. 

You bite your lower lip and lay out your towel in front of him, dropping to your knees as you crawl towards him until you're seated on your knees between his legs. “We won’t get in trouble, will we?”

Hugh shrugs, reaching down to cup your cheek. “Don’t think so. Ryan made sure that no one but us should be here and–”

“That’s good enough for me.” You lean down and move your hands to the waistband of his board shorts. He’s dripping wet from the water and you can see the outline of his length perfectly due to his shorts sticking to him. You hook your fingers into the waistband and slowly pull it down enough to see his length spring free. Hugh lets out a low groan of relief and reaches behind you to undo the knot at the base of your neck. Once loose, he watches your top fall open to reveal your breasts. He doesn’t have enough time to take in your newly exposed chest because your hand wraps around his base, soft lips grazing the head of his manhood. 

“Ah, baby,” he growls, moving a hand to your shoulder, gripping it tightly as your mouth wraps around his tip. Hugh shuts his eyes and tosses his head back, moving one hand to rest on the towel while the other remains on your shoulder. 

You look up at him, feeling an immediate possessiveness wash over you. He looks so beautiful like this, eyes shut, chest heaving, and at your mercy. 

You begin to stroke his base as your tongue swirls around his tip, lapping at his precum. His groans slowly become louder as you lower your head to take more of him, stroking his base when you realize you can’t take him whole. He’s larger than you expected, girthy and long, and it excites you. As you continue to stroke him in time with sucking his length, you feel Hugh’s hand move from your shoulder to the back of your head as his hips slightly lift itself. He pushes himself further into your mouth, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat repeatedly. 

“Fuck,” he moans, eyes opening to look down at you. God, Hugh can just come at the sight of you. Tears slightly stinging the corners of your eyes and your mouth stuffed full of him. What a beautiful fucking sight, he thinks.

Slowly, Hugh has to pull away from you because he feels the pit of his stomach tightening, searching for release. He lets out a low growl that reverberates through his chest and you lean up on your knees, licking your lips. Hugh reaches out for you and pulls you on his lap, hurriedly moving your bikini bottom to the side. He grasps his manhood and runs his tip along your length, feeling your wetness coat him with each movement.

“You’re wet for me?” he asks, eyes staring up at you. 

“Only for you.” you reply, eyes fluttering as you feel his tip slowly push into you. He releases his hold on his length and rests his hand on your hip, leaning down to press soft kisses against your chest before he moves onto a breast, flicking his tongue against your nipple repeatedly before he wraps his lips around it. 

You let out a loud moan, moving your hands to his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your walls tight and wet sliding down his cock. You feel so full of him and he’s not yet fully in the hilt. The stretch is almost painful, but you’re so wet and throbbing that you have to stop yourself from slamming down onto him. 

“Oh god, Hugh,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders as you move along his length, not yet allowing him to fill you to the hilt as your walls begin to make way for him. 

Hugh moves his lips to your other breast, eyes staring up at you. He wants more of you, needs more of you so he slowly lifts his hips, inching further within your depths. 

“Shit,” he groans, watching as his cock disappears into you completely. Hugh’s hands rest over your hips as you pull him closer to you, chests pressed against one another as you slowly roll your hips against his. “So fucking tight, baby,” he whispers against you, forehead resting on yours. 

“You’re–” you gasp, feeling his hair at the base brush against your clit as you continue your movements. “So big,” you moan, eyes falling shut. 

Hugh gently pecks your lips and takes a hold of your hips to guide you along his length. He watches you reach for his cowboy hat, placing it on top of your head and Hugh has to force himself to hold back his release. 

“You’re so hot,” he moans, allowing you to take control of your movements. Hugh can’t help the way your walls tighten around his cock – you’re so warm and wet, so inviting and tight. He knows he’s close, but he can’t– he can’t finish without you finishing first. 

“Baby,” Hugh whimpers, holding you flush against him in a tight grip. “Don’t– Fuck, baby, don’t move.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, hands moving to link at the base of his neck. “You can come, Hugh.”

“No,” he shakes his head, losing his resolve as your hips move forward and backward slowly. “You have to be first– Shit…”

“This won’t be the only time,” you say reassuringly, lightly pecking his lips. You then increase your movements, hips moving forward and backward at a faster pace. Hugh’s so deep in this position and you know you’re close, but you’re determined to have Hugh finish before you. 

“Sweetheart,” Hugh grunts. “Baby, I’m–” His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a loud groan, mouth slightly agape as his fingertips dig almost painfully into your hips. His release shoots inside of you, painting your walls as his manhood throbs within your depths. 

He’s still half hard and you take this moment to begin bouncing along his length, using your hand to reach down between you to rub your clit and Hugh’s eyes narrow. He pushes your hand away and rubs your clit with his thumb in a circular motion. 

Hugh feels possessive and almost animalistic at the sight of you using him to get yourself off. He can feel your walls begin to tremble and he’s still a bit sensitive, but you just feel so fucking good. 

“Come on, baby,” he coos, applying pressure to your clit. “I know you’re there. Come for me, sweetheart.”

That’s all it took. Your walls tighten around his length as your body trembles against him. Hugh moves his hand to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning up to press his lips against yours. He’s still inside of you, his length softening as the moment passes. 

You move your lips lazily against his, heavy breaths passing through the both of you as Hugh pulls back slowly. “Wanna head back to the hotel?” he grins. 

“Oh, hell yeah.” 

[flaggermuser]

When You Loved Me

1,209 words || Fluff, Spoilers for Season 4 Episode 4, Hurt/Comfort, GN Reader, Doctor Reader, Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma ||

Inspired by the idea that at least one doctor would have formed an attachment.

Thank you to @bisexualhomelander for being my beta

They're nearly all dead, there's just one loose end that Homelander needs to tie up.

So he stands outside the unassuming house, ready to cross the final name off his list, which he found in an old abandoned file documenting his ‘development’.

It was a stroke of luck that he found you - it seemed as if Vogelbaum scrubbed you from all official records.

Determined to finish what he's started, he knocks on your door and waits impatiently, ready to strike you down where you stand.

“I’m coming!”

He freezes, his entire body tensing up as your voice unlocks memories from his time in the lab, ones buried deep somewhere at the back of his mind.

A frightened and hurt little boy being held, being comforted after the incinerator and the other horrible forms of torture he was subjected to.

“Shhh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. Shall we read another story?”

The door slowly opens and there you are. 

Now that he's seen your face, the memories are more vivid. There’s still that kindness in your eyes, the one he saw every night before he went to sleep. 

At least, for a few months before you disappeared.

“Hello, John.” Your smile is still as warm as he remembers. “My, how you’ve grown. Come in, come in!”

With trepidation, he slowly enters, unsure of what he’ll find. It’s homely, filled with curiosities and everything he’s ever associated with a true American home. As he follows you into your living room, he notices some of the pictures on the wall with you and your former colleagues at Vought, some of whom he’s already killed.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“A glass of milk would be nice,” he replies, trying his best to smile while conflicting thoughts swirl in his mind.

He was so convinced that you were like the others that had you not spoken, he would have killed you the moment you opened the door.

“Well take a seat, I’ll be right back.”

He takes a seat on your couch, hands in his lap, looking around the room again. That’s when he notices the mantelpiece, covered in photos and newspaper clippings, all in ornate frames.

Not of your family - of him. They’re all of him.

Taking pride of place in the middle of the mantelpiece is a picture from several years ago.

“Don't worry John, it's just a camera. All I'm going to do is take a picture of just the two of us. I promise it won't hurt.”

He's sat on your lap, your arms around him, holding him tightly, protectively, a smile on your face.

He’s smiling too. He’s happy. He’s with you.

They took you from me.

“Here we go,” your return snaps him back to reality, his eyes softening as he notices the glass of milk in your hand and a plate of cookies in your other, settling it down on the coffee table in front of him.

It’s such a sweet gesture.

You take a seat in a nearby armchair, “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

After all these years, you’re still this beacon of absolute kindness.

“Do I call you John or Homelander?”

“John.”

How did I forget how lovingly you said my name? How did I forget you?

“I’m so proud of you, you’ve done so well. And look at you, you’re The Homelander! Leader of the Seven!”

His lower lip quivers, trying to keep himself together but it’s proving harder. Your praise comes from a place of pure love, something he’s never experienced or at least, he can’t remember experiencing.

“I see you’ve noticed the mantel. I know I must seem mad but I’ve been following your progress.”

You cared about me, you care about me, it’s all genuine.

“You were so young when I last saw you, with that lovely little smile.”

You reach out to take his hand but he pulls away, only so he can take off his glove. It looks so small in his, he knows if he squeezes just a little, all your bones would be crushed to dust.

But he won't.

“The things we did. Oh John, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I didn’t do anything to save you. I should've stood up to Vogelbaum, I should've protected you."

Saved him, protected him - the regret is written all over your face.

They regretted their actions too, only after he reminded them. Then they apologised but it was too late for them, maybe it’s still too late for you. 

He squeezes your hand, trying to comfort you. 

“You know, I think about you every day. I wanted to reach out but I figured Vogelbaum would have any attempt at contact blocked, especially from me. All because I chose to be human.”

Human. They were human too and they tortured me.

It’s clear that is a sore subject for you, nowhere near as painful for him but the fact it makes you sad somehow makes him feel better. It shows that you cared.

“They fired me for ‘interfering with the experiment’ but how could I not?! You were scared, you were crying and they left you all alone in that horrid room.”

The bad room.

“I couldn’t just leave you there to cry yourself to sleep. So I volunteered to take the night shift. Do you remember… remember the first time?”

His jaw tightens, desperately searching his mind for even the tiniest hint of a recollection yet all of the torment he was subjected to has buried everything deeper. 

“You were terrified that I was going to hurt you, your eyes glowed red and you trembled. I knew you didn’t want to hurt me but you would if you had to.”

You understood.

“It took you a few minutes to realise I wouldn’t hurt you - I think it was the books under my arm that convinced you I wasn’t a threat.”

A single flash - “Would you like me to read you a story?”

“I sat down on your bed, you sat on my lap and we read story, after story, after story. Until you didn’t want me to read anymore, you just wanted me to hold you. So I did exactly that.”

He desperately wants to remember, he needs to remember. 

“Then Vogelbaum found out, I must have forgotten to turn the cameras off and I was removed from the project. I should’ve fought for you, I should’ve marched right back in there and demanded to take you. But I didn’t.”

But you’re here now. They’re all dead but you’re still here.

“I forgive you,” it slips out of his mouth, however, this time it’s heartfelt. He means this without malice.

You’re the parent he’d always wanted, living in a house he always dreamed of, serving him milk and cookies like he’s still that young boy you cared about.

Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe there could be something here, born from the ashes of your past sin and his trauma.

Sniffling, you wipe away your tears, tightening your grip on his hand. When the smile returns, it’s affectionate and all for him.

“I want you to know, John. I need you to know, that you’ll always have a place here and in my heart."

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part four)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

You sit in your manager’s office, facing the bay window that overlooks the vast golf course. Your fingers are interlaced in an effort to hide the way your hands are trembling.

When Detective Brading asked for the space as you meekly followed him into the office, your boss shot you an unsettled glance, then agreed and left the room.

It throws you into a chilling realization. Everyone will give you that same condemning look when they find out the truth. You can’t imagine why else a cop unexpectedly came to your workplace and dragged you away – he must know what you’ve done.

The confidence you had last night that you’d get away with this crumbles when the door slams shut, making you flinch. Detective Brading expels a deep sigh. Why doesn’t he just arrest you and get it over with?

“Every second in a missing person’s case is precious,” the detective tells you. He sits on the edge of the desk instead of in the chair behind it, staring down at you. If he’s trying to scare you, it’s working.

Missing. At least that means they haven’t found Porter’s body.

“I hate to disrupt you like this at work.” His words mismatch his tone. “But I think you can help us.”

“How?” you ask.

“You said you were with Rafe for a couple hours the night Porter went missing,” he says. “Do you know where he went after he dropped you off?”

“Home,” you answer quickly.

“And you’re sure about that?”

“I’m…” You can’t be too defensive. It’ll raise red flags. “Pretty sure.”

The detective sighs again, as if you’re disappointing him with every word you say.

You glance at the framed photos of your boss and his family on the wall. He lives such a comfortable, normal life. You lost your chance at normalcy the second you told Rafe to pull the trigger.

“I’m sure it’s hard to hear this about a friend of yours, but we think he played a role in Porter’s disappearance,” he says. “And we need to ask you to talk to him about that night.”

“Me?”

“Yes. We’d have you wearing a wire.”

“What?” you say, floored. “Why me? We haven’t been hanging out that long. I don’t think he’d trust me enough to tell me anything.”

You hope you didn’t just discredit yourself or Rafe. But if they try to get one of Rafe’s other friends to trick him into a confession, you know for a fact that he wouldn't admit a thing. But you? You’re the only person he’d openly talk to about what really happened.

Your body is tight with anxiety. Maybe that’s why they’re asking you to do it. They think you know something and Rafe slipping up in a conversation with you is their meticulous way of proving it.

“I shouldn’t share this, but his other friends don’t believe that he’s entirely innocent,” Brading says. “You’re the only one we spoke to who does. And I think Rafe knows that you’re in his corner. I can tell you’re a good kid. Do the right thing and help us find Porter.”

You don’t buy it. You can’t ignore the instinct telling you that Brading is suspicious of you, too. He’s manipulating you. And for once, it feels good to be underestimated.

If you refuse to help, it could work against you. But if you agree, and you find a way to warn Rafe that you’re being listened to, that’d help your case. And his.

“I’d have eyes on you the entire time,” the detective explains. “He’s out on the golf course now. He came alone. Act like it’s just another day at work. Strike up conversation. See if he can open up about what he did after he dropped you off that night.”

“You want me to do this now?” you stutter.

“Like I said, every second is precious,” he says. “I know you’re caught off guard, but he’ll be, too. It’ll work to our advantage. I’d be in your ear, telling you what to say. You can handle this.”

This is a trick. It has to be. He cornered you because he suspects you, and now, he’s trying to outsmart you.

You mentally run through the possibilities. You can’t contact Rafe to warn him. But you could type a note out on your phone and find a way to flash it to him inconspicuously.

You’ll figure it out. And if you can’t, you’ll back out and say you couldn’t handle the pressure.

“Okay,” you agree. “I can do it.”

“Good.”

“I just need a second. Can I go to the restroom?”

“Yes. I have to ask you to leave your phone. We can’t take any risks.”

He assumes you’ll give Rafe a head’s up. Now you’re sure you’re a suspect, too. You try to look understanding as you hand him your phone.

·········

You’re seconds away from a panic attack as you pace around the private restroom, trying to figure out how the hell you can tip Rafe off. Maybe you should just back out.

Then, it comes to you.

The logbook tucked in your backpocket. The one Rafe teased you about and called your diary just last week. It’s your way out.

You uncap the pen hooked onto the book, open to an empty page, and write: wearing a wire. act innocent.

·········

Rafe lines up his club behind the white ball, his shoulders tight. He can’t shake off what happened last night.

You’re afraid of him. You pulled him in and pressed your lips against his, but then you shoved him away when he tried to hold you. And after you promised you wouldn’t screw him over, you left abruptly and took away the warmth he’s spent his whole life craving.

You’re supposed to have each other’s backs. He owes you and he wants to protect you, but you act like he’s a wild animal you can’t trust won’t bite you. He doesn’t know how to prove that you don’t need to be scared of him.

And it’s not just you expecting the worst of him. The way his own friends have been acting around him, shifty and tense, is pissing him off. He is guilty, but the fact that they have no faith in him digs a hole into his already overwhelming loneliness.

He’s out here on his own because he desperately needs to clear his head. He desperately needs to see you.

You drive the cart over the paved pathway to where Brading told you Rafe is. Your heart is racing, terrified this will go terribly wrong.

“You can still hear me clearly?” Brading says in your ear.

“Yes,” you say quietly. The earpiece he gave you is tiny and unnoticeable. The logbook you placed beside you after you drove off is the only chance you have of warning Rafe.

“Remember, act natural. Bring up Porter when it feels right,” Brading says. “Looks like he spotted you.”

You pull up to Rafe as he places a club in the bag hanging off the back of his cart. You remind yourself over and over that you have to speak about Porter in the present tense.

You can’t believe you’re here. Life twisted and turned and things you never imagined possible are your reality now.

There’s a genuinity in Rafe’s smile when your eyes meet his, the complete opposite of the pompous smirk you’ve seen over the years you’ve known him. If your heart wasn’t already pounding from adrenaline, it would be from the way he’s looking at you.

“Finally,” he says. “I was getting thirsty.”

“Don’t tell me you want a beer this early in the morning,” you sigh tensely, staying seated as you look over your shoulder to the cooler packed in the back. Brading is yards away, parked in a cart and posing as a golfer taking a break. Your breath is shaky.

“I’m kidding,” Rafe says, a little softer. He steps forward, hand on the roof of your cart, leaning closer to you. His eyes search your face. You’ve been aching to see him again. You wonder if he feels the same. “You mad at me or something?”

“Ask him why he’s alone,” the detective instructs you, jerking you out of your small moment of joy.

“I’m always mad at you,” you joke. “How come you’re alone out here? You’re always with your friends.”

“They’ve been pissing me off lately,” he mutters.

“Why?” Brading says. You plead with your eyes that Rafe just look down at your note, but he speaks before you can repeat the detective’s word.

“Why’d you run out last night?” His gaze trails down to your lips, his voice low. “Thought we were having a good time.”

It’s embarrassing to know you’re being listened to. And nerve-wracking that now the detective knows you’re more than just friends. Anyone could tell from Rafe’s suggestive tone that something happened.

You did suddenly leave the closet you’d led him to last night. Kissing him got to be overwhelming. But you can see in his gaze that it wasn’t just an impulsive, passion-filled makeout at a party. It meant something to him. And it’s a relief, because it meant something to you, too.

The chemistry you felt with him was always returned. It was just contained. Watered down. And now, whatever this is could end before it even begins. He could say one thing and get you both into trouble.

You regret agreeing to this. You need to get Rafe’s attention on the open book beside you before it’s too late.

“We were. I had to get back to my friends,” you say. “Why are yours pissing you off?”

“You know,” he says, glancing to the side. “They’re always lookin’ at me like I’m guilty.”

You can hear your pulse. You keep your eyes on Rafe, discreetly tapping on the page. He doesn’t notice. He doesn't follow your silent instructions.

“Are you?” Brading says. You repeat the two words, your throat dry.

Rafe’s brows furrow in confusion. He looks at you again. A tense silence blankets you.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” you say. “Not even my diary.”

Your heart lifts in all-consuming relief when Rafe catches your meaning. He looks down at the logbook and realization washes over his face.

You’re safe. The man in your ear isn’t going to discover a thing.

“What, you agree with them?” Rafe asks. His tone is casual, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a nervous swallow. Your eyes are locked knowingly, enveloped in the comfort that he knows to play along now.

“Tell him no,” Brading says.

“No,” you half-laugh. “I’m just saying, if there is something about that night that you didn’t tell me, you can trust that it’ll stay between us.”

“I was with you.”

“Ask him what he did after,” Brading instructs.

“Not all night,” you reply, cocking your head. “Where’d you go after you dropped me off?”

“Home. You know that,” he replies. “Even you’re doubting me now? Come on.”

“No,” you repeat. You reach for his hand, eyes trained on him. “I’m sorry. I just meant to say… if something happened, I wouldn’t judge you for it. You trust me, right?”

Rafe’s body buzzes at your touch. He does. He completely trusts you and it’s such a new, comforting feeling and he wishes you felt it for him, too.

“I do,” he says.

“You’d tell me?”

“I would.”

You nod reassuringly.

“I don’t know where Porter is,” Rafe says. “And I wish people would stop looking at me like I did something to him. I’m so sick of everyone expecting the worst of me.”

You’re not sure where his lie ends and the truth begins, but his fixed gaze is heavy with sincerity.

“We’re not getting anywhere with him,” Brading mutters. “End the conversation and meet me back at the office.”

“I don’t expect the worst of you,” you tell him.

His shoulders relax and you can tell your words did something to him. You nod again, a small, relieved smile pulling on your lips.

“I should get back to work,” you say. “You sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“You’re just fishing for a tip now,” Rafe replies, smirking.

“Guilty.”

You both share a soft chuckle, the twisted joke behind your word choice not lost on either of you.

·········

The detective is tense when you see him again, a minor crack in his confident demeanor. It’s clear he thought he was going to catch you – both of you – today.

You thought you’d clear your and Rafe’s name through the monitored conversation, but Brading just looks angry now.

“You didn’t mention your relationship is more than friendly,” he says, arms crossed as he stands across from you in your boss’s office. He didn’t even care to sit down this time.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you needed to know that.”

“I need to know everything. You were withholding information,” he tells you. “And there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

The facade he was putting on has faded. He’s on edge and direct about the fact that he doesn’t trust a word out of your mouth.

“There isn’t,” you reply.

“Listen,” Brading says, his voice heavy and terse. “Porter’s family brought me into this because I’ve had a long, successful career of putting away scumbags like your boyfriend. I know your type. I know you’re covering for him. And you’re just making it worse for yourself by not telling me what you know.”

You don’t respond, staring at him blankly, your heart drumming in fear.

“I could make things easier for you if you just admit it,” he says. “A judge is likely to be lenient when someone helps with an investigation. I’d vouch for you.”

He’s intimidating. But you won’t give in. You never will.

“I don’t know anything,” you state.

His lips close into a firm line as he steps past you.

“I’ll see you soon,” Brading threatens before he opens the door.

·········

The lip of the sun still clings onto the ocean horizon as Rafe drives south. He was relieved when you texted him to come over tonight. He needs to see you. And he needs to talk about what happened this morning.

You answer your front door and Rafe takes in your gentle gaze and he swears that the pull he always felt towards you is a thousand times stronger because for once, you actually seem glad to see him.

“We can go to my room,” you say. You’ve been anxious to meet with him. You can’t control your impulse and you don’t see any reason to.

You press your cheek against his chest and wrap your arms around him the moment your bedroom door shuts behind you. His heart is thudding against your ear, his body hard and warm.

Rafe hesitantly cups your arms, not sure if you’ll push him away like you did last night.

“He just showed up at my work,” you say in a nervous rush, “and I thought if he heard you say you didn’t do anything, he’d back off, but then he said he knows I’m hiding something. He’s onto us. I don’t think we should talk to him without a lawyer. I can’t afford one. You have to help me pay for one.”

Rafe realizes you’re trembling beneath him. He doesn’t give a fuck that the man who scared you like this is a cop; if he was in front of him right now, he’d punch him.

“I will,” he says. “That was smart. The note.”

“I was so worried you wouldn’t see it.” You pull back, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know it was risky. You did a good job.”

He nods, gazing down at you. He’s not used to people telling him he did something right.

It’s unreal to be here, standing in your bedroom, past the guard you’ve forced him to stay behind for so long. It’s intimate seeing where you live, where you sleep, where you exist.

“He told me a judge would go easy on me if I helped with the case,” you admit, “but I have your back. And I don’t expect the worst of you, okay? I know you have my back, too.”

“You trust me?” Rafe asks, a hint of surprise in his deep voice. His hands drag down your arms, stopping at your wrists.

You wriggle against him, a subconscious test that you’re not trapped. He immediately releases you.

It makes his chest ache to know you expect him to harm you.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says.

Your body betrays you. Tears surface, hot and fast. The fresh wound lodges against your heart.

“It’s not…” You step back, knees wobbling. Your legs are suddenly desperate to rest and can’t hold you up any longer. “It’s not personal.”

You step away, sitting at the edge of your bed, head in your hands. You’ve barely been keeping it together, trying to outrun the shadow of pain that’s been haunting you. There’s no limit to what you’d give to forget what happened.

You brush your hands off your face when you hear the floorboards creak. Rafe leans in front of you, crouched at your feet. You watch his hands ghost over your calves.

It throws you for a loop, seeing him on your floor like this. For so long, all you assumed about him was that he thought he was above you. Now, he’s on his knees for you.

“Hey.” He says it in the same way he did after the gun went off. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him. You know that’s what he wants.

You meet his eyes, and when you see the genuine concern swimming in the deep blue, all the strings hardly keeping you together unravel.

“It wasn’t about money,” you utter tearfully.

“What?”

“It wasn’t ever about money. He didn’t rip me off.” Your sobs start to come out as gasps. “He hurt me.”

Rafe’s veins turn to ice. He frantically searches your face for an explanation because no, it can’t be what he’s thinking.

“I passed out while he…” You shake your head, tears rolling over your cheeks as you shut your eyes. “It’s like my mind couldn’t take what he was doing to my body and I passed out. And then you came in…”

His breaths grow shallow. That’s why you were as angry as you were. Why you cried as hard as you did. Why you tense up and shove him away when he holds you.

When Rafe pushed Porter in that room, he never would have expected you’d be there, bearing the pain of something that fractured you. He’s furious, disgusted, in disbelief.

He sees now that you meant when you said you don’t regret killing him. The empty look on your face was never guilt. It was fear. Trauma.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone upstairs alone,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “I didn’t think–”

“Stop,” he says softly. His hands rest on your face, palms gently cupping your wet cheeks. Of all the things you thought you knew about him, you would’ve never expected him to be so tender. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It settles your coiled heart hearing him dismiss the nauseating, intrusive thoughts you’ve had blaming yourself for what happened. You finally open your eyes to look at him again.

His eyes are glossy. He knows now and he’s looking at you with so much sympathy that your chest stutters with your gasps, stomach somehow twisting in both pain and relief.

For once, Rafe doesn’t say the first thing that pops into his head – that if he knew what Porter had done, he would have made him suffer, he would have tortured him, instead of shooting a single, life-ending bullet. Because there’s no point. You saved his life that night and he wishes he could’ve saved yours, but all he can do right now is tell you what he will do instead of what he would have done.

“I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I swear on my life. You’ll always be safe with me.”

He’s hesitant to startle you with his touch, but thankfully, you lean over and wrap your arms atop his shoulders and it’s so gratifying to know you’re using him to ground yourself.

Rafe holds you like he can’t get close enough. Because he can’t. Nothing he does now can take back what happened to you but everything he does moving forward will be to make sure you never experience a horror like that again.

His life is no longer a cycle of numbing thrills. He has a real reason to keep going now.

You inhale the comforting smell of his neck, your cheek pressed against his. You curl into him as you shake through your sobs.

“Nobody else knows,” you admit, voice muffled against his skin. “I didn’t think I’d tell.”

Even after what you’d done together, a bond that didn’t exist between you before digs its roots into you both. He’s holding you with softness you didn’t know he was capable of, after making a promise so sincere that you felt it in your core.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. And for the first time since that terrifying night, you feel it.

·········

It’s been five days since Brading accosted you at work. Even though he hasn’t bothered you since, and there haven’t been any public updates on the investigation, you’re on edge knowing that you and Rafe are suspects.

Since then, when you’re not working or hanging out with your friends, you’re with Rafe.

You still haven’t told the guys. You don’t know how you could possibly prove to them how good of a man Rafe actually is when you can’t tell them a single detail of what’s happened between you. You’d rather not have to explain yourself to them. Not yet.

Rafe doesn’t pester you about being your secret. As long as he’s something to you.

It’s dusk and you’re sitting on the quiet beach with him, cocooned in comfort and curled up on the sand, the setting sun playing across his handsome face.

Since your conversation in your bedroom, you haven’t spoken about the night that tied you two together.

But you have been speaking to each other like never before, holding onto the playfulness that always existed beneath your banter, allowing yourselves to talk and joke and kiss with no inhibitions. Except he doesn’t dare hold you without asking if he can first.

Tonight, as you sit side-by-side in the clouded orange and pink glow, Rafe feels a smile on his face, a real one, after not smiling for so many years. Being with you is the first time in a long time that he feels vaguely normal.

“It’s too bad,” you say, gazing at his dimples.

“What is?” Rafe rasps.

“That you’ve been keeping this smile from me for so long,” you say with a glint in your eyes. “Why were you so dedicated to hating me?”

“You hated me,” he scoffs with a smirk.

“You started it. All that Pogue/Kook crap.” You meant it as a joke, but Rafe’s smile fades. He looks ahead at the crashing waves. You hit a nerve.

“What?” you ask softly.

Rafe is consumed by his own emotions. He’s a victim to how demanding and overwhelming they can be. He’s been like that for most of his life.

Being with you has cleared some of the fog in his head. He knows now that he was desperate for some form of connection and that’s why he bought into the idea that being part of a group meant something.

If he had nothing of substance to him, nothing lovable, at least he had wealth in common with a social circle he always felt disjointed from. It was a ridiculous substitute for a sense of belonging.

“I was jealous,” he finally admits.

“Jealous?” you echo.

His jaw tenses. He can’t look at you.

“You’ve seen it yourself,” Rafe mutters. “When shit hit the fan, nobody backed me up. Nobody checks up on me. Nobody gives a damn. I don’t have any real friends. And you called your friends family. I don’t have that. I don’t have anybody. It’s why I sell coke. It’s pathetic, but at least I have something worth…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. The man who you thought had everything never did. He was in pain, lonely, selling drugs because at least it gave people something to like about him.

“Rafe,” you say quietly. He meets your gaze. You wish you could unsee the hurt in his eyes. “You have me. I care about you so much.”

You look at him in all the ways he’d always secretly hoped you would. The years of longing for you – the girl who always has a retort, who always keeps him on his toes, who always looks so frustratingly beautiful – all those daydreams don’t come close to how it actually feels to have you like this.

He wonders if you have any idea of all the ways you can break him.

“Yeah?” is all he can mumble, his throat tight.

You nod, finding his hand and pulling it to your chest. He’s not sure if you meant to press him up against where he can feel your pulse, but he feels the rhythmic thudding coming from beneath your skin, and God, is it insane that he feels like he lives for your heartbeat?

He thought he was fine living an empty life. But he’s gotten a taste of being wrapped up in you and he doesn’t want to lose it. Ever.

“You keep me safe,” you say softly. “Let me do the same for you in my own way, alright?”

He nods, blinking away tears. Your heart breaks and you lean forward, losing yourself in his kiss. His lips are soft and gentle, pushing against yours with a soft fragility.

“Are you okay?” you whisper against his cheek. He hasn’t been okay in so long. But this is the closest to it he’s ever gotten. He doesn’t want to hide you. He wants everyone to see you chose him.

“Do you want to go to that bonfire tonight?” he asks.

There’s a party at the beach you spoke at a couple of weeks ago, back when Rafe stopped you after you bought a joint from Porter.

“Together?” you ask. He nods, uncertainty pinching his face. You can tell he’s expecting you to say no. As if you’re ashamed of him.

You’re almost sure your friends won’t be there. They asked you to hang out at Pope’s tonight and you declined and said you’d stay home. They probably won’t be at the bonfire.

Either way, you’re willing to take the risk. Rafe is worth it.

·········

Gossip spreads like weeds. You can tell by how people stare at you when you arrive with Rafe that his name has been in everyone’s mouths, whispering conspiracies about what he did to Porter. You know your name will start to come up in those conversations, too.

“So, it’s true,” one of his buddies says when he sees you cupping Rafe’s bicep as you join the group, the bonfire crackling. “You’re really messing with a Pogue.”

“That’ll be the last time you call her that, got it?” Rafe says sharply. His friend scoffs a laugh, putting his hands up in feigned surrender, his beer bottle sloshing.

Rafe leans to mumble in your ear, “Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say, eager to take the edge off.

You swallow the bitterness of the drink Rafe picks up for you, staring ahead at the ocean, thinking about how somewhere in the vast expanse, Porter’s body is lying at the bottom.

“Man, it’s weird just… continuing to live life, isn’t it?”

You look up to see a man standing beside you. He’s a friend of the person you killed. You recognize him from the day at the club when Porter called you over. You still get shivers remembering his smile.

“What do you mean?” you mumble.

“Porter. He’s just gone,” he continues. There’s a slur in his words. He’s drunk. “He’s gotta be… you know. There’s no other explanation.”

You tighten your grip on Rafe’s arm, but he doesn’t notice, lost in conversation with one of his buddies.

“Yeah,” you offer. “It’s sad.”

“He told me he liked you,” he says with a raised brow. “He had a huge crush on you.”

You can taste bile on your tongue. You look up at Rafe, whose attention is on your conversation now. His stare is hard, his nostrils flared in anger.

“I didn’t know,” you say simply.

“Really?” he laughs. “He said you were playing hard to get.”

His vile words make your breath hitch.

The flame in Rafe rises so fast that within two seconds, he swings a punch. And suddenly, he’s leaning over, knuckles ramming into the idiot’s face as he lies on the sand, unleashing the rage of what happened to you and the urge to take your pain away.

He could kill him.

Rafe feels hands at the crooks of his shoulders pulling him back. He struggles to get on his feet, his friends’ words overlapping as they try to calm him down. He’s breathless, looking up to meet your eyes, taking in how completely lost and anguished you look.

He roughly pushes his friends off as he stumbles towards you, his shaking hands resting on your shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says to you, looking at you like you’re the only one here.

“You’re such an asshole!” the guy on the ground shouts.

Rafe ignores him, his hand on the small of your back as he leads you away from the crowd. You’re trembling, thrown back to that night, thrown back to being called a tease, thrown back to being held down.

You reach the parking lot, not nearly far enough from the loud crowd, still hearing the crackling of the fire, when your knees buckle.

Your heart is pounding so hard that you’re afraid it’s going to give out. But Rafe holds you up as you stand between parked cars, looking at you with desperation.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You find strength as you pull your arms up around his shoulders. He holds you tightly, firm and still against your shaking body.

You’re slowly finding peace.

Then you hear JJ’s voice mutter, “What the hell?”

You pull back, spotting him a few feet away with Pope and John B getting out of the car, looking at you with an expression you can only describe as appalled. You don’t have words. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Blistering sirens reverberate through you. They get so loud so fast that you don’t realize you’ve lost contact with Rafe until a police car jolts to a stop a few feet away from you.

This has to be a nightmare.

Detective Brading swings open the door, followed by another cop, rushing towards you and Rafe. He’s carrying handcuffs. You might lose consciousness.

“Knew this day was coming, didn’t you?” Brading says before he grips Rafe’s wrist, pushing him up against the nearest car.

Rafe struggles, but Brading slams him against the hood of the car so hard that you hear the thud of his skull against the metal.

“Stop! You can’t hurt him like that!” you cry. The other police officer steps in front of you, pushing you back. You expect him to handcuff you, too. He doesn’t.

You look around you in terrified desperation as if someone can help. The crowd has quickly come closer, watching in awe, as if you and Rafe’s lives aren’t being pulled apart for everyone to see.

You meet Rafe’s frightened gaze as the side of his face presses against the car. Brading flatly recites his rights, handcuffing him, ignoring you as you beg that he tell you why he’s being arrested, that he stop hurting him.

Rafe doesn’t say a word until you whimper in pain and plead to the officer keeping you back to stop holding so tight. He tries to charge forward, demanding he take his hands off of you, earning him another rough push against the car.

Brading hauls him away and you try to follow, but the other officer keeps you back, gripping you so hard that it reminds you of Porter all over again.

“You want to get arrested, too?” he mutters. Your muscles give in, losing tension. You still don’t understand why Rafe’s being arrested and you’re not.

“No. Sorry. I’ll stop,” you say weakly. “Where’s he being taken?”

The officer doesn’t believe you at first, but eventually, he loosens his grip.

“The county jail,” he says, looking past your shoulder as the car door shuts.

Then, they leave, and you’re in front of the crowd, in front of your friends, frozen and speechless.

·········

Your mouth is dry as you wait in the lobby of the quiet jail. They won’t give you any information. Nothing about what the charge is, how long Rafe will be here, if he’ll be given bail. It’s been an hour.

You hold JJ’s car keys in your shaking hands. You were frantic when you begged him to lend you his car, promising you’d take care of it.

He confusedly agreed and you left immediately, not exchanging any other words, following the police car just in case the officer lied to you about where they were going.

Your phone is dead and your connection to the outside world is dead with it.

Your stomach drops when you spot Brading exit through a door behind the processing desk.

“What’s happening?” you ask. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

He stiffly cuts through the lobby, pushing open the front door, letting it swing behind him. You grunt as the door hits your palms.

“I suggest you go home,” Brading mutters as you trail him into the dark parking lot. “I can charge you for assault against a police officer if you don’t stop harassing me.”

“Please. I just want to know,” you plead. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

You’re sure he’s getting a power trip out of this. You didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Now, he won’t tell you.

“Please,” you repeat, feeling utterly powerless. The detective stops abruptly, facing you, his face in a scowl.

“I’m ordering you to go home,” he says sharply.

“Brading?” someone calls behind him.

Within a matter of seconds, you hear something you never thought you’d hear again. The single and unmistakable blow of a gunshot.

·········

You’re in disbelief, staring ahead at the stranger sitting in your living room as her gaze travels between you and your parents. The woman introduced herself as an agent, flashing a shiny badge before she came inside.

Last night, you gave the cops a statement about what had happened in the parking lot. A man was out there, agitated and waiting for Brading. He shot him and looked you dead in the eyes before another man shouted for him to get down on the ground.

He drove away, tires screeching, as the officer who’d rushed out of the jail shot at the car. You remember dropping to the cold concrete, being interrogated by a detective, and eventually being ordered to go home and not tell a soul what you’d seen.

You’re still terrified, unable to accept what your life has become and how the domino effect you’ve been thrust into could be so vicious.

“Detective Brading is in critical condition,” the woman says, “but he was able to identify the man who shot him.”

“What about Rafe?” you ask. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is.”

You sniffle your tears, shaking your head in disbelief. You still haven’t been given any updates on him.

“I’m here because the man from last night,” she continues, “is part of a family that has dangerous affiliations. Brading has a history of putting away high-profile criminals, and he arrested the shooter’s brother. His brother recently passed away in prison and… he tracked Brading down to make him pay. He’s still at large. According to your statement, he saw you, is that right?”

You nod anxiously, waiting for her to get to her point. By now, you have enough trauma to last you ten lifetimes.

Then, she tells you that for you and your parents’ safety, you’ll need to be put into witness protection and that you’ll be relocated and given new identities immediately.

When you ask what you’re supposed to say to the people you’re leaving behind, she’s eerily calm as she tells you, “Nothing. I’m sorry, but there’s no way you can contact anyone you know. Everyone will be under the impression that you’ve died.”

·········

You consumed Rafe’s thoughts as he sat in the county jail cell. He didn’t focus on how suffocating the room was, or how badly his wrists burned from the handcuffs, or what his future was going to look like.

He thought about you, how completely and deliberately you were in his corner, how all the embarrassment of being arrested in front of all those people was erased when you yelled in his defense.

The only voice in the crowd standing up for him, while everyone else watched, was yours. He has never cared about someone more than himself. You changed that.

That’s why when he receives the news that you passed away in an accident, he snaps.

next >

note sorry for the drama… now i can finally share that this inspired this part of the story 🤭

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[pathologicalreid]

sanctuary | s.r.

in which hotchner!reader reunites with the BAU after her time in WITSEC

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (flangst?) content warnings: mr. scratch arc, witsec, hotch and jack and thriving, luke and garcia bickering, thunderstorms, anxiety, hotchner!reader, boyfriend!spencer word count: 1.79k a/n: the fluffier, more fun follow up to sense memory! but you don't have to read sense memory to understand this fic <3

You kept your hood tugged over your head, staring at the books on Spencer’s desk as you waited for him to show up. He had texted you when the jet landed, letting you know he’d be home tonight.

The darkness was starting to get to you. The way the sun set earlier and earlier in the day, draping your apartment in a fog that no number of lightbulbs could diffuse, scared you. The obscuring of your eyesight brought back memories of a time that was best forgotten, and paranoia rushed through your veins whenever you sat in the apartment.

Usually, you’d make the drive up to your dad’s house in Philly, but he was off chaperoning a field trip with Jack’s class. You were perfectly safe in your own apartment, Spencer, despite his Luddite tendencies, had a new security system installed, and your sidearm had been returned to you by the marshal service. Even so, every time you heard a creak in the floorboards or the tapping of something in the window, the hairs rose on the back of your neck.

There was no one for you to call. You didn’t want to bother your father and Jack while they were together. You didn’t want to worry Spencer. Your therapist would just suggest that staying in the dark apartment was a good method of exposure. You didn’t want to be exposed; you’d had more than enough fear for one lifetime.

You’d retreated to the BAU. The sixth floor of the FBI’s Quantico headquarters had been your home away from home for longer than you could remember, the walls of your sanctuary provided you with shelter from the storm.

When you had brandished your badge for the men at the security table, they looked like they had seen a ghost as they sent you upstairs.

Your desk had remained untouched by time, Spencer told you that Penelope would periodically go through and dust the surface, waiting patiently for you to return to your place. The desk chair that Luke tried to steal from you time and time again tucked beneath the furniture, hoping for you to take your seat.

The magnetic pull that you felt from your desk was the exact reason why you elected to sit at Spencer’s desk, surrounded by his books, a photo of the two of you, and fewer reminders of the life that you used to lead.

Spencer had respected your wishes for your return to remain a secret. The only other member of the team who knew your whereabouts was Rossi, and that was because he quit taking no for an answer when offering to visit your father and was surprised to find you weren’t there.

Twisting slightly in the chair, you thought about going to see Penelope, but what would you say to her? What would you do when you got to see her again?

Ten months was a long time to be away from your second family, even more so when you’ve been hiding amongst them for the past two months. A flash of light outside clues you in to the arrival of a July thunderstorm, sighing, you rest your head in your hands and wait in the comfort of the BAU.

Everything about it just felt so normal. The ticking of the world clocks above the unit chief’s offices. The pictures of Roxy that Luke kept on his desk. The crayon drawings that JJ kept on her desk. The dinging of the elevator that signaled that the team had finally returned.

You hadn’t thought this far ahead.

The glass doors to the BAU didn’t give you any cover to run and hide in Rossi’s office, leaving you entirely exposed in the bullpen, save for your hood that concealed your face.

“My beautiful people,” Penelope greeted the team in front of the doors. “Now, it is not my intention to alarm anyone, but there is a mysterious cloaked figure sitting at the wonderful Dr. Reid’s desk.”

Your face warmed while everyone talked about you, discussing who you were, and who you could be. None of them mentioned your name, either for a lack of belief or an act of protection, making it so no one got their hopes up.

The familiar rush of air hit you as someone opened the glass doors, you kept your head down as footsteps approached you. The familiar tapping of Spencer’s boots grew louder until he was standing right in front of you, crouching to the ground so he could look you in the eyes, and placing a gentle hand on your knee. “How long have you been here?”

Frowning, you picked at the seam on your leggings, chewing on the inside of your lip as you shrugged, “An hour, maybe? I lost track of time.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “I tried to call you from the tarmac, but you didn’t answer.” He turned to where the doors were, holding up a hand as he tried to hold off the other team members, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you assured him, “I just… I thought I’d feel safer here.”

He squeezed your knee gently, “But you know now you have to talk to everyone, right?”

You hadn’t expected the team to allow you to walk away from them again, so your head bobbed in confirmation, and you pushed your hood off of your head, receiving a gasp from Penelope once she recognized you. Spencer stood first, holding out his hand to get you up from his office chair before facing the team.

Adjusting your sweatshirt self-consciously, you studied all of their faces, each person simultaneously so different and somehow precisely as you remembered them. You screwed your eyes shut before opening your mouth, “Hi— oof!”

Your greeting was interrupted when you were engulfed in a hug, opening your eyes to be met with familiar blonde hair—Penelope was hugging you so tightly that it was restricting your breathing, and you reciprocated gratefully. Your olfactory memory was firing receptors in your brain as her vanilla perfume flooded your senses.

Spencer’s hand was settled on the small of your back, gentle but firm, a method of reassurance. You’re safe. It’s okay. These people love you.

Sniffling, you nuzzled your face into her shoulder, “Oh, Penny,” you murmured into her shoulder. Nearly a year of thoughts rushing through your mind, yet you couldn’t get any of them out without blubbering.

Surprisingly, she pulled away from you first, holding you at arm’s length and looking you over, studying your appearance like she was trying to jog her memory.

Before she got to say what she was thinking, another familiar character reached out and pinched your arm, “Ow, what the hell?” You peered over at Luke, who was seemingly not in a hurry to take his hand away, but Garcia came quickly to your defense and began swatting at his hand.

“Back off, Newbie,” she said, continuing to bat at him until he put his hands up in surrender.

Laughing, you glanced back at Spencer, who bore an amused look at the scene before moving forward and giving JJ a hug while Penelope and Alvez had their spat. You sighed in JJ’s arms, “Some things never change, huh?”

Pulling away from the hug, JJ rolled her eyes, “Oh, you have no idea.” Her curious blue eyes flickered between you and Spencer, obviously noticing that this wasn’t a reunion between the two of you.

“Hey, Em,” you beamed, turning around and reaching out for the new BAU Unit Chief. Well, newer, you supposed. “Thank you,” you whispered to her, knowing everything she’d given up protecting you and your family—once you got Spencer talking, it was a difficult task to get him to stop storytelling.

You pulled away, greeting Matt with a handshake and waving timidly at Rossi, who you’d previously reunited with and had provided you with several home-cooked meals. “You look great,” Tara said, observing you from in between Garcia and Luke, serving as a human barrier between the two of them.

Doing a little spin, you smiled anxiously, pulling at the sleeves of your sweatshirt, you looked around at everyone again, “Thank you.” All of the stress of being in Witness Protection had worn out your body, and one of your goals before returning to the BAU was getting healthy again. You were glad to hear that it seemed to be working.

“Come back here,” Penelope beckoned, waving you over to her until you were standing between her and Spencer in the circle that had been formed in the bullpen. Her eyes shone as she looked at you with wonder, “You’re here! You’re real,” she said excitedly, gathering you back into a hug. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she gently shook you, “I missed you.”

You relaxed into the hug, “I missed you too,” you whispered, stepping back and gratefully accepting Spencer’s hand when he extended it to you.

JJ clicked her tongue at the two of you, “What, uh, what’s going on here?”

“What?” You asked, feigning innocence as Spencer not so discreetly snaked a hand around your waist.

The blonde raised her eyebrows in incredulity, “Do you expect us to believe that this is how the two of you reunited?”

You shrugged, looking up at Spencer with adoration, “I split time between my dad’s and Spencer’s, so… we live together.”

Everyone was silent, and you expected an uproar. Frustrated questions on why you kept it a secret and why you stayed away from everyone when all they wanted was to be there for you, but the cacophony never came.

Instead, there was an encouraging whoop from Luke, and your eyes widened as cheers filled the room, “Really guys, it’s about time,” Emily acknowledged, smiling at the both of you.

It struck you then that you had been scared. You had been terrified of coming back to the BAU to find that they didn’t understand you and your reasoning for keeping your distance, but this was a group of people who knew better than anyone why you needed that time.

You felt a little silly, knowing you had been under the impression that these people would greet you with anything except for open arms. The realization that it wasn’t the building that made the BAU such a safe space for you but the people hit you like a bag of bricks.

Steepling your fingers and placing them in front of your face, you smiled at all of them, “I missed you all. So terribly much.”

Emotions made you weak at the knees, and you might’ve fallen to the ground if it weren’t for the BAU enveloping you in a hug, holding you up—keeping you safe.

[pha55ed]

Winter Wonderland || F1/F2

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: none

contains :: carlos, charles, lando, oscar, max, ollie, paul, pepe

summary :: decorating your home together for the holiday season with the drivers

xmas celly here! || f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist

Carlos Sainz | 55

Very vintage, and rich looking

It's a true money style of richness, with a big ass tree filled with presents underneath it

There's even ribbons on all the gifts

Why? Because his mom and other family members are so rich and retired that they're fucking bored and added it

Most likely you live with him and he just reuses the same ornaments and stuff from last year

But you don't care, it's so pretty

But!!!! You two get a little custom ornament that's really cute

Probably your anniversary date or smth on it

Charles Leclerc | 16

A nice rich Christmas too, but more sleek and modern-ish

He loved decorating as a kid with his siblings but now that he has his own tree??? Man that's so much work

He'll let you take care of the tree and most of the decor, but he doesn't just sit on his ass

He'll help pick the items, theme, etc

And also help put up the heavy duty stuff, like lights around the house and stuff

But putting each and every flower into the reefs??? Oh noooo he's suddenly so soreeee nooooo

After like 10 ornaments, he's suddenly complaining and saying "my physical therapist told me it's bad to do repetitive motions"

He's a liar but you don't even care, cause he bought everything for you

And he'll give you constant praise in person and online for your decorating skills

Lando Norris | 04

Frat boy party vibes but honestly,,, I fuck with it

Tons of colors, lights, and it's so fun to look at

Loves decorating with you and making it very chaotic

And also very ghetto...

This man doesn't even use staples or tape to hold up the lights on the wall

Why? Because he couldn't find any and didn't wanna go out to get them

So now your lights are being held up by wood glue... or your eyelash glue that he stole... or any random sticky substance...

No he doesn't use old condoms, don't think that

Oscar Piastri | 81

He don't gaf

However YOU want to decorate, he obeys

Whether that's an all pink tree, ugly ahh skinny tree that holds one ornament, or the biggest more extravagant Christmas ever

If his beautiful partner tells him to stfu he stfu, like a good boyfriend

And even better???

He not only pays for any decoration you want, no matter how expensive or stupid it is (he just loves seeing you happy)

But he also helps put up and cleans EVERYTHING

He's up on the roof decorating, cleaning the fireplace just to make it pretty, and even re-arranging the entire living room just for you to have the perfect spot for the tree

Some call him whipped

I call him a real man

Max Verstappen | 01

He also don't gaf

But, not in the Oscar way

He fr doesn't gaf at all

Expect an ugly ass tree, or most likely not even a tree

If you're lucky, you'll get the strip of reef in the pic above

But there's a very high chance that you'll just get a printed photo of a Christmas tree that's hung on the wall

BUT he does love stupid Christmas decor

So things like a funny statue, a creepy elf on the shelf, etc are all very welcomed

Luckily, Max isn't an asshole and will 10000% celebrate however you like at all

He's just gonna follow your lead and do whatever is needed from it... With minimal effort firstly...

Oliver Bearman | 87

Like Max, but really cute and funny

He has the Christmas spirit and loves it very much

One thing he did that's very very cute is that he ordered those big inflatable

But he didn't check the size...

So now you have a 35feet tall Satan in your yard!!! Yay!!!

He's in the Christmas spirit and he got the right idea

Maybe he doesn't have the skill to decorate it,,, but he has the spirit!

Paul Aron | 17

A classy and modern Christmas

Most likely white and a bit of a snow theme going on

Mixed with black too, cause that's his aesthetic ya know

He's very active when it comes to decorating

Always helping you pick what to get, which matches each other, etc

He's also very worried about the measurements, so he always makes sure to take note of the space you have to make sure everything fits

Also helps you put everything up, it's so sweet and domestic

Like: he holds your waist while you stand on the ladder to put the star up

Pepe Marti | 21

I'm mad at him rn cause why is every photo of him so bad

But he's so painfully unaware of the fact that he's tall

The tree only has ornament son the top

All the lights and decorations are put where you can't even see

And he keeps assigning you tasks that you cannot reach

Which he learns to take note of, always laughing at you before saying sorry

The decoration is very warm and homey

Definitely the type to bring over his friends to have dinner all together

His home isn't crazy decorated, but still nice and cozy

Which perfectly matches your relationship's vibes

[mikoluvsblondes]

hi love!! I was wondering if you could do Emily x dancer!reader? Like reader used to compete in competitions when they were younger. And Emily visits readers family and their mom is showing off readers old competition photos and awards and reader gets embarrassed? I really hope this made sense!!

Not That Picture!

Emily Engstler x dancer! reader

i didnt know if you meant Emily to be a friend visiting or a girlfriend so i just assumed that you meant girlfriend. hope you like it!

warnings: nothing really

You have lived away from your family for a few years, only getting to see them on holidays. Even though you missed them everyday, you were happy with where dancing had taken you: into your girlfriend, Emily's arms. You stopped dancing years ago, but still cherished the memories of your family coming to watch your performances. Finally, you were able to visit them again, with Emily by your side.

As you step out of the airport, you're met with the smiling faces of your parents'. You run over to them, quickly engulfing them in a hug. Emily follows your lead, attempting to give them awkward side hugs ,but instead your parents pull her into a warm comforting hug.

Your parents drive both of you to the home you grew up in, bombarding you two with questions, funny stories, and dad jokes the entire time.

When you get there, your dad goes to finish dinner and your mom decides that now is a perfect time to give Emily a house tour of your home. She takes her all over the house, showing off the pictures on the wall and trinkets shes collected over the years.

As your mother takes both of you to your childhood bedroom, a wave of nostalgia washes over you(like it always does), seeing that everything is still the same way it has always been. Your mom points to the medals and awards you've earned through dancing.

"How did you two meet?" your mom glances at you "She's never mentioned it." your mom turns to Emily with a smile.

Emily looks to you nervously before finding the words to answer and smiling back at your mom. "I actually met her when we were in college. She was dancing at one of my games." Emily rubs the back of her neck and you can see in her eyes that shes reliving the moment you two first made eye contact from across the court.

"...dancing huh?" your mom looks to the bookshelf with photo albums from your old dance competitions. She walks over to it and grabs it.

"Oh my god. Mom, no." you chase after her trying to swat the book out of her hands before realizing that your mother is going to do whatever it takes to show everyone her "favorite on dance moms" as she liked to call you.

"It wouldn't hurt to show them to her. She obviously likes to see you dance." your mom jokes lightly and both you and Emily's eyes widen as a pink stripe covers over face with a nervous laugh.

Emily sits on the bed next to your mom as she looks at every picture your mom shows her, nodding and smiling to every story and explanation of each picture.

"Here. This one's my favorite." your mom says, flipping the page. And that's how you knew she got to that one picture you were dreading for her to show Emily: A picture of you in a bright purple and neon yellow costume covered feathers. You rub your face with your hands in embarrassment as you prepare for Emily to see that awful monstrosity of a picture.

Though your girlfriend actually finds it quite cute to see you as a little kid in your competition pictures, she has trouble holding her laughter in when looking at this one. She puts a hand over her mouth, trying to stop the laughter that sputters out from between her fingers. You stare at your girlfriend as she repeatedly looks to you then to the picture in disbelief.

"Can you tell why this one's my favorite? Always gets a laugh ouf of someone." your mom laughs.

"You're embarrassing me." you groan.

"That's just my job." your mom shrugs.

Emily leans over to rub your arm "They were cute pictures, really."

[kumkaniudaku]

TBT

Summary: A young Terry and Patrice spend a Christmas morning together.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: None. Just some holiday fluff.

Previous: Merry Christmas, Baby

A/N: I love this one so much. I hope you enjoy too.

The coldest Christmas in recent history was no match for the overwhelming heat Terrence felt beneath his thick winter sweater as nervousness crept into his chest. The low purr of his uncle’s Honda slowly disappeared into the bitter afternoon chill, leaving him no other option but to press the doorbell to the Ellis home and pray for entry. 

Weeks of planning, sneaking, and tutorial-watching had gone into this mission. Heavy convincing and a shoddy handshake agreement to throw a couple of dollars his uncle’s way for gas had him snatching a poorly wrapped package from beneath the tree and hopping into Uncle Myron’s front seat before his parents could ask any further questions. 

His hands felt wet and slippery under the warm pecan pie he’d begged his mother to make for reasons he wouldn’t share the night before. His heart raced as he carefully adjusted the pretty orange bow on top of a covered box, suddenly nervous about how it looked. She deserved nothing less than perfection and he’d labored over careful folds and clean lines to deliver her his best. 

Rustling and a voice growing louder as it approached made him stop short before he could press the doorbell again. He quickly pulled at his coat and stood a little taller as her father appeared behind a glass storm door.

“Oh! It’s just you Terry. Thought you might’ve been my sister. Merry Christmas, son. You gettin’ big, boy. You benching ‘bout 250 now huh?” 

Terry smiled bashfully. “Yeah, I am. Tryin’ to bulk up a little before Spring.”

“You doin’ it. Next time I see you, you gon' be bigger than me. What you got there?” 

Terry blinked twice, trying to think through a response as Mr. Ellis stared back at him before finally sputtering out a response. “A-a pie! Sorry. It’s a pie from my mama. She sent me over here to drop it off and say Merry Christmas.”

“And that,” Mr. Ellis asked pointing at the gift adorned in the pretty orange bow.

“A gift for Patrice. Is she home? I know she said she would probably be at the store with her mom, but I can wait. Or I-I cou-”

“Calm down,” Mr. Ellis laughed as he stepped aside with the door pushed open wider than before. “She’s in here helping her mama set the table. Come on. She’ll be happy to see you.”

A deep breath that created a white cloud in front of his face calmed Terry’s nerves as he moved past Patrice’s father into the house. He didn’t need directions past the wall of family photos, down the hallway, and into the living area. In four years, he’d spent entire days lazing around that house. He’d shared Sunday dinners at her kitchen table, taken naps on her bedroom floor, and played video games with her younger brother on the living room couch. This was as much his hang-out spot as his own house in his mind. 

Christmas music crackled and popped from the worn record player on a bookshelf full of Black literature, the object flanked by his two favorite photos of Patrice. He gave the framed memory of her fifth birthday party a glance and a soft smile like he usually did before making his way into the kitchen. 

“Baby Girl and Ros, the Richmond boy brought us a pie this morning,” Leon announced on his way through the living room and out of the back door to return to his turkey frying duties.

“A pie! How sweet!” Terry’s introduction made Patrice whip her head around to get a look at her surprise visitor. He offered her a small wave and smile that she returned as Rosalyn approached to give him a warm hug. “Look at you! Have you gotten taller since the school year started?” 

Rosalyn had watched Terry grow from a boy into a young man. Once lanky, slender arms now carried budding muscles and extra weight. The first fuzz of facial hair carefully shaved per his father’s instructions left light shadows. His voice was deeper and smoother than the once cracking alto of his youth. Changing mannerisms had him looking more sure of himself. His development alongside Patrice’s presented further reminders that the only thing certain in this life was the passage of time. She’d never be prepared but embraced it all the same. 

“A little bit. Think I’m at 6’3” now,” Terry boasted, smiling at the newest adjustments in his measurements.

“Six-three! I know your mama can’t keep a lick of food in the house,” she laughed. “You made your decision on college yet?” 

“Not yet. Still considering trying to walk on at A&T. I feel like I’ll like it there.”

Rosalyn smiled, knowing the reason for his switch from UNC Chapel Hill. “Well, that’s good. You and Patrice work well together. You can keep each other on track.” 

“I keep myself on track, mama. Terry too when his head gets all up in the clouds.” 

“She helped me study one time and now she think she my teacher.” 

“You a one-time lie and you know it.” 

Terry’s infectious toothy grin spread to Patrice from across the room, creating a spark almost tangible enough for Rosalyn to reach out and grab. She noticed the emergence of shy glances and extra physical contact where senseless bickering once lived. Knees that occasionally touched while they watched movies on the couch were now shoulders pressed tightly together in the backseat after school without shame. When they weren’t in the same room, cell phones remained pressed to listening ears as they ran down chats about everything and nothing at the same time. Their trajectory was clear. 

More conversations about hormones, love, and the perils of unprotected sex than Rosalyn could count had been passed down individually and as a pair with no care for their obvious discomfort. Both sets of parents could only pray that their children retained at least some information to use when the inevitable took place.

“So, the pie,” Rosalyn pointed out, cutting through the open display of affection. “What kind is it? Smells good!” 

Terry blinked twice to pull his eyes away from Patrice to look at her mother. “Uh, pecan. My mama’s special recipe.”

“Really! That’s Patrice’s favorite. What a coincidence.” 

Terry’s ears slowly turned red as he tried to laugh off Rosalyn’s observation. She winked at him and pulled the dessert from his hands, careful to return the gift on top before making her way to the food table.

Patrice nervously shifted her weight as she leaned against the counter for her first break of the morning, now hyperaware of how her body looked with a set of blue-green eyes following her every move. 

They’d matched unintentionally. Terry’s red sweater complimented Patrice’s white one with both teenagers sporting black bottoms to top off festive looks. Searching for something, anything to say, Patrice pointed at his head. 

“You decided to stop growing your hair out?” 

Terry ran a hand down the back of his fresh fade. “Yeah. My dad was on me about it. Said I looked like a hoodlum. I don’t even know what that means but I guess I don’t really need the extra cushion for the helmet now anyway.”

“Well, my opinion probably doesn’t matter, but I think it looks nice. I’ll miss the widow's peak, though. It was cute.” 

A twinkle of happiness flashed across Terry’s eyes, making his cheeks rise into a proud smile. The haircut was staying. No doubt about it.

“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, still processing the tingles rolling across his body. “You, um…you want some help? My mama showed me how to set a table. Fork on the left, right?” 

Rosalyn watched the pair watch each other with a knowing smile on her face as Terry took slow steps across the kitchen toward Patrice. He didn’t come there to set the table for a family he didn’t belong to. He came to spend a few minutes of stolen time with the only person worth existing in his small world. 

She stopped him before he could get too far. “That’s sweet of you, baby, but I don’t need too many people in my kitchen. P, you can take him to your room. You know to leave that door open. Don’t have me come back there and I can’t see what y’all are doing.”

Neither Terry nor Patrice needed the reminder but ensured they showed their understanding with head nods and verbal agreement. They’d been down this road plenty of times. Leave the door half open, answer when called, and keep your hands to yourself. The first two were easy. Resisting the desire to touch became more difficult as the days flew by. 

Patrice led the way down the hallway toward her room, making small talk before holding the door open for him to enter. The sunny orange and yellow motif hadn’t changed much since they hung out for the first time. Posters and photos of her favorite artists still lined the wall beside her bed. The sunflower plushie she called Sunny rested in its usual spot at the top of her dresser. His favorite spot in the house, a soft yellow beanbag, was empty and awaiting his arrival. He took a deep breath to inhale the birthday cake candle she kept burning on her nightstand before sliding his shoes and coat off to place them in their designated spot. 

She kissed her teeth as she flopped on the bed. “You gon’ stop havin’ your toes out in here.” 

“I should start charging you. People would pay good money to see these. Even in socks!”

“Oh yeah right. People like who? That Cierra girl in 11th grade?” 

“Here you go,” Terry groaned from his spot on the bean bag. He flipped through a random magazine beside him to avoid eye contact. “I don’t like that girl. We just hang out because Xavier talks to her friend and he be needin’ back up sometimes.”

“No way. She was wearing your jacket.”

“She took my jacket out of Zay’s car to be funny and I got it back as soon as I could find her.”

“Say swear.”  

The ultimate test. Saying swear was their way of ensuring the other was telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

Terry looked up from the pages of Seventeen Magazine to look Patrice in the eye and confirm his statement. “Swear. She kinda annoying, honestly. Nice girl, but all she ever wants to talk about is reality TV and school drama.” 

“Ooooh. Terry likes a little substance in his conversations, huh,” Patrice laughed, exaggerating her words to mimic their creative writing teacher. “Let me find out you’re out here discussing Of Mice and Men without me. I’m gonna have to put my hands on you.” 

Terry scoffed at her threat. “Yeah, right. Plus, you talk about stuff without me all the time. I heard about you and Robert Mitchell kickin’ it after winter formal.” 

“That’s not what happened!” 

“Let me know what happened then.”

It was Patrice’s turn to explain herself. What started as a night between mixed friend groups turned into Terry sneaking looks at his best friend while she engaged with a guy that he frankly didn’t think was smart enough for her. He’d never share how it made him feel outside of light jabs to be annoying. 

He waited for her to stop chewing her bottom lip and respond. 

“Rob doesn’t like me. He just wanted to see if he could convince me to sneak off with him to the parking lot which I didn’t do. So he left me alone and I rode back with Vicky to spend the night. Nothing to see there, as always.” 

Terry took in her truth with equal parts sadness at the circumstance and anger at the young man bold enough to cause her pain.

“Dang, Treece, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it went like that. Want me to talk to him?” 

Patrice adjusted to sit in front of Terry at the edge of the bed. She kicked her feet as she played with her painted thumbnails. “No. I wasn’t even supposed to tell anybody. Plus, we both know that you don’t talk. Don’t need you getting in trouble because of me. Thanks, though.” 

“You don’t gotta thank me.” He was still gonna have words with Robert when he got the chance, but that was for him to know and Patrice to never find out. Trying to shift the energy, he pretended to use her fuzzy sock-covered feet as a speed bag to get a rise out of her. She rolled her eyes but allowed him to continue. “Wanna see your gift now or should I put it under the tree?”

“I’ll open mine but you gotta open your’s first? Deal?” 

“Deal.”

Terry chuckled as he watched her prance to her closet and back with an excited smile dimpling her cheeks. In her hand, she carried two gifts of differing sizes. They were expertly wrapped in shiny festive paper and a Carolina blue bow so that there was no mistaking who was the lucky recipient. 

She reclaimed her spot on the bed, setting the smaller of the two packages beside her before handing the other to Terry to grasp with two hands. “Okay, do this one first! Hurry!” 

“Alright, alright! Calm down.” Terry made a show of slowly peeling tape and wrapping paper from the large, flat object for no other reason than to watch Patrice squirm impatiently. She tried to rush him along but he wouldn’t give in. 

Their smiles grew in tandem once Terry ended his torture and revealed a framed pristine Francis Edward High School football jersey. 

He used his index finger to trace out the letters stitched to form his last name behind the glass. “How’d you get this?” 

“Coach Robinson let me have it for tutoring his daughter in Spanish. Then my auntie did the letters for free. Look at the pictures!”

Shock at seeing his name printed on a jersey for the first time distracted him from the small collage of photos neatly placed beside it. A picture from his senior night sat next to a photo from his record-setting game as a junior. Another capturing a game-winning touchdown had him reliving the memory in full color. But his favorite, a snapshot of them being crowned homecoming king and queen at midfield, made him smile. 

“Do you like it,” Patrice asked, her eyes wide and expectant as she waited for some indication of his feelings. “You can take all the stuff out if you want. This just seemed better to put on your wall at home.”

“I like it a lot, Treece. Never thought I’d have my own jersey. Especially now that the scholarships aren’t coming.” Terry looked over the gift for a few seconds more before giving her smiling face his full attention. “Thank you. Mean it.” 

She pushed her hair behind her ear and shrugged. “You’re welcome. Mean it.” They sat there, grinning and staring back at one another in silence until Rosalyn called their names for one of her periodic checks. They responded promptly before Patrice attempted to get them back on track. “C’mon. Open the last one!” 

“If I would’ve known we were going all out, I would’ve done more,” Terry spoke, preemptively apologizing for coming up short as he peeled away the crinkling paper. Patrice waved him away. They weren’t in competition. If anything, she’d gone too far in her pursuit of his happiness. 

A final rip of wrapping paper unveiled a small gift box with his name scribbled across it. He carefully lifted the lid and then closed it once he caught a glimpse of its contents. His face began to flush with incoming emotions. 

Nestled inside a plastic key chain was a photo of Terry and his maternal grandmother. His summer had been filled with dread that she may not make it through her sickness to end the year, a fear that was realized before the school year began. He’d all but camped out on her bedroom floor in complete silence, desperately searching for some reprieve from funeral arrangements and repast activities at home. 

For Patrice, it was a no-brainer to use some of her babysitting money to take a photo she’d nabbed from his MySpace profile and turn it into a keepsake. 

Terry stilled himself with a deep breath. “You’re nice when you wanna be.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re my friend and you were sad. It’s the least I could do.”

“Thanks. For real,” he whispered, holding eye contact a little longer before pointing at her gift. “Your turn. It’s only one box but there’s a lot in it. And don’t judge my wrapping skills.” 

“Too late! This bow is super cute though. I’m gonna stick it to Sunny.”

Patrice ripped through messy silver paper, discarding scraps at her feet her that Terry gathered into a small pile to throw away later. She popped the top on a white garment box and then squealed as she pulled a folded sweater from inside. 

Future Aggie. He thought the grey, blue, and yellow sweatshirt would be a fitting gift for someone finally realizing their dream of attending college. Patrice rushed to press the garment against her chest as she looked at herself in the mirror hanging on her closet door. 

She twisted and turned to see all her angles. “I’m wearing this to school on the first day back. Thank you, TJ!” 

Her announcement created a rush of emotions bursting in all directions. Something he’d purchased adorning her body? What a sight. What a feeling. 

The surprises and elated responses continued. A new journal and pens for her to use at her leisure earned him a high five. A bottle of Hollister body mist that she fawned over on one of their many trips to the mall received a wide smile and a few sprays on her new sweater. But her favorite was the gift that cost him nothing but time. 

A CD with “For Patrice” written in thick marker and Terry’s slanted handwriting caught her attention. Try as she might, Patrice couldn’t get him to spill the beans about the disc’s contents, instead pushing her to pop it into her dusty boombox and press play. 

“Uh, this is kinda weird. Recording my own voice for a CD. Feel like I should start rappin’ or something.” Patrice smiled as Terry’s voice flowed through the speaker like a late-night radio host. He listened with his eyes closed, too embarrassed to watch her reaction in real-time. “This is for you, though, Treece. Just in case we never see each other again after high school, I hope these songs are enough to remember me by. If not then all this shit was for no reason and just pretend it never happened. I’m gonna stop talkin’ now. Hope you like it.”

His introduction flowed into a collection of songs that they considered their shared favorites. 

Terry spoke up over J. Cole’s ‘Dollar and a Dream II’. “It’s for when you’re in the car and stuff since you said you hate listening to the radio. I figured you could listen to a little mix of stuff you like instead.” 

“You know I’m gonna bring this everywhere with me now, right? My mama’s car, your car, everywhere! It’s great.”

“That’s like three compliments in a row. You getting soft on me,” he laughed. “I’m wearing you down.” 

“Why can’t you ever just let the nice things happen without saying something? I’m startin’ to think you like makin’ me mad. You sick in the head, TJ.”

Justin Timberlake, T.I., and everything in between told the story of moments spent together, inside jokes, and unspoken feelings that flowed through romantic lyrics. While they listened to track after track as background music to their winding conversation, minutes turned into hours. 

Terry had seen all of Patrice’s other gifts, taken pictures on her brand-new digital camera, taste-tested a few pieces of her aunt’s pound cake, and found time to play a few rounds of the newest Dragon Ball Z game with Junior without the passage of time ever registering in his brain. 

In Junior’s dark, dingy cave he called a bedroom, Patrice and Terry sat next to each other on the floor half paying attention to the television while her brother played video games and half fiddling with the directions and pieces from his newest Lego set. 

Leon knocked twice and poked his head into the room with the family phone in his hand. “Son, your mama’s on the phone. She said she’s been calling your cell phone looking for you.” 

Terry’s eyes widened at the realization that he’d left the small device in his coat pocket across the hall. He scrambled to his feet, limbs flailing and socks twisting as he rushed to grab the phone from Mr. Ellis before the older man stepped away to tend to other business. 

“Ma, I’m sorry!” 

“Terrence James, if you weren’t somewhere that I know for a fact is safe, I would kill you! What goes on between those ears of yours?”

Patrice winced at the non-stop yelling coming from the other end while Terry tried to listen with a poker face. She couldn’t make out all the details of his incoming punishment, but she could tell by the way the call ended that he wouldn’t be enjoying time away from home any time soon. 

Terry hung up and bit his bottom lip as he turned to Patrice. 

“How bad?” 

He shrugged. “Not that bad. She was just worried. I do have to go soon though. My uncle will be here in like 10 minutes.” 

“I mean I didn’t wanna have to be the one to kick you out, but…”

Their loud laughter at Patrice’s joke was enough to get them unceremoniously ousted from Junior’s bedroom with the door shut tight behind them before they could fully re-enter the hallway. Patrice followed Terry back into her room and watched him gather his belongings.

“My cousin Imani is coming later today. I wish y’all could’ve met each other. She’s silly like you.” 

“Yeah,” Terry questioned as he tied his sneakers. “Maybe I could try and come over tomorrow?” 

“That’s okay. You’re already in trouble. I don’t wanna make it worse. Maybe we can all hang out for Spring Break or something.” Terry looked up from his task to smile at Patrice until she mirrored his expression while rolling her eyes. “What are you smiling at?” 

“You.” 

“Why? What did I do?” 

“Just be you.”

Terry wished there was a mistletoe somewhere in the room to aid his cause. If only there were a reason to press his lips to hers as the cherry on top of the scariest confession he’d ever made. Or near confession. He couldn’t tell if his words had made the desired impact until Patrice slowly shook her head. 

She began laughing as she handed over his coat. “You sure you don’t wanna switch your major from math to English since you always talkin’ in riddles?” 

“I know what I be sayin’, you just don’t know,” he laughed to play off his blunder. 

“That completely defeats the purpose of a conversation.”

Patrice waited until he was finished securing the zippers and buttons on his coat before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close. Terry stood stunned for a beat, too caught off guard to reciprocate her affection until a switch flipped in his brain to snap him back into reality. 

He jammed his one hand into his pocket while his free arm snaked around her waist to avoid breaching an unspoken boundary. 

“Thanks for coming here this morning. Gift or not, it was fun to have you around,” she spoke over his shoulder. 

He smiled though she couldn’t see. “I know how much you love Christmas so, of course. It was fun being around. I like being with you.” 

Terry held his breath as Patrice slowly pulled away for a look at his face. Her eyes scanned for some indication that he was telling a joke or simply being annoying but found nothing but sincerity in those intense blue-green eyes she’d learned to read. 

A glimpse at his lips made her subconsciously run her tongue over the bottom of her set. Her heart raced. His hand slowly exited his pocket to find a home on her hip. They leaned forward in sync, both of them closing their eyes for whatever came next. 

“Terrence! Your uncle is outside! Get your stuff, baby!” 

Though she couldn’t possibly know the magic unfolding in her daughter’s bedroom, Rosalyn had successfully thwarted an attempt to further break the third rule. 

The pair repelled like opposite ends of a magnet until they were back at their respective ends of the room. Patrice pretended to take an interest in the purses hanging on the back of her door while Terry quickly gathered his gifts. 

He fumbled with the packages on his way out of the door, timidly inching past Patrice in hopes that she would speak to him one more time. 

“See you later.”

“I guess I should go.” 

Words overlapped in a harsh head-on collision, making them both shrink away in embarrassment. Terry chucked and took the lead. “Ladies first.” 

Patrice adjusted the hood on his coat and smiled. “I was just gonna say Merry Christmas, TJ. I hope you got everything you wanted.” 

“Merry Christmas, Treece. This is probably the best one I’ve ever had. Even if my mama is gonna rip my head off when I get home.”

“She definitely will. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

Patrice didn’t respond with words. She offered him a sweet smile as her thumb brushed stray cake crumbs from the corner of his mouth. Another holler of his name from the kitchen forced him out of her orbit and back into the cold with Patrice hot on his heels. 

She bid him farewell from the front door, watching until the champagne-colored Honda was out of sight and Terry was just the faint smell of cologne far too adult for him on her sweater and the memory causing goosebumps on her arms. 

When Patrice turned to finally retreat back into her room, Rosalyn stood at the threshold smiling at her daughter.

“You two have fun?”

Patrice put her head down to hide the wide smile spreading across her face as she sped past her mother. “It was okay. Did Auntie Mae make the mac and cheese yet? I’m gonna get some.”

“Make sure you wash those hands, young lady,” she called after Patrice. 

The spice of expensive cologne left a trail of secrets in her wake. Rosalyn inhaled deeply and shook her head. 

They’d need a refresher on the rules before New Year’s Eve.

-----

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[highvern]

Totally Scrooged TEASER

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

Genre: neighbor!au, idiots to lovers, fluff/angst/smut

warnings:  alcohol consumption, others tbd

Teaser Length: ~1.5k | Full Fic Length: ~20k

Note: it's christmas timeeeee!!!!!! i missed DK so dearly since Teach Me so I had to bring him back for the holidays. everyone, check out the rest of the fics on @camandemstudios everyone worked so hard and im so excited to read them. thank u @gyuswhore and @lovetaroandtaemin for beta-ing this teaser

summary: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

collab m.list || m.list

Comment to be tagged when the fic is posted later this month!

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Shot number four is about the time you realize drinking your sorrows alone in your apartment on a Saturday night is a little bit pathetic. But you unlock your phone out of habit and the same picture of your ex down on one knee in the middle of the street in marathon gear stares back at you, and a fifth shot sounds exactly like what you need.

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

Ten months. You and Sam split barely ten months and he’s already engaged to Carson. 

After three years of dating, getting Sam to talk about plans further than a month out was like pulling teeth. When he asked you to move in with him you thought there was a very real chance he suffered some head injury that day. Sam and long term commitment didn’t mix. Your entire relationship felt like borrowed time. His engagement proved it was the truth.

In hindsight, you should’ve trusted your gut about Sam’s “platonic” “childhood” “best” “friend.” 

They did everything together. Their families vacationed in Montauk every summer, they alternated who hosted which major holiday despite living next door, there isn’t a single milestone either achieved without the other. Every time you visited his parents house the plethora of photos of your boyfriend and his best friend from cradle to present day seemed to grow exponentially. 

She’s like my sister.

Most people would frown upon dating a sibling after breaking up with their long term girlfriend, who was sick at home with the flu during Christmas, via text but what do you know? You’re the one sitting on your couch in a tiny apartment you can barely afford wallowing in drunk sorrows while they’re out celebrating.

It’s addicting. Scrolling through all the comments on their engagement photos, with a blanket over your head like some fairytale witch. Sam’s friends you tried so hard to bond with flood the comments, gushing about how cute he and Carson are, how happy they are for them. 

Your friends texted you how big of a jerk he was, a few calls but you ignored them. All you want is to wallow in self pity. 

Like the judgemental diva she is, Shinx watches from her tower in the corner, green eyes disdainful. She never liked Sam anyway.

It’d be better if Carson wasn’t objectively likable. Everyone liked her, you included. At least, until your boyfriend dumped you in a three sentence text and she posted a picture of them together on her Instagram not twenty four hours later with the caption “the best things take a while” – color coordinated for the Spencer family photo shoot in front of their lake house.

Assholes.

Even when she isn’t dolled up for pictures, you can’t even pretend she isn’t pretty. Carson looks like she belongs on a Hollywood set, even after running a 5k at the crack of dawn. Perfect messy ponytail, face rosie but not too red. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

Through the living room wall your neighbor belts the lyrics to Celine Dione’s “All By Myself.”

It was ignorable the first few times he replayed it – a little poetic even given the circumstances – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes and you don’t need to be reminded how alone you are. You rocket off the couch and land against the wall with a thud.

“Keep,” knock. “It.” Knock. “Down.” Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Mr. Neighbor, because you don’t know his name, sings louder.

In the months you’ve lived in this apartment you’ve met your neighbor exactly twice. When you first moved in only two weeks after your break up because Sam’s name was on the lease - not yours – and this was the only place you could find on such short notice in the middle of winter. You had the unfortunate privilege of riding the elevator with him in complete silence, only the sound of your pathetic cries as you moved soggy box after box. He was at least polite enough to take the stairs afterwards. And last month, during a building-wide fire drill because someone on the second floor fell asleep while making boiled eggs. Neither of you felt very chatty at four in the morning.

You couldn’t care less about splotchy cheeks or if your eyes were bloodshot. In your drunken righteousness, you don’t care that there’s mascara running down your face or the sweatshirt billowing around you has grease stains. Something snapped in you. Gritting your teeth, you rush out to the hall and straight for the neighboring door.

Your knuckles sting with each knock but he doesn’t answer until you escalate to pounding against the metal door like the police.

Mr. Neighbor must hear that because Celine cuts off mid-belt. Seconds later the door flies open.

He’s taller than you remember, your eyes level with a hole in the collar of his sweater. When you drag your gaze away from the dip of his throat the combination of tears and booze makes deciphering his face incredibly difficult because he has four of them and they keep moving back and forth in blurry circles. His dark hair sticks up in a million directions. Like he put his finger in an electric socket and then tried to fix the mess himself.

Mr. Neighbor stares at you, expression unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“You know,” you start, teetering on drunk feet as you shove an indignant finger into his chest. “Some of us just want to come home from work and relax! Not listen to their neighbors screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“I didn’t realize it was that loud,” he hiccups. “I’ll turn it down.”

It’s hard to be angry when he looks like a mirror image of you. Wet, red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. There’s booze in the air which could be yours but with the state he’s in it’s doubtful. Who listens to “All by Myself” ten times if they aren’t also sobbing alone in the dark? 

Guilt squeezes your chest. “Sorry, I’m just…rough day.”

Mr. Neighbor doesn’t say anything for a long time, appraising you silently. If you weren’t drunk off your rocker then the fact you aren’t wearing a bra and the old sweater you tossed on does nothing to hide that fact might be embarrassing. Or how you aren’t even wearing shoes, just fuzzy socks with a hole in the ankle. You also smell like a drunk elf who escaped the North Pole.

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

Mouth moving before you know what comes out, you stop him from leaving just yet. “Why are you crying?”

“Stupid shit. Why are you crying?”

You want to brush it off. You’re not looking for pity. Sam objectively sucked, and your relationship would’ve ended one way or another. Sometimes, it just feels good to cry all the frustration out and wish the worst on people. And you really would prefer not to do either of those things with your neighbor you hardly know. 

Especially, when you realize he’s objectively hot even through the blur of tears and intoxication. But alcohol has a way of loosening even the tightest lips.

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

You don’t sense any ulterior motive. Mr. Neighbor has the vibe of someone who never met a stranger, one of those people you tell your life story to in the airport when your flight’s delayed only to leave and realize the only thing you learned about him was he also hated airline food and thought flying first class on domestic flights was a waste of money.

Maybe whatever “stupid shit” he was crying over can be a distraction from your own baggage. If it can’t, at least the invite to complain to a person completely unexposed to the drama of your love life wasn’t half bad. 

However, you don’t know him. His stupid shit could be infinitely worse and then you look like the asshole while he’s crying over his childhood pet passing away back at his parents house while he’s stuck in his apartment because flights during Thanksgiving are ungodly expensive.

Either way, another person to whine about the world with sounded nice.

You say yes.

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[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3 Originally, I was going to make this a half-chapter because I wrote this on my phone while at work, but I decided I'm a bitch who doesn't do half-chapters. Anyway, here's this one. Sorry for any mistakes, it was slightly rushed because I wanted to get something out there since I've been away from the keyboard for a good moment!

Nanny in The Attic

Alfred had asked you to get some spring decorations from the attic, and you were happy to oblige. You loved decorating, it brought a sense of wonderment to your life that was otherwise filled with the endless tasks of being a caretaker. So, you took to the attic like a moth to a flame. There were boxes upon boxes, old coats strewn about, a creepy-looking rocking horse in one corner, and copious amounts of dust. 

“The box is labeled but I couldn’t tell you where the damned thing is,” Alfred said as he flipped on the light. “If you like, you could wait until I return. It might be easier.” 

You waved him off as you ventured further into the room. “No, no. You’re a busy man, Alfred. Plus, the kids are at school, and this will give me something to do today.”

“Very well, then, have at it,” The old man said, heading towards the attic stairs. “Master Bruce is working from home today, and there’s an intercom on the wall over there if you want to call for help should you need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”

You looked over to where the butler was pointing. “Just when I thought this place couldn’t get fancier. Thanks, Alfred. I’ll see you later.” 

With a wave, he left. You began to pull apart the attic in search of the alleged spring decor, and it seemed almost hopeless. There were just too many boxes. There was Christmas (which you couldn’t wait to see), Halloween, and just about every holiday decor that had ever existed. Some boxes were full of pictures and jewelry. You took a peek into some, just out of pure curiosity, and were amazed by just how old some of these things were.

Then, you stumbled onto one box that had photo albums from within the past thirty years and decided to look through them. It took you very little time to realize that these were albums of Mr. Wayne’s family.

You smiled, looking at a smaller version of your boss, as you realized just how much Damian looked like him. You also noted just how much Bruce looked like his father. Eerily so. That had to do something to his psyche. His mother was a beauty, too. You found her headshot sitting right under one of the photo albums. She had curly reddish brown hair and deep blue eyes that reminded you of Bruce’s. Mr. And Mrs. Wayne were a handsome couple with the world at their feet, but that was cut short the day they died. You were almost too young to remember but could recall some family member bursting into the kitchen to announce that the Wayne family had been murdered. It wasn’t entirely true, only Mr. And Mrs. Wayne had been killed— leaving behind a traumatized little boy. 

“Poor Mr. Wayne,” you said to yourself before putting the albums back. “Now, where in the hell is that box?” 

You looked around the room, eyes scanning when you saw it. The box was high up on a shelf labeled ‘spring’ in black Sharpie. After moving some more boxes out of the way, you began to make a path so it would be easier to move. It was going to be so easy and perfect, you thought. Once all the boxes were out of the way, you could grab the step ladder and get what you needed. 

Setting the ladder up, you climbed it, but the box was still just out of reach. You supposed that the shelf could support some of your weight, so you lifted your leg to step onto it. What you hadn’t seen was an old broken vase jutting out from one of the boxes. You felt the pain of it cutting into your leg before you knew what it was. With a cry, you fell back hard onto the floor. 

“Ow, ow,” you said, pushing yourself up. Looking down at your leg, blood was streaming from the wound. Alfred would not be happy about this, you thought. Putting your hand over the cut so not all the blood would drip onto the floor, you awkwardly made your way over to the intercom. 

You had no clue how to use it and began pressing buttons. 

“Mr. Wayne,” you would say when it sounded like you got through to a room. “Mr. Wayne, are you there?”

Finally, after about ten minutes, you got a voice coming through the other end, “Everything alright?”

“Aha! Mr. Wayne, I cut my leg pretty bad and think I need a first aid kit. Could I trouble you to bring me one?” 

“I’ll be right there,” he said. Before you could say anything back, the line went dead. 

Grumbling to yourself, you made your way to the attic stairs to sit and wait for your rescue. Blood was pooling between your fingers, and you could feel it slowly get closer to your socks. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” You looked up to see Mr. Wayne rushed up the attic steps with an aid kit in hand before stopping right in front of you. “Alright, let me see.” 

You moved your hand to the side, but couldn’t bring yourself to see just how bad it was. He put his hand on your knee to keep your leg steady, and you couldn’t help but notice just how big and warm his hand was. 

“Luckily, you don’t need stitches, just a clean-up and some bandages.” 

“What should I do?” You asked, hands already going for the kit. 

Bruce didn’t let you get close enough to grab it before he picked it up. He didn’t say anything as picked out the hydrogen peroxide, some ointment, and bandages. Pouring a little of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball, he slowly started to wipe at your leg. You yelped from the sudden sting and pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it, that hurts,” you said meekly. “Ow! Bruce, please.”

He stopped to look at you, eyes meeting yours and thumb starting to trace small circles on your knee, before speaking, “Sorry, just hold still. It won’t take much longer.” 

He began to dab the cotton ball back on the wound again, and this time you were prepared for the sting. As he worked on your wound, you stared at him. Mr. Wayne wasn’t just a handsome man, but he was pretty, too. He had the type of looks that befitted a character in a fantasy novel rather than a traumatized rich boy. His eyes, though, were such an intense blue that they were hard not to look at.

You thought out loud, “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

Bruce whipped his head up to look at you, eyes narrowing. “What?” 

You tried to not let the embarrassment show through. It was a fact that just so happened to slip from your mouth. “You have your mother’s eyes. I saw a picture of her earlier.” 

Bruce broke his gaze and continued working on your leg, now putting the bandage on. “Oh.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” You asked. 

“Yes,” He said after a minute. “Everyone said I looked like my father, but he saw more of my mother.” 

You giggled and took his hand when he offered to help you up. “She must have loved that.” 

“Oh, she did.” For the first time, you saw Bruce smile genuinely. A smile for himself instead of the kids or you. “That’s why she wanted a girl after me, but they never got around to it.” 

“Can’t picture you as an older brother,” you said as you wandered over to the shelf. 

Bruce didn’t say anything to that and changed the subject. He offered to get the box down for you, saying that you didn’t need to be reaching up or doing anything else on your leg. You weren’t going to complain and let him get the box. 

“Good thing you called me,” He said with a grunt. “It’s heavy. Now, where do you want it?” 

“The living room would be a good place to start,” you said before you checked the time. You still had a couple of hours before the kids got home, but thought that perhaps you could wait. “Maybe I should wait for the kids. They may want to help.” 

“Alfred would rather burn the manor down.” 

You could imagine it. Mr. Wayne brought the kids up in a way that they were very creative, and you could only imagine how that would transfer over in the decor. Alfred was too neat of a person for that. 

Mr. Wayne set the box down on the living room coffee table, making a cloud of dust come up from the box, before turning to you. You smiled kindly and thanked him. He nodded before heading towards the door, he stopped halfway before turning to you. 

“Make sure you clean your wound, you wouldn’t want it to get infected.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” 

He nodded before finally leaving you. You looked back down at the decoration in your hands and huffed. It’d be a lot of work, but if you wouldn’t get it done. 

And, you did as such. By the time Alfred got home with the kids later that afternoon, he was shocked by just how well you did. The whole house was overflowing with spring delight to the point that he began to ask how you managed such a task. You only told him you had magic hands before you went to tend to the children. They were happy to see you, all of them clamoring about, and noted the bandage on your leg. 

“I got in a fight with a bear today,” you said. 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re such a liar.” 

Bruce suddenly popped into the kitchen where all of you were. “It’s true. I was there. I helped fight off the bear.” 

“Are there even bears in New Jersey?” Jason asked, curiously. 

Duke, on the other hand, looked horrified, “Why are there bears in the backyard, Dad?” 

You were quick to tell him that the two of you were only kidding, that the cut really just came from an accident. Duke seemed relieved, while the other kids were a bit disappointed. When they all ran off to do their own things, Bruce quickly stopped you from joining them. 

“Next time you decide to decorate, let me know in advance.” 

“You don’t like it?”

“On the contrary, actually. What I don’t like is anyone in my household getting hurt.”

You nodded, trying to reason with yourself as to why you had butterflies in your stomach. 

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: All the buildup, all the teasing, finally leads to this: Simon is back and ready to act on all those filthy things you two had been teasing each other with. Will you make it home before you both explode? Or will the car have to do to break the tension?

Word Count: 5.1 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Unsteady hands gripped hard into the steering wheel, knuckles white as you tightly held on while headed straight to the military base. Your heart pounding furiously inside your chest, breath quick and short the closer you got, it was nearly impossible to keep your eyes focused on the road. Christ were you gnawing at the bit to get there and once again see that beast of a man, the one keeping you begging for release for the past three months.

Those breathtaking bits of personalized porn you two had sent each other had done nothing other than made that inconvenient ache into a raging monster that could not be quenched. Hours spent furiously working yourselves, silently begging for a little ease in the constant throbbing had gotten nowhere except to drain the battery life on your phones from the constant re-watching of videos.

…though that last photo he sent you of his abdomen covered in his milky white cum after having watched your little romp into amateur pornography had left you feeling on top of the world for a couple days.

And just as you were on that last leg of desperation, finally the light at the end of the tunnel that led up to you driving where you were today. It had been exactly one week from when you got the text you had been waiting on from Simon:

“I’m coming home, baby. Fucking finally; Christ I thought I was going to rub myself raw. Best not wear anything you want to remain intact, you hear me? Cause the minute I get my paws on you, that's it.”

Thank fuck, the suffering was almost over.

That entire week seemed to drag on endlessly, each day crawling through at a snails pace, but here you were now only a few more minutes away from your destination. Even as you checked in at the entrance to the base, antsy and squirming in the seat of your car, you couldn’t believe that you had actually made it.

You took Simon’s message to heart when you got ready that morning, choosing a simple, flowy dress that he could literally shred off of you and you wouldn’t give a shit. It was just long enough that it could easily conceal the fact that you had done away with the panties today, opting for ease of access over anything else, but low cut enough in the front that he could get a nice eyeful of your full chest; you had no idea what would happen the moment you saw each other again and you weren’t taking any chances.

This reunion was bound to be explosive after all the visual edging you two had been doing lately and having to waste even a second more of time before your bodies could be joined felt like a crime.

You walked through the base, heartbeat rapidly increasing with each step as you got closer to where you knew you'd find that hulking Lieutenant hanging around.

And then you turned a corner and there he was like a specter brought back to life, standing idly beside the outside wall smoking as he watched the privates of his troop find their families and suddenly the wind was knocked from you.

“Simon,” you called out to him and he turned to face you.

That instant connection of your eyes felt like a shock from a live wire; Simon could feel the electricity run through his veins and tingle its way up his spine until the first prickles of sweat dotted across his body as his cigarette slipped from his fingers. It felt like he couldn’t breathe and the closer you got the worse it became; you knew what you were doing wearing that pretty little dress.

Fuck did he want to take a bite of those thick thighs he could see just under the hem that popped out every time you took a step and if his hands didn’t get their fill of your breast spilling out of his grip soon, he might just keel over and die. You were more than tempting, you were a feast sent to make him completely lose his goddamn mind.

His entire body was sent into shock as that ache that he had tried to keep from ripping him apart all day as he waited for your arrival overtook him until his balls pulsed and he had to adjust himself or get caught sporting a stiffy that would instantly tent the crotch of his pants and make it even more painfully obvious to any curious eyes just how gone he fucking was.

Coming to a stop you stood before him, your stomach doing back flips as you struggled to form words that weren’t just pleas for him to just rip the waistband of his pants down and take you right then.

“Hey you,” you said through unsteady breaths, trying to keep calm. “Long time no see, huh?”

Simon nodded. “Too fuckin’ long sweetheart. Ya look...” he had to clear his throat, “incredible.” He had to keep it short, there were still too many people about and even his words would cause him to lose composure.

“Well, it is a special occasion after all,” you chuckled. “Got to remind you what you leave behind every time you go.”

The need to take your hand and give it squeeze, that customary greeting that you both did when in public, made him hesitate. If he touched you right now, any bare part that met skin with skin, he may not be able to stop, not once those weathered and brutish fingers got their fill of all that sweet softness. There as still a little time left that he had to be there and the agony was already eating away at him.

“Believe me, I fuckin’ know,” he said as he shot you a look; I’ve been in hell waitin’ to get back to it, it whispered to you.

Taking a few calming breaths, he risked lacing his broad fingers in between the empty spaces in your own. Simon could feel the rapid thump, thump, thump, of your pulse against his palm; good, you were just as excited for this reunion as he was.

Somehow that made it a bit easier, knowing that the feeling was mutual.

“Can we go?” you asked eagerly, hopeful that you were closer to the end of your joint suffering sooner rather than later.

Simon stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “Gotta be here just a bit longer,” he muttered dejectedly under his breath. “God, I want ya so bad I can’t see straight.”

You squeezed his hand back. “It’ll go fast,” you assured. “And…I mean… no one’s looking this way if you wanted to touch me a little more. Maybe you’ll find something you’ll like.”

It was dangerous, but he took a chance with even more touch as he released your hand and loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, bring you in to him until your hips were touching. You were warm against him, warmer than the day would suggest, and the curve of your hip that he ran his fingers over delicately to retrace the lines he had dreamed about felt even better than he remembered.

Silently you peaked over at his face, watching as his head faced firmly forward to watch for any prying eyes, but it was clear he hadn’t noticed it yet. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, you kept quiet; he’d figure it out eventually. Those exploring fingers were beginning to stray more towards the back of you to the small dip at the base of your spine.

…and then lower still…

That’s when you felt it; he risked a lingering stroke over the contour of your ass when he noticed it. Where was that distinct seam of your panty line? He had grabbed your backside so many times over the course of your relationship that he knew the feeling of what should have been there. Quickly he ran his hand over the area again and still the same, there was nothing. Christ, you’d really prepared for today, hadn’t you?

Good fuckin’ girl.

His chest began to grow tight with his quickened breathing… along with that engorged appendage down below. He was in fucking trouble now; would he even be able to make it to the car at this point? The moan that desperately tried to escape through his throat he swallowed down, but who knows how long it would stay.

He was in the thick of it now.

Simon leaned down to rest his face against the side of your head, his warm breath still able to be felt against your ear even through the mask. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart, no panties?” he whispered intrigued. “Christ, how the fuck am I supposed to hang on now?”

You smirked, trying to pick even though you were falling apart at the seams, a wetness gathering between your thighs as you pressed them together. “You complaining? Cause I can head back home and put some on real quick if you want.”

A harsh squeeze along the underside of your ass cheek made you gasp before he removed his hand and gave you your answer. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he warned, a playfully lilt to his tone. “That sweet little pussy is about to be filled and I don’t wanna waste a goddamn second havin’ to rip those fuckin’ things off ya.”

Dear God he was about to fuckin’ explode, say screw it and pin you up against the nearest wall right in front of the entire goddamn squad to plow into your tight, wet cunt with months worth of unrequited need that had built up to this monster of desire churning away inside of him. His teeth bit at the skin of his lower lip, his fists clenching and unclenching as he failed to calm himself while he again checked the time.

The moment that those amber eyes watched the second hand on his watch hit and the minutes change to the millisecond he could be released, his oversized mitt wrapped around your wrist, securing it in his harsh grasp, and quickly he began making his way to your car with you being dragged alongside.

“Where the hell are ya parked?” he questioned in a huff, that gruff voice nothing more than a growl, and you pointed towards the back of the lot in the corner.

You could barely keep up with his intense pace, nearly tripping over your own feet several times to match his long strides. It didn’t help that your heart was pounding furiously, nearly beating out of your chest the closer you got to being in a tight, secluded spot with him; could you even make it back to his apartment?

All signs were pointing to not a fucking chance.

Simon only released you so that you could both get inside, separating at the tail of the vehicle with you headed towards the driver side and him the other. The slam from the car door rung through the interior of the vehicle and before you could even insert the key into the ignition, Simon had moved in silent as a specter to place his large palm against the side of your cheek. The endless ache he had endured over the past months apart had been unbearable as you both edged each other to the brink of insanity and now that he was so close to you again it felt like he was in a dream.

The tension that suddenly filled the car was overwhelmingly electric as Simon closed what little distance there still sat between you both, his hand moving to the back of your head. Those bulky, calloused fingers that had missed having any part of you against them laced themselves through your hair with harsh abandon, pulling your face closer.

He held your head steady and pointedly at his face so that you had to stare into his intense, unwavering gaze; it made your skin tingle with anticipation of what was on the horizon and barreling down fast. Those sparkling brown eyes drew you in to hold your own captive as he drug his thick thumb across the length of your bottom lip as if to test that all this was actually real. His entire hand palmed the back of your head which left you completely at his mercy, not that you were complaining.

After all, you needed him just as badly.

Without warning he wrenched the bottom hem of his balaclava up over the top of his head and off his face before his mouth crashed violently against your own, hungry and greedy to steal kiss after fiery kiss from those soft, supple lips he had been eyeing with a burning desire to ruin since the minute he saw you again. Desperately his tongue parted your lips as he plunged it inside your mouth to reclaim it.

God it felt euphoric to finally be given the very thing you had been aching for for months, feeling as if your body had pined for his for an eternity, as it was finally released from it’s torture. And by the way his tongue was nearly shoved down the back of your throat you knew Simon felt that same kind of relief and it only spurred him on further.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your parted lips, nothing but hot, sticky breath being shared. “Ugh…fuck, baby, I’ve missed you so goddamn much I thought I was gonna fuckin’ die before I could feel ya again.”

Crawling over the small console in the center between the car seats, Simon shoved his body weight into you, making your smaller frame slam against the driver-side door. The raised panelling along the inside dug roughly into the muscles of your back as the backside of your head was shoved harshly into the glass of the window. There was no pause in his assault of your mouth until your lips began to burn from the constant contact and yet even the pain still felt like heaven.

He tasted so strongly of tobacco from the chain of cigarettes he must have smoked to calm his nerves until you arrived, but even through the distinct flavor you still drank every last drop of him down like you would cease to function without him.

Those thick digits of his free hand eagerly pawed at your supple thighs until he was able to divide them so that his hand could slip in between. There was a damp heat gathered near your unclothed sex and it only made him more wild to feel it. His palm cupped around your entire mound and you whimpered directly into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed one of the only words he could recall in that moment as the damp heat filled his palm. “All for me?”

Words, what the hell were they again? You couldn’t remember how speech worked as you were far too busy try to simply breathe through the conquering of your body by him. All you could do was mewl like a kitten as he massaged the petals of your cunt before taking his middle finger and slipping it between them. Your back arched in a jolt as he ran one finger along the length of your cunt, mouth falling agape as Simon gathered as much of your juices on his finger as he could.

Even this small amount of contact already had you dripping and coming apart at the seams; it had been so long since you had felt that familiar touch and pressure against your clit, the one that only he could provide.

Simon couldn’t help himself once he got his first real feel again of how soft and slick you were, goddamn it had been too long that he’d only been able to play with himself, and greedily he drew upon your clit in concise circles with the pad of his rough finger. There was a second where he tried to remain calm, to take his time drawing out your pleasure as he would normally do, but as your back arched and your breathy music filled the silence of the car, he could not hold off from unleashing weeks of pent up need onto you.

Removing his lips from your own, he moved down to the soft skin of your neck with teeth ready to leave the flesh marked with his seal. It burned him alive with desire at the thought that he would be able to see your pretty skin marred by him, that everyone who came in to contact with you in the coming days after today would see it too.

You could not stop the way your body writhed and squirmed as his finger collected a friend to join it and spread your entrance open so they could both slide inside. The heightened tension of the moment with the man you had yearned for only made you more sensitive and the way his fingers filled your tight, aching hole after it had been left empty for too long thrilled you. As natural as breathing, your hips ground down on his fingers, using them as your own living dildo.

God, he wanted nothing more than for you to ride his cock as well as you rode his fingers just now and send him straight to hell. Shit, he couldn’t catch his breath, his need was just too much. “That’s it. Use me; make my fingers yours.”

Both of your hands moved to behind your head and onto the window; you needed more leverage to ground onto him harder, as hard as you could. Nothing compared to him, not your own fingers, not a toy; you could not stop yourself. You could feel the condensation already gathering on the glass as you moved and you had to wipe it away so that you could get better purchase on the surface so you wouldn’t slide.

There was nothing that was going to ruin this.

“Oh god, baby,” you squeaked out as that overwhelming deep warmth of your release gathered in your abdomen.

The corners of his mouth upturned against your neck at the sound of you falling apart because of him. Images conquered in his mind about your moans and cries reaching outside the car so that anyone who walked by would hear them before they caught a glimpse of the show. Why wouldn’t he want to show you off like this? You looked so fucking beautiful falling apart to his ferocity.

Just the way your muscles strained and your cries became more pathetic, Simon knew you were close. “Are ya gonna come for me already, pretty girl?” his gruff voice purred against your collar bone. “Come on then, give it to me. Clench down on my fingers. Let me feel it.”

Pumping his fingers in and out of you, keeping the pace as steady as he could, he felt those velvety walls flutter around his digits as he rocked his upper body with you to simulate the movements he’d soon be doing when he was really inside you. The air was so thick with moisture it almost felt hard to breathe right, the windows filmed with the stuff as with a few more strokes at your clit you came hard and fast, shaking as he continued to work you until ever single ounce of your orgasm had been spent.

Simon was gone then, replaced by a feral beast fueled by his ability to make you come… and wanting to do it again, but this time with his cock.

He pulled those thick fingers out of you, glistening with the wetness of your cum and brought them to his lips. You watched wide eyed as he stuck them in his mouth and licked them good and clean; goddamn you tasted just as delicious as he remembered. Could you blame the man? You had kept him starving since your video popped up on his phone and he had to get a bit of it all.

“I need more of ya,” he groaned in whispers as he leaned back into you, desperate hands pawing at your breast still sadly inside your dress as he kissed you again, now with the taste of you on his breath.

“We need to move, someone’s bound to come see what all the noise is about,” you said, able to think a little more clearly now that you had come once, but Simon was still gone and there was only one thing that would bring him back.

“Don’t care, can’t wait. Get in the back. Now.”

The primal growl in his gruff voice was enough to make you comply without another word; once was not enough anyway, not after how you had suffered. You needed to be filled with more than his fingers. With a nod you immediately began climbing over the cushions towards the backseat of the car as he got out and moved into the back with you. You leaned back into the front long enough to shove the seats forward all the way to give you more space.

Simon needed room to work.

Scooting over, he planted himself directly in the middle of the back seat and pulled you over top of his lap to straddle him, shins digging into the edge of the cushion. Shit, he as so hard you couldn’t properly sit over top of him without leaving a wet spot right where his cock tented the fabric.

Clothes could be washed, as if he would care at all if anything got on him right now. Pushing your hips down, he made you grind your overstimulated clit hard on that throbbing shaft and you mewled into his face. A devilish grin spread from ear to ear as he rocked your hips to dry hump him.

“Someone ‘ere begged to be bred and that’s what she’s gonna fuckin’ get,” he hissed, sucking in the air harshly between his teeth at the feeling of you on top of him. “Can’t take it back now, luv. I have been fuckin’ dreamin’ of doin’ this, ever since you sent me that goddamn video and I ‘eard you say those sweet fuckin’ words. Been fuckin’ gnawin’ at the bit to stuff you full.”

Taking both of his hands, he pulled at the low neckline of your dress until your breasts came spilling out of the top. Angling his face in, he placed his nose right between the two to suffocate himself within them. There was a hint of your perfume still lingering there, that scent he had bought you for your birthday last year, the one that occasionally lingered on his clothes and had done for the first couple weeks of his mission.

The flesh was so enticing that he sucked in the supple top of one breast before he bit down, not enough to break the skin, but enough that it would definitely leave a nice red outline of his teeth; more signaturea that you could both admire.

“Simon,” you moaned his name.

Your own hands roamed up under his shirt, pushing the fabric up until you reached his chest and you could run your hands over the sparse bit of hair you adored; it would be so nice to get to nuzzle against it again. As your fingers ran between his pectorals you could feel the moment his breath hitched.

“Please, Simon,” you begged. “I need it.”

Those breasts he would get back to later, your words brought him back and his need to fuck you senseless slammed into him full force.

Rushed, he laid you back over the console between the seats as he sat up and forward, undoing his belt before ripping his pants down enough that he could pull his cock out of his boxers. The angle was slightly awkward, but as he aligned the leaking head of his phallus with your entrance and gave that first thrust to fully enter you, everything else fell away.

“Oh fuck…fuck… oh fuck,” that deep agonized whimper echoed through the car as Simon’s hands bore down his grip on the top of the seat cushions. “Goddammit, luv…s-shit…ah…”

Nothing, absolutely nothing in this fucking world could ever compare to the way your body felt wrapped around his cock: how silky and warm and tight it was. There was no way with his limited brain function could he accurately describe how mind-numblingly amazing it was to be inside you again. Those restless nights where he just couldn’t seem to stay satisfied, the pictures and video that made it worse, the dreams that woke him to stained boxers, it was all undone in that moment as your soft walls held him snugly.

Your head flew back over the lip of the console as he filled you completely to the hilt, stretching you out to your limit. It was almost too much after so much time apart, but goddamn was it exactly as you had wanted. You swallowed the saliva gathering in your mouth, wanting to say the words you had first brought to life in your video, but in person this time.

“Breed me, please Simon. I need you to fucking breed me.”

Never had a more beautiful sentence ever been spoken to him in all his years than to hear your desperate and depraved voice telling him to claim you in the most ultimate way; it was even more beautiful in person than it was that first time he heard it. His fingernails nearly tore holes in the seat as gripped with all this strength to stop himself from coming too fast from all the excitement.

The car began to shake forward and back as Simon snapped his hips into you with a feverish intensity. Even within the first few minutes he was already pussy drunk, slamming into you with a feral roughness that left his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only had one objective now: to come.

Your legs were absolutely burning and shaking from the intensity as you had to spread them wide so that he could fit in between, but it didn’t matter; you would have done anything to have him reclaim your cunt as his own again.

The scent of sex was heavy in the air of that enclosed space, the wet slapping sounds of two bodies connecting in that most erotic way keeping the beat.

Yet there was still one more thing he wanted, one more thing that he had been daydreaming about all by his lonesome. Even in this cramped space, he was determined to make it happen- for both of you. His hands were on your legs and before you knew what was happening, he had pulled out of you so that he could situate your calves up on his broad shoulders.

As he thrust back in, the new position helped him reach even deeper until he completely bottomed out. Goddamn it was like you could feel him in your stomach, so full with him that you were completely one being.

“F-fuck…” you stammered out the cry, choking on your words as you writhed uncontrollably. It was almost too much.

“There ya go baby,” he groaned as he started rocking his hips again, unable to contain himself at this consuming euphoria. “Gotta make good on my fuckin’ promise.”

He took you even rougher now, gripping into your hips hard enough to leave purple fingerprints where his hands rested as he pounded into you furiously, your body contorted and at his mercy. The windows of the car were completely fogged over now, the condensation not letting any clear visuals in or out as the axel squeaked with the force of Simon’s thrusts. The console you were still laid on scraped across your back to make it burn as your body was rocked, but the angle was so perfect that the stimulation made your brain blank to anything that wasn’t your second release creeping up on you quick.

There were no more words that could be said as you both devolved into beings hell bent on pleasure alone, just the depraved sounds of grunting and moans filling up the interior to capacity; that growing warmth in your belly nearly reaching its peak

Goddammit, he was closer than he thought due to all the pent up desire he'd been unable to sait for weeks, but he had to be sure you were almost there again too. "Are ya close?" he asked as more of a plea than a question, hips snapping desperately with a shudder as he was losing the battle to his orgasm.

"Yes," you groaned back. "Don't stop, please."

He closed his eyes tight, working to stay from blowing until he felt your thighs twitch and clamp down around him, keeping him locked in. A few more sloppy thrusts slipping through the cum covering your cunt, a few more bumps against your swollen clit, and that was it. The warmth shot through your limbs, coursing like electricity as you came once more.

"Yes, yes, yes!" you cried out and finally he let go and fuck did he come with a roar that stung your ears.

Simon's body convulsed, the muscles in his abdomen tensing and straining as he released weeks and weeks of need. You took it all riding out your orgasms in tandem until you both lay still a moment, simply breathing after such an explosive ending.

He moved back into the seat exhausted, pulling your body along with him as you stayed connected. Lightly he pushed up your dress to press his raw lips to your stomach to kiss down the lower half of your body. Each embrace was another silent praise he gave while he took deep breaths through the high of his ecstasy until his rapidly pounding slowed and he could final re-wet his dry mouth to speak.

“Fuck, I think we both needed that one,” he said against your skin, his warm breath wafting over the fine spread of moisture along your torso, making you tingle as he kept his cock buried inside. “Ya did so good for me sweetheart.”

You reached a hand out to him and he helped you to sit up and into his lap. Wrapping your arm around his neck you pulled him into a deep kiss, letting your mouths linger together with eyes closed for a few moments as you both finished coming down.

“I’m glad your back,” you whispered as your lips parted.

He cupped your cheek with his palm, staring back into your eyes as he smiled. “I’m glad to be back too,” he returned. "And I'm gonna make sure that I make up for all that lost time."

Tag list: @sillylittlereader @babygirl-riley @jarfullofjizz @jamieelol

[savanir]

Death of the Father, Death of the Son

Part 3

prev and OG prompt

Dick was just about finished with his preparations in the Batjet when one of his brothers barged in and dumped some of their stuff inside as well.

“I’m coming with you” Tim straps down the case he brought and plants his ass in the copilot seat.

Dick looks at him with a slight frown, “Tim…”

“no I want to see the murder scenes with my own eyes and it’s good for you to have some backup-”

“I’ll be just fine on my own babybird-”

“-cause we don’t know if this is just one assassin or a whole organization”

“ok. and now you can tell me the real reason you want to come along”

Tim gives Dick a side-eye before slumping down“... Alf has been talking with Bruce about me needing fresh air again and I rather do that preemptively and on my own terms so you’re just gonna have to accept you’re stuck with me on this one now”

Dick sighs, and ruffles Tim’s hair before strapping himself in the pilot seat and ignoring the indignant squawk from his brother, “sure, fine, Oracle we’re heading out now”

“have a safe trip Nightwing”

and they are off

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Amity Park is about what they expected, outwardly nothing remarkable, somewhat sleepy. But upon closer inspection the signs of multiple battles are quite clear.

Though apparently it’s been quite a while now since the last “ghost” battle. There is a lot of speculation as to why among the town folks which could be important to look into some other time, but for now the boys put a pin in it and get to breaking and entering the old Fenton household for their investigation.

Things seem to be normal inside the house but… ahem, well...

Tim inspects all the strange tech that looks just haphazardly slapped on the walls with a critical eye while Dick lifts one of the family photos to have a better look.

“looks like a normal average american household to me, even with mom and dad preferring to wear hazmat suits everywhere apparently” there really aren’t any pictures where they aren’t wearing the orange and teal suits. Madeline Fenton wasn’t wearing one at the Gala though, she looks a lot more comfortable in these pictures.

Dick looks around some more, “is it just me or does this place just feel… depressing?”

“yeah no I get what you mean, there is nobody here but I also feel a lot like I’m intruding” Tim hums, “more than normal that is”

“Red…” 

Tim elects to ignore that tone of voice completely, “there is no way any of this stuff is even remotely up to code” he then peeks at the picture as well, he of course already knew what the murdered father and missing son looked like, he’s done his homework, but this is a casual happy family picture, that always drives home the fact that these were- are real people. 

but how did they all get dragged into this situation, this mess that is slowly turning into something a lot more complicated… maybe… well that’s why he’s here. To figure it out.

The stairs that lead to the basement lab are in the kitchen for some reason, and once down there they both need a moment to take the whole place in.

The entire house is rather abandoned but this place looks as if it hasn't been touched since the police did their own investigation.

There is some tape and markers that were left behind but overall it looks a lot like a hurricane went through it, exploded, and then everything got covered in a fine layer of dust.

Tim opens the case he brought with him and begins setting up the holo scanners to make a copy of the whole place that they’ll be able to project in the batcave later, in case they miss something now.

It's only after that’s done that they start to have a look themselves.

“Even this badly wrecked it definitely looks like some sort of evil lair” Tim mutters as he inspects the nearest vaguely firearm shaped object, or maybe it’s a hair blower he’s not sure, it’s got Fenton Works™ stamped on it though.

“is that a portal” Dick meant it as a question but it ends up sounding like a statement.

It gets Tim’s attention though, “I… maybe?” it kinda looks like one potentially, busted up to hell though.

Dick carefully approaches it but doesn’t for a second think about going in there,“Mostly looks like a hole in the wall now though, I’m not going in there to check with all those wires on the ground, talk about a trip hazard. Not to mention the threat of electrocution, has nobody here heard about cable management?!”

“where is your sense of adventure Wingster, besides I am pretty sure this place is cut off from electricity now” 

“yeah, I’m not taking the risk with sketchy evil lair portals today” 

Dick lets Tim do his own detective work while he takes out a little device Batman made to alert him to Deadman. He figures it would be interesting to get a read on the place and see if it's really ghosts that have been causing a mess in Amity Park or if it is something else that just appears paranormal.

The ecto-detection goes completely wild however. “Alright well… uhh”

"What's that?”

“I was just curious if something occult was going on around here what with everyone blaming the past attacks on ghosts and thinking that whatever happened here probably has something to do with them as well… but I'll be honest, Boston never registered anywhere near this high. And it's just - everywhere”

“So any further investigation into Amity Park itself is gonna have to be done by Dark?”

“probably” though Tim is also fully planning on doing a full investigation himself.

Either way, they put a pin in that too.

They have a good look at the areas where bullets made an impact, scorch marks and the broken examination tables. They are about done when Tim asks if it would be worth it to break into the local police department and have a lot at (steal) whatever evidence they might still have on the case.

They could have something useful, unless it is who Dick really hopes it’s not. 

They leave the basement and are greeted with the sight of two teens in the kitchen.

hm…

Dick decides to just go with a cheery hello,

“Holy shit it’s Nightwing and Red Robin!” Tucker basically has stars in his eyes.

“After the message we got from Jazz I kinda expected the big bat”

“That's not true, you said after all this time you didn’t think they were actually gonna come at all- ow!” Sam doesn’t hesitate to  hit him in the shoulder. 

“Didn't think we'd show up” Tim says.

“Well am I wrong?” Sam sneers, “the only reason you guys are here is cause it’s a Gotham thing now. Otherwise someone actually competent would have looked into this months ago”

Tucker shrugs sheepishly and looks a little pained, “perhaps we shouldn't antagonize the Justice League heroes?”

Sam looks about ready to start hissing, it reminds Tim somewhat of the demon brat when he's particularly upset. “whatever” she says.

Tucker now has a strained smile, “uh, if you guys were wondering how we knew you were in here, that's because Jazz asked us to keep an eye on the place”

they tripped an alarm? how… Everything in here is cut off and disabled. some sort of battery based system maybe? but they would have surely picked up on that…

Dick figures he might as well just go ahead and ask some questions so he takes a seat and the other two follow suit more at ease than the two birds expected. Tim decides to wander a bit more around the kitchen. Maybe there is something he missed here.

“so, I'm just gonna go out on a limb here and assume that you two also think Daniel-”

“Danny” Sam corrects immediatly 

“-yes Danny, you two also think he's still alive?”

The question is immediately answered by a, “yes” and a, “he is”

“Jazz also seemed very certain of this despite the fact that a body was found. what makes you all so sure?”

Sam looks ready to spring into another tirade, Dick is starting to suspect that she has a serious issue with ‘not being taken seriously’

“Jazz told you guys already about the clone thing right? just go to Vlad's estate and it's all there in his evil basement laboratory”

“and we also know someone who can check deaths through occult stuff, and they confirmed that he has not… you know, crossed over”

“occult like magic?”

“or something, they were never wrong before. we do realize this isn't hard evidence obviously but they are a friend and not the type to just tell us what we want to hear” this is the easiest way to explain that they got in contact with the ghosts to have them look through the realms for Danny.

“I'd like to speak with-”

“that's gonna be hard, they don't show up with all the government people crawling about”

“so that individual with proof cannot be reached so we can’t verify their claims”

“nope”

unfortunate, but they did already say it wasn't hard evidence. It seems that these two aren’t going to budge on it which seems a little odd to Dick, there are known magic users in the League. Someone being able to check into the afterlife or whatever to see if someone is truly dead isn’t completely out of left field, it should be fine to meet with that person and at least hear them out… so why are ‘’government people’’ an issue? are they possibly wanted for some crime? oh well…

“when we went to them it was mostly just to know. you know? like… mr. Fenton got murdered and Danny went missing, and nobody knew anything or could find anything. Everyone suspected ghosts of course. and we just wanted to know if our best friend was dead or not, if searching was even worth it”

“and now the fruitloop got assassinated. to us it basically also confirms it you know. he's still alive, and it would absolutely be best to shut up the one guy who knows about the whole thing”

But why smear Masters? Why not do it quietly? And what makes Daniel so special?

Tim just knows he's going to end up with more sleepless nights because of this.

In the end the two teens aren’t actually all that cooperative. It seems they actually have mostly shown up to check what was going on inside the Fenton household, Tim and Dick decide not to push them too much then and there, figuring they could visit Master’s estate first, verify the clone allegations, and after that get back to these two, perhaps when they get more intel and have something more substantial to work these then Sam and Tucker will be a bit more forthcoming as well.

Only time will tell.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Slade had to go on some solo mission and at this point he's okay with leaving the boys to handle themselves, Danny eagerly takes the opportunity to do his own thing. 

Aka, going after politicians to get the acts repealed. Making deals with the ones who value their lives and can see a good opportunity when they are presented with one and getting his name out there. If he’s an actual threat people will be forced to listen. 

This day though he lands a hit that the supers in Metropolis somehow know about…

someone somewhere snitched, or… they are compromised. A worry for later.

"Memento Mori, they say you're trained by the Deathstroke and that you have an absolute success rate. And that you only kill your target and no one else on one of your assignments... but today all of it is coming to an end because with my tactile telekinesis I-" 

"If I had known that all I had to do to meet a real life alien was to act up a little I would have gone down this road a lot sooner" Danny leans against the AC unit on top of the apartment building they are currently on.

Kon splutters, "what?"

"Alright, okay, clone of an alien, which to me is still basically the same thing. Very cool, honestly, if you ask me, even better"

Kon puffs up, "well I am pretty awesome if I say so myself"

"Absolutely, out of this world some would say"

Kon snorts, then remembers what's actually going on here, "are you trying to distract me?"

"Maybe? Is it working?" Kon pouts and makes a so-so gesture. "I do mean it though. You're easily in my top five favorite aliens"

Kon blushes quite prettily "Uhm, well I... oh wait aliens? Not heroes?"

"Ah, yeah well about that, I guess I'm not a fan of that? Especially not currently. What with you being in my way and all that"

"Oh so if I were to politely ask to not kill the lady"

"Yeah I'm still gonna do that, sorry"

Kon sighs, "well in that case I'll-" 

He promptly gets knocked back by an impressive punch to the face. Mostly stunned by the fact that it properly hurts and then realizing Danny can move at all.

"You got distracted" and gives him a wink.

Kon rubs his jaw, "Oh you think you're cute"

"not just cute, I am adorable" and Kon just knows this smug bastard is grinning at him under the mask he can’t see through.

He really wishes he didn't have a thing for dark haired spunky dangerous people.

"... it- it doesn't matter, even with your freaky assassin skills there is no way-"

"You're a bit of a terrible match up against me though, no offense" Danny is trying to not overuse his abilities. He doesn't want the justice league to know about all of them. but it'll turn into a messy and long fight where neither come out on top if he sticks with the regular stuff. And that would allow backup to arrive and make things even more complicated... 

"Damn... I just don't have time for this"

Kon makes sure he's prepared to intercept anything Danny might throw at him now.

"If you go invisible I'll just follow the sound of your heartbeat"

"Oh" Danny turns his heart off. He can't do that indefinitely while in human form though, but this will do for this fight. "How about now"

"What the-? Are you alright!?"

"Awww you’re worried? That's sweet. Supersweet one could say," Danny turns invisible, "you should really be more worried about yourself though Superboy"

Kon tries if he can keep visual with his X-ray vision, he thinks about trying to do a sweep for even the slightest disturbance with his TTK field when a freezing cold shiver shoots up his spine.  

There is a moment of silence where nothing and nobody moves and then Kon can hear Superman in the distance. 

"Kon! What's going on!"

"That little- he slipped away!" 

"That's unfortunate... meet up with Kara at Miss Holloway’s location. Together we'll be able to stop him there"

"No I think I can-" Kon tries to argue

"Superboy" superman sounds stern 

"... fine, I'm going"

Kon makes a direct beeline for the target location and a grin can't help but spread over his face. He pushes his sunglasses up a bit more to hide the glowing green eyes. 

Now that he got to this point he’s getting back to wondering who tipped the supers off though. Having to switch to plan B was rather annoying. 

And he still absolutely doesn't like overshadowing people but what can you do… mission first, personal and ethical little hang ups second.

Superboy went under so smoothly though, Danny wondered why that was until he did a careful skim of the surface and sensed the roiling self hatred. He suspects that'll do it.

Danny feels sorta bad though, Superboy really is up there in his list of coolest things this world has to offer. He'll have to make it up to him after this is all over somehow. In a way that won’t compromise himself, and also avoid the old man knowing. 

It's then that he realizes he's arrived at the target location, it's showtime!

"Here I am"

Kara gives him a wave and he smoothly touches down, it really is a good thing he already knows how to fly and stuff, makes the whole pretending to be a Kryptonian thing a bit easier. "Got away huh?"

He huffs, "he can just turn his heartbeat off, how was I supposed to know that?"

"Deathstroke's protégé's are on a different level for sure. But even they have a limit"

Right... sure... underestimate him, very smart...

Not that he can really blame them. They probably think he's a baseline human with maybe some meta abilities or just a new upgraded Ikon suit.

"Can I see the tip off?

"Again? Sure. Though I doubt you'll see anything in it that we haven't seen yet. Oracle is trying to trace it but..."

"Hm, what if..." yeah some of this was very familiar, "what if it's Deathstroke and he's treating this whole thing as a screwed up training exercise?"

"That... I sure hope not"

"He's insane enough for that though"

"I hate that you could be right"

The silence stretches. 

"Are you alright Kon?"

Danny startles a little, "Yeah! I'm just, frustrated"

"Ah, don't worry. With the three of us standing ready it'll be fine. We'll catch him" she presses her fist in her open palm.

Danny feels a careful smile spread on Kon's face. 

"Hey, you check up on the lady and I'll make it look like I'm not involved in all this. Kal is close by and after that we'll try that thing with you spreading your TTK field super far"

Using Superboy's ability as a net? Interesting. "Gotcha"

Supergirl nods and then takes off and Danny figures he might as well just get this whole thing over with now. 

The lady is right there, she barely acknowledges him when he politely greets her. Rude…

And then he snaps her neck. 

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

"Youuuu" Danny storms up to Slade with vicious green overtaking his usual blue, “you fucking motherf-”

"Boy-"

"Don't you boy me. You sabotaged my assignment!"

"False accusations?"

Danny gives him a look that screams ‘are you for real…’ "Of course I took a moment to investigate. I had to know if we had a leak. But you tipping off the supers you absolute-"

Slade nods, satisfied that Danny looked into the matter, "You were fine, you need to be challenged to learn how to adapt to any situation. The moment things become complicated you resort to your abilities"

"Get off it old man I'm only half human of course I'm using my damn abilities, they are a fucking part of me! You though- You're the biggest dick in the universe and-"

Any civilized conversation quickly ends after that as it gradually devolves into a physical fight.

"Bastard" Danny mutters as he focuses his healing to fix his black eye first. 

"Cool down brat” Slade says, looking no worse for wear, “We'll go over the whole thing in more depth later" and the veteran assassin leaves the room. 

Danny fumes as he handles his patch up himself. While doing so he allows himself a moment of self loathing. 

He hates that he's making progress getting the ecto acts removed. "working" with the people who are happily removing the thing and getting rid of those that ignorantly want to keep it in place. 

He hates that the G.I.W are easier to handle with his new skillset.

He really hates how easy this is getting. 

And he really really hates how there was zero hesitation to overshadow Superboy and use him. 

He can't wait till this is over, one way or another.

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (2)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU. (She/her)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/n: Reader is masc cause this was typically just for me to read but i decided to share it with you all so. Enjoy.

___________________________

The soft chime of a bell echoed through the modest shop as Caitlyn stepped inside. She adjusted the cuffs of her coat, scanning the space for you. The shop was a humble place—wooden counters, shelves stacked with tools and gadgets, and an air of organized clutter.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, her brows furrowing in suspicion at Caitlyn’s pristine uniform. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone sharp.

Caitlyn cleared her throat. “I’m looking for your daughter. She—uh—was released from custody yesterday. I wanted to check on her.”

The woman blinked, her suspicion giving way to surprise. “You’re a Kiramman, aren’t you?”

The name seemed to ripple through the shop like a shockwave. A boy, about fifteen with neatly combed hair and sharp, pale features, peeked out from the backroom, his expression caught between awe and curiosity. Caitlyn nodded politely, ignoring the knot forming in her stomach.

“She hasn’t been home,” the woman said with a shrug, her voice carrying an air of dismissal. “Not surprising, really. She’s always been… difficult.”

“Trouble, if we’re being honest,” added a man seated in the corner, presumably your father. He barely looked up from the newspaper he was skimming. “Never fit in, not like our boy here.”

The boy stood straighter at the mention, his demeanor clean and polished—a stark contrast to your rough edges.

Caitlyn’s gaze darted between them, the pieces slowly falling into place. There was something off about the dynamic, something deeper than simple familial tension. The more they talked about you, the more it became apparent that you were the outsider in your own family.

“And she’s nothing like the rest of us,” your mother continued, shaking her head. “Always running off, getting into fights… we’re better off when she’s not here causing trouble.”

Caitlyn’s heart sank, her chest tightening with unease. Her eyes drifted over to a family photo on the wall. The boy’s resemblance to his parents was undeniable. But you… you were missing from the picture entirely.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, forcing a polite smile, “thank you for your time.”

She turned on her heel and left, her thoughts racing as she stepped out into the bright morning light. “She doesn’t even look like them,” she muttered under her breath, her mind spiraling. “Something’s not right. I need help… and fast.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

When you woke, your head pounded like a drum, and your body ached in ways you hadn’t felt in years. Your hands were bound behind you, ropes digging into your wrists, and the chair beneath you was cold and unsteady. The room smelled like oil and damp metal, the faint hum of machinery in the background.

You groaned, rolling your sore jaw. “What the hell…?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” came a gruff voice.

You lifted your head, blinking away the haze to see a tall woman leaning against the wall. Her broad shoulders were imposing, and her metallic arm gleamed in the dim light.

“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice hoarse.

“Sevika,” she said simply, stepping closer. “And you are?”

You squinted at her, confused and defiant. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that if you went through the trouble of tying me up.”

Sevika smirked faintly. “I know what you are. A little street rat with a chip on her shoulder. But I’m curious about who you are… before you meet the person who asked for you.”

“Who?” you demanded, your mind racing.

Sevika ignored the question, circling you like a predator toying with its prey. “You don’t look like much,” she mused. “But I’ve heard stories. Fists like hammers, a temper to match. People like you don’t belong in Piltover.”

“And people like you don’t belong outside a junkyard,” you shot back, gritting your teeth.

Sevika chuckled darkly. “Cute. Got any other tricks, or is sarcasm your only weapon?”

“Let me go, and I’ll show you a few,” you snapped.

The banter continued, each of you trading barbs like a pair of prizefighters warming up before a match. The tension in the room thickened until the door creaked open, revealing Clagg. He was fidgety as ever, glancing nervously between you and Sevika.

“She’s coming,” Clagg announced, his tone almost reverent.

“About time,” Sevika muttered. She leaned down close to you, her metallic arm brushing against your cheek. “You’re lucky she wants to meet you. Otherwise, you’d already be in pieces.”

“Charming,” you bit out, then spat at her feet.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and before you could blink, she kicked the chair back. You hit the ground with a jarring thud, the air rushing out of your lungs.

“Watch your mouth, kid,” Sevika growled, her boots echoing as she walked away.

Still tied to the chair, you craned your neck to yell after her. “You think this scares me? I’ve had worse!”

Your voice bounced off the walls, but no response came. Alone again, you gritted your teeth, your frustration mounting. Whoever had gone through the trouble of taking you, they were going to regret it.

The ropes around your wrists burned as you twisted and yanked, desperate to free yourself. Every muscle in your arms screamed in protest, but you pushed through, muttering every profanity and insult you could think of under your breath.  

"Come on, you piece of—" you hissed, jerking harder at the ropes. The chair scraped against the filthy floor as you shifted your weight. "Cowards! You’re all cowards! Can’t even fight me head-on, huh?"  

The sound of a creaking door silenced your outburst. You froze, hearing light, almost playful footsteps approaching.  

Then she appeared.  

The first thing that caught your eye was her hair—a vivid blue, pulled into chaotic pigtails that swayed with every step. She moved with a strange, fluid energy, like she was dancing to a song only she could hear. Her hooded cloak hung loosely around her, barely concealing the mischievous smile spreading across her face.  

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t stop staring at her. It wasn’t just her striking features—the sharp curve of her jawline, the glint of piercings, or the deliberate sway of her stride—but her eyes. They were a haunting, electric purple that seemed to glow even in the dim light. They locked onto yours, sharp and unrelenting, as if she was peeling back every layer of your mind.  

She tilted her head, noticing your stunned expression as if she was taking inventory of your soul. Without a word, she strode forward, her boots clinking lightly against the ground. With surprising strength, she grabbed the back of your chair and lifted it upright, bringing your face level with hers.  

“Not so loud now, are we?” she teased, her voice smooth yet tinged with mockery.  

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close she was. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as she leaned in, inspecting you like you were some kind of rare artifact.  

Her hand reached out, almost delicately, tracing a faint line over the scar that ran through your eyebrow. The sensation made you flinch slightly, but her touch was lighter than you’d expected.  

“What’s this, huh?” she mused, her finger trailing down to where a tattoo peeked out along the side of your neck. Her head tilted again, curious, as she studied the intricate lines and shapes. “A map? A secret code? Or just something to make you look cool?”  

You didn’t respond, your throat dry.  

She grinned wider at your silence. “Funny. You had so much to say earlier. All that yelling, cursing. What happened?” Her voice dropped, playful and sharp. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”  

Her teasing only made your pulse race. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as she continued to examine you like you were her newest obsession.  

Finally, she leaned back slightly, resting her hands on her hips. “You’re a fascinating one, I’ll give you that. That punch you threw at that enforcer? Oh, that was beautiful.” She sighed dreamily, spinning on her heel before whipping back around to face you. “I saw you and thought, that one’s got fire. And fire is just what I need.”  

Her words finally broke through your haze. You leaned forward, pushing your face so close to hers that the gap between you was almost nonexistent. Her eyes widened, caught off guard for a brief moment.  

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice low and steady.  

Her lips parted slightly, then curled into a devilish grin. “Takes one to know one, sugar.”  

Her grin widened as if your words had only fueled whatever twisted fire burned inside her. Those vivid purple eyes danced with amusement, mischief, and something far more dangerous.  

She leaned in closer, her nose nearly brushing yours, her lips curving into a sly smirk. “Insane?” she repeated, dragging the word out like it was a sweet candy she didn’t want to swallow. “Sugar, you don’t know the half of it. But you? You’re a little spark in this dull, gray world. And I like sparks.”  

Your jaw clenched, but you couldn’t look away. She was intoxicating, the kind of energy you could feel crawling under your skin. Dangerous. Chaotic. Addictive.  

Her gaze flicked down, studying the scar on your eyebrow again as if it told her a story she hadn’t finished reading. “This,” she said, lightly tapping the scar with a manicured finger, “has a tale, doesn’t it? Did you earn it in a fight? Or did someone get the better of you?”  

You jerked your head back, her finger hovering in the air where your face had been. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”  

“Ooooh,” she cooed, pretending to be wounded, clutching her chest dramatically. “Tough girl, huh? You’re even more fun than I thought.”  

She circled you slowly, her boots scuffing the floor as she moved, inspecting you from every angle. “And these tattoos… I’m dying to know what they mean. Are you some kind of treasure map, or are you just trying to look mysterious?”  

Your lips twitched into a smirk despite yourself. “Maybe both.”  

Her laughter rang out, light and airy, but with that edge that made your skin crawl and your heart race. “I knew I liked you.” She stopped behind you, leaning close to your ear, her breath brushing your neck. “So much potential, all wrapped up in a pretty little package.”  

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you shot back, though your voice betrayed the tiniest hitch.  

“Oh, I don’t need flattery,” she purred, sauntering back around to face you. She crouched down, her chin resting on her hand as she peered up at you with those piercing eyes. “I’ve already got you wrapped around my finger.”  

You barked a laugh, leaning forward as much as the ropes allowed. “You think you’ve got me figured out? Hate to break it to you, but I don’t play by anyone’s rules.”  

Her grin twisted into something darker, more dangerous. “Oh, I’m counting on that.”  

Her gaze locked with yours again, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. The intensity of her stare was overwhelming, like she was peeling back every layer of you, reading the parts you kept hidden even from yourself.  

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you looking at?”  

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Everything.”  

The word hung in the air, and for the first time, you felt truly out of control. It wasn’t fear—it was something far more maddening.  

“You’re full of yourself,” you muttered, breaking eye contact to glare at the floor.  

“And you’re full of surprises,” she shot back, tilting her head. “That’s why I want you, sugar. You don’t even know what you’re capable of yet, do you?”  

You snorted, finally meeting her gaze again. “And you think you do?”  

Her smirk deepened as she stood, towering over you for a moment. She leaned down, her face close enough that you could feel the heat of her breath. “Stick around, and maybe you’ll find out.”  

Before you could respond, she straightened, her manic energy returning as she twirled on her heel. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, “I’m not done with you yet.”  

She paused at the doorway, turning back with one final, piercing look. “Not by a long shot.”  

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you tied to the chair with your heart pounding and your mind spinning.  

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

The edge of Piltover where it bled into the Undercity was a liminal space, caught between the polished steel of progress and the grime of survival. Caitlyn tightened her coat as she approached the meeting spot, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit area until she spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Vi.  

Vi was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, her usual air of nonchalance masking the weight she always carried in these spaces. She looked up as Caitlyn approached, her smirk lighting up the otherwise somber surroundings.  

“Well, well, if it isn’t Cupcake herself,” Vi drawled, pushing off the railing and striding forward. “What brings you to the edge of the world? Couldn’t be my charm.”  

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Vi. Always the comedian.”  

“You know me,” Vi said with a wink, gesturing toward a ledge that overlooked the Undercity below. “Come on. Let’s catch up like old times.”  

The two of them sat side by side, the hum of Zaun’s machinery rising faintly in the background. For a moment, there was silence, the kind only two people with shared history could share.  

“So,” Vi started, leaning back on her hands. “What’s got you out here? I know you didn’t come all this way just to see me.”  

Caitlyn hesitated, her fingers brushing the edges of the folded paper in her coat pocket. “I need your help, but… I want to ask you something first.”  

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”  

“Did you ever know someone—when you were younger—who didn’t quite fit in on either side of the city?” Caitlyn asked, her voice cautious.  

Vi’s expression shifted, her smirk fading into something more contemplative. “You’re fishing, Cait. But yeah. There was someone.”  

Caitlyn tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Who?”  

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared out over the Undercity. “Back when Vander was still running things, there was this kid who’d come around sometimes. Silco’s kid.”  

Caitlyn blinked. “Silco had a child?”  

Vi nodded, her gaze distant. “Yeah. He didn’t bring her around much. Vander always told us to play nice with her, though. Said she wasn’t like her old man. And he was right. She was a good kid. Quiet, but tough in her own way. Ekko and I used to call her ‘little spark’ because she’d light up whenever she got into trouble with us.”  

“What happened to her?” Caitlyn asked softly.  

Vi’s jaw tightened, and her voice dropped. “The bridge. You know the story—when everything went to hell, and we lost everything. I always thought she was one of the ones who didn’t make it.”  

Caitlyn frowned, her hand brushing her coat pocket again. “She must’ve been important to you.”  

Vi glanced at her, a sly grin creeping back onto her face. “What’s with all the questions, Cait? You getting attached to someone?”  

Caitlyn straightened, her cheeks heating slightly. “That’s not—”  

Vi chuckled, cutting her off. “Relax, Cupcake. I’m just messing with you. But the way you’re talking, you’ve got a soft spot for whoever this is.”  

Caitlyn huffed, crossing her arms. “I do not.”  

“Sure,” Vi teased, her grin widening. “Now, are you gonna tell me what this is all about, or do I have to guess?”  

Reluctantly, Caitlyn pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Vi. “This is who I’m talking about.”  

Vi unfolded the paper and stared at the mugshot. Her smirk dropped instantly, replaced by a rare look of genuine shock.  

“What?” Caitlyn asked, alarmed by her reaction. “What is it?”  

Vi’s fingers tightened on the photo as she stared at it, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s her.”  

Caitlyn blinked, confused. “Her?”  

Vi looked up, her eyes meeting Caitlyn’s with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “That’s Silco’s kid. The one I told you about.”  

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s impossible.”  

“It’s not,” Vi said firmly, her voice steadier now. “I’d recognize her anywhere. She’s older, sure, but it’s her.”  

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the weight of the revelation settling over her like a storm cloud. “If she’s Silco’s child… then she’s in more danger than I thought.”  

Vi nodded grimly, folding the paper carefully before handing it back. “You have no idea, Cait. If Jinx is involved, this isn’t just danger—it’s a ticking time bomb.”  

The two women sat in tense silence, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing down on both of them. 

You remained seated on the ledge(finally untied and freed), your legs dangling over the edge, gazing out at the endless sprawl of the Undercity. The cool air carried the muffled hum of life below, its chaotic rhythm strangely soothing. Jinx's words echoed in your mind, tangled with your own doubts and fears.  

"You're different. You've got a fire they can't put out."  

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the edge of the ledge. A small part of you hated how much her words resonated. The Undercity, with all its grime and disorder, felt more genuine than anything you’d ever experienced in Piltover. It felt... like home.  

But why?  

Shaking the thought off, you stood, brushing your hands on your pants. The colored neon signs beckoned below, their strange symbols and shapes leading a breadcrumb trail toward what could only be Jinx’s lair. You followed them, the glowing lights guiding your every step through winding passages and corridors that grew stranger the deeper you ventured.  

When you reached the entrance, the sound of laughter and faint music greeted you. The room was an explosion of color and chaos, a living reflection of its owner. But before you could take it all in, something small and solid slammed into your side, nearly knocking you over.  

“Whoa there, kid,” you said, steadying yourself with a smirk.  

The small figure in front of you was a girl, no older than seven or eight. Her oversized helmet tilted awkwardly over her face, obscuring her features. She straightened it, looking up at you with curious eyes. You chuckled, gently pushing the helmet down so it covered her face again.  

“That’s a safety hazard, squirt,” you teased.  

The girl let out a muffled huff, adjusting the helmet again before darting behind your legs as if hiding. You turned, bewildered, just in time to see Jinx leaning casually against a wall, watching the exchange with an amused grin.  

“That’s Isha,” Jinx said, pushing off the wall and sauntering closer. “She doesn’t talk much, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a little firecracker.”  

You crouched down, leveling your gaze with the girl’s. “Isha, huh? You trying to knock me out or what?”  

Isha peeked out from behind her helmet, her big eyes locking with yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, without warning, she launched herself forward, wrapping her small arms tightly around your neck.  

You froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before finally settling around her in return. The hug was fierce, filled with an intensity you hadn’t expected from someone so small.  

Jinx stood off to the side, her grin faltering into something softer, something almost vulnerable. She tilted her head, studying the moment.  

“Would you look at that,” Jinx muttered under her breath, her voice quieter than usual. “You’ve got that thing... that spark. The kind that makes people believe in something better, even when the world’s a mess.”  

She leaned against a beam, her purple eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in thought. “I always thought people like you didn’t exist. Or if they did, they’d never make it down here. Guess I was wrong.”  

Isha pulled back slightly, her tiny hands gripping your shirt as she looked up at you with a small smile. You returned it hesitantly, unsure what to do with the sudden warmth spreading through your chest.  

Jinx crossed her arms, a flicker of something complicated crossing her face. “You’re a piece of work. You make people feel things they don’t even know they’re missing.”  

You glanced at her, confused by her tone, but before you could say anything, she clapped her hands, her grin returning in full force.  

“Alright, reunion time’s over!” Jinx said, gesturing grandly toward the chaotic space. “Welcome to the fun house. Let’s see if you can keep up.”  

But even as she walked away, her eyes lingered on you and Isha for just a second longer, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a secret.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

Vi and Caitlyn moved quietly through the shadows of the Undercity, the flickering neon lights casting distorted shapes along the walls. The tension between them was palpable, Caitlyn walking briskly with purpose, while Vi lagged slightly behind, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Alright, Vi,” Caitlyn snapped, stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “Enough of this. Why are you so anxious about this? It’s obvious you know something you’re not telling me. Just spill it already.”

Vi ran a hand through her short hair, letting out a sharp breath. “It’s not that simple, Cupcake.”

“Don’t ‘Cupcake’ me,” Caitlyn shot back, frustration bubbling over. “You practically froze when you saw that picture. And now, every time her name comes up, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it about her? What aren’t you telling me?”

Vi hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides. She leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, her eyes scanning the dark alley as if trying to find the right words in the chaos around them.

“She’s Silco’s kid, Caitlyn,” Vi finally admitted, her voice low and uneven. “And that’s bad enough, yeah? But it’s worse than that. There’s… there’s something about her—something Silco did to her—since she was just a baby.”

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did he do to her?”

Vi looked away, unable to meet Caitlyn’s eyes. Her voice dropped further, tinged with both anger and sadness. “He gave her Shimmer. Since she was an infant.”

Caitlyn’s mouth opened slightly in disbelief, her mind racing. “Shimmer? That toxin? The stuff that drives people mad? He gave it to his own child?”

Vi nodded grimly. “He called her Spark for a reason. It wasn’t just ‘cause of how she lit up a room with her energy. It was because when she got mad, Cait, there was this… this purple flash in her eyes. It wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t just her eyes—she got strong. Way stronger than any kid her age should’ve been.”

Caitlyn’s hand instinctively moved to her chest, gripping the fabric of her coat as the weight of Vi’s words settled over her. “That’s… inhuman,” she whispered.

“You’re telling me,” Vi said bitterly. “Back when we were all still running around with Vander, she’d hang with us sometimes. Vander told me and Ekko to play nice with her—said she didn’t have a lot of friends.”

Vi let out a shaky breath, her voice cracking slightly. “One time, some goons jumped us. Usual Undercity crap, right? We could’ve handled it, but one of ‘em hit Powder. She lost it. I mean… lost it. It was like a switch flipped. She went from this scrappy, loudmouthed kid to…” Vi paused, swallowing hard. “…something else. She tore into that guy like a rabid animal. Took five of us to pull her off him.”

Caitlyn stared at Vi, the story painting a picture she could hardly comprehend. “How old was she?”

“Maybe eight,” Vi muttered, her eyes distant. “Nine at most.”

Caitlyn couldn’t hide the horror on her face. “And no one did anything? No one tried to help her?”

“Silco didn’t think she needed help,” Vi said bitterly. “He thought it made her special. He was always talkin’ about how she’d be the future of the Undercity. Said she was born to be more than the rest of us.”

Caitlyn stepped closer, her voice firm. “Vi, we need to find her. If she’s still being exposed to Shimmer—or worse, if she gets ahold of it again—she could become…”

“Someone no one can stop,” Vi finished for her, her voice heavy with guilt. She rubbed the back of her neck, avoiding Caitlyn’s eyes. “Look, Cait, I don’t know if she’s beyond saving or not. But if anyone can find her before it’s too late, it’s you.”

Caitlyn’s gaze softened slightly, seeing the weight of the past etched into Vi’s face. “We’ll find her,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll find her. And if there’s even a chance of pulling her back from whatever Silco did to her, I’ll take it.”

Vi gave her a weak smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Careful, Cupcake. You’re starting to sound like a hero.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk on her lips as the two of them continued walking deeper into the Undercity shadows.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged in the center of the pillow fort, its patchwork design of fraying fabric and mismatched cushions somehow providing a sense of calm. Isha sat close by, fiddling with another scrap of metal. She handed you a device—a small, intricate thing that looked like a broken clock mixed with some kind of makeshift toy. You turned it over in your hands, your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of it.

“How does this thing even…” you muttered, shaking it slightly.

Isha tapped your arm and held out her hand. You passed it to her, and she pressed a hidden switch with an exaggerated motion, her small fingers moving with practiced ease. The device clicked open, and she handed it back to you, her expression triumphant.

“Ah,” you said, smirking as you caught on. “Got it now. Thanks, kid.”

Isha nodded, pleased, as you reached for a small set of tools and peered into the inner workings of the device. As you worked, focused on aligning the tiny gears, Jinx stood nearby, leaning against a support beam of the fort. Her purple eyes flickered between you and Isha, her fingers twitching idly at her sides.

For a moment, her gaze softened, as though something about the way you interacted with Isha stirred a memory buried deep within her. A fleeting image of another life—of being that child watching someone patient and kind—flashed in her mind. But the memory was jagged, incomplete, and the voices began to stir.

“She’s like them. She’ll leave you, too.”

“Don’t let her in. You know what happens.”

“Softness gets you killed.”

Her hands clenched into fists as her breathing grew uneven. The taunting chorus in her mind grew louder, mocking her, reminding her of every loss, every betrayal, and every vulnerability she had ever exposed.

Then, one voice—a quieter, unfamiliar one—whispered. “Or maybe… maybe she’s different?”

“No!” Jinx’s outburst was sharp and sudden, her hand slamming against the wall of the fort. Both you and Isha flinched, startled. Isha quickly raised her hands, signing something to you, her movements calm despite the tension.

You glanced at her, brow furrowing. “She says it’s no big deal,” you murmured, translating Isha’s message. But something in you didn’t sit right. You set the device down carefully, rising to your feet.

Jinx’s eyes flickered to you as you approached. Her breathing was uneven, her jaw tight as if bracing herself for whatever she thought you were going to do. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped close, reached out, and placed your hand gently on her shoulder.

The contact was electric—not in the physical sense, but in the way it seemed to pull her back from the chaotic spiral in her mind. The voices stuttered, silenced as if they’d been struck mute. She stared at your hand, then at your face, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

“Are you good?” you asked softly, your voice steady.

She blinked, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came. She didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the storm in her mind had quieted.

“The voices…” she said softly, her words almost childlike. Her gaze locked onto yours, searching. “They stopped.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just left your hand where it was, steady, grounding.

Jinx let out a short laugh, the sound almost bitter as she pulled away. “What are you, a miracle worker now?” she teased, her tone trying to recover its usual sharpness, but it lacked the bite. She crossed her arms, glancing away as though embarrassed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a moment, there was a quiet tension between you—an unspoken understanding that neither of you fully grasped but could feel nonetheless.

She finally glanced back at you, her expression softening. “Thanks,” she muttered, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “For, uh… whatever you did.”

You raised a brow, leaning slightly against the beam. “Don’t mention it.”

But even as she turned back toward Isha with her usual swagger, there was a different air about her. And in the quiet moments that followed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something in her had shifted—just as something in you had, too.

The tense air of Jinx’s lair was broken by the heavy footfalls of Sevika as she strode in, her expression lined with irritation and determination. She stopped a few paces from where Jinx stood, her arms crossed, her purple eyes locked on a distant point in the room. You sat with Isha, fidgeting with the scrap she had handed you earlier, trying to piece it together while she motioned instructions. Both of you froze when Sevika spoke.

“We need to talk,” she said bluntly, her gravelly voice cutting through the silence.

Jinx glanced at her, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “About what? Your new hobby?”

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “The rally. You need to be there. They need to see you.”

Jinx snorted, spinning a small, makeshift grenade in her hand. “Need? They don’t need anything. They just want a show.”

“It’s not about a show, Jinx. It’s about showing strength. If you want people to follow you, they need to see you, not some memory of who you used to be.”

Jinx laughed sharply, shaking her head. “They’ll get over it. They always do.”

From your spot, you glanced at Isha, who gave you a meaningful nod toward the door. Her small hands signed: We should go.

You hesitated, glancing between the two women. Jinx’s smirk was faltering, her fingers twitching as she tossed the grenade between her hands. You nodded at Isha, but as Sevika’s frustration grew and Jinx’s refusal hardened, you couldn’t help but linger, watching the scene unfold.

Sevika’s patience finally broke. “Fine,” she snapped, throwing up her hands. “Stay here. Hide in your fort. But don’t expect anyone to keep waiting forever.” With that, she turned and stormed out.

Jinx stared after her, her smirk fading entirely. She muttered something under her breath, then stalked off into the shadows of the lair, leaving you and Isha alone.

─ ⊹ ☆ ⊹ ─

The streets were alive with energy as you walked through the dense crowd, Isha’s small hand clasped tightly in yours. Voices rose in unison, fists pumping into the air as chants echoed off the crumbling walls of the Undercity. The sea of people pressed around you, a strange mix of defiance and desperation in their faces. You couldn’t help but feel out of place and yet… oddly drawn in.

At the center of the chaos, Sevika stood atop a makeshift platform, her mechanical arm gleaming under the dim light as she addressed the crowd with a booming voice.

“They take everything from us!” she roared. “Our homes, our families, our freedom—and they think we’ll just bow down and take it! But we’re stronger than they’ll ever know. We’re the beating heart of this city, and we will not be silenced!”

Her words sent a ripple through the crowd, igniting a fire in their eyes. You stood still, feeling a strange stirring in your chest. Her speech felt like a challenge, a call to action. Around you, people murmured and chanted, their voices swelling with Sevika’s words.

“Where’s Jinx?” someone shouted from the crowd, and the question was quickly echoed.

Your brow furrowed as you looked around, confused. The crowd seemed to be searching, yearning for her. Why are they all so obsessed with her?

Suddenly, Isha tugged her hand free from yours and darted toward the base of the massive, weathered statue that towered over the square.

“Isha!” you called out, pushing through the crowd after her. You caught sight of her climbing up the crumbling base of the statue, her small figure illuminated by the glow of the flare she held high above her head.

The flare’s blue light cut through the darkened sky, a beacon that silenced the crowd for a breathless moment. You felt something deep inside you shift, something raw and instinctive. Slowly, you raised your fist to the sky, the gesture unthinking yet powerful.

The crowd seemed to freeze, their eyes on you, and then one by one, fists rose alongside yours. The chants grew louder, the unity in the air palpable.

Sevika’s eyes snapped to you from her platform, her expression hard to read. For a moment, she looked almost… impressed. She raised her own fist, and the crowd erupted into a deafening roar.

But the unity was short-lived. The roar of engines and the heavy march of enforcers filled the air as they stormed into the square. The crowd erupted into chaos, some scattering in fear, others standing their ground to fight. You were caught in the middle, trying to keep sight of Isha as the chaos unfolded around you.

You spotted her just as a massive enforcer grabbed her, flinging her small body into the stone fountain with a sickening thud. Your breath hitched as you saw her crumple to the ground, unmoving.

A spark ignited in your chest, and for a moment, the world blurred. Your vision tinged with purple, and before you knew it, you were charging toward the enforcer, your movements unnaturally fast.

The enforcer barely had time to react before you were on him, striking with a strength and speed that caught even you by surprise. Blow after blow landed, each one fueled by a fury you couldn’t contain.

A sharp pain exploded in your side as you were suddenly knocked off balance. You hit the ground hard, gasping for breath as you looked up to see Sevika standing over you, her mechanical arm sparking from the spear that had pierced through it. She grimaced but grabbed you by the arm, dragging you away even as you fought against her grip.

“They’ve got Isha!” you screamed, your voice raw with desperation.

“We’ll get her back,” Sevika growled, slamming you into the wall of a nearby alley. Her eyes were fierce, her grip unrelenting. “But we need Jinx. She’s the only one who can get her out of wherever they’re taking her.”

You froze, your breath heaving as her words sank in. Sevika’s gaze softened slightly, but her tone remained firm.

“Get it together,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this. You want to save her? Then we need Jinx. Now.”

She released you, and for a moment, you stood there trembling, anger and fear coursing through you. But as the chaos raged on, you nodded, steeling yourself for what was to come.

--------------

Chap 3 getting edited rn :) Thanks for reading! Isha is alive here I DONT CARE

[tiddygame]

ghost’s civilian wardrobe is nothing but hawaiian shirts. soap is in utter disbelief the first time he sees it. ghost says they’re good bc:

it’s so fucking ugly, no one can stand to look at it for too long so he doesn’t draw attention

No one thinks the ghost would wear something so bright and stupid meaning he’s completely under cover every time he’s on leave

they’re cheap and an easy thrift

but he just really fucking likes how goddamn ugly they are

…

at least, that’s what he tells soap. and himself. in reality, they were always tommy’s thing. he always wore them to the point everyone knew that the safest gift to get him was the ugliest patterned shirts they could find. in every family photo, tommy was the easiest to spot with the brightest eye sore worn proudly with a smile.

after that cold night in december, all of their stuff was either donated or thrown away.

one day, ghost was thrift shopping (because even though now he had more money, habits from being raised in a poor home die hard) and saw one of them. he froze. at first, he thought it was just one that looked similar. but when he inspected it, it even had that old tear tommy had gotten simon to fix and sew up for him.

he grabbed it in a daze. he searched every rack in that store and found a few more hawaiian shirts. if they were tommy’s or not didn’t matter. he bought them. for days, he hunted through every thrift store in town buying every stupid patterned shirt he saw.

knowing that the few shirts he collected was the only thing he had left of his baby brother finally broke him. he probably looked insane, sitting in his old beat up pickup truck, surrounded by shopping bags from different stores, crying into a yellow and orange button up with flowers on it, and one sewn up tear on the sleeve. but it was tommy’s. and it was all he had.

at first, they were hidden away in a box. he lied to himself that it was because he wanted to keep them safe, but in reality, he couldn’t look at them without either wanting to cry or punch holes in the wall.

but, one christmas, he finally pulls his head out of his ass and grabs them. visits the cemetery in a stupid yellow and orange monstrosity of a shirt and complains that tommy couldn’t have had a better fashion sense.

he wears another when he has to go grocery shopping. and again when he runs errands. and again. and again. and again.

the first time one of them got something on it, he almost cried and pulled every trick his mother taught him about removing stains. the shadow of it persisted but the pattern covered most of it.

eventually, they became a staple of his wardrobe.

years later, soap watched ghosts careful routine he had for washing the shirts. they were always washed separately on delicate and air dried with routine inspections for any holes or tears. it would click later, when finding an old family photo, one with a young boy on simon’s shoulders and another man next to him in a familiar yellow and orange shirt, that perhaps simon hadn’t been entirely truthful when he said he just liked them.

simon was scared the first time soap did his laundry, but johnny always washed them with the same level of care, following the exact same routine. he still made fun of him (lovingly, of course), saying that crimes against fashion must run in the family.

…

and further down the line, years later, they will be old and graying with wrinkles, wearing matching hawaiian shirts. johnny will complain about how ugly they are yet will still wear it happily (and tune out simon reminding him that it was johnnys idea to start matching)

[amirasainz]

Hi! I love your work and have a request that I hope you could do whenever your free. Would you be able to write one where charles has a little sister and it's the monaco grand prix and the photographers won't leave her alone and starts getting anxious but charles and alex are there to help her get through it. I honestly like to read your work whenever I have free time to. Thank you if you are able to write this. ❤️❤️

Stop. This is so adorable. Thank you so much for your request, and I hope you like it!

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!

-xoxo

Under the Spotlight

The Monaco Grand Prix was always a monumental event, not just for Charles but for the entire Leclerc family. Racing in his home city, surrounded by the streets he grew up on, filled him with a sense of pride. But this year, things were a little different for his younger sister, Y/N.

At just 17 years old, Y/N was still trying to navigate her own life, balancing school, friends, and living in the shadow of her older brother’s fame. Charles had always been protective of her, knowing how overwhelming the spotlight could be. But with exams and school commitments, she hadn't spent much time in the F1 world lately. Today, however, she was determined to make it to the Monaco paddock right after school, even though she knew the chaos waiting for her.

---

It was the Thursday of the Grand Prix weekend, and Y/N had rushed out of school the moment the bell rang. She hurried through the streets of Monte Carlo, still dressed in her school uniform, and headed straight for the paddock. Charles had offered to send a car to pick her up, but Y/N insisted on walking—feeling a sense of independence. She wanted to surprise him.

As she arrived at the paddock entrance, her bag slung over one shoulder, she could already feel eyes on her. The photographers, always on the lookout for family members of the drivers, instantly recognized her. They crowded around her, snapping photos and shouting questions.

“Y/N! Over here, just a smile!”

“Y/N, are you here to support your brother today?”

"How does it feel being Charles' little sister at his home Grand Prix?"

The cameras were relentless, flashes going off in every direction, and the sea of voices became overwhelming. Her breath hitched, her palms sweaty as her heart raced faster than one of Charles’ qualifying laps. She tried to navigate through them, but there were too many, and she could barely see where she was going.

“Excuse me, please,” Y/N mumbled quietly, her voice drowned out by the clamor. She hugged her bag closer to her chest, feeling more and more trapped. The walls of people pressed in, the loud noises blurring together into one giant roar in her ears.

Suddenly, her chest tightened, and she felt the familiar pang of panic setting in. Her breathing grew shallow, each breath shorter than the last.

Just then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar figure.

---

Charles was inside the Ferrari garage, chatting with his engineers when his girlfriend, Alexandra, nudged him, her eyes narrowing in concern.

“Charles, isn’t that Y/N?” she asked, pointing towards the entrance.

Charles turned, his heart sinking the moment he saw his little sister surrounded by the mob of photographers. She looked small, vulnerable, and worst of all, he could see the telltale signs of her anxiety setting in.

“Shit,” Charles muttered under his breath before springing into action. “Come on, let’s go,” he said to Alexandra, his protective instincts kicking in.

Together, they made their way quickly through the paddock, pushing past people who were trying to get their attention. The moment Y/N saw Charles and Alexandra approaching, relief washed over her, but the anxiety still clung to her like a heavy weight.

---

“Hey, hey, Y/N!” Charles called out as he reached her, immediately placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. His voice was gentle, but firm. “You’re alright, I’m here.”

Alexandra quickly moved to Y/N’s other side, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Breathe, Y/N. Just breathe. We’ve got you.”

Y/N nodded, trying to steady her breath, but the flashes continued, and the crowd wasn’t giving up.

“Alright, enough!” Charles raised his voice, turning to the photographers with a scowl. “Give her some space. Back off, now!”

Some of them hesitated, but a few persistent ones kept snapping photos until Alexandra stepped in.

“She’s seventeen, and she just came from school. Show some respect,” Alexandra’s voice was sharp, but calm. There was an authority in her tone that even Charles admired. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, realizing they weren’t going to get more photos out of this situation.

With the worst of the photographers gone, Charles quickly led Y/N away from the commotion, guiding her towards a quiet corner of the Ferrari hospitality area.

---

Once they were away from the noise, Charles crouched down in front of Y/N, who had slumped into a chair, still trying to catch her breath.

“Chérie, look at me,” Charles said softly, tilting her chin up so their eyes met. “Deep breaths, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like we practiced, remember?”

Y/N nodded shakily, following his lead as he demonstrated a few slow, deep breaths.

“In... and out,” he coached gently.

Beside them, Alexandra crouched down too, rubbing Y/N’s back in slow circles. “You’re doing great, jolie fille. Just focus on your breathing. Everything else can wait.”

After a few minutes, Y/N’s breathing began to slow, and the tightness in her chest started to ease. She looked up at Charles and Alexandra, her eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just... I didn’t expect it to be so much. I thought I could handle it.”

Charles smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to handle everything on your own. That’s what I’m here for.”

“You did great coming straight after school,” Alexandra added, her tone soft. “But next time, let us know when you’re on your way. We’ll meet you at the entrance so you don’t have to go through that again.”

Y/N nodded, feeling more grounded with them by her side. “I just wanted to surprise you,” she admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Charles chuckled, sitting down next to her. “Well, you definitely surprised me. But no more surprises when it comes to dealing with that crowd, alright? They can be... intense.”

“You’re telling me,” Y/N said with a nervous laugh, though the tension had finally started to ease.

Alexandra smiled, squeezing Y/N’s hand. “You know, you can always text me, too. I’ll come running.”

Y/N grinned, her eyes softening. “Thanks, Alex. You guys are the best.”

“Of course,” Charles said, his protective tone still lingering. He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “And if anyone bothers you again, you let me know. I’ll deal with them.”

Alexandra playfully nudged Charles. “Alright, Mr. Overprotective, calm down. She’s safe now.”

Y/N laughed for real this time, the anxiety of earlier fading into the background. It was moments like this that reminded her how lucky she was to have both of them—Charles, with his fierce protectiveness, and Alexandra, with her calm, caring presence.

Charles stood up, offering his hand to Y/N. “Come on, how about we go somewhere quieter? Maybe grab something to eat?”

Y/N took his hand, standing up and feeling much lighter. “That sounds perfect.”

Alexandra looped her arm through Y/N’s free one. “Let’s go. No photographers this time, I promise.”

As they walked together through the paddock, Y/N couldn’t help but feel grateful. The world of Formula 1 might be overwhelming, but with Charles and Alexandra by her side, she knew she could face anything—even the photographers.