#and from what it sounds like they might still be together

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 4 | masterlist

-

There’s nothing else to do but pretend it didn’t happen. 

In the morning, you’re surprised to wake up and find him in the bed next to you, still covered in old sweat and dried cum. You suppose even in your sleep you’d unconsciously expected him to avoid the incident altogether—wake up extra early to shower while leaving you alone in the bed, giving you a modicum of privacy to digest the situation and its repercussions on your own.

He does no such thing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John rumbles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Feeling alright?”

Dangling precariously over the edge of oblivion. Some kind of abyss. The kind that says you might not like what’s down here, girlie, but still you sit by the edge and kick your feet. 

“Yeah,” you croak, and Lord, your voice is hoarse. Scratchy and rough, like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. 

“Good.” He lets his hand rest on the curve of your cheek for a second before pulling it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll shower after.”

The bed groans under his weight when he sits up, throwing his legs over the side before rising to his feet. You quickly avert your eyes at the sight of his naked backside, hairy there as well. A bear all over. Even his yawn reminds you of one. And the way that he stretches his arms overhead and every bone in his upper body cricks and cracks, the sounds of age manifold. 

You scrub yourself with shaky hands in the shower, gnawing at your bottom lip when you spread your puffy folds to find his cum still slightly tacky inside of you. Very bad. Scooping as much out as you can with your fingers, watching it run down the drain. Very bad indeed. 

John has breakfast on the table when you come downstairs and it seems, somehow, uncouth to just tell him you want to go home. So instead you force yourself to sit and eat, glad that he at least agrees that it isn’t the time for conversation. 

At the door, he sees you off with a hug, watching you from the door until you reverse out of his driveway and drive off, waving as you leave. 

“This is really bad,” you whisper to yourself on the drive home. “Really, really bad.”

Despite the morning after, the night you spent together is never explicitly spoken about. It’s not a ‘thing’ you discuss by any means. No sit down conversation, no awkward allusions to it, no talking around and around the events until the exchange becomes unbearable. It simply blips out of existence as soon as you change into your old clothes and John walks you to the door, seeing you out. 

You still show up the next day, as usual. Nothing’s changed except everything, but it feels taboo to even mention that things feel different. 

The world hasn’t radically changed since you accidentally slept with John, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. In the few delicate hours after leaving his house, you were sure he’d call at any moment to tell you that your services would no longer be required—that he’d send your last check in the mail before parting ways. So sure of that, in fact, that you’d put your phone on silent for hours before mustering up the courage to check your missed calls later that evening.

Only a few texts from friends. No missed calls from your employer. 

He doesn’t fire you. He certainly doesn’t treat you any differently the next time you come to babysit. You still get paid every week—though, admittedly, the money makes you feel a little weird now after sleeping with him, but it’s not like you can just turn your nose up at making rent—and everything else in your life stays exactly the same. If you weren’t now acutely aware of the feeling of your boss coming inside you, you might even think you dreamt it up. 

Still, despite John never bringing it up or even alluding to sleeping with you, there’s still a sense that he—

The soft, affectionate thanks, hun that he gives you when you bring him a glass of water on the rare day he comes home early to work out in the garage makes you shiver. 

His need to touch increases tenfold, matched only by his proprietariness. He must feel like after what you did together, it’s nothing for him to squeeze your thighs when he tells you that you did a good job with the baby or hug you extra tight when you’re about to leave. 

If you’re extra shy around him, he doesn’t remark on it. 

You’re levelheaded enough to know that he shouldn’t be so touchy with his younger female employee—his babysitter no less—especially after what happened, but it’s not as though he treats you like sleeping with you is a given. When a week goes by and nothing happens, you almost relax. Almost. Enough to let your guard down. 

But—

You can’t stop thinking about it though. It runs through your head every hour of every day, made worse by the fact that you see him six days a week, Sundays excluded. Sundays being your one day off, which you no longer look forward to but rather dread because Sundays mean no baby, no park, and no John Price.

So, you follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t happen. 

You think it’s past you; a terrible mistake that’ll never happen again until it happens again. 

Eight o’clock at night and the blue light from the television has begun to strain your eyes. Baby sleeping upstairs—you put him down a few hours earlier without much of a peep; had to check on him a few times, but otherwise the baby monitor sitting on the end table hasn’t so much as crackled, leaving you no choice but to doze off on the couch. 

When the door opens, it startles you awake. 

“Mr. Price?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and clearing your throat.

John’s there when you twist around to peek over the back of the couch, filling out the door frame. Dishevelled after a long day’s work, his beard even more grown out than when he left earlier in the morning. A bit rougher around the edges, the day leaving its mark in the slight dark circles under his eyes and the set of his jaw, which only relaxes when he lays eyes on you. 

“Just me, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, I…the baby’s been asleep for awhile, so I just thought I’d—”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I know you’ve got it under control.”

“Let me just get my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair—”

He cuts you off with a wave, toeing his boots off at the same time. “No, no, no—you stay there and finish your movie. I’m gonna grab a drink and join you.”

There’s not much more you can say to that. Instead, you watch him take his bag upstairs to put away in the bedroom before you hear the sink turn on. Running water. 

You carefully avoid looking at him when John comes back downstairs, the creaking steps signalling his descent. He heads to the kitchen without stopping by the living room first. The light switches on with a click. The fridge door opens and bottles clinking together when he roots around for something to drink. 

And then you hear him make his way back to the living room. 

The unspoken pact to not bring up what happened the last time you spent any alone time together imbues you with a false sense of security. Part of you expects him to take the single recliner next to the couch, if only to put some distance between the two of you. 

Except when he comes back into the living room, he plops right down in the middle of the couch like always, close enough to you that you’re forced to scoot away, pressed up against the arm of the sofa. You shiver when he cracks open his beer and takes a swig, resting his arm on the back of the couch with the can held in a loose grip. 

“What’re we watching?” he asks, blatantly adjusting himself to get more comfortable on the couch. Even soft, the outline of his cock is visible through his trousers. 

You stare over at him nervously, unblinking. 

“Sweetheart?” John prompts when you don’t answer. 

“Oh, um…” You clear your throat again. “It’s just a Hallmark movie.”

“Cute. Well, we can keep it on. No sense changing it now.”

It’s tense for a little while. You keep your hands folded in your lap like a good girl and your eyes on the television. So you can’t stop inhaling the heady scent of tobacco and vanilla. So you can’t stop blinking your eyes, each blink heavier than the last until they spend more time shut than open. So you yawn and burrow deeper into the cushions, your head tipping back and nearly jarring you awake when you lean too far and topple over the side. 

When you lean the other way and start to doze off on his shoulder, he pulls you onto his lap. You squirm, initially resistant, but he shushes you before you can put up a fuss. 

“Just don’t want you to drool on my shirt,” he teases in a low murmur, smoothing a hand down your side and then it’s lights out for you. 

You wake to a blunt intrusion at your entrance. Half-awake and squirming, you vaguely feel him rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, teasing himself. The second you squirm just a little too much, he uses that little bit of movement to push the tip in. It pops in without much resistance; then the slow, methodical press inward, your walls squeezing around the thick length thrusting up into you. 

“Wha—” you whimper, keening when a big hand glides up your chest to squeeze a tit, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“S’alright, baby, it’s just me,” John murmurs, his voice right in your ear. 

You come to gradually and then all at once, aware of your back pressed to his clothed chest and your legs spread around his, your ankles hooked around his calves. Skirt rolled up and panties pushed to the side, one of his arms locked around your waist like a seatbelt to hold you in place. 

“John, I’m—we c-can’t do it again—”

“Sorry, honey,” he apologises into your neck, kissing the area he just spoke into. “Had to be inside you again. S’all I’ve been able to think about since you came on my cock the other night. Promise it’ll be easier this time, okay, baby?”

He guides you down his length until he bottoms out, slick lips kissing the base of his dick. The pressure is overwhelming; in your belly, in your throat, in your head. Heart beating a million miles a minute. Walls throbbing around his length, thicker and heavier than you remembered. 

All you can think of now is the last time he had you like this, legs spread for him and pussy dripping wet. Taking his cock all sleepy and sweaty under his giant comforter, whimpering into his neck. 

It’s not as frantic this time, no rush to the finish line. He seems to like just burying his cock in you while he plays with your breasts, pinching and plucking your nipples until they’re pebbled and sore. His hands aren’t particularly soft either, callused from years of hard labour. When you whine and try to push his hands away, he shushes you again, not paying your protests any mind. 

“Fuck, these are pretty,” John praises, staring down at your tits from over your shoulder. “No, baby, jus’ watch your show. M’gonna use your pussy for a bit, okay?”

It’s just that it’s—

When he lets go of your breast to play with your clit instead, you melt, any resistance going up in flames. The heat fans over your cheeks, your eyelids too heavy to lift, vision blurring even when you try to focus. 

He helps you grind your hips down on him, big hands like manacles on your waist. Little undulations of your hips. Short, shallow thrusts that keep you both right on the edge, drenching his lap with your juices. When he gets bored of playing with your clit, he switches back to your breasts, pawing at them and then bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth. 

Any time you get distracted by what he’s doing, he stops, holding you down on his cock and coaxing you to focus on the television in front of you instead. 

When he jiggles your clit, you seize up, heart hammering in your throat. 

“Good girl, c’mon—jus’ like that.” John presses a hot kiss to your temple, arm tightening around your front to keep you close. Sweet talks you through your orgasm, all vaguely paternalistic and patronising in the best and worst way.  

He makes you lean forward so he can bounce you on his dick after, your hands braced on his knees to keep yourself upright. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah—”

“Almost there, honey, jus’���fuck, perfect, yeah, tighten up like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He comes with a strangled moan, still cognizant enough to keep the volume down even if you can’t. Shuttles you down onto his cock a few more times until you’re filled to the brim with cum. 

In the aftermath, he sits you back against his sweat-matted chest and pushes his cum back into your sore cunt with his fingers when it dribbles out. Ignores your wounded little sounds like they’re just background noise. He even makes you suck his fingers to clean them up, the digits coated in your combined juices. 

“Best fuckin’ girl,” John growls, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. Your fingers twitch feebly in your lap. 

Pretending like it didn’t happen after the second time around doesn’t seem wise, but still you don’t know how to broach the subject. 

Especially since you know it’s going to happen again. 

John doesn’t say it outright, but his actions speak for themselves. An arm looped around your waist casually in line for coffee. Paying for the two of you in any situation, you having your own source of income be damned. 

“It’s my money anyway, sweetheart,” he says when you point that out. “Might as well just pay now.”

And doesn’t that just send you into a tizzy, head spinning and mouth agape. Embarrassingly so. 

Not to mention you still have this strange, sycophantic need to please him, even after everything. The complicated nature of your relationship aside, it still makes your heart flutter to hear him praise you for anything. 

That’s how you end up in his bed on a Saturday afternoon, taking a nap with him after a long day out in the sun. Two hours spent at the botanical gardens, the sun beating down on your head, lathering sunscreen on the baby’s sensitive little arms and legs, and swiping it over his cheeks. John sporting a mild sunburn near the collar of his shirt where he forgot to apply sunscreen and when you have the audacity to giggle, he pulls your baseball hat down over your eyes. 

It’s almost too easy for him to coax you into his bed, even though you’re adamant about keeping it clean. A hand firm on your back up the stairs. Already yawning when you put the baby down for a nap, so why not take one too? Ushering you into the bedroom when you say you can take the couch, but why, he presses, take the couch when you’ve already shared the bed before?

Well, because the last time—

He draws the blinds shut and climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest. 

You wake up to John plastered against your back, bare cock nudging against your cunt while he snores into your neck. You don’t remember him curling up next to you without any clothes on, but he must have taken off his pants in his sleep, now somewhere rumpled at the end of the bed. 

When you try to quietly pull away, his arms just tighten around you more, grumbling in his sleep. The sound makes you freeze, going quiet as a mouse. A few more minutes go by before you feel confident enough to try moving again, carefully trying to slide out from his hold. 

You wiggle a hand out, reaching for the other end of the bed.

The hand resting on your belly dips low, shoved between your legs and feeling you up before you can do more than gasp. The man behind you gives a short exhale, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, rising out of it like a wave now that he feels something wet under his hand.

“Oh, honey…why didn’t you tell me you needed my cock again? You’re leaking right through your panties,” John rasps, dragging your underwear down to mid-thigh. 

A big bear hand clamps over your mouth before you have a chance to protest. There’s nothing you can do to keep his knee from spreading your legs and feeding his cock into your drenched centre with his other hand. As soon as he notches the head against your entrance, it’s a smooth glide in. 

“There we go,” he pants into your neck. “Big stretch—ah, yeah, nice ‘n tight. That’s my pretty girl.”

He keeps your legs spread with a hand on the inside of your thigh. All you can do is moan behind his hand, humid breath blowing back around your face as you pant. So hot for it that you’re almost nauseous. 

You’re a bit too tight for him to fit his cock in you, so he has to work to stretch you out, bullying another inch into you with every thrust. The angle makes it tricky though; means he can’t get more than half of his cock into you. It’s hardly comfortable for you either, your leg already cramping. 

“My leg’s got a cramp,” you whine, unsure of what you want to happen. All you know is that you can’t keep this up. 

He readjusts his grip, but that just makes you hiss, wincing when that makes your leg twinge. Suddenly the world spins, the pillows going from comfortably under your head to right in your face, John manoeuvring you onto your tummy and hiking your hips up a few inches. It lets him get even deeper, the angle letting him slide right to the hilt. 

“Oh god, oh god—John, I can’t—”

“Shh—you’re alright, honey. Much better like this,” he breathes, settling on top of you. It takes him a second to get comfortable, nudging right up against a sensitive spot inside of you the whole time, so deep you can almost feel him in your throat. 

He weighs a ton on top of you, rutting between your thighs like he can’t hold himself back, his self-control snapping like brittle glass. Bristly beard chafing your neck when he buries his head to suck on the tender skin there, smothering you under his weight. Thighs trapping you in place, your memory jumping back to that time at the beach, but now there’s nothing between you. Just a thick cock pounding into you and moulding you around its shape.  

His hips slap against your ass with every thrust, the lewdest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Gonna make sure it takes this time,” John grunts. “Wanna take care of my baby so bad? I’ll give you a couple to mind.”

That rattles you right to your core; shakes you to the foundations of who you are. You don’t know what to think, what to say—tongue tied and loose lipped all at once. You’ve let him come inside of you so many times that if it hasn’t taken already, surely it will soon. 

It slips out before you can take it back. “D-daddy, please—” 

That makes him lose his mind. Just a bit. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “Again.”

He wedges his arm under you to curl his hand around your throat, tilting your head out. 

“Daddy—daddy—please, I wanna come—” you pant, repeating the same word until it sounds like nothing, tongue puffy in your mouth. 

His dick slips out at some point and he wrenches himself off you long enough to wrap his hand around himself and slap it against your ass a few times, cum tagging your skin. Your breath catches in your throat, whining when you clench down on nothing. One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s all the way back in, hammering the spot that makes you go cross-eyed and squeak. 

“Make daddy another baby, okay, sweetheart?” It’s not sweet. It’s not doting. It’s growled into your ear like a demand, punctuated by the way his hips snap forward, nearly sending you into the headboard. 

You’re practically an old hat at taking his cum now, squeezing up when you can feel it coming and giving him a nice little treat. He sinks his teeth into the back of your neck when he does, muffling the sound roaring out of him, and it hurts. 

He’s tender with you after though. Lavishes the line of your neck with soft kisses; murmurs sweet nothings into your ear while you cry fat tears onto the pillow. Even twists and turns so you’re no longer on your back but rather splayed across his chest again, urging you up for a deeper kiss with tongue. 

“‘Know you’re tired, sweetie, but this is for your own good,” John murmurs as he wedges a hard thigh between your legs and makes you ride it, grinding your sensitive, throbbing clit down on the muscle. “Can you come, baby? Jus’ like that—that’s good, baby—”

It hurts so good that you don’t even notice when you squirt, the emotions too big for you. It’s like being squeezed too tight, unable to catch your breath or say anything but the same word on a loop. John’s sweet about it though—wipes the sweat from your hairline and upper lip, talking you through it until you slump down on his chest, legs akimbo.   

For a bachelor, you think in a daze, he’d make a good husband.

The days grow colder and the sun sets earlier.

A while ago you thought maybe this babysitting gig would be temporary. That at some point you’d move on—maybe go back to school or apply for a more standard nine-to-five job. That’s how the trajectory of your life was supposed to go, you think. 

But the timing never seems right. Maybe you’ve grown too attached to the baby or maybe the pay is just too good to give up or maybe you’ve just become habituated to someone getting you off at least every other day. Still, it feels a bit weird to get paid for what essentially boils down to fucking a man and taking care of his baby. 

It comes up when you’re sitting out on the porch with him again, this time in his lap in the same adirondack chair, a blanket wrapped around you to keep you warm. John laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking over your finger, burning a line into the skin.

“Doesn’t it make you feel weird to pay me for…” you say, trailing off with a cocked eyebrow. Surely he must catch your drift. 

He chuckles. You wait for the joke.

Your eyes must be big as moons staring up at him. 

“Don’t think of it as a paycheck, sweetheart. That’s your allowance.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and swallow. 

“Okay,” you whisper. Then let him reel you back in for another kiss, his thumb resting over your ring finger and pressing.

[embbarnes]

Roasted Chestnuts. | B.B

summary: Bucky takes to sleeping in the living room, you comfort him with hot cocoa.

warnings: Angst & Fluff | PTSD symptoms | Nightmares | Post accidental injuries

a/n: I hope this technically qualifies, even though it's sort of angsty. But there is fluff! I decided to use a few themes from the list provided and melded them together. Unedited, mistakes to be fixed later lol. ;; wc: 3.3k

Cold sweat and cold weather don't exactly mix.

Neither did the cold, wooden floor of the living room but...he insisted on it ever since he woke up choking you to near unconsciousness, his hands trembling with horror when he realized what he had done. The hardwood became his self-imposed punishment, refusing the comfort of proper bedding.

He couldn't forgive himself for that, his instability taunted him for weeks after that, having to see the bruise around your throat cause by his hand. Every morning he would catch glimpses of the purple-blue marks adorning your precious neck, each glance a reminder of how close he had come to destroying everything he held dear. The guilt ate away at him, manifesting in sleepless nights and countless apologies that could never seem to erase that moment from his memory.

He deserved it; the chill in the air making every bead of perspiration feel like tiny needles against his skin.

Especially his scars.

His shoulder hurt bad during the winter, which wasn't a huge surprise, but he would've appreciated if his body formed a bit of resistance to the cold by now.

Between endless cryofreezing, Siberian training, the prolonged exposure to freezing should have given him some sort of enhanced ability to withstand the cold but...cruelly, almost laughably, he was more vulnerable to the bite of chill now.

It pissed him off, quite frankly.

But right now, he couldn't bring himself to dwell on his annoyance.

Instead, his thoughts drifted to you as he sat there on the cold floor, his body tucked carefully against the chair that stood positioned by the stark wall. He had turned the chair into an improvised shelter of sorts, his upper body deliberately laid close beside it in a way that almost seemed to mimic having another body near him for comfort. The transition had been gradual over the course of several months, he had slowly grown accustomed to sleeping in a proper bed, and more importantly, he had grown used to having you there beside him.

Your warm, protective arms would wrap around his frame each night, and he had found himself free of any hesitation or shame as he tucked himself against your chest, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeat become his personal lullaby, lulling him into peaceful sleep. Better than any goddamn noise machine he could dream of.

But that peace had been shattered after one particularly visceral nightmare that had resulted in him nearly choking the life from you in his sleep-addled state. He found himself unable to bear the thought of sharing a bed with you again, too terrified of what his unconscious mind might make him do.

He thought he was getting better, he was supposed to be better. The words didn't work anymore...therapy was mediocre at best but it was supposed to help him. Yet, after all of that, he still hurt you.

He's still plagued.

Frustrated with himself and the situation, he kicks the chair slightly, causing it to skid a few inches across the worn wooden floor with a harsh scraping sound. Bucky takes a deep breath, his flesh hand instinctively gripping his dog tags - those small pieces of metal that remind him of who he once was - one his own, one Steve’s.

Damnit, Steve. Why didn’t he stay?

The one man who always had his loyalty, his best friend, he felt so abandoned.

Now he had to dump his shit on you. You didn’t deserve this.

Dealing with what remained of Bucky. Dealing with his problems.

Burdening you with his issues.

All alone.

His vibranium hand nervously bundled the thin, threadbare blanket he used to sleep under. The television continued to drone on in the background, playing yet another cheesy Christmas movie that felt hollow and distant. He didn’t like these ones.

He liked the older ones.

They were simpler, easier to grasp. The fantasy of talking snowmen and flying reindeer seemed far better to lose himself in than these modern romantic tales of a cheerful woman who sings perfect carols and inevitably falls for a handsome shop owner...predictable stories that seemed to play on an endless loop.

The warm glow from the Christmas tree cast a gentle, inviting light across the sparse living room, making the empty space feel more like home. The apartment was still largely unfurnished, your current financial situation wasn’t great to say the least. Bucky's couldn’t get a job with his ‘criminal’ background, nor would anyone hire the Winter Soldier, regardless of how good he worked and how well he was with his hands. That left you as the sole provider. The weight of being the only one working pressed heavily on your shoulders, though you never complained.

You were happy to do it, if it meant Bucky could spend time relaxing and not worrying about anything.

Still, he didn’t like it.

The thought of his girl working for the both of you gave him a sour taste in his mouth, his gut tightened as he saw it as just another burden for you. A gentleman deep down, you having to work to support the two of you didn’t do anything but give him even more mental crisis.

Even when you were on the run in Romania, he found odd jobs. He brought food home. He took care of the two of you. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t think you shouldn’t be working because you were a woman, it’s just…he felt horrible. You did so much for him, and all he could do was sit at home and wait for you to come off your shifts. He felt worthless.

And despite the tight budget, you'd worked extra hours so you could afford a Christmas tree for the apartment. While Bucky had initially been indifferent to the idea of holiday decorations, his memories of past Christmases long since faded into a blur. Watching your face light up as you carefully placed each ornament made every penny worth it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the subtle creak of floorboards, and he turned to find you peering around the corner of the short hallway that led to your bedroom. "Buck Buck...what're you doin' up?" you murmured, voice thick with sleep. Your hair was charmingly disheveled, and his old henley hung loosely on your frame, the hem nearly reaching your knees. Your eyes, still heavy with sleep, blinked slowly, "I heard somethin' out here, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, doll I'm...I'm fine." He exhaled slowly, not exactly confident in his words, shoulders slumping forward as the weight of sleepless nights pressed down on him. His hand still held the dog tags, fiddling with them restlessly as his thumb pad gently traced the engraved names and numbers, a nervous habit he'd developed.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself that?" You asked softly, sitting down beside him on the cold floor, close enough to offer comfort but far enough to give him space. "Why don't you come back to bed with me? It's cold out here and that small blanket is not enough... I can see you shivering."

"No." He spat firmly, his jaw clenching with tension, "We've been over this. I'm not going to risk hurting you again. I can't...I won't let that happen."

"It was an accident-" you tried to reason, reaching out instinctively.

"NO!" Bucky snapped suddenly, his volume and tone loud enough to echo off the walls, making you flinch as it startled the sleep out of you. The fear in his own eyes matched yours for a split second.

It was silent for a few beats until finally he found the courage to break it with trembling words.

"I can't...I won't hurt you again. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face - the fear in your eyes when I came back to myself. You can downplay it all you want. The doctors told me how close I came to crushing your trachea. How am I supposed to carry on knowing what I almost did? You still have that dark bruise around your throat, oh...god..." His voice cracked and faded, heavy with anguish. The traumatic memory had carved itself deep into his psyche.

The faceless HYDRA torturers had been replaced in his nightmares, instead, visions of his own hands wrapped around your throat, watching helplessly as the life slowly drained from your eyes.

That was more horrifying than any of HYDRA's torture.

He would willingly submit himself to every cruel experiment, every brutal conditioning session, every moment of agony they had ever put him through - if it meant he could erase that one terrible moment when he had almost become your killer.

"Bucky," you interrupted his thoughts, your hand reaching out hesitantly in the dim light of the room, hovering just inches from his tensed shoulder but not yet making contact. You turned your palm slowly upward toward the ceiling, silently willing him to either take your hand or at least allow you the comfort of touching him. "I promise you, I am fine. Yes, it might've been a bit scary in the moment when it happened, and I understand why you're worried...but I know you'd never hurt me on purpose, not in a million years. It was an accident, nothing more than that."

He shifted uncomfortably under your unwavering gaze, his fingers clutching the deep green blanket even tighter to his chest, drawing it close like armor against both the cold and his own guilt. You could see the slight tremor in his frame, whether from the chilly air or his inner turmoil, you weren't sure. You knew he must be freezing out here in the living room, but if there was one thing you'd learned about Bucky, it was that he could be impossibly stubborn.

No matter how much you yearned to lead him back to the warmth of your shared bedroom, you knew he wouldn't budge an inch, wouldn't dare return to your bed, not while the belief that he might unconsciously harm you still gripped his conscience.

Instead of trying the back and forth of arguing, you decided to do something else. Rising from your spot, you made your way back to the bedroom, your bare feet making soft padding sounds against the aged wooden floorboards that creaked ever so slightly with each step. When Bucky heard you walk away, he assumed you had given up and gone back to bed for the night, so he slowly lowered himself down onto his makeshift sleeping spot, trying to find a comfortable position to attempt sleep.

But your absence was only temporary. Within moments, you had returned.

Your arms were laden with an assortment of blankets and a plush pillow, carried from your bedroom.

"No, doll..." he sat up immediately, preparing to launch into reasons why you shouldn't subject yourself to sleeping on the floor, even if it might be hypocritical. But you possessed every bit as much stubbornness as he did, and you had already made up your mind that he wouldn't have to face this night alone.

"Hush. I'm staying with you, and if that means camping out in the living room, then that's exactly what I'm going to do." You insisted firmly but gently, carefully arranging the blankets and pillow beside his spot. "And if sleep doesn't come easily tonight, then we can always put on a movie to pass the time. But I don't want you to be on your own, you've been torturing yourself for weeks now..."

Bucky looked down at his lap, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his features. "You are such a brat..." He finally replied, his lips pulling into a small, almost reluctant smile. The warmth in his chest grew steadily as he watched you, touched by how adamantly you insisted on sleeping beside him, even if it meant spending the night on the cold floor.

"That's me," you replied with a playful smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Now...how about some hot chocolate? If we aren’t gonna sleep, then we might as well have a little treat. Plus, it'll warm you up." You offered, already making your way to the kitchen with determined steps, your mind set on the comforting beverage. "Marshmallows or whipped cream?" You called over your shoulder, your voice carrying a hint of amusement as you deliberately didn't give him any opportunity to decline the offer.

He shook his head slowly, running his hand over his face as an affectionate smile spread across his features, unable to hide how endeared he was by your persistence. "Marshmallows...please," he responded softly.

"And that chestnut flavoring?" You added thoughtfully, observing him still comfortably tucked away on the floor, his form relaxed against the wall. Bucky gave a shy nod, a gentle expression crossing his features, and you couldn't help but smile warmly in return. "We should roast some, I hear people do that this time of year. But I'm not sure why exactly? I haven't had the chance to try them prepared that way before."

You carefully made your way back to where he sat, extending the steaming mug of hot chocolate towards him. The ceramic vessel was filled nearly to the brim, with a generous mountain of tiny marshmallows creating a fluffy white peak on top.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders slightly, reaching up to pluck a few of the dry marshmallows from the pile, popping them into his mouth one by one. "You can eat them plain as a snack," he offered simply, savoring the sweet dissolving treats.

"Yeah, but that seems a bit too plain for chestnuts. How about…a pie? God, I love pecan pie, why not chestnut pie? Or I hear they go good with apples."

"Pie would be really good...you know how much I love your baking," Bucky smiled warmly, his eyes lighting up as he fondly recalled all the delicious sweet treats you had lovingly prepared throughout the seasons. Apple pie was one of Bucky's all time favorite desserts, and he always lit up when you made it for him. You aren’t a professional baker by any means, but the homemade pastries and treats that came from your kitchen had become one of his most treasured simple pleasures in the world.

You sat nestled against him, your shoulders touching as you both sipped hot chocolate and talked about everything and nothing. The conversation drifted from the gentle snowfall outside to potential weekend activities, from dessert recipes you wanted to try together to movies you both wanted to watch.

Bucky had changed visibly since you crept out to see him, his tense shoulders had gradually loosened, the worried lines around his eyes had softened, and genuine smiles now came more frequently. You both occasionally made playful commentary about the predictable romantic comedy playing on screen, sharing knowing looks as the plot became increasingly formulaic and harder to tolerate.

"Can't we watch something else?" Bucky asked, turning to meet your gaze with a slight grimace, "I'm getting tired of these kinds of movies...at this point, I could practically recite exactly what's going to happen next, line by line."

“What do you mean?” You laughed a little, smiling at him as he rolled his eyes in return.

“Let’s see…it’s either Noel, Carol, or some other Christmas themed name for the main girl, and she always moves back to a hometown or is divorced or lonely or just…wandering through life feeling like something’s missing. Meets a handsome guy, a handy man, a baker, someone she knew from her childhood, and they eventually fall in love after this big Christmas event happens.” Bucky muttered, “And there's always singing! That’s been the plot for the last three movies, I swear.”

"Sure," you responded with another laugh, he hit the nail on the head. You reached forward for the remote and scrolled through channels until you stumbled on one specifically for classic holiday films. "Oh my god, this one! It's from, like...1960." You watched, somewhat amused, as the distinctively vintage stop-motion animation showed Rudolph trudging through the snow, the character's movements charmingly stilted by today's standards. Your finger hovered over the remote button, ready to continue searching.

"No, no...don't change it," he interjected softly, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice, "I'd like to watch this one..."

"Really? Alright," you set the remote down and got comfy. These classic films held a special place in your heart, each frame bringing back cherished memories of curling up on the couch as a child, lost in the magic of storytelling and still believing in Santa Claus. "This used to be one of my favorites," you murmured softly, snuggling closer against him. Bucky lifted his right arm, eager to feel your heat against his bare chest. He hadn't experienced watching these movies the same as you had, his past denying him even these small comforts.

It wasn't like HYDRA allowed him a tv.

Watching it now, even without the foundation of the right nostalgia, he was drawn into the film's spell. There was something touching about its simplicity, the way it managed to weave enchantment through every scene despite its less sophisticated approach. Even with its fantastical storyline, it carried an authentic magic that resonated deep within him, something pure and genuine he could instinctively recognize. Much better than the movies he had seen all day.

The first movie seemed to float by in a comfortable haze, and before you knew it, another began to play. These old ones didn’t have a very long runtime, but you forgot just how quick they fly by. The Charlie Brown Christmas movie filled the screen with its familiar charm. The gentle orchestration of the score and soothing tone of the character’s voices set a comfortable mood in the room.

While the movie played, you felt a slight shift in weight beside you. You glanced over and noticed Bucky's empty mug resting forgotten in his lap, old white foam from melted marshmallows sticking to the rim, his features softened as his eyelids had finally drooped closed. His weight leaning more against yours, and you carefully adjusted yourself.

"Oh, Bucky..." you whispered tenderly to yourself, watching as the exhausted man finally succumbed to sleep, the warm hot chocolate having done its job exactly as you'd hoped it would. Gently, you removed the empty mug from where it rested precariously on his lap and eased him down into a more comfortable position, making sure his head was properly supported by the plush pillow beneath it. You then took your time meticulously arranging the thick blankets over his body, paying particular attention to his metal arm, ensuring it was completely covered.

The winter months were especially difficult for him, the cold made the connection points of his prosthetic ache terribly, so you made sure that every inch of the metal limb was thoroughly insulated against the chill.

Damn, you should really invest in a heated blanket…they were just so expensive.

You were determined to get one for him though.

After adjusting the television volume just a little to create a soft, ambient background noise, you settled yourself beside his sleeping form. You snuggled in close, your hand moving in slow, soothing strokes up and down the broad expanse of his back.

Even in the depths of sleep, he instinctively sought out your warmth, shifting closer until his face was buried against your chest, his arm wrapping around you in a secure embrace. Though the weight and coolness of the metal arm pressed against you was initially a bit uncomfortable since the henley rode up a bit, but you quickly adjusted. Vibranium was nice, once it warmed it would stay that way for a long time.

But the same vise versa, meaning you really should get a heated blanket soon.

For now, this would do. You'd be the heat he needed, even if it meant staying with him on the floor.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

@buck-star 's Fluffy Winter Event.

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 2.2K

Part 1

Two months had passed since the case ended, your team was spending more and more time assisting the BAU with their cases, and you were still adjusting to being known as Mrs. Reid. The BAU’s teasing had mostly subsided, but Penelope couldn’t help herself, sending you daily texts with variations of “How’s married life treating you, sugarplum?”

Spencer, of course, was blissfully oblivious to half the jokes. You envied his ability to compartmentalize. For you, the line between personal and professional felt increasingly blurred—especially when you came home to find him sitting on your couch, flipping through one of your dog-eared mystery novels like he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted, setting your go-bag on the floor.

“Hey,” he replied without looking up. “Your landlord called earlier. The leak in your bathroom should be fixed tomorrow.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, thanks?”

Spencer finally glanced up, his expression innocent. “It’s easier if they call me. You don’t always answer your phone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Easier, huh?”

He shrugged. “Legally, I’m your emergency contact. Makes sense.”

Your chest tightened a mix of irritation and something warmer that you weren’t ready to name. Spencer had a way of making the most unconventional things seem logical—like casually fixing your plumbing situation as if it were just another bullet point on his to-do list.

You crossed the room, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You know this is weird, right?”

“What is?”

“This,” you gestured between the two of you. “Being married but… not married.”

Spencer tilted his head, considering your words. “It’s unconventional, sure. But it’s not weird. We work well together.”

“That’s not exactly the foundation of a marriage,” you pointed out, though your tone lacked bite. “Shouldn’t we—I don’t know—try to figure out what this actually is?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “You mean, like dating?”

The word hung in the air between you, heavy and full of possibility.

“Maybe,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm. “I mean, it might help. Get to know each other outside of work. Outside of… whatever this is.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s logical. We could schedule something.”

“Schedule?” You laughed, the sound half nervous, half amused. “Spence, you don’t schedule a date. You just… go.”

His lips quirked in a small, sheepish smile. “Right. Of course.”

The First Date

Three days later, you found yourself sitting across from Spencer at a cozy little café near the library. He’d insisted on picking the place, and you hadn’t protested—it was quiet, intimate, and felt like him.

“I, um, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a variety,” Spencer said, gesturing to the spread of pastries between you. “There’s a 73% chance one of these is your favorite.”

You bit back a smile, reaching for a chocolate croissant. “Good guess.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and you realized he’d been nervous—an unusual look for someone so confident in every other aspect of his life.

“So,” you began, tearing off a piece of croissant. “Do we talk about work, or is that off-limits?”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not off-limits, but we could talk about other things. Like… hobbies.”

“Hobbies,” you repeated, amused. “You mean like your extensive knowledge of obscure trivia?”

“Or your knack for solving puzzles,” he countered, a rare teasing tone in his voice.

You laughed, the sound drawing a faint smile from him. For the first time, the awkwardness began to fade, replaced by something warmer—something that felt almost like normalcy.

Navigating New Territory

Over the next few weeks, your dynamic shifted in subtle but undeniable ways. Spencer started leaving his favorite books on your nightstand, claiming they were “better than the ones you usually read.” You, in turn, introduced him to your guilty pleasure TV shows, relishing the way he tried (and failed) to resist getting invested in the drama.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

One evening, as you cooked dinner together—a rare occurrence, considering your busy schedules—Spencer reached for the salt just as you turned to grab a spoon. The collision was minor, but it left you both frozen, faces inches apart.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back quickly.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “No, it was my fault.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. You busied yourself stirring the sauce, your mind racing. Was this what it felt like to be in a real marriage? The constant push and pull of closeness and uncertainty?

“I’ve been reading about communication in relationships,” Spencer said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course you have.”

“It says physical proximity is important,” he continued, his tone serious. “Small gestures, like holding hands, can build intimacy.”

You stared at him, torn between exasperation and affection. “Spence, are you saying we should hold hands more?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “It might help.”

You sighed, setting down the spoon. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

Tentatively, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. His skin was warm, his grip firm but careful.

“How’s this?” you asked, half-joking.

Spencer’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you.

“Good,” he said softly. “It’s… good.”

A Step Forward

One night, after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself leaning against Spencer on the couch, too tired to care about boundaries. His arm was draped around your shoulders, and you realized with a start that it felt… nice. Comforting.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “Just tired.”

He didn’t move, didn’t press for more. Instead, he simply held you, his presence steady and reassuring.

In that moment, you realized something had shifted—not just between you, but within you. This wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. It was becoming something real, something worth fighting for.

And as you drifted off to sleep, Spencer’s voice echoed softly in your mind.

“I’ve got you.”

You believed him.

The Unspoken Shift

It was late one night when the shift finally happened when everything you and Spencer had been tiptoeing around finally came to a head. The case had been grueling—intense, dangerous—but in the end, the team had solved it. The adrenaline had faded, leaving an unfamiliar silence in its wake.

You were sitting on the couch in your small apartment, your mind still racing from the day’s events. You’d barely had time to think about anything beyond work in the past few weeks, but now, with the threat neutralized, everything came rushing back.

Spencer, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected by the chaos. He was curled up in the armchair across from you, his laptop open in front of him, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. He kept glancing over at you, his face unreadable, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it.

It was in moments like this that you found yourself wondering what this was between you—this odd marriage of convenience that had slowly morphed into something you couldn’t quite define.

We work well together, Spencer had said once, so casually that it hadn’t quite clicked at the time. Now, though, as you caught him looking at you again—this time with a sort of tenderness that made your heart skip a beat—you wondered if he meant more than just work.

You shifted on the couch, trying to distract yourself. You couldn’t allow yourself to think too deeply, not with everything that was still unresolved. But Spencer’s voice cut through the silence.

"Y/N, I... I think I need to apologize."

You froze, unsure if you had heard him correctly. "Apologize? For what?"

He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keys of his laptop, but he didn’t look at the screen. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, serious and a little vulnerable. "For... for how distant I’ve been. I know I’ve been focused on the cases and... well, on myself too much." His lips tightened, as if he regretted the words before they even left his mouth. "I’ve been pushing you away without even realizing it. And I’m sorry."

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. Spencer was never one to admit when he was wrong. He was always so logical, so composed. But tonight, something was different. There was a rawness in his voice that made your chest tighten, and you realized with a jolt that maybe you had been pushing him away too.

"You haven’t been distant, Spence," you said softly. "You’ve just been... you." The words felt heavier than you intended, but it was the truth. Spencer had always been focused, and driven, and even when he was there, he seemed so far away, locked in his own world.

"I know," he said, his voice low. "But that’s not an excuse. I—I should have been there more for you. You’ve been doing this alone, and that’s not fair."

You stared at him, processing what he had just said. Spencer Reid, always so sure of his intelligence and his work, was admitting—without words—that he wasn’t sure how to be a partner in this unconventional marriage. And as much as you wanted to brush it off, you couldn’t. You had been struggling with the same doubts.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you said quietly, motioning between the two of you. “This whole… marriage thing. It’s not what I expected, either. But that doesn’t mean I’m not trying.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before. “I know you are,” he said. “And that’s why I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t know what this is, but... I don’t want to lose it.”

There was a long pause as you both let the words settle. You felt the weight of everything that had been building up—the awkward moments, the shared glances, the near-kisses that you’d both avoided. But in that moment, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep avoiding it.

“I don’t want to lose it either,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Spencer inhaled deeply, his hand moving hesitantly toward yours. When his fingers brushed against yours, your pulse quickened. The touch was gentle, uncertain—but it felt like a promise, one you hadn’t even realized you were waiting for. The space between you seemed to shrink as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

"I think I—" Spencer started, but the words hung in the air, unspoken, because neither of you could say them aloud just yet. Instead, you reached for him.

You moved slowly, carefully, but when your lips met his, it wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t calculated. It was everything that had been building between you for the past two months. It was vulnerability and longing and the quiet admission that you couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

His lips were warm, soft, and he didn’t pull away, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he did. The kiss was tentative at first, but it deepened as you both leaned into it, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you. And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you felt right. Not because the kiss had solved everything, but because in that moment, you finally felt seen.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily. Spencer’s hands were still lightly touching your arms, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, but you didn’t want him to move. You didn’t want to break this moment of rawness between you.

“I... I’ve wanted that for a while,” Spencer said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your heart racing. “I think I have too.”

For a moment, you simply stayed there, sitting together, breathing in the same air. You didn’t need to talk, didn’t need to say anything more. Everything had shifted, in a way that felt both terrifying and liberating at the same time.

You were no longer just coworkers. You weren’t just a married couple in name. In that kiss, you had taken the first step into something more. Something real.

And for the first time, you believed Spencer when he said he didn’t want to lose this.

The Quiet Moments After

The days after your first kiss were a mix of confusion and excitement. There was still tension between the work you did and the lives you were building together, but somehow it felt more manageable now. You and Spencer began finding ways to open up to each other—slowly, carefully, but with more and more honesty.

You would catch Spencer looking at you with that same soft expression as if he was still trying to figure out the person sitting beside him, but there was no hesitation anymore. No pulling away.

He didn’t say much, but his actions spoke volumes. Whether it was bringing you your favorite coffee when he knew you were having a rough day or simply sitting beside you on the couch, his presence had started to mean more. And with each passing moment, each new shared experience, you felt your connection deepening.

Maybe this wasn’t the marriage you had expected. But maybe, just maybe, it was the one you needed.

Part 3

[ha-rinrin]

Falling Ashes

Warning: I dont really know if this counts as a spoiler for act 3, but if you haven't watched it, read once you have.

Summary: Jinx made it, but at what cost?

Pairing: Jinx x fem!reader

Wordcount: 1k

Authors note: I chose happiness, Jinx isn't dead. I know this is short but I swear there'll be more fics coming out soon.

masterlist

The hum of the airship filled the silence, a steady, mechanical rhythm that seemed to echo the weight of the moment. The world below stretched out in endless darkness, the glow of Zaun's lights fading further with every passing second. You sat beside Jinx on one of the worn benches, the cold metal digging into your legs through your thin clothing.

She was covered in dust and soot, streaks of black smeared across her pale skin. Her hair, usually meticulously braided, was short, matted with ash and debris. The faint smell of explosives still clung to her, a sharp reminder of what had just happened. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her breathing shallow as she stared at the floor with vacant eyes.

You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down your face. They blurred your vision, hot and relentless, carving tracks through the grime on your cheeks. Your hands trembled in your lap, clutching at your skirt as though holding onto it would keep you grounded.

“I didn’t think you…” your voice cracked, and you had to swallow hard before continuing. “I didn’t think you’d made it.”

Jinx didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze remained fixed downward, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the entire world rested on them. Her hands, stained with gunpowder and blood, twitched slightly before falling still again.

Finally, she tilted her head toward you, just enough to glance at you from the corner of her eye. There was something hollow there, a deep well of exhaustion and hurt that words couldn’t begin to touch. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. She closed it again, her lips pressing into a thin, trembling line.

“I thought I…” you choked on the words, a sob cutting through them. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Jinx’s lips parted again, but all that came out was a faint, bitter chuckle. It wasn’t a laugh of amusement but something else entirely—a reflex, an instinct to push away the weight of your words.

“Yeah, well,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, “I guess I’m hard to get rid of.”

The sarcasm in her tone felt misplaced, hollow, and it only made your chest ache more. You reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing against her arm. She flinched but didn’t pull away, letting your touch linger there, light and uncertain.

“Jinx,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I… I thought…”

She finally turned her head fully to look at you, her eyes glinting in the dim light of the cabin. They were wild and distant, haunted by things you couldn’t see, but there was a flicker of something else—a recognition of your presence, even through the fog of whatever storm raged inside her.

“You don’t get it,” she said, her voice wavering. “I wasn’t sure I… should've made it.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. You shook your head vehemently, fresh tears spilling over.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered, your hand tightening around her arm. “Don’t ever say that. You… you’re here. That’s all that matters. You made it.”

Her lip quivered, and for a moment, you thought she might break. But she didn’t. She held herself together with a kind of fragile determination, turning her gaze back to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engines. “I’m sorry about Isha.” The name felt like a dagger in your chest, sharp and unforgiving. More tears streamed down your face, and your breath hitched as you struggled to continue. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. I… I tried, but it wasn’t enough. I failed her.”

Jinx stiffened at your words, her hands curling into fists on her lap. For a moment, she looked like she might bolt, her body taut with tension. But then she exhaled shakily, her shoulders slumping further as though the fight had drained out of her entirely.

“Isha,” she whispered, her voice cracking as the name escaped her lips. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, her expression unreadable. “She was… she was my fault.”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice firm despite the tremor in it. “No, she wasn’t. You can’t… don’t carry that. It wasn’t your fault.”

Jinx finally looked at you again, her purple eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Everything’s my fault,” she muttered, her voice hollow. “Everything I touch falls apart.”

You shook your head, reaching for her hand. This time, she didn’t flinch, though her fingers were cold and limp in your grasp. “That’s not true,” you said, your voice trembling with conviction. “You’re here. You’re still here. That means something, Jinx. It has to mean something.”

Her fingers twitched in yours, and for a brief moment, she squeezed your hand back. The gesture was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A tiny spark of connection in the vast, overwhelming darkness.

The airship continued its steady ascent, carrying the two of you further from the chaos you’d left behind. The silence between you was heavy but no longer unbearable, a fragile truce in the aftermath of everything lost.

You glanced out the small window of the airship, the faint lights of the cities below disappearing into the darkness. Swallowing hard, you turned back to Jinx, your voice hesitant as you asked, "Where… where are we going?"

Jinx didn’t look up right away. Her fingers idly traced the edge of the bench, smearing the dust and grime into faint streaks. After a long pause, she answered, her voice low and detached, "Far. Far from this place."

Her words felt heavy, a subtle finality to them that made your stomach twist. You searched her face, hoping to find something more—some shred of reassurance—but her expression remained guarded, her gaze distant. It was as though she were talking to herself as much as she was to you.

“Far from everything,” she added quietly, almost too soft to hear.

[saioratral]

salvatore - itoshi sae being a romantic genius cause i said so warning: none + aged up! itoshi sae note: i still cant believe the fishi, the legend might i add, asked ME.. ME for a collab write. am i dreaming? i completely went off topic btw cause that song made me confused

link to goatshi's ver (you better read it) also forgot to tag the goat @fishii-writes

expensive cologne floated through the entire penthouse, filling the air with its rich scent after a perfume bottle shattered. the owner shrugs, it’s like pocket change for him, you laugh at his nonchalant attitude, settling to stand in the balcony until the smell is gone 

the view of the spanish coastline looked almost like a sight straight out of a movie, making the penthouse felt like a castle perched on a hill, its high walls shielding you from the outside world and prying eyes. a velvet sofa rests outside to accompany you both, sae sitting and staring at you 

“cariño”, sae's deep voice brought you back to the present, to turn around and face him. “like the view?”

“i love it”, you lean on the balcony railing, eyes drifting between the view and him

his  teal eyes softened slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but it seemed tinged with sadness. his gaze lingered on you, as though memorizing the moment, taking the time to photograph your beauty as if you were leaving soon 

“people know how to live and forget," sae sighed, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "there are only two options" 

you arched a brow, intrigued. “and what are the two options?”

“you either forget, or you get swallowed by it," he said, voice dropping a little. "it’s everything—the past, the present, and the future” 

“.. i dont understand anything but you look handsome under the moonlight”

your laughter broke the tension, and sae raised an eyebrow, surprised by your light-hearted comment. here he was, getting sentimental, and you were busy admiring him? he watched you walk closer, your hands brushing over the soft fabric of his silk shirt. he let you feel it before you both sat down together

“i know,” you continued, resting your head on his shoulder, “everyone wants something from you. but i want you to be you. not the ‘japan golden boy,’ just… be you”

sae relaxed at your words, letting down his guard. your hand found his, fingers lacing together, and the ocean waves becoming a little lullaby for you both 

“me gusta cómo te ves esta noche”, he murmured, searching for your gaze

“oooo, spanish,” you teased, tilting your head to look up at him

“eres... como un sueño”, he said, his voice softening as he saw your bright smile 

the night continued with the both of you laughing over silly jokes and guessing what sae was speaking in spanish. you got up, changing the song to something more slow before pulling him up with you 

“what are we doing?”, sae asks, curiously watching you 

“you’ll see” 

you took his hands in yours, and as the song played, the two of you began to slow dance. the ocean seemed to quiet down, as if wanting you both to take the spotlight and the moon’s light giving the perfect photo moment

“lana del rey?” sae asked, recognizing the artist of the song

“the one and only,” you replied, resting your hand gently on his neck

at that moment, the world seemed to pause. sae leaned closer, his warm breath fanning your already flushed face. the smell of his cologne making you enter a new world, his words falling out like music, as if you understood 

“sometimes it’s better to not know all the words”, sae said softly, his eyes locked on yours 

“alright, prodigy”, you giggled. “you still sound hot” 

his gaze flickered to your lips before he leaned in even closer. his lips ghosting yours, teasing you to take the bait. the bait he had set up all along afterall, everything goes with his plan, no matter what 

“mi vida… may i?” 

you nod, feeling his lips finally meet yours, the faint taste of wine still lingering on them. the kiss begins softly, slow and teasing, just as before. sae liked taking his time, he wanted to build up the moment with you but even he could lose his patience once in a while 

the pent up desire took the best of him. with a quiet murmur, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath warm against your skin before gently guiding you toward the sofa. you follow the pull of his touch, your back sinking into the softness of the velvet cushions

he hovers above you, his finger moving to unbutton his shirt a little bit before leaning down. his lips finds your neck, kissing you slow and deliberately, the heat radiating from his touches gave you goosebumps 

“you’ll get the rest later”, he mumbles before crashing his lips back to yours  

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

[hannieoftheyear]

Warning Signal (jww) TEASER

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!reader

w.c: 915 (for the teaser), full work will be over 20k

release date: tbd

genre: exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut (not in the teaser)

content warnings (for the full work): vague descriptions of what their "job" actually is, criminal acts, stalking, spying, invasion of privacy, use of fake names, fake identities, stealing (both reader and wonwoo do all of the above), mentions of guns, fight scenes, blood, murder, death (not the main characters) | the story will contain flashbacks written in cursive (such as this teaser)

note: this is very different from what i've been posting so far, but i had a dream about a similar story and couldn't get it out of my mind.

on that note, i'm not sure when i'll be able to finish this bc it's taking a lot of time to make sure everything makes sense and for the relationship to be fully fleshed out. it might be done by january (that sounds so weird to say omg)

if anyone wants to be on the taglist, comment this post!

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do it rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer.  

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

“That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him. No matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself to your boss. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before… 

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting on that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were fewer and fewer people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible not to stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here. He’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking, seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

thank you for reading! i love this story and i cant wait to finish it so you all can finally read it!

remember! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post ♡

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Bodyguard

G/N. Cracky. You, the bodyguard. DG, the 'helpless' idol. Masterlists

When the rest of DG's senior team insisted he get a bodyguard, he thought it was a joke.

What sort of idiot would attack James Lee.

Then he remembered he's not James Lee, at least not to the general public. He's Diego Kang, CEO of PTJ Entertainment, an idol with amazing moves and an ass that won't quit but no fighting experience.

Right. Right. 

He supposes that makes sense. It would've been suspicious to say no, especially with his legions of stans and stalker, and his prior history.

.

.

You're not exactly who he would have picked.

Bodyguards are usually monstrous, huge, intimidating men. You're not really any of the above.

In fact, you're kinda cute. And apparently your resume is also impressive enough too.

"Perfect candidate." 

"Extensive training." 

"Unmatched awareness." 

-were chirped into his ear before he gave you his nod of approval.

Besides, DG thinks it might work to his advantage to employ someone so unassuming.

.

.

"No upskirt pictures!" You yell at the paparazzi, parting them to make way for the pink-haired idol, and pointing accusingly.

DG, in a moment of complete confusion, peers down to his own legs in case he really did wear a skirt.

No. He's in his pants, of course he is. His clothing is supplied as part of his sponsorship deal. Why would he be wearing a skirt?

"What was that?" He asks, when you're piled into his minivan. Brows knitted together instead of his usual cold, impassive expression.

You give him a shrug, "Just in case."

"In case of?"

"Just in case," you repeat, tapping your nose and nodding knowingly at him.

.

.

Now, he remembers.

During one of his many many boring meetings, when you were officially under his employment and before you started, he had been warned you might be like this.

.

.

“No pictures today!” you holler and the paparazzi groan.

Someone brave enough shouts back why.

“DG lost all five MAMA noms and he’s in a terrible mood. He might ask me to kill you if you take any pictures,” you say back solemnly and without humour.

DG feels bitter but not that bitter. Upon hearing your words, he stifles a laugh into his sleeve and disguises it as a cough.

.

. 

To sum it up, you're an oddball. 

Still, DG tolerates you because of your flashes of brilliance and your brutal honesty.

"Here, sir." You offer up a steaming hot drink and DG raises an eyebrow. "Honey and lemon. For your throat."

When DG doesn't take it, you finally explain. "Your singing sounded awful, sir. Thought you might need it."

Ah.

He did think he sounded off but the yes-men at the studio told him otherwise. He should have trusted his own instincts and makes a mental note to replace them.

DG chuckles to himself before taking the first sip.

.

.

"No touching please," you jump in just as a fan is starting to get handsy.

"Excuse me?!"

You turn away from them, letting their indignant outrage slide off you and usher DG on to the next group to interact with.

DG gives you a nod of thanks and you give him a subtle wink back.

.

.

"You best not be zooming in on his tits," you snarl at another paparazzi. "No under boob, side boobs, any boobs!"

DG glances down at his chest. Fully concealed in a mock neck jumper. There's no bare skin on show at all.

"Can you explain?" He asks, once you climb in the minivan after him and slide the door close.

"You know." You say, handing over another honey and lemon drink.

"I don't, actually."

"You know," you repeat, eyes signalling towards his chest area and hand gesticulating at your own. "And, y'know." 

You nod at his hot drink and pull a face, indicating that he was pitchy as hell in the last rehearsal.

DG shakes his head at your antics but takes a sip regardless.

.

.

"For you, sir." You hold out a brand new baseball cap with both hands and head bowed respectfully.

"I don't want this."

"Yes but you need it."

"..."

"For your bad hair day."

"What?"

"Trust me, sir."

DG narrows his eyes at you. You're rude as hell, no tact at all. He’s not sure if you even have a filter, or you just say whatever thought pops into your mind. 

However.

Somewhere along the way, he finds that you're the only person that tells him the truth.

He takes the cap and thrusts it on his head.

"Much better!" You pipe up with an oblivious grin, adding insult to injury.

.

.

"What are you doing?" DG pulls a face as you wrap your arm around his waist and hurry him on.

"There's someone tailing you," you murmur, "I've been watching them for the last five minutes."

There is? How on earth did this person get past his radar?

As if answering his thoughts, you tell him, "They look like a normal ajumma. No-one would have suspected her if I wasn't watching."

You pick up the pace and DG matches you stride for stride.

"Your manager is waiting just up ahead with the car. I'll take care of them." You give DG a salute and a toothy smile as he looks at you in alarm.

In all honesty, you look a bit helpless. Yes, your resume looks great and yes, your recommendations are glowing but DG hasn't actually seen you in action yet. He can't help the way his stomach lurches thinking about you in danger.

And what if this isn’t an untrained, rabid stan, but someone who knows about his other life and is after James Lee?

"I'll be fine, sir!" You turn quickly and sprint off in the opposite direction at breakneck speed.

.

.

A couple hours later, after DG has paced endlessly back and forth, you show up at his office.

Your hair is a little out of place, and your regulation suit is a little dusty but you're otherwise untouched.

"Are you ok?" his eyes snap to yours.

"Of course, sir!" Your beam is as bright as ever.

DG exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, relief overwhelming him and he desperately wills his pulse to return to normal.

"Call me James," he sighs when he realises it's not working and his heart seems to beat quicker and louder now you're in sight.

You don't ask any questions like why James, why not Diego. You accept it at face value, no doubt having some secrets of your own.

Your smile is unfaltering as you respond, "Sure thing, James, sir!"

[waiting-for-motivation]

inside out

summary: Carlos is there for his girlfriend when her darkest insecurities take ahold of her.

pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

warnings: insecurities, angst, fluff

words: 1129

a/n: thanks to tumblr for being my unpaid therapist, I guess <33

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

Having some time off feels relieving as well as overwhelming at the same time. Carlos fears not valuing his free time enough, although he does everything in his power to experience a lot. With his girlfriend, he visits museums, aquariums, exciting cities and breathtaking landscapes.

Other times, they share some quality time, cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie or cooking together. When Carlos is gaming, (Y/n) is always in the same room reading. They exist in silence, still savoring the shared moments with their partner.

Today is no different, relaxing after yesterdays hiking tour, Carlos plays a new game he had been yearning to have a look at. His girl sits next to him on the couch, so close their thighs touch, scrolling through social media. From time to time, she shares some memes, also calming him whenever the game is getting too rough.

“Car?“, (Y/n) breathes, discarding her phone on the side table. Not knowing if Carlos even heard her over the sound of his gaming, she throws a cautious glance towards him. His brown eyes are already on her, concerned about the serious tone. Carlos even places his controller aside.

“Do you think I‘m pretty?“, (Y/n) asks with an unsteady voice, avoiding her boyfriend's eyes. Her heart feels like it might break her rips apart, and her breathing keeps getting tougher. Right away, (Y/n) regrets expressing her insecure mind.

Subconsciously, she starts fumbling around with her fingers, pressing her nails into the palm of her hand. It might be a bad habit, but the pain is what distracts her from her depressing thoughts. What even works better is Carlos taking care of her. He grabs her hands, warm touch halting her nervous fiddling.

“Of course, mi corazón“, Carlos answers, almost at a loss of words. Her question caught him of guard. Watching (Y/n) shrink in front of him, her insecurities heavy on her shoulders cause him to feel rather guilty. Maybe he did not show her his appreciation enough. Maybe he tells her how much he adores her too seldom.

If (Y/n) could see herself through the eyes of Carlos, she would have no doubts about her appearance. The word perfection is not enough to describe the way Carlos perceives her. He might not be an artist nor a writer, but he would use only the brightest colors for her portrait and could write an entire trilogy about everything he loves about (Y/n).

“You are my gorgeous girl“, Carlos adds and places a hand on her cheek, forcing her eyes on him. Pressing her lips to a tight line, (Y/n) regrets exposing her thoughts at the sight of her concerned boyfriend. “Where is this coming from?“

“Forget about it���, (Y/n) says in a rush, already jumping to her feet and leaving Carlos alone on the couch. But she can't escape her boyfriend, who quickly follows her and wraps his strong arms around her from behind, lifting her up.

“I‘m going to show you how much I actually admire you“, Carlos announces as he throws (Y/n) onto the couch. Her screaming turns to soft giggles because of Carlos decorating her face in kisses. His lips wander from her forehead over the frown between her eyebrows to her nose and lead eventually to her neck. Over and over again, he whispers how much he loves her, how pretty she is.

“You are all I need, mi corazón, all I want. Without you, I feel like I can't breathe“, Carlos declares his deep-rooted love to his girlfriend, kissing a trail down her arms. What causes him to halt his fondling is a quiet sob leaving (Y/n)s throat. Quickly, she places both her hands on top of her mouth, but the tears streaming over her cheeks reveal enough.

“No, please don’t cry“, Carlos whimpers in shock, watching his girl sit up with a shaking body. Out of instinct, (Y/n) turns away from her boyfriend, not wanting him to see her so vulnerable, though Carlos won't simply accept that. He hugs her tightly to his chest. Her tears quickly dampen his shirt, but he couldn't care less at the moment. “Tell me what darkens your mind.“

“I feel like I will never be enough, not for anyone, not for you in particular. Comparing myself to the other girlfriends on the paddock, I realize how plain I must be. They are naturally so magnificent, know how to handle all this attention, and treat their partners perfectly. I will never be like that. I‘m not good enough“, (Y/n) manages to say between her sobs, now wearing her heart on the sleeve, revealing her worst thoughts.

“You are enough, mi corazón. Those other girls are nothing compared to you. I would not want you any other way because I see you as you are: wholeheartedly kind and breathtakingly beautiful. You are all I want and having you here with me makes me so happy“, Carlos tries to encourage his girlfriend, caressing her back and placing soft kisses on the top of her head. Bit by bit, (Y/n) seems to calm down, though she keeps her arms wrapped around her boyfriend.

“I just believe that neither my appearance nor my personality are what you deserve“, she whispers against his chest. Having heard enough, Carlos forces (Y/n) to face him, placing both his hands on her cheeks. Their eyes meet, both glinting with tears.

“Stop right there! If I have to say it over and over again, then I will: You are what I want. I love everything you might hate about yourself. I love seeing the brightness in your eyes whenever you see a dog. I love your passion for things you appreciate. I love the little scrunch on your face when you are reading. I love the way you hide behind me when a camera is near. I love you, (Y/n), and nothing you will do or say will ever change that because my affection is unconditional.“

At a loss for words, (Y/n) just stares at Carlos with wide eyes. This sweet monolog was the deepest profession of love she ever witnessed. Her heart felt like it was falling apart moments ago, but with every word that came over his lips, the pieces found shape again.

“Thank you“, she says with a rough voice, all that crying took a toll on her throat. After wiping all the tears from her face, Carlos leans down and captures her lips in a short yet tender kiss. His smile is bright, lightening her mood greatly.

“Don‘t worry, I will always be there when you are too deep in your own head, mi vida.“

[petriwriting]

The Adventure Beyond. - JJ Maybank X Reader

A/N: A mini-series (Sort of) inspired by the Dad!JJ or Family man JJ fics i've been seeing. Also have been using an AI writing assistant to help with some grammar and hopefully to better the flow of my writing. I hope you enjoy. This is for everyone in need of JJ Fluff after season 4.

Summary: An epilogue of JJ's Story. His life is one huge adventure. Told in time-skips and memories.

The Outer Banks was always a place for wild memorable adventures—surfing, treasure hunts, and late-night bonfires with your friends. It was home. But this was a different kind of adventure, one that JJ Maybank never expected, yet found himself excited for in ways he couldn’t quite describe. It was the kind of adventure that lasted a lifetime.

You were sitting on the porch of Poguelandia, staring out at the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore usually calmed you, but today, your thoughts were far from peaceful. Cleo & Kie had gone to brunch together and Cleo and Pope were with John B enjoying an early morning surf. You were alone, except for JJ who had previously been sleeping on the couch. You hand found your head. You had been feeling nauseous for weeks now, but you brushed it off at first—chalked it up to stress or maybe something you ate. But now, with the test in your hand, the reality was clear.

You were pregnant.

Your heart raced as you thought about the next steps, the future, and how this would change everything. But more than anything, you wondered what JJ would think. He wasn’t exactly the "settling down" type, and you didn’t know how he’d react to the news. You had to tell him, but you didn’t know where to start. After uncovering his true parentage, JJ had been acting strangely whenever you mentioned marriage or family. He was insecure about the topic.

The sound of footsteps on the wooden deck behind pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked up just in time to see JJ’s familiar figure walking toward you, his signature smirk plastered on his face. He was always so carefree, so full of life, but today, there was something different in the way he looked at you.

"Good mornin', Baby-girl." he said softly, his voice full of warmth as he took a seat beside you on the steps. His arm brushed against yours, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound casual, but your nerves were obvious. You felt the test in your pocket like it was a weight you couldn’t escape. You had no idea what he would say or how he'd react.

JJ noticed the change in your tone, the way you seemed distant, and his grin faltered just slightly. He placed his hand over yours, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand as he searched your eyes.

"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice softening. "You’ve been acting weird for a few days."

You took a deep breath, the test still weighing heavily in your pocket. This was it. There was no turning back now. It was now or never.

"JJ," you began, your voice shaky. "I need to tell you something. Something big."

JJ turned his body toward you, his gaze intense as he waited for you to continue. The wind picked up slightly, blowing strands of hair into your face. You pushed them behind your ear and swallowed hard.

"It might change everything." you giggle slightly nervously. "Hey, whoa, i'm right here," JJ reassured you.

"I’m… I’m pregnant."

The words felt like they were hanging in the air between you two, heavy with uncertainty. For a moment, JJ said nothing. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

"Pregnant?" he finally repeated, his voice low, almost like he was testing the word on his tongue.

"Yeah," you said, nodding slowly. "I just found out. I didn’t know how to—"

Before you could finish, JJ pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. You froze for a second, stunned by the sudden closeness, but then you melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," he murmured into your hair. "This is… This is crazy, but we’ll figure it out. We’re in this together."

You looked up at him, surprised by the calmness in his voice. JJ had always been a whirlwind, a guy who lived for the next thrill, but in this moment, he was steady. He was here for you.

"You’re not mad? Or, Or- upset?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. You had been worried that he’d be overwhelmed, that he’d run like he always did when things got serious.

JJ shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mad? No. Freaked out? Yeah, a little. But mad? Nah. This is big, but we can do this, Y/N. We’ve always figured things out before, haven’t we?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, feeling a weight lift off your chest. JJ may not have been the most conventional guy, but he had a heart bigger than anyone gave him credit for. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

"We’ll be okay," you said, more to yourself than to him.

JJ pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his face softening. "We will. And hey, I’m not exactly an expert on this whole parenting thing, but I’ll be there. I’ll be there for you and for this little one, no matter what." You stay stiff for a moment, glancing down at your hands and fidgeting for a moment before meeting his eyes again as he continues. "Baby Maybank is going to have the best aunts and uncles in the world, and-" JJ stops himself and his expression sobers up. "I know I want to do better than My dad or Luke ever could."

"JJ-..." Your heart swelled with emotion, and you couldn’t help but smile. "You mean that?"

"Yeah," he said with a confidence you hadn’t expected. "I do."

For the first time in a long while, JJ Maybank was serious. And you realized that even in the face of something that would change everything, you weren’t alone. You had each other. And maybe, just maybe, this would be the greatest adventure yet. It was only the start.

. . . .

It had been roughly 9 months or so since you told JJ about the baby, and while the news had initially thrown him for a loop, it was clear he was more than ready to take on fatherhood. He’d been there for every doctor’s appointment, every late-night craving, and every moment when you needed reassurance. And now, as your due date grew closer, you both found yourselves feeling the weight of what was about to happen.

It was a quiet evening when it started. You were sitting on the couch, your feet propped up, and JJ was next to you, watching some random show on TV. The sound of the waves outside was soothing, and for a moment, everything felt like it was in its right place.

Then, you felt it.

A sharp pain radiated through your lower abdomen, making you wince. You tried to ignore it, but then another one came, stronger this time. You winced in pain and groaned.

"Hey, are you okay?" JJ looked over, noticing the shift in your expression. His eyes narrowed as he sat up straighter. "Y/N?"

"I—" you gasped, clutching the edge of the couch. "I think it’s almost time."

JJ’s eyes went wide with realization. "No way. You’re… You’re sure?"

You nodded, trying to keep your breathing steady. "I’m sure. The contractions… they’re getting closer."

JJ leaped to his feet, looking around like he didn’t know where to start. "Right. Okay. I… I’m gonna go get the car! Wait here. Don’t move, okay?"

You grabbed his arm before he could go running off in a panic. "JJ, slow down. We’ve got time. Call the hospital first."

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself down. "Okay, okay. I’ve got this. I know what to do. You just breathe, alright?" He reassured. He had read that in a parenting book he had gotten, and he was suddenly trying to recall several books worth of information. He wanted to know exactly what to do to be the best dad he could, better than his own.

You smiled, despite the pain. "I’m not the one freaking out, J."

With his usual energetic (and slightly chaotic) demeanor, JJ grabbed his phone, calling the hospital to let them know you were on your way. Then, he hurried back to you, his face full of determination.

"Alright, baby. We’re going to get you there. Everything’s going to be fine." He kissed the top of your head and grabbed the bag you had packed weeks ago.

The drive to the hospital felt like the longest ride of your life, but JJ stayed calm, keeping up the reassuring chatter, telling you that you were doing great, that this was just the beginning of your new adventure together. The way he held your hand and squeezed it between contractions made you feel grounded, even as everything around you seemed to be moving too fast.

When you finally arrived, the nurses quickly whisked you into a room. JJ stayed right by your side the entire time, despite the chaos of doctors and medical staff running around. He even tried to joke with you between contractions, telling you that you were doing better than he would’ve expected.

"I’d probably be the one freaking out if I had to do this," he said with a grin. "But you? You’re amazing, Y/N."

The hours felt like a blur. The pain was intense, but JJ was right there, holding your hand, whispering words of encouragement, and reminding you that you were almost there. You were in such pain that your head threw back, and the last thing you remember of those seconds before was the ringing in your ear, the bright wash of cool white lights from the ceiling, the sweat on your forehead, and release.

And then, when it seemed like you couldn’t take any more, you finally heard it.

A cry. A tiny, beautiful cry.

You blinked through the tears in your eyes, your heart racing as the nurse placed the baby in your arms. JJ leaned in, his eyes wide with awe as he gazed at the tiny bundle being handed to you, the doctors cleaned the baby's eyes and nose.

"Look," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Our kid."

You looked down at the little one in your arms, the feeling of love and joy washing over you in a way you never thought possible. The baby’s small fingers curled around yours, and you felt a rush of emotions you couldn’t put into words.

JJ’s hand rested on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving the baby. "We did it," he whispered, the disbelief in his voice turning to wonder.

"Yeah, we did," you said softly, smiling as you looked up at him. "And I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else." he whispered.

JJ’s face softened, his usual carefree attitude replaced with a tenderness you’d never seen before. "You and me," he said quietly, as if making a promise. "We’ve got this. Together."

JJ reaches to hold his baby, and once she is in his arms, it becomes real. The baby let out another soft cry, and JJ, in his own awkward yet adorable way, gently rubbed the baby’s little back. "Hi Baby girl, It's your daddy..." he coos. "I love you so much already kiddo," he murmured, eyes glistening. "You’ve got the best parents in the world. and uh, No pressure, but you better be ready for the best adventures."

. . . .

A year had passed since you and JJ had welcomed your little one into the world. Life had changed in ways you never could’ve imagined. Parenthood had its challenges— sleepless nights, endless diapers, and adjusting to a new routine. But through it all, you and JJ had grown stronger, learning how to navigate this new chapter of life together.

One night, after the baby had finally fallen asleep in their crib, you and JJ found yourselves sitting on the porch again, just like you had when you first told him you were pregnant. The sky was painted with the colors of the setting sun orangey, peachy, faded into a deep sea color, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore adding a peaceful hum to the evening. The cicads just starting their song and the breeze settling in your hair.

"You know, I've been thinking," JJ said, his voice unusually quiet.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "About what?"

He was staring at the horizon, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Us. Everything we’ve been through. The baby, our little family. And how much I love you. I don’t want to just talk about it forever, you know?"

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you. You had no idea where he was going with this, but you could feel your heart racing anyway.

"I love you too, JJ," you said, your voice soft. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

JJ took a deep breath, his usual cocky smirk fading into something much more serious. He turned to you, his eyes filled with that intensity you loved. "Then I want to make it official. I want you to be mine, always. I want to be your husband."

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. Did he just say what you thought he said?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal a simple, yet stunning ring. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a rush of emotions flood over you. JJ Maybank, the carefree, wild guy who never seemed to settle down, was asking you to marry him. There had been so many moments in the past when you doubted if he could ever truly commit to something like this. But here he was, asking you to be his forever.

You examined the ring, it was in a shiny velvet dark red box that was worn. The initials in a faded gold cursive 'LG'. It was something of his mothers'.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out for the ring, holding it in your hand. "Yes. Of course, yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with happiness.

JJ grinned, looking both relieved and ecstatic at the same time. He slid the ring onto your finger, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. You leaned in, kissing him gently as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

"I promise, I’m going to love you every single day," he murmured against your lips.

. . . .

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of excitement. You and JJ had agreed on something small and intimate—just the two of you, the baby, and a few close friends. The thought of having a big, extravagant wedding didn’t feel right; it was about the two of you, your family, and this new life you were building together.

When the day finally arrived, you stood on the beach where you and JJ had shared so many of your first moments, the waves crashing gently behind you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you gazed out at the horizon, feeling the same nervous excitement you had felt when you were first pregnant, unsure of what the future held but knowing you were ready to face it together.

JJ stood at the end of the makeshift aisle, dressed in a simple yet handsome suit. His eyes never left you as you walked toward him, a grin spreading across his face. The moment you reached him, he took your hands in his, the same hands that had held yours through every high and low.

"You look perfect," he said, his voice full of awe.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," you teased, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

The officiant, a close friend of yours both, non other than John Booker Routledge, smiled at the two of you. "We’re gathered here today to celebrate the love and commitment between these two people…"

But you hardly heard the rest of the ceremony. All that mattered in that moment was JJ—the way his hand gently squeezed yours, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. The sea breeze, the smell of marsh and the glow of the sunset. You could feel the promise in the air, the certainty that this was where you were always meant to be.

When the officiant pronounced you both husband and wife, JJ didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply, his heart and soul laid bare in that simple moment. The world around you faded away as you held each other, knowing that no matter what life threw at you, you were ready to face it together.

As you walked back down the aisle, hand in hand with your new husband, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming joy.

. . . .

It was a perfect summer day in the Outer Banks. The sun was high in the sky, casting its golden glow over the beach, and the ocean was calm, its waves gently lapping at the shore. You and JJ had taken your little one out for the day, and while you were content to lounge on the sand and soak up the sun, JJ had something else on his mind.

"Daddy!" Your daughter’s voice rang out, high-pitched with excitement as she splashed around near the water’s edge. "I want to go further! I want to swim like you!"

JJ grinned from ear to ear, watching his daughter run toward him with her tiny swimsuit bouncing as she ran. "You sure you're ready?" he asked, crouching down to her level.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, her face full of determination and a little mischief, just like her father. "I want to be like you, Daddy! I want to swim in the big waves!"

JJ chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Alright, cupcake," he said with a wink. "Let’s start with the basics. You trust me?"

She nodded, her blue eyes wide with trust, mirroring his. It was clear that she adored her dad, and JJ, always the carefree and energetic guy, was more than happy to pass on his love of the water to his daughter.

"Okay, here’s the plan," JJ said, scooping her up and carrying her toward the water. "We’re gonna take it slow. First, we’ll just get your feet wet, then we’ll move on from there. Don’t worry, I’ve got you."

You smiled as you watched the two of them interact. You knew how much JJ had grown since becoming a father. The wild, unpredictable guy who once couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes was now patiently teaching his daughter something as important as swimming, all while making her laugh, and cracking jokes to entertain both of you.

As JJ waded into the shallow water, holding his daughter carefully, he turned to her and said, "Okay, listen. The first thing you need to remember is to keep your head above the water. No matter what, keep your eyes on me, alright? I’ll be right here."

She nodded eagerly, gripping onto his neck as he gently waded deeper into the ocean, letting the water rise up to their waists. She giggled as the cool waves splashed over her legs. She was scared, but like her father she wouldn't admit it. That Maybank firceness.

"This is fun," she squealed, her voice high with excitement.

JJ smiled at her, his usual confident smirk turning softer. "I’m glad you think so. Now, ready for the next step?"

You could see his nerves underneath the surface, but he was determined to make this moment count. You knew he was a natural when it came to making people feel safe—especially his daughter—and you could see the bond between them growing with every moment.

"Okay, we’re gonna practice kicking," JJ explained. "You want to kick your legs like this," he demonstrated, giving her legs a gentle nudge to show her the motion. "Big, strong kicks, just like a dolphin."

His daughter laughed and kicked her legs, splashing water everywhere as she mimicked him. "Like this, Daddy?" she asked excitedly.

"Exactly like that!" JJ exclaimed. "You’re a natural, kiddo."

You watched as he continued to guide her through the motions, his voice calm and reassuring. "Good job. Now, let’s try floating on your back, alright?" he said, holding her securely in the water. "You’ve got to trust the water, trust that it’s going to hold you up."

She hesitated for a second, her tiny hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "But what if I fall, Daddy?" she asked, her voice small but brave.

JJ's face softened with understanding. He looked her in the eye, his hand gently smoothing back her wet hair. "You won’t fall. I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. You’re safe with me, okay?"

She looked up at him, her trust unwavering. "Okay, Daddy."

And just like that, she let go of her fears, leaning back into the water with JJ’s arms supporting her, guiding her to float. You could see the relief in her face as she finally relaxed, her tiny body gently bobbing in the water.

"There you go," JJ said, his voice full of pride. "You’re swimming, just like I knew you could. That's my girl."

. . . .

It was a warm Saturday afternoon when JJ came home from work, pushing through the front door. The moment he stepped inside, he noticed the scent of freshly baked cookies drifting through the house. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. No, it was the sound of his daughter’s giggles from upstairs—her voice light, teasing, and clearly way too excited about something.

He had taken a job that paid the bills, kept his family safe and fed. taken care of, even if he didn't really like it. an office job was boring, but he got to give his expertise on treasure hunting, and he worked with a lot of fun young archaeologists.

"Hey, kiddo, what’s going on?" JJ called out as he kicked off his shoes and made his way to the staircase.

Your daughter appeared at the top of the stairs, looking unusually... polished. Her hair was done in cute little braids, and she was wearing a floral dress you must’ve helped her pick out. JJ’s eyes narrowed as he gazed up at her.

"Dad!" she grinned down at him, clearly excited. "I’m going on my first date!"

JJ froze. He blinked, taking a moment for his brain to process what she just said. "Wait, what?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the edge of disbelief was undeniable.

"Yep!" She bounced down the stairs, twirling around in her dress as if she were some grown-up at a fancy dinner. "His name’s Tyler. He’s from my history class, and he’s super nice."

JJ’s eyes widened, and he crossed his arms. "Hold up. Tyler? You’re going out with a guy named Tyler?" He shot a look at you, who was standing in the kitchen, trying (and failing) to hide a smile at JJ’s growing concern.

You stifled a laugh, seeing the protective father in action. "JJ, she’s just going on a date. Let her have fun."

JJ didn’t seem to hear you. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on his daughter. "How old is this Tyler?"

"He’s 17, Dad. Just a year older than me!" She said the last part like it was supposed to reassure him. But to JJ, that was exactly the problem. He had been that age once too. he could remember when he was all over you.

"Seventeen?" JJ muttered, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern. He wasn’t angry, but he was definitely... apprehensive. "I don’t care if he’s 25, you’re my little girl, Cupcake, and I—" He paused, trying to find the right words. "Are you sure about this?"

His daughter rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness behind her teasing. "Dad, I’m fine! He’s a good guy. You can trust me."

JJ stood up straight, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Trust you? Of course, I trust you. But him?" He rubbed a hand through his hair, pacing for a second. "You’re my baby girl. What if he does something... something dumb?"

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of JJ—usually so calm and laid-back, now pacing like a lion in a cage. "JJ, she’s 16, not 5. She knows what she’s doing."

Your daughter crossed her arms, giving her dad a look that could only be described as an eye-roll combined with affection. "It’s not like I’m going to be out past midnight." she was just as sassy as he was.

You smiled softly, walking over to JJ and placing a hand on his arm to stop his pacing. "She’s going to be fine, love. It’s just a date, not a life-altering event. And you’ve raised her well—she knows what to look out for."

But JJ wasn’t entirely convinced. He turned to his daughter, his expression softening, though there was still a protective edge to his voice. "I want you to be safe. Text me when you get there, and when you leave, alright? And no funny business—no getting into cars with anyone, especially some dude named Tyler. Got it?"

His daughter snorted, clearly amused by his protectiveness, but she nodded. "Fine, fine, Dad. I’ll text you constantly so you can feel better."

"And no sneaking away or doing something crazy. You aren't some grown-up," JJ continued, his tone light, but there was no mistaking the worry behind his words.

"Got it," she said, shaking her head with a smile that screamed, “I love you, but you’re impossible.” JJ exhaled sharply, running his hand through his hair again. "And if you need me to come pick you up, for any reason, you call me. No questions asked."

"Dad, I’ll be fine," she reassured him again, now with an extra layer of affection in her voice. "Tyler’s cool, I swear." JJ’s face softened, his voice quieter. "I just... I just want to make sure you’re safe. That’s all. You’re my girl, and I love you more than anything."

You could see the softness in JJ’s expression, the deep affection for his daughter that made his words sound so heartfelt.

"Love you too, Dad," she said, hugging him tightly. "And I’m gonna be okay. Promise."

JJ hesitated for a second before hugging her back, lifting her up for a moment like she was still his little baby, even though she wasn’t. "Alright, alright. But if anything feels wrong, you come straight home, understood?"

"Understood," she replied with a smirk. "Can I go now?"

"One last thing." He ushers her to step forward, she shares his golden curls and has a few pieces astray that JJ pushes behind her ear in a loving way. "I just wanted to say that you look beautiful hun." JJ let her go, still looking a little too serious for your liking, but clearly trusting her judgment, even if he didn’t quite trust Tyler.

"Okay, but one last-last, thing," JJ added, running his hand through his hair again. "If he makes you uncomfortable at all, or if he’s not respectful—"

"Dad!" Your daughter groaned, cutting him off with a laugh. You chuckled as you watched JJ try to hold it together, clearly still struggling with the idea of his little girl dating. "Have fun, sweetie," you said, trying to ease the tension. "You’re going to be fine. Just be careful and enjoy yourself."

JJ watched her leave, his arms still crossed, eyes scanning the door long after she was gone. You could see the wheels turning in his head, but you knew it would take him a little while to relax completely.

As soon as the door closed behind her, JJ sighed deeply and flopped down onto the couch, running a hand over his face. "I swear, I’m going to need a drink after this."

You sat down beside him, wrapping your arm around his shoulder. "She’s growing up, JJ. But she’s strong, and she’s smart. She’s going to be okay."

JJ let out a long breath, resting his head back. "Yeah, I know. Just... give me a minute to breathe, okay?"

You laughed softly, kissing his cheek. "Of course. I’ll be right here. Don’t worry."

. . . .

It was a Saturday evening when JJ’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He was at home with you, the two of you enjoying a rare quiet moment after a busy week. Your daughter had gone out earlier in the day, saying she was meeting some friends at the park for a “social event.” She’d been passionate about certain causes recently, always talking about how she wanted to make a difference. You and JJ had talked about it, of course—your daughter was growing into a young woman with strong ideals. Still, the way she talked about it all made you both a little nervous, especially when you didn’t always know exactly what she was getting into.

She was just as mischieveious as her father was at that age, but less reckless. The Protesting was something she had been talking to her Aunt Kie Kie about recently. she was passionate, firey and full of life.

JJ was just pouring a glass of orange juice when the ringing sound cut through the silence again, followed by the unmistakable sound of an incoming call. He glanced at the screen, his brows furrowing when he saw the caller ID.

"It's the police," JJ muttered, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Y/N, ...something's wrong." You stood up immediately, your heart leaping into your throat as JJ answered the call, his voice tense. His free hand ran through his hair, clearly trying to maintain his cool. "What’s going on?" You held your breath as JJ’s face changed from concerned to something darker, more protective, as he listened to the person on the other end. Finally, after a long pause, he hung up, his face pale.

"JJ?" you asked, worry flooding your voice. He turned to you, his eyes wide. "It’s our daughter... She’s been arrested." Your heart dropped. "What? What happened?"

"They—she was protesting at a rally downtown," JJ explained, his voice shaking with barely contained anger. "It turned into a bigger protest, and things got out of hand. They arrested her for—" He stopped, shaking his head. "For disorderly conduct. Y/N, she’s in jail." Your daughter? Arrested? A thousand thoughts raced through your head. Your daughter, your sweet girl, had always been so passionate about causes she cared about, but you never imagined she’d get caught up in something like this. Your protective instincts kicked in, just as JJ’s had, but the question was: How did we get here?

Without another word, JJ grabbed his jacket and car keys. "Let’s go. We need to get her out of there." You nodded quickly, grabbing your purse and following him out the door. As you drove toward the police station, neither of you spoke much. There was nothing you could say to calm the growing sense of dread.

When you arrived, JJ wasted no time. He stormed inside with you following closely behind, his steps heavy with determination. The receptionist at the desk looked up with a weary expression as JJ slammed his palms onto the counter. "I’m here to get my daughter out. She’s been arrested. What do I need to do?" JJ demanded, his voice low but full of authority. The receptionist blinked but quickly typed something into the computer.

"Name?" she asked, clearly used to dealing with situations like this. "Maybank," JJ said, his voice not softening in the slightest.

After a brief exchange, the receptionist handed over some paperwork for JJ to fill out. The moment he finished, you both sat in a cramped waiting area, the silence between you only interrupted by the occasional footsteps echoing down the hall. JJ was vibrating with tension, his fingers tapping impatiently on his knee, his jaw clenched as he stared at the door leading to the holding cells.

"She’s gonna be okay, alright?" You asked quietly, even though you weren’t sure you believed the words yourself. JJ let out a breath, trying to calm himself. "I don’t know. I just… I never thought she’d be in a situation like this." He shook his head, frustration and fear clear in his eyes. "She was always so careful. Always so smart."

You could see his mind running through a dozen worst-case scenarios. He was terrified, and it broke your heart. You knew how fiercely protective he was of their daughter, how much he loved her.

"She’s strong, JJ," you said gently. "She’s been through tough things before. She’s a fighter. and she's just like you in that regard. She’ll be okay." Just as the words left your mouth, the door to the holding area opened, and a police officer appeared, followed by your daughter.

When JJ’s eyes locked on her, his breath hitched, and he shot up from his seat, rushing toward her. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice breaking, as he reached out to hold her. She looked tired, but she was alive and, more importantly, unharmed.

"Dad, I’m okay," she said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. "I didn’t mean for things to escalate like that. I just—"

JJ pulled her into a tight hug, his voice rough. "I don’t care what happened, baby girl. I’m just glad you’re okay. Don’t ever scare me like that again." You joined them, wrapping your arms around both of them. You could feel your daughter’s shoulders trembling, and you squeezed her tighter, knowing that she probably needed reassurance as much as JJ did.

"I'm so sorry, Mom, Dad," she whispered, her voice full of guilt. "I didn’t think it would go this far. It was supposed to be peaceful. I swear, I didn’t mean to get arrested."

JJ pulled back, his hands still on her shoulders as he looked at her. "I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, but you’ve got to be careful. You’re my little girl, and I don’t want you getting involved in something dangerous. You could’ve gotten hurt."

Your daughter nodded, tears slipping down her face. "I just wanted to make a difference. I thought this was the right thing to do. But… I don’t know anymore." You wiped away a tear from her cheek, your heart aching for her. "You are making a difference. But we need to make sure you’re safe while you do it, alright?"

JJ nodded, his voice much softer now, but still full of that protective fatherly instinct. "We’ll figure this out together, okay? But for now, we’re getting out of here. And next time—" He shook his head, unable to continue. He pulled her into another tight hug. "Next time, you text us first. No more surprises, okay?"

She nodded, her arms squeezing him tightly. "I promise, Dad." As you all walked out of the police station, JJ’s arm wrapped protectively around his daughter’s shoulders, the weight of the world still lingering on his shoulders. He hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon, but you knew that no matter what, he would always protect his daughter—just as fiercely as he loved her. Even if she reminded him of himself.

. . . .

You both sat on the porch once again, this time many many years in the future, graying and old. The cicadas still singing the same, the waves still lapping in the same old rhythm. The mosquitos out in full swing and the breeze tangling your silver hair. The moonlight is brisk.

You turn to the love of your life, the man who has been your everything since you were young once. You cut through the comfortable and loving silence finally. "JJ," you whisper. "Yes love?" His voice is now deeper, aged. It's raspy. "As our adventure comes to an end," you say. "I just want you to know that I love you." you say softly.

"I love you too." JJ says, "I wouldn't have wanted to have this life with anyone else. You are my everything." He smiles. You look out into the yard and remember all the highlights, highs lows and all, every moment up until now.

You gently rest your grayed head on his shoulder, the same as you did when you were young, and close your eyes.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 08

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Your eyes seemed to burn from the intensity of the light streaming through the window as your eyelids slowly peeled apart. The sound of a beeping monitor, a white room, and unfamiliar blue bedding came into focus, along with the IV lines running from your arm, causing discomfort whenever your body moved.

The sides of your head throbbed with such unbearable pain that your fingers pressed against your temples, as if fearing they might detach from your neck at any moment. Everything in your mind was a dark blur, with no identifiable cuts of clarity.

Yet the one certainty you had was why you’d ended up here—your body’s reactions made that abundantly clear. Your mouth was so dry that your lips stuck together, and your heart threatened to pound out of your chest with its relentless rhythm. Taking a sip of water seemed like a good way to silence the gnawing pain in your stomach, but as soon as you stretched your arm toward the bottle on the nearby table, it slipped through your fingers as a wave of dizziness clouded your vision.

“Shit,” you murmured, barely audible.

A sequence of claps drew your attention to the door, and your body instinctively straightened in the bed, despite the lingering pain in your left arm. Each clap synchronized with a step, and the expressions on his age-marked face clearly conveyed his lack of enthusiasm to be there, along with a palpable sense of disdain.

“Congratulations!” Gerard ceased his clapping as he stopped beside your bed. “It’s astonishing how you continue to surprise me with your incompetence.”

His eyes scanned your state with the air of someone examining something detestable, and when they met your face again, he shook his head in a theatrical display of disappointment.

“As if it weren’t enough for your face to be plastered all over the internet because you lost it and attacked a fan, now I have to endure the media interrogating me about why one of my vocalists overdosed at a party in my house!” he hissed through gritted teeth, raking his fingers aggressively through his hair. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“I’d answer if I could remember anything,” you sighed in exhaustion, laying your head back against the pillow, wishing only for the throbbing, miserable pain to subside.

“Right now, we were supposed to be at the photoshoot for the band’s new winter clothing line, and guess what?” he emphasized. “They all refused to go because of you!”

“Want me to feel sorry?” you retorted with a scoff. “We’ve never even seen a dólar from those clothes. Looks like I did them a favor.”

Arguing at this point required more effort than your body seemed capable of mustering. Each word exchanged only amplified the pounding in your head, made worse by the grating irritation of his voice drilling into your brain.

“Noah’s decided it’s time for you to step back from the band and focus on getting help. He’s compiled a list of specific places for that,” Gerard gestured animatedly with his hands. “Isn’t that lovely?”

Amid the chaotic jumble of your thoughts, you forced yourself to recall flashes from the previous night. You couldn’t be certain whether it was your mind fabricating memories or if you truly heard Noah’s desperate voice, even though it sounded distant in your ears.

If it had happened, and he still cared enough about your recovery to suggest stepping away, it meant that, in some small way, he still cared. But why did this realization prick at the fabric beneath your skin? You couldn’t find an answer.

“I accept.” You agreed, snapping out of your thoughts, raising your eyes to Gerard, who stood with arms crossed, leaning against the bed. “I want to go to rehab.”

“No, that’s not how this works.”

Your brow furrowed at the sly tone in his voice as he stepped closer. Instinctively, you leaned back, trying to distance yourself from him, but the edge of the bed stopped you.

“We have two festivals in the next two weeks and a tour starting next month, and I’m not letting you ruin them like you did today’s shoot. In our last conversation, I gave you incentives to endure the routine, just like we’ve always done since you proved to be weak. It’s your obligation to learn to moderate!”

“Get out of my room! Stay away from me!” Your voice cracked, the edge of its firmness faltering. Keeping composure was no longer possible when all you felt was exhaustion, and even that wretched emotion he insisted on suppressing.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Slowly, he leaned over you, gripping the curve of your elbow where the IV was attached, pressing the needle into your skin. Your body flinched at the sharp sting tearing through your senses, and you found yourself forced to meet his expressionless eyes.

“But when Noah walks through that door, you’re going to be a good girl and convince him you don’t need help. It’s not like you’ve never lied to him before, right? You’ll return to work and fulfill your schedule without letting that idiot interfere with my plans to keep the band together! I’m not losing money!” He enunciated every word, never breaking eye contact. “And do you know why you’re going to do this?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Because you don’t want me giving a statement that your overdose was caused by your ex-boyfriend, who just happened to be in the same place where the emergency team found your body,” Gerard said, pressing his thumb harder into your skin. “It won’t be hard to make them believe me when they find what I’ve planted in his room.”

A warm trickle of blood seeped from the IV site as he pressed on it, the same pace at which it began to sting.

“You’re contradicting yourself when you claim to prioritize the band’s integrity, yet your first ‘mature’ decision is to destroy it entirely. You know my absence won’t affect Bad Omens’ performance, but doing this to Noah would tear it all apart. It makes no sense.”

Actually, a realization struck you faster than you anticipated. Gerard knew that when it came to the band, you and Noah had always been as one, and any disturbance to one pillar would inevitably shake the other.

As had happened before.

“I met someone who helped me with this dirty work, and I found it fascinatingly ironic when I discovered he’s a mutual acquaintance of ours: Seth Reigh,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your tone. “There aren’t many guys with that name in that city, especially one with an identical name in your history. Seth is one of Richmond’s best suppliers. But, to my surprise, it took me less than half an hour of digging to learn everything about him, including that he’s your stepfather. The same one who’s been hunting you like an animal for years since you ran away from home.”

How far could someone go when determined to own another at any cost? This was the dirtiest move you’d ever witnessed in your life, hitting you like a slap to the face. Hearing Seth’s name after nine years still made your body react the same way it had years ago. As if nothing had changed.

“All this time, you’ve been safe, with my men guarding each and every one of you. He could never reach you, couldn’t even come near you. But with just one call…”

“You’re the filthiest creature I’ve ever met!” you snapped, your jaw aching from holding back tears of rage.

“And you’ll learn to honor contractual clauses. If not for yourself—which I doubt since you don’t care about your own life—then for Noah’s. He’ll be terribly upset when he gets reported for illegal drug possession after his ex-girlfriend hid them among his things...” Gerard feigned a pitiful tone, as if thoroughly enjoying himself. “No love can withstand that, right?”

You already felt guilty for wrecking the life of the man you’d loved since the day your paths first crossed. Burdened by the mess of your cursed history, you couldn’t forgive yourself for dimming the light in his eyes over the years. You couldn’t be responsible for another.

As though he had managed to plant what he wanted in your mind, Gerard released your arm, the dried blood trailing faint marks where it had flowed. Your head still refused to process the moment, and like a shadow swept away by a lapse in time, he vanished from the room. But unfortunately, this time, it wasn’t a fabricated memory.

That conversation had actually happened.

The nurse brought your meal; everything looked anemic, tasteless, impossible to digest. You weren’t sure if the food was truly bad or if you just weren’t hungry, feeding on hate instead. Your fingers absentmindedly nudged the chicken piece back and forth on the plate, letting it roll alongside a green jelly that smelled like plastic.

“Hey.” A male voice whistled from the doorway, tapping twice before stepping in.

Your smile came unbidden, and he returned it as he walked toward you, hands tucked into his pockets. As always, a cap paired with the hood of his sweatshirt, he was dressed entirely in black and smelled so good you dared to think it was the first scent you’d noticed since waking up. Noah wore the same clothes as yesterday—he hadn’t gone home, hadn’t left you alone.

A restless kind of peace came with him, and he had no idea that it was exactly what you needed.

“As always, I’m giving you trouble…” you began, a little embarrassed, but his soft chuckle cut you off as he gently moved your leg aside to sit on the edge of the bed.

“That doesn’t matter, but I’d like to know how you’re feeling.” He sighed, glancing at the tray beside you. “Why haven’t you eaten yet?”

You just wrinkled your nose with a grimace that made him smile.

“Come on, at least a little, okay?” he coaxed, adjusting the tray in front of him. With infinite patience, he cut and gathered the food onto the utensil, then brought it toward you. “Watch out for the airplane!”

Stifling a laugh, you accepted the food and closed your mouth to chew. Determined not to upset him, you ate two more bites before he moved the tray aside again.

“I don’t know if you’re well enough for this, but I can’t think of a better time to have this conversation with you.” Noah hesitated, running his hands over his thighs and biting his lips before looking back at your face. “I promise that the person sitting here in front of you right now isn’t your work partner. It’s Noah. I don’t know if you even remember him, but he used to be yours.”

“Please…”

A warm sensation ran through your skin when he placed his hand over yours, his thumb tracing over the exposed bones.

“I know what it feels like to lose you, and I swear to God, it doesn’t compare to how I felt yesterday when I found you in that place.” Slowly, he raised his face, his dull, lifeless eyes brimming with emotion. His lips trembled, but his touch didn’t falter. “That was one of the most selfish things you’ve ever done, and believe me, you’re the most selfish person I know.”

As though it were an involuntary command from your body, a single tear fell from your left eye just after one rolled down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry for that.”

“I can’t take this torture anymore—being forced to watch you die. Every part of me rots along with you every time you choose to hate yourself this way because I’d never do that to you. I’d never treat you like that.” He looked up, gasping for air, before continuing. “So, if you still hate yourself too much to want help, do it for me. I’m still your biggest fan.”

Your chest felt like invisible strings were being pulled tighter and tighter, suffocating you. But you couldn’t expect much from yourself. Closing your eyes, you prayed for this moment not to be real, for it not to demand that you say the things that would break him again. But when you opened your eyes, he was still there, as vulnerable as the night you first kissed.

“Noah…”

“I’ve found good contacts. It’s not too far, the treatment would be short, and I’ve already planned to visit regularly and…”

He was talking so fast that he could barely hear himself.

“Noah, I don’t need help,” you blurted, closing your eyes again to avoid seeing the moment the words hit him.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, adjusting his position on the bed. “Do you have any idea what happened yesterday, or are you going to ignore it like you’ve been doing all these years?”

No one warns us that struggles with addiction are destructive not only to the user but to everyone around them, reducing their world to a single life—yours. No matter how much you try not to make it about you, they relentlessly, almost obsessively, pursue your cure, forgetting they’re deteriorating along the way. But who catches the strong one when they can no longer hold themselves up?

“I know I crossed a line yesterday, and that’s enough for me not to repeat it, but not enough to accept being admitted as if I’m some addict!” You didn’t even believe your own words, but you needed to hold your ground. “If you really cared about me like you say, you’d never suggest something like that!”

“You’re acting like you didn’t hear anything I said!” Noah pressed his hand against his thigh, preparing to stand, but you grabbed his wrist just in time to stop him.

Gently, you got to your knees on the bed and crawled toward him, feeling the wind from the window brush against your back, exposed by the hospital gown. Noah was breathing heavily, his face damp, his red, irritated eyes framed by strands of hair tucked behind his ears. He didn’t resist your touch as your hand cupped his cheek. Shutting his eyes, he moved slightly when you tilted his face, shaking his head as though the scene was something he had lived through before.

And in truth, he had.

"Hey, I'm still here, look at me!" you whispered, and after he refused once again, you opened your eyes, anguish etched into your face as your foreheads collided, breaths clashing. "There’s no one else in this world who knows me as well as you do, so give me one more chance when I say I’ll get it right this time. I want to be better. I want to be good again, but I can’t do that unless you believe in me. Unless, just once more, you believe in me, Noah."

Your voice held steady, resisting the urge to falter, and for a second, in his silence, you thought he was considering your words. The way he listened so intently, down to the rhythm of his breathing, made you hope. You couldn’t resist the subtle way your skin brushed against his, even though desperation lingered in the air.

But something shifted in his eyes. They darkened, fixing on you with an expression you had never seen before. Noah seemed to take every ounce of his accumulated weight—exhaustion, fury, repression—and throw it all down at once. Gripping the hand still resting on his face, he let it out.

"I. DO. NOT. BELIEVE. YOU." His voice was strong, firm, rough, and left no room for argument. He pronounced each word deliberately, not once breaking his gaze.

Noah shoved your hand away from his face as if it carried a contagious disease, and in the next moment, he stood up from the bed in a hurry. He turned back toward you, eyes scanning your frozen figure, still on your knees. It seemed to hurt him as much as it hurt you—evident in the way his breathing hitched, his chest visibly weighed down.

"If you really want another chance to fix things, then accept my help. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me and all the time I stood by your side, even when you least deserved it, even when I forgot the way back home." Noah insisted. "But if you don’t, I want you to forget I exist outside of the stage. I want to be dead to you, just as you will be dead to me the moment I walk through that door."

Though his words wavered with hesitation, they struck like a promise. Avoiding his gaze long enough to keep him from noticing your cracks, you lowered your head, offering him only silence in response.

But he would never understand.

"Hey..." Three heads peeked around the doorway, and both of you turned to see Folio, Jolly, and Ruffilo entering, pretending they hadn’t been eavesdropping just outside.

"Didn’t know we’d be walking into a funeral. We can come back later," Folio said with a flat smile, gesturing his thumb toward the hall.

"No need, boys. Noah was just leaving," you said with a friendly smile in their direction. From the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and storm out of the room like a furious bolt of lightning.

The trio exchanged glances, silently communicating in their own cryptic way before each of them found a spot on the bed, squishing together to keep you company. As the conversation flowed, you tried to distract yourself, even laughed at the absurdities spilling from their mouths, but your mind kept drifting back to the same place.

This was the first time you’d truly kept a promise to him.

You had finally broken his heart.

Once again.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ;

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 2 | masterlist

-

Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him. 

“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression. 

You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.

He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway. 

You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair. 

“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply. 

It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat. 

Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.

That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch. 

The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap. 

It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings. 

Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months. 

You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days. 

John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.

He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly. 

His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften. 

“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son. 

“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”

I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby. 

Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t. 

When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again. 

“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”

“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”

You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now. 

There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself. 

The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice. 

“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details. 

He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.

Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.

With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it. 

“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?” 

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck. 

“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive. 

You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down. 

He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy. 

You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth. 

“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile. 

“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting. 

He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are. 

“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass. 

You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down. 

He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”

And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back. 

You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you. 

Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.

So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness. 

You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.

In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.

You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture? 

The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 

“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way. 

That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous. 

“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs. 

“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”

Your eyes widen.

“Wait—I don’t need to—”

You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin. 

There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place. 

He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel. 

“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do. 

“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.

With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet. 

His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.

“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations. 

“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy. 

“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—” 

Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep. 

Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts. 

“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest. 

You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun. 

You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric. 

Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent. 

The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”

He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple. 

The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—

You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root. 

The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better. 

All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room. 

Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead. 

At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast. 

You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep. 

“Not bad,” you whisper. 

Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.

[gxr25256]

The Return Visit - Thundercraker x reader (2)

🌵 Hello, I'm back. After a few days of treatment, I felt better and was able to continue working.

🌵 Forgive me if there are any mistakes 😊

-------------------------------

The next time you approached the abandoned building, your heart beat a little faster. The memory of Thundercracker’s towering figure was still fresh in your mind, but there was a strange comfort in knowing you’d promised to return. In one hand, you carried a bag packed with things you thought might interest him: a few DVDs, some snacks, and a USB drive filled with movies. The blanket draped over your other arm wasn’t just for practicality—you figured it might help make the cold, crumbling space feel a little cozier.

When you entered the building, you spotted him immediately. Thundercracker was seated in the same spot, his broad frame bathed in the flickering glow of the cobbled-together television. The instant his optics landed on you, they brightened—a subtle yet undeniable flicker of recognition and something else… expectation?

“You actually came back,” he said, his tone neutral, though the subtle lift of his wings betrayed his guarded relief.

“I said I would,” you replied with a small smile, holding up the bag. “And I brought some stuff. Thought it might make things a little more... fun?”

He tilted his helm, clearly intrigued but hesitant. “What did you bring?”

“Just… some stuff,” you said, lifting the bag for emphasis. “Movies, snacks—you probably can’t eat them, but I thought I’d bring them anyway—and a blanket, so I don’t freeze sitting here.”

He blinked slowly, his optics narrowing in mild confusion. “You brought things… for me?” The question sounded foreign on his tongue, as though he couldn’t quite process the idea.

You set the bag down carefully, shrugging. “Well, yeah. Friends do that for each other, don’t they?”

“Friends?” he echoed, the word lingering in the air like a spark.

“Or something like that,” you added quickly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense gaze. Realize how silly you are for calling him—an alien robot—your friend, even though you haven't known each other for more than a week.

Thundercracker seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding faintly. “I see.” His wings twitched—a small movement, but one that hinted at his awkward gratitude.

You spread out the blanket on the floor and took a seat, pulling a DVD from the bag. “Alright, I brought a few options. Thought we could start with a classic—maybe something lighthearted? Or do you want another detective story?”

Thundercracker arched an optic ridge, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Surprise me,” he said, leaning back slightly as he settled into a more relaxed posture.

“Alright!” You inserted the disc into a portable DVD player you’d brought, connecting it to the makeshift TV with some effort. As the first movie began, you both fell into an easy silence. The hum of the television filled the space, mingling with the faint rustle of wind outside. You’d chosen something lighthearted—a comedy—to ease any lingering tension, and while Thundercracker didn’t laugh, you noticed the occasional flicker of his optics or the slight twitch of his wings during the funnier moments.

Halfway through the movie, you noticed the distant rumble of thunder. It started as a low growl, barely noticeable over the film’s dialogue, but it grew louder, closer, until the first droplets of rain began tapping against the broken windows. You glanced up from the DVD player you were fiddling with, sensing the change outside.

Thundercracker was sitting beside you, his large frame still as ever, but he looks strange. Perhaps it was the rain, or perhaps it was just the quiet of the building, his optics dimming as they followed the storm brewing outside.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” you said lightly, gesturing to the rain, hoping the weather would spark some conversation.

He shifted his weight, just a slight movement. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“You don’t mind the rain, do you?” You asked, glancing at him.

Thundercracker’s wings twitched, a subtle motion that didn’t escape your notice. His voice, when it came, was deep but soft. “It’s fine. Storms are... familiar.”

He didn’t elaborate, and you weren’t sure how to press. For a moment, you both just sat there in the dim light, the sound of the storm mixing with the background hum of the movie.

The silence between you felt comfortable in a way, but also heavy, like there was something unsaid. You found yourself stealing glances at him. He wasn’t anything like you’d expected from the Decepticons—the way he spoke, slow and measured, with a hint of thoughtfulness, made him seem more like a puzzle than a threat.

After a few minutes, you broke the silence, you ventured. “So, you like storms, huh? What’s that about?”

Thundercracker seemed to hesitate for a moment before he responded, his optics shifting back to the window as another thunderclap sounded. “They remind me of… flying.”

“Flying?” you repeated, intrigued.

His voice dropped, quieter now. “There’s something about it. "The thunder, the wind—feels like the world is… changing. You know, when you're flying? The sky’s always shifting. Never still. It’s freeing.”

You furrowed your brow, trying to imagine it. “Liberating? But all the chaos of a storm… that doesn’t seem like freedom.”

His lips twitched, but it was almost imperceptible. “Maybe to you. But to me, it’s all the same."

Before you could voice it, the storm outside intensified, the rain now falling in sheets, drumming harder against the glass.

Thundercracker, however, didn’t seem bothered by it. He sat back, as if settling into the storm itself, lost in thought, his posture is almost relaxed, as though the chaos outside mirrored something within him.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but probing. “Do you like storms?”

You didn’t immediately answer, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know,” you finally admitted. “They make me feel small. Like I’m trapped in something I can’t escape. And they always feel kind of sad. Lonely.”

“Lonely?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Is that how you feel?”

For a second, you weren’t sure how to respond. “I guess so,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze for a moment. “Uhm...... I mean, look at it. Everything feels so distant in a storm. The rain keeps people apart, the thunder feels like it’s warning you to stay away… it’s just isolating.”

There was a long pause before he spoke again, his tone quieter. “I know that feeling.”

You turned to him. “You do?”

His wings drooped slightly, and his optics dimmed. “I’ve spent more time alone than I care to admit. Even with my trine… even in the middle of battle, there was always a part of me that felt… separate. Like I didn’t belong.”

You looked at him, gently asked. “A trine?”

His voice was distant, as if lost in a memory. “Yeah. Starscream, Skywarp, and me. But things change.” He let out a breath that almost sounded like a sigh, a sound that felt too human for something so mechanical. "We were... close. Or I thought we were. But now…” He let out a quiet chuckle, though it didn’t sound particularly amused.

You noticed the way his shoulders sagged, the weight of his words pressing down on him. “Now what?” you prompted gently.

“But now? Now, I’m not so sure. One of them shot me in the face, and the other…” He trailed off, letting the unsaid words hang in the air. You could hear the venom in his voice even as it softened. “I don’t think they’d care if I disappeared.”

The way he said it hit you harder than you expected. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

Thundercracker’s optics flickered toward you, a faint hint of surprise in his gaze. “Why would you care? You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” you said, your voice steady, “but I know what it’s like to feel alone. And I don’t think anyone deserves that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was heavy, yes, but in a way that felt meaningful. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling through the cracks in the building, but it only seemed to draw the two of you closer together.

As the rain continued to fall, Thundercracker found himself speaking more than he usually would. He spoke not out of any expectation but because the quiet atmosphere of the abandoned building, combined with the soothing rhythm of the rain, made it feel easier to open up. He described the war, the battles that had shaped him, the unrelenting conflicts that seemed endless, the moments of betrayal, and the constant shifting of alliances.

His voice was steady, though calm, revealed the battle within him, a part of him still scarred by what had happened, by the choices he'd made, and the things he’d been forced to leave behind. He spoke of his trine, the bond that had once meant everything, and the cold emptiness that had replaced it. The storm outside seemed to mirror his words—violent, unpredictable, a reflection of the chaos he had known.

You listen quietly and attentively. When he finished, you swallowed, uncertain of what to say. Hesitating for a moment. "That was... a lot," you said quietly, meeting his optics. "I had no idea."

Thundercracker didn't respond immediately, his optics dimming slightly as he looked away, as though he had realized he'd revealed so much. Then, he did something you hadn't expected—he shifted subtly, almost as though instinctively, leaning toward you as the storm outside unleashed a particularly loud thunderclap. His arm came up slightly, a protective gesture, not as if he thought you were in immediate danger, but as if he wanted to shield you from the sound. The thunder was deafening, but Thundercracker's reaction was softer, more human than you anticipated. His optics flickered, and his voice was quieter, almost apologetic.

"Didn't mean to... bring that all up," he muttered, though his body remained tense, alert. "The war, the past... it’s hard not to think about it when everything goes quiet."

You blink slowly, still trying to process everything. "Thank you" the words escaped your lips even quieter than a whisper.

"What?" He tilted his head slightly in confusion, optics focused on you.

"Thank you, Thundercracker," you said softly, your voice a little shaky. "For... protecting me. "

Thundercracker looked at you for a moment, his optics flickering, but the faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips. " You're welcome. It's not really a threat anyway."

The movie had long since ended, but neither of you seemed to notice. The storm began to quiet, the rain tapering off into a gentle drizzle, and the room felt warmer somehow, despite the lingering chill.

When it was time for you to leave, you gathered your things, pausing at the doorway before stepping out into the damp, cool night. The rain had subsided slightly, but the air still carried a weight, a lingering sense of the storm's power. You hesitated, feeling an unfamiliar tug in your chest as you turned back to look at him. "I’ll be back," you said, your voice quieter than you intended, meeting his gaze. "If that’s okay."

Thundercracker’s response came in the form of a small, almost reluctant nod. “It’s… okay.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, catching one last glimpse of him watching you go. There was something in his expression that stayed with you—a quiet gratitude, a flicker of hope. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you’d made a real connection. And judging by the way his optics lingered on you as you disappeared into the night, you weren’t the only one.

-----------------------------------

[mybworlds]

Chapter 9: Emptiness

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N) | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W.C.:

Summary: Your life sounds perfect: you live with a perfect man, you live in your dream house, you do the job you love, you don't miss anything, except love and passion.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, use of you, reader is a photographer, reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to, unspecified age gap, Joel and reader are two cheaters, for a while. Smut, use of pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected PiV but the first time, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink, personal use of an unspecified sex toy. No outbreak here. Let me know if I missed anything!

Masterlist

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Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics

Taglist @harriedandharassed

The air suddenly becomes suspended, as if charged with a strange electricity. Patrick no longer speaks and Joel seems to have become a statue, you don't know what to do or say. You wish you hadn't been so direct and hasty in your words, but now it's done, you can't go back.

“Patrick?” you resume “I'm sorry, but I had to tell you the truth. It's not fair that you still believe or hope that we'll get back together.” you are lapidary even though you don't know if there will actually something with Joel, but you really hope so.

Patrick sighs, “I see.” He sighs again, “Are you happy?”

You feel a tightness in the pit of your stomach, you close your eyes and look up at Joel who instead is not looking at you anymore and you feel empty. Is he afraid? Does he not want to? Does he not care about you?

On the other hand, he’s always been clear, he told you since your first meeting that he doesn't want a relationship with you or anyone else, why should he change his mind now? For you? Not even before you were in bed, he told you that he wanted a future with you, he just told you that he was fine, but... while for you that might mean having feelings, for him it might not be like that.

“I'm confused.” You are sincere in your response to Patrick.

“He doesn’t want you?” he asks you.

You look up at Joel who has his back to you now, his body turned toward the kitchen and his hands resting on the sink, his head still low.

“I don't know.” You answer him and in those moments, seeing his reaction, you can't help but wonder if deep down you didn't do everything wrong with Joel and Patrick. “Patrick, I'm sorry,” you add, clutching the phone tighter.

“We’ve both hurt each other, baby.” He sighs. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with him, but I hope he makes you feel more important than I did.” he adds with a regretful tone.

You wanted to tell him that given Joel's expression, it's highly unlikely that you can or he will want to continue seeing you. But you don’t say anything.

“I wish you every happiness,” Patrick tells you again.

“Yes, you too.” there’s still a moment of silence between you, then he ends the call.

You place the phone on Joel's kitchen peninsula and then look up, taking in the weight of the words you just said: Joel is silent and motionless as if everything he has heard has robbed him of the strength to move and speak. He still doesn't look at you.

“Joel?” you call, getting up from the stool. “I’m sorry you heard it that way, but… it’s the truth.”

He sighs, looking towards the window next to the kitchen, “Do you know why I never wanted to bond with someone again?” he asks without looking at you.

You shake your head, even though you know he's not looking at you.

“Because I can’t stand to see or hear words like the ones I heard. D’ you know what my ex-wife said to me when I tried to find a way to get back together?” he pauses, a long one and that's when he turns towards you “That she had fallen in love with someone else, that she was confused, that things between us weren't workin’. Do you know how that made me feel? Useless, a useless man." he nods “And the worst thing is that Patrick is my friend and I did what I did to him.”

You frown, “There were two of us, there have always been two of us who were together, in confiding in each other.” You tell him almost in a pleading tone “Please, don’t feel guilty. We both wanted it.” he shakes his head. “Joel? Please don’t.” a horrible creepy feeling spreads inside you, Joel doesn't want you. He's pushing you away.

Your eyes fill with tears, your lips tremble, you look down, while timid tears fly towards the floor. You feel like throwing up, a feeling of rejection, of pain tightens your stomach making you almost unable to breathe.

“Please, talk to me.” you beg.

His face becomes tense, then he finally looks up at you and the sweet look you had found there until a few minutes ago has disappeared. He looks cold, his gaze hard, then shakes his head, “I can’t.” his gaze is empty, unrecognizable.

“Maybe we could...”

“No.” his tone is cold, he doesn’t allow for replies “There’s no us.” you freeze in place "You better go.” he adds, looking everywhere but at you.

The world around you is spinning wildly. Suddenly nothing seems to make sense, every thought you have is jumbled together so meaningless. Your lower lip is trembling, shy tears are streaming down your cheeks, “That was the reason why I just fucked. Now even that won't be possible anymore because every time it’ll happens, I won't be able to help but wonder if I will see your same look in another woman, or if any other woman won't want to change her life because of me." his is a thin whisper in which each word is well articulated and impossible not to hear.

You’re about to tell him not to shut himself away, not to treat you like this, but he interrupts you again, “When you go out, make sure you close the door tightly.”

You're about to repeat his name and beg him not to treat you like this, but nothing comes out of your mouth, not even a sound. He gives you one last long, silent look, then you're left alone in his house.

You look desperate and absent at the same time, you don't even know where you're going. You only know that you're empty, completely empty. Your heart is beating hard in your chest, it hurts. You are speechless and almost breathless. What happened has completely shaken you. You are struggling not to give in to the tears that are building up in the back of your eyes.

Everything is destroyed. Everything is lost.

You have lost everything.

You have nothing left and what could have been a beautiful project that you could have shared with him, with Joel, has disintegrated because by his own admission he himself has already lived everything and does not intend to do it again. He's always been clear from the beginning. His previous relationship burned him so much that even his heart is reduced to ashes and now maybe hearing it beat again for someone pains him so much that he doesn't want to feel it.

You wipe away your tears a couple of times, not wanting to attract anyone's attention. You know that surely no one will even look at your face, but crying for you has always been an act to be done alone.

You have now arrived in front of your shop, the seat of your great infinite pride, your job. Maybe everything can start from here, from who you are, a photographer, a good photographer. And it's not you who says it, but the people who turn to you.

You struggle to concentrate, your mind often goes back there, to that silent goodbye. Joel won't go back. If his ex-wife hurt him as much as he says, he won't look for you again.

No matter how hard you try to think positively, to focus on something else, your mind always takes you back to that exact moment, to when you destroyed three lives at once, when you uttered those fateful words.

I fell in love with someone else.

You feel stupid because for a day you really had illusions that Joel could choose you, but then all of that dissolved before your eyes, shattering your hopes and your heart.

Emptiness.

That's what you feel.

Emptiness.

Just a deep, unbridgeable void.

As the hours pass, the situation does not improve, indeed it seems always be worse.

You feel weak, cowardly, maybe the problem is not Patrick or Joel who clearly rejected you, but you are the problem. Maybe you need so much love, passion, desire that you don't care about making others feel bad if you're fine.

What kind of person have you become?

Daisy's words that should comfort you make you collapse into a state of great despair. She’s very sweet, she takes great care of you in every possible and imaginable way, but all this doesn't lift your spirits.

You don't know what kind of person you are anymore. You once knew exactly who you were and what you wanted, you thought you knew it and you went straight down that road.

The result?

You hit a wall called Joel Miller. A wall that left your heart broken, bleeding and humiliated you like no one had ever done before.

But you want to make a last desperate attempt, you want to talk to him. You want to do it calmly, find the right words and not be reckless. You know it will almost certainly hurt to hear certain things, but you want to hear them. You have two.

Are you a masochist?

Yes, maybe.

But then you tell yourself that if he's cruel to you again, you'll be the one who doesn't want to think about him anymore. You want him, you want him in your life, but you don't want someone who makes you feel weak and vulnerable, who uses you and then throws you away like that.

You are not like that, you know it. You know you are worth so much more than this. You deserve better. And if that better is being without Joel Miller, then so be it.

Daisy of course advises you against it. She says you aren’t thinking clearly yet. You feel confused, but determined.

It's been almost three weeks and now you're sure you want to talk to him, you need to. Even if you know you probably won't get a different answer than the one you've already had, but as much as it may hurt you now you want to put an end to it.

The emptiness he left in you has given way to disappointment and anger.

You reach his house thinking about what to say to him, but everything seems stupid or incoherent. You are in front of his place.

You ring the bell.

What the fuck are you doing here?

You hear a voice shouting ‘comin’, it’s a woman. Your heart skips a beat. A moment later, a beautiful woman opens the door. The woman is wearing a bathrobe, she looks strong and determined, but above all happy. She smiles at you, “You’re the delivery guy, aren’t you? You were fast!”

You're shocked, “No... uhm, is Joel there?”

“Yes, are you a colleague of his?” she asks you, pulling the edges of his bathrobe a little tighter.

“No.”

“So, who are you?” she asks.

“Uhm…”

“Tess, who’s there?” another voice from inside reaches your ears. It's Joel.

Joel appears behind her, opening the door a little wider. His expression changes from puzzled to astonished, then he becomes gloomy, “What are you doing here?” he asks you.

What are you doing there? You're wondering that too.

Tess looks at your face, then at Joel's. You don't know what to answer.

You kind of expected it, but not in such a brutal way. He replaced you even though he told you he couldn't do that anymore after what you told him.

“Sorry, I was wrong to come.” You don’t know what else to say to them.

How stupid!

You turn your back on them, feeling a lump in your throat. You move away quickly from Joel’s place. You were wrong to go there, but now more than ever you feel like you can move on and stop thinking about him. He has already replaced you. There’s nothing left for you.

You decide you don't want to think about Joel Miller anymore, since you met him you have fallen into a vortex of passion, he has satisfied you every time, but no one has shattered your heart like he did. You hold your hair with both hands, tonight you stay in your shop where you tinker with the computer. You look back at all the photoshoots you've done over the last two years and think about how many times you've put yourself aside to please others, but making yourself unhappy and pretending it was your decision.

Now all this has to end. From now on you will only think about yourself, for a while enough with love. You have only known how to make a lot of messes. You go through some old emails and find one from a few years ago that you received for a fashion show of a prestigious fashion house. You never wanted to trash it because you liked to remember that moment and then because in the email as a post scriptum they had written to you that if you had been interested there would always have been a place for you. It was really a great service that you did, you remember that they wrote to you that the sales had even tripled after your work!

You smile while looking at the screen. Why not!

Maybe Saint Barbara will do you good.

[hyucksos]

heavy is the crown — mark lee [preview]

pairing: mark lee x f!reader genre: fantasy/supernatural au, crime-action, angst, romance preview wc: 1.2k (actual wc: tbc) synopsis: a series of visions lead you to mark lee, a seemingly normal human boy with no ties to the world of the gifted— your world. as such, you're concerned as to why you keep seeing him in your dreams, and the army of wraiths that just can't seem to leave him alone despite him being powerless... or so you thought. as he joins you at the academy, you learn that there may be more to this mark lee than you thought there was. taglist: open | click here to join

You had no idea what Taekwondo was. At least, not until today.

According to Donghyuck, it’s a form of martial arts, similar to the combat training you go through at the academy every day. You weren’t actually sure on whether to believe him or not considering Donghyuck is Donghyuck and his whole life before joining the academy sounded like a jumble of lies (you learnt not to trust him wholeheartedly after he convinced you that bananas were considered a delicacy in the outside world. He made you eat them with a knife and fork for a full week).

But now, as you’re sitting amongst the sea of heads in the stands overlooking the arena below, you think that Donghyuck might just be telling the truth this time.

You tug on the gloves that hug your hands and forearms, the latex that sticks uncomfortably to your skin not at all helping in easing your nerves. You rarely step foot outside the academy— not like it’s ever been restricted; you know being in unfamiliar environments could potentially spike your elemental, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally committing arson, or anything like that. As much as you hate your gloves, you know they keep you safe, which is why you keep them on.

Weirdly enough, nobody seems to pay you any mind; not with your gloves, not even with the bulky silhouette of your hanbok-like uniform you knew you should have changed out of before coming here. It’s as though you’re invisible, everyone’s eyes fixed on the arena below.

“The next match is about to begin. In the blue corner representing Blue Wave Taekwondo, here to show off his agility and skill— let’s give it up for Jeno Lee!”

You startle when the people around you cheer loudly, and you slowly bring your own hands together to join in on the applause. You can’t really make out the athlete’s face as he steps into the ring, most of his features blocked by the helmet he dons. You’re curious, having never seen a sparring match that required this much gear before— then again, you suppose that's just how it goes for an ordinary human sport.

“And in the red corner, known for his speed and precision, Kick It Dojang’s very own Mark Lee! Let’s give him a warm welcome!”

The buzz of the crowd fades into the background the moment your gaze lands on the boy decked in red and white, but you don’t register it until a second later— not until he straightens his back after bowing to his opponent, and his eyes meet yours.

A sharp pain suddenly hits your temples, and you hiss as your head falls to your hands. Immediately, the world starts to warp.

You’re looking at the boy from your visions, the boy you now know as Mark Lee. His head lies in your lap, lifeless, his skin pale and cold. Shadows swirl around you, whispering things you don’t understand.

“Mark,” you breathe, voice trembling. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.”

But nothing.

The whispers grow louder, your own voice feeling like it's being drowned out by their presence. Your chest starts to tighten with the weight of the darkness-

The vision cuts off abruptly, and you’re left breathless as your eyes refocus to the arena before you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but Mark is still in the ring, already in the midst of sparring with his opponent.

Your visions of him were what led you here in the first place, each one like fragments of a puzzle pulling you closer and closer. They're mostly brief, but you know they mean something, especially because of the shadows that would often surround him as they hiss with intent you couldn't decipher.

But this one was different.

For the first time, he had a name. For the first time, you saw him up close— vulnerable, his life resting in your hands as the wraiths closed in around you both.

It felt like the collision of two separate worlds that were never supposed to merge, and you know that this was no ordinary vision. Whatever it is that just happened... it was only the beginning.

And you knew you needed to let Mark know.

Mark bounces his head to the music blasting through his wired earpieces, his eyes trained on his scuffed Converses as he walks. He's been told it's a real bad habit, to not watch where he's going (especially when he couldn't even hear his surroundings most of the time), but he swears he's working on it. Plus, his headphones aren't even the noise-cancelling kind, so he's still able to hear what goes on around him, albeit only partly; like right now.

Mark stops in his tracks, pulling out one of the buds from his ears as he looks behind him.

Nothing.

It's been happening a lot recently, to get the sensation of someone whispering in his ear only for him to look up and realise that he's alone. He's tried brushing it off as a gust of wind— even a figment of his own imagination— but he knows better than to believe that, not when the night is too still, too quiet, and he's far from losing his mind.

He also knows better than to ask if anybody's there— he's seen enough horror movies to know how badly that would end for him.

Perhaps walking through the park at this hour wasn't his best idea in the first place.

Mark stares idly at the barely-lit pavement for a few seconds more before bringing his earbud back to his ear, turning back around to resume his walk— only to be met with you.

He stumbles backwards with a startled gasp, his phone almost falling from his hand before he realises that no, you're not a ghost.

You’re the girl from earlier.

Of course, Mark remembers you. How could he not, when you're the only one who stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of spectators? It was odd enough as it is for him to be distracted right before a match, but there was just something about you that pulled him in; Mark couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Maybe it was your odd choice of attire, the traditional Korean-inspired silhouette of your all-black trench coat that cinched at your waist, or maybe it was the latex gloves that caught his attention first.

Either way, he’s feeling it again, that magnetic pull that renders him unable to look away, and it's not just because you're pretty— it feels as though there's literally something weighing him down, pulling on his chest.

Before he could question it, he notices your eyes lose focus on him, settling on something behind him instead. You’re the first one to break the silence.

"Duck."

Mark frowns. "What?"

In a split second, you're already ripping off your gloves, a flame roaring to life in your palm before you hurl the fire over his shoulder.

Mark’s confusion morphs into a split-second horror as he instinctively ducks, stumbling over his own two feet as he hears the air behind him fill with an otherworldly screech. Still, he dares himself to look over his shoulder, just in time to see multiple shadowy figures burst into flames before dissolving into nothingness.

The sight only causes Mark to fall on his butt, his neck snapping back towards you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “And- what- what did you just do?”

You let out a shaky breath, flicking your bare wrist before you put on your glove, almost nonchalantly. Almost like you didn’t just shoot fire out of your hands.

Oh, maybe he is losing his mind.

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Amagase

Things You Can Only Do with You at Night: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Card

(...It’s so quiet now.)

The festive sounds of the celebration echoed faintly in the distance.

After parting ways with Prince Kagari, I intended to visit more stalls, but one of the festival staff approached me and asked for a favor.

They needed someone to watch over their belongings while they escorted a lost child home.

(It’s probably because Prince Kagari had been by my side the whole time while I was helping out...)

(Does this mean the townsfolk trust me enough to ask for such a favor? If so, that makes me happy…)

Emma: "Ah…"

A booming sound, loud enough to shake my chest, erupted, and fireworks illuminated the night sky.

(Though, from here, the trees and rooftops block the view… What a shame.)

(I hope the lost child gets to watch the fireworks with their family.)

With each firework launched, cheers erupted from afar.

The quietness of the dim room suddenly felt isolating, almost melancholic. For some reason, Prince Kagari came to mind.

(Is he watching the fireworks?)

(I wonder if I’ll get to see him one more time before the festival ends…)

The thought slipped into my mind naturally and settled deep in my heart.

(The reason I felt disappointed when he disappeared wasn’t just because I wanted to talk more…)

(It was because I had secretly hoped we might enjoy the festival together.)

(He’s unpredictable, stealthy, and as elusive as a cat—always keeping me guessing what he’s thinking.)

(Maybe I’ve enjoyed my time with Prince Kagari more than I realized.)

Perhaps it’s because he was the first person to reach out to me when I arrived in Kogyoku.

(Oh… the fireworks have ended.)

The room grew even darker and quieter.

As the breeze swept in, brushing against my skin, a strange sense of loneliness welled up within me.

Kagari: “Lost in thought, princess?”

Emma: "Wah!?"

Startled, I stumbled backward as Prince Kagari’s striking face suddenly appeared, far too close for comfort.

He always shows up so abruptly, it’s enough to make me wonder if his true goal is to stop my heart.

(But... I did get to see him again before the festival ended.)

Kagari: “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

Emma: “...No, it’s partly because I was lost in thought.”

Kagari: “Hmm? You’re smiling now. What’s on your mind?”

Emma: “N-Nothing at all! It’s just your imagination.”

(There’s no way I could tell him I was thinking about him... My face feels so hot!)

Emma: “Um, why are you here, Prince Kagari?”

Kagari: “I heard you were keeping an eye on some luggage.”

Emma: “...You came here just to see me?”

Kagari: “Is that a problem?”

Emma: “N-Not at all. Not one bit.”

(He really just came because he heard I was here.)

(There’s no deep reason behind it, but maybe that’s why it feels so unexpectedly heartwarming.)

Kagari: “...”

Emma: “Huh? Um, Prince Kagari, what are you... Wait, you’re way too close! What’s going on!?”

Prince Kagari had suddenly crawled closer on all fours, making me instinctively back away.

But before I could escape, he grabbed my hand, preventing me from moving. Then, to my disbelief, he leaned in and pressed his ear against my chest.

Kagari: "Your heartbeat is all over the place. Were you that startled?"

(That’s part of it, but still…!)

Emma: "My irregular heartbeat is entirely because you have no concept of personal space!"

Kagari: "You always react amusingly when I get close."

Emma: "…Please stop teasing me."

(It feels like Prince Kagari is really going to make my heart stop someday…)

(Wait… what’s that smell?)

A faint scent brushed past my nose.

It was the metallic smell of iron, one I’d encountered many times in Kogyoku. My body tensed instinctively.

Kagari: "Don’t worry, it’s not my blood."

Emma: "Then… whose?"

Prince Kagari pulled back and casually sat cross-legged beside me.

Kagari: "I just dealt with some troublesome guests. Festivals are perfect cover for misdeeds—breaking in, secret meetings, theft, even murder. The lively atmosphere hides it all."

Kagari: "In such situations, there’s only one thing for me to do —an ambush.”

Kagari: "Not that there were that many of them tonight, though."

The scent of blood must have been masked by the festival’s various aromas earlier. Perhaps even when I saw him in the alley, he carried the same scent.

Listening to Prince Kagari speak of such things as if they were routine made my chest tighten painfully.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say but after a moment of silence, I quietly opened my mouth.

Emma: "This is my first time attending a festival in Kogyoku, and I’ve been overwhelmed by how lively it is. Everyone, both locals or visitors, is smiling..."

Emma: "And now, hearing the unending bustle, I realize it’s thanks to you quietly protecting it all behind the scenes."

Emma: "I’m glad you’re so strong, but I’m even more relieved that you’re unharmed."

Kagari: "..."

Kagari: "That’s one way to think about it, I suppose."

After pausing to think for a moment, Prince Kagari leaned back on his hands and looked at me.

Kagari: "You really are the type to get the short end of the stick, princess."

Emma: "Why do you say that?"

Kagari: "You're a guest from another land, after all. You didn't need to help out on the day of the festival."

Kagari: "Let me take over as the watchperson. The fireworks may be over, but the festival still has some time left. Go enjoy it."

Emma: "Thank you for your consideration, but I was the one who agreed to this, so I’d like to see it through to the end."

Kagari: "You were thoroughly enjoying the festival earlier, going stall by stall. Are you sure about this? If you go now—"

Emma: "Wait a moment. How do you know I was going stall by stall?"

Emma: "...Did you perhaps… follow me?"

Kagari: "..."

Emma: "I didn’t notice at all."

Kagari: "I was on rooftops and in trees. You were probably so absorbed in the festival you didn’t notice."

(From places like that!? That’s why he appeared from above in the alley.)

(Ugh… He saw me completely enjoying myself at the festival!)

But it’s not like he would have been watching me the entire time while he was protecting the town. Still, the embarrassment made my face feel as though it was on fire.

Emma: "If you were following me, you could have just joined me."

(If tailing me was easier for him, then I guess it couldn’t be helped…)

Prince Kagari tilted his head, looking genuinely puzzled by my words.

Kagari: "I thought you wanted to enjoy the festival alone."

Emma: "Huh? I didn’t think that at all…"

Kagari: "You told the candy shop boy so."

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Child 1: "We’re working super hard to prepare, so Teacher, you and the lady should come check it out!"

Emma: "Sure, I’ll definitely come!"

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(If I didn’t invite him then, it probably did seem like I planned to go alone.)

(I get it, but… why does this feel like some strange misunderstanding?)

(He always seems to figure out what I’m thinking faster than I do…)

(...Maybe Prince Kagari wanted to join me at the festival too, and that’s why he followed me?)

(No, no, it’s Prince Kagari. It was probably just a whim.)

I suddenly noticed his emotionless jade-green eyes fixed on me.

Kagari: "Did you want to go around the festival with me Princess?"

(Ugh… Hearing it directly from him is so embarrassing…)

There was no reason to lie about the feelings I had realized. I nodded softly.

Emma: "I think so."

Emma: "...It made me happy when you called out to me in the alley earlier."

Kagari: "...I see."

Kagari: "..."

Emma: "..."

(What do I do about this atmosphere?)

Struggling to contain the itch of unease that threatened to overwhelm me, I coughed softly into the silence that had fallen once again.

I wished for anyone—anything—to break the tension.

As if my wish had been granted, hurried footsteps echoed, and a man burst into the room.

Man: "Miss Emma, thank you so much for watching over everything! You’ve been such a great help—oh, Prince Kagari?!"

Kagari: "Did you get the lost child safely home?"

Man: "Y-Yes, no injuries or anything."

Kagari: "Good work. I’ll leave the rest to you."

Kagari: "Let’s go, Princess."

He grabbed my hand, and I followed him carefully so as not to trip as we walked down the hallway.

Emma: "Um, where are we going?"

Kagari: "Where else but the festival?"

Prev | Next

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[lucygraysboy]

“you’re welcome. i really like the idea of using colors as middle names, very unique.” and yet shows that they’re a community. a family. “why would i want to do something nice for you? ‘cause it’s better than just sayin’ thank you, right? actions speak louder than words? and besides, why not help if i can? i can see reva blue means a lot to you.” he shrugs, still very much puzzled by her mindset — does she genuinely believe there’s no good in people? “poor reva blue, but at least her skirt still looks nice and she seems to be thriving.” speaking about the bear as if she were a real person because it feels right, proves that he isn’t heartless. “and how’d you like it? that lifestyle, i mean.” he has trouble picturing his brother, a spitting image of their father apparently, traveling from place to place and having a good time. living out in the woods? in district 12? no way. “i see.” putting pieces of the story together, he can see the bigger picture now and although there are still chunks of it missing, he can almost understand the enormity of her tragedy. “sounds like you and my brother went through a lot together. the games, the mayor’s daughter, and then he just turned on you?” he feels sorry for this girl, being alone in the world is a terrible thing, but being alone after suffering so greatly and being betrayed… it’s a nightmare. it’s one of the reasons why he seems to have unlimited amounts of compassion and empathy for her — he doesn’t know what he’d do if he were the one in her place. 

“so you aren’t plannin’ on eventually returnin’? to twelve? where will you go? i mean, i don’t think you can live out here forever. winter’s coming.” what is she going to eat? he doesn’t believe the story about traps for squirrels. how is she going to stay warm? he can’t imagine her wielding an axe and chopping down trees. and this wound… he’s not sure if iodine can help it at this point. she might need actual help from a medic. what if gangrene sets in? “and this other billy? billy taupe? what’s his story?” is he still alive? is he looking for her? “i’ll be honest with you. it doesn’t look good.” part of him is tempted to keep this piece of information to himself as not to scare her, but he doesn’t want to sugarcoat or lie. she’s not a child even if she at times reminds him of one. besides, she probably already knows this. he can tell that she’s highly intelligent just by looking in her eyes. “look, if it gets any worse… if what we’re doin’ now doesn’t work, you might have trouble walkin’ on this leg and it will become a real problem.” would she let him take her to thirteen then? would he be able to carry her for miles and miles? or find a way? after all, he did get lost and that’s why he’s here. it begins to dawn on him what a terrible situation they’re in. “you can squeeze my shoulders.” if it hurts. left hand clutching her calf, holding her leg in place so that she doesn’t kick him in the head when the pain becomes too much, he looks up at her apologetically and begins to clean the wound. he uses the cloth, soaked in warm water, to scrub her raw flesh, get rid of any dirt that may be in there. fingertips pressing on the edges, making sure there’s no pus beneath the tissue.

“thanks, i guess i like a compliment like that one.” she loves a compliment like that one but it’s coming from him— so it’s hard to accept it. hard to thank him for anything. “i don’t get why you’d want to.” thinking out loud, thick brows pulling into a confused crease just for that look to deepen when he says back at the capitol. “just from wear and tear, carryin’ that poor thing around place to place through the years… us covey never stay in one place for long.” lucy gray reminds, since his memory has been completely wiped out. “they have no clue about my whereabouts. i had to flee district twelve after you killed the mayor’s daughter because she was gonna rat us out. mayor already hated me, so of course i was gonna be his suspect. target even. give him the perfect reason to hang me, with or without evidence.” the brunette grumbles, leaving out the part where she put the snake down mayfair’s dress to make the mayor hate her. afraid the topic of snakes might trigger something in him. “i can’t answer that exactly…hard tellin’ what goes on his head. your head.” she corrects herself, she doesn’t think it was jealousy because he liked her though. she believes it was jealousy because billy taupe was a threat, something possessive deep in coriolanus rotting his insides. “oh…okay,” wanting to disagree, but not having the energy to get on his bad side. “climbin’ over a rock and that happened.” easy to do when you grow tired and starved. giving a nod, she’ll keep her blouse like this because she doesn’t want to stain it until dries. “ow-” quietly wincing, biting into her lower lip as leg instinctively jerks at his touch. “it has, i think at this point i’ve gotten used to the pain of it. —almost.” until his finger tips explored and touched it barely, causing her stomach muscles to cave inwards. “no, i’m fine. i’m all right.” her shoulders are cold, but she doesn’t need tended to since her shivering has faded and ridding the wet clothes helped with that. feeling a lot better than she did.