#and the look on his face when she said she loves him too

[theonottsbxtch]

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[oreo-creampies]

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬

Satoru finds out that you like reading gangbang fanfiction. Naturally, he has to do something with this newfound information. With the help of Toji and Suguru.

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! 21 minutes/6.1k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: gangbang, double penetration (anal and cunt along with two dicks in one cunt right after), oral, anal with prep, light pain kink, biting, bondage, bdsm, collar and leash. usage of daddy/mama once, heavy praise/light degradation, mindbreak, thumb in ass, some satosugu, light painal for Satoru since suguru sticks a thin vibrating dildo up his ass, suguru edges satoru, teasing, friends w benfits/some type of sugarbaby set up, choking, knife play/no blood, pussy slapping, manhandling, squirting, overstimulation, satoru and toji put their balls on your face, ball sucking, face fucking, hair pulling, manhandling, light size kink, licking suguru's cock with satoru, making out with satoru, biting, bullet vibrator, strap on that gives toji a second cock, plugging cum in your ass, they are all sweet mean, satoru spits cum into your mouth

𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 6.1k

oreo: i hope the wait was worth it, thank you for all the love and patience ya'll have given me

Satoru leans next to you, reading off your computer. “Gangbang, knife play, bondage, double penetration ya like it kinky.” You’re too late to close your computer. “He looks like me.”

Your body is burning, jumping out of your chair and whirling around to face Satoru. “Ok and? So what? You already know you’re attractive!” Crossing your arms, glaring into pretty blue eyes. “Is it dumb I would find someone who looks like you hot?!” Satoru’s playful grin spreads into an infuriating cocky smirk.

Satoru slides his fingers through his hair. His black sleeve straining with his bicep flexes. Long snow-white locks fall into his intense, beautiful blue eyes. The silence thickens the air.

Tilting his head to the side, his jawline, thick adam’s apple, his pale neck would be perfect to kiss. “So defensive.” Smirking, “I like the way you’re looking at me.” Stepping forward, closing the small gap forcing you to look up.

Your cunt is getting wet from the height difference. “I’m not looking at you any type of way.” Jabbing his chest with your finger. His pec is hard, “Fuck me!” He leans in, pressing your palm flat on his chest.

Your voice softens, “You barged into my room n’ spied on my computer!” Squeezing his hard pec, swiping your thumb over his nipple. “You’ve gotten so much bigger.” Sliding your hand down feeling his sculpted abs through his shirt.

You accuse, “You’ve been working out with Toji and Suguru too much.” You turn around facing your desk, flipping him off. “Unless you plan to be anything other than a menace I wanna cum whilst reading my fic. Help me cum or leave!” You softly gasp in surprise when Satoru presses you against your desk with his hard, large body.

He a fistful of your hair yanking it back, spitting on your face. Smearing it with his large hand, crooning, “But I thought you liked your men big n’ able to throw you around like a doll? Isn’t that what you said?” Smearing his spit with his hand, stuffing two fingers in your mouth.

Satoru smacks your ass, squeezing a handful of your stinging cheek. “I could help you cum.” Sticking his fingers, his cock lightly twitching when you gag. “Want me to read your fanfiction out loud for you?” Dragging his fingers out of your mouth.

He lifts your laptop lid up not caring he is smearing spit on the screen. Reading out loud. “He drags the knife along her inner thigh. She squirms the closer he gets to her soaking.” Sliding your shorts down, roughly smacking your ass

Crying, “What if they hear us?” Satoru pushes your underwear aside, gliding a thick finger between your soft lips. Getting his thick finger wet before nudging it in. His long thick finger filling up your cunt shouldn't feel this good.

Satoru outs them, “Tojj and Suguru would jerk off off to the sounds of me clapping your cheeks. I could cuck them both.” Your cunt squeezes Satoru’s thick finger fucking your cunt sloppy. “Or you can moan their names, they could join us. You can be the slut who lets us run a train on her, or fuck you all at once.”

Satoru slips his finger out roughly slapping your cunt You whine sweet stinging pain cuts through the stinging pleasure. Slowly fucking his thick fingers into you at a steady pace.

Insisting to you, “You can write about it after, call it one girl, three cocks n’ three holes." Three more slips, each harder than the last. "Come on say their names, I wanna see you struggle to take Suguru’s fat cock.”

You whine, “Toooojiii, Suug!!!! Satoru is being mean to meeeee! Cooommmee helpppp!”

Suguru calls from the hallway, “Aw Toru why bother her, she said she wanted to read.” Coming into your bedroom, taking notice of your shorts in the ground. His eyes flicking from those to your sweet soft ass and cunt stuffed with Satoru’s soft fingers.

Satoru’s large body hiding your’s. Till he steps aside letting Suguru watch how your soft wet cunt takes Satoru’s thick fingers. “What’s so mean about this?” Suguru glides his finger in with Satoru’s. “Your cunt is drooling n getting so tight sweetheart.” They pump their fingers in sync.

Suguru squeezes a handful of your ass, his hand larger than Satoru’s. “Fuuuck that feels so good! I love having my cunt played with. Don’t stop please.” You bend over holding onto your desk, cupping Satoru’s hard cock through his sweats.

You stroke Satoru through his sweats moaning, “Satoru you’re big, wanna you to fuck me hard, make me squirt with your long hard cock.” You clench Satoru and Suguru’s thick fingers with your sloppy wet cunt. Whining when Suguru roughly smacks your ass.

Satoru sneers, “Not even able to pay attention long enough to answer.” He pulls out of your grasp, keeping his thick fingers in your soft wet cunt.

Satoru pushing his sweats down his cock pops out. “What’s wrong with how mean I’m being? Answer me n’ you can touch my cock.” He spits in his hand, smearing it over his cock hand. Groaning as he strokes himself.

You glance over your shoulder admiring the beautiful sight of Satoru’s arm flexing as his large hand strokes his long cock. Thick white pre cum dripping from his pale pink head.

Suguru pushes his gym shorts down, kicking them aside. Grabbing your wrist when you try to touch him. You whine, “Nnnnothing’s wrong!” Their fingers graze your sweet spot your body tingles with overwhelming pleasure.

Your thighs are trembling, toes curling into the carpet, slick dripping down your thigh. You confess, “I want you to y'all to help Satoru bully my cunt, make me the house whore, I wanna be the one y'all stuff your cocks in when it gets hard. Please lemme be your pretty cumdump.”

Toji barges into your bedroom, demanding, “Why do I care if he's being mean?!” He slips his large headphones off his head and sets them on your dresser. “Princess,” his scarred smirk looks predatory, “I can show you mean, they are spoiling your sweet little cunt right now. I’d fuck ya like I hate ya, make sure you can’t walk.” Toji wastes no time ripping your underwear off to get a better view of your stuffed cunt. Slowly stuffing two fingers in.

Your jaw drops with a loud moan. You’re naked with your three incredibly hot roommates fucking their thick fingers into you. It's a situation you'd masturbate to.

Satoru strops stroking himself, standing next to your face. Letting out a softly sigh in relief when wrap your lips around him. Groaning dropping his head forward, watching his cock vanish within your mouth.

Suguru tells Toji, “Satoru found out our sweetheart is a smutty fanfic reading pervert, gangbang. N’ now she wants to be the house whore, sounds kinky, I’m down.” He moves next to your head.

Suguru glides his fingers out smearing your slick on his cock. Grabbing your laptop, sliding it over for him to scroll to the warnings reading. “Bondage, squirting, anal, double penetration-one hole/triple penetration, With some face fucking, face slapping, and light knife play? I’ll be right back.” He rushes out of the room.

Satoru glides his fingers out, sticking both in his mouth to lick clean. He roughly grabs your hair fucking your soft wet mouth. With his balls slapping your chin.

Toji pumps his fingers faster. Quickly finding that sweet spot that made your soft cunt quiver. "Can I fuck your ass?" Satoru slips his cock out with a soft pop letting you breathe.

Pleading "Fuck whichever hole you want." Toji spits on your asshole and stuffs his spit in with his thumb. Slowly pumping his thumb letting your soft hole adjust. "Nn it feels weird but good!”

You cup and massage Satoru's balls, kissing and licking his warm cockhead. His cock standing up eager for attention making it easy to suck and kiss without using your hands.

You look up into his beautiful ocean-blue eyes and plea, “Even if I’m asleep I want you to spread my legs and do what you want to my cunt.” Taking his long, pretty cock in your mouth bobbing your head.

Satoru groans, his cheeks flushing a dark pink, “Fuuuuuccck!” He grabs your head holding you still. “You’re a dirty pervert who wants to wake up to Suguru eating you out as Toji and I jerk off onto your face.” He tightens his grip on your hair, slowly fucking your face, testing and getting off on your gag reflex.

Satoru groans, “We could cover you in cum, make your sloppy wet cunt sore.” Fucking your mouth faster, some spit drips down your chin. Smearing onto his balls with each soft smack.

Toji squeezes your cheek whilst tugging on your asshole stretching you out. Steadily stroking your sweet spot getting you so close to cumming. Your thighs tremble, toes curling into the carpet.

Toji groans, "She's dripping." Fingering your tight, sloppy wet cunt faster. Refusing to let up on your sensitive sweet spot. "Are you really cumming for us that quickly?" His thumb glides in your asshole easier.

Satoru glides his cock out of your mouth. "Whatcha thinkin' sweetheart?" Toji's thick fingers in your cunt, and thumb in your ass make it difficult to think. "She's already getting dumber, can't answer a simple question." Satoru softly slaps your cheeks with his hard cock then stuffs your face into his balls.

Without another thought you open your mouth to softly suck Satoru's balls. Suguru comes back in, dumping a bag full of toys onto your bed. "Here are some butt-plugs, dildos. cock rings, ropes, o ring, and for you Toji," He grabs a strap with a thick dildo dangling from it. "You can fuck both holes; the dildo will need to be above your cock."

Toji glides his fingers out of your ass. Whilst Suguru pulls the toy out of his grasp. "Actually, here is disinfectant. We don't want to get our cock sleeve sick and be out of commission." Toji grabs the packet with his cleaner hand. Forcing the lid open and tugging out a wipe.

Suguru drops the strap on. onto the bed leaving Toji to help himself to it when ready. He grabs the knife off the bed, flicks out the blade, and returns to your computer.

Satoru pulls his balls out of your face, tugging you up by your hair. Then Suguru's words hit and you retort, "Commission implies I'm paid and if that's the case I'mma need more than just dick for payment. I'm too broke." Suguru turns around pressing the knife to your throat whilst sweetly grinning down at you.

Suguru insists, "If you wanna be our sugar baby get on your knees and beg for it." Satoru let go of your hair. stepping aside to give you room to kneel.

You don't have the chance to speak before Satoru adds, "If you beg well enough, I could cover your half of the rent." He grabs the collar with its leash off the bed, "I already get your broke-ass food."" He carefully wraps the collar around your neck, fastening the clasp, then tugging on the leash.

Toji decides, "Satoru is rich enough to be your sugar daddy, my cock and cuddles will be payment enough." He grabs a bottle of lube and a small buttplug off the bed.

Suguru tilts your head up with the knife. "Bullshit you'll get her lingerie for her to wear." He glances at Toji, "What about that maid outfit she suggested after bitching about cleaning up after Satoru and You?" He looks down at you, dark thick hair framing his handsome face.

You decide, "They've been cleaner, so I could wear it as a reward. Clean your balls of every last drop of cum. Of course, you get my undivided attention first for always helping keep this place clean." Suguru is beautiful with his broad shoulders, thick pecs, and sculpted abs. His black happy trail leads to short well-trimmed hair and his thick hanging cock.

Suguru glides the sharp knife's tip up your chin to your bottom lip. "I want to see you in that see-through underwear with the maid outfit." He glides the knife along your lip, dragging it up your cheek.

Satoru glances at Suguru, "How do you know she has something like that?"

You take Suguru's cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around his head. His warm pre-cum is sweet and thick coating your tongue. There is so much pre-cum you can't help but suck harder, licking his small dripping slit.

Suguru groans, "I wash everyone's clothes that means her's too." Gliding the knife to the side of your head. You are slowly gliding Suguru deeper into your mouth with a loud moan.

Toji states, "Pineapple is the safe word to start aftercare." Lubbing up the butt-plug

Suguru sets the knife on the desk behind him. He holds your head still with a tight grasp on your hair. He stuffs his cock deep into your throat holding your head down and suffocating you.

Suguru suggests "Lift her ass up and stick it in her then." Satoru hands Toji the leash, watching Toji wrap his arm around your waist helping you partly stand up into a bent-over position.

Satoru suggests, "Why not go ahead n' tie our pretty slut up in a mating press. We can tug her around on the bed by the leash." He stands next to you spreading your cheeks apart for Toji.

Toji smirks, "We could do that." Tugging on the leash and Suguru's firm grasp on your hair keeps you from budging. The thick leather collar presses into your cock stuffed throat. Suguru groans, shallowly pumping his hips fucking your mouth slowly.

Toji lines the tip of the plug up with your asshole gliding it in. Smearing lube with each swirl and pump. Your cunt clenches around nothing from the pleasure of your ass stretching for the toy.

Suguru bottoms out giving you seconds to breathe. Before stuffing his cock back in to quickly fuck throat. He grabs the knife off the desk lightly dragging it across your back. You can't help but squirm, the air in your lungs escaping in a cry Suguru muffles with his cock.

Toji pushes the butt plug in, "Let's tie our new slut up." Satoru lets go of your cheeks. Whilst Toji moves to the other side of your bed dragging you with him.

.Suguru turns towards your laptop picking it up, setting the knife down. He scrolls through the fic skimming it.

Toji straddles your head his balls resting on your forehead and eyes. His thick cock nudging your lips smearing bitter pre-cum. You open your mouth groaning when he rocks his hips forwards.

He brings the laptop over, sitting on the bed next to you. "Do you want Satoru and I to act out the making out part while we are inside you?" He glances from the laptop down at you. Where Satoru is binding your legs together with the dark red rope.

Satoru taunts, "You don't have to use the fanfic as a reason to kiss me again." Making kissy faces at Suguru who rolls his eyes and grabs his friend by the neck pulling him closer.

Suguru nudges Satoru's mouth open with his thumb and spits. Satoru swallows, grabbing Suguru's cock and swirling his fist as he strokes him. Suguru groans, "I know." He leans in biting down on Satoru's bottom lip. The needy cry he makes your cunt clench.

Suguru pulls away, "Finish tying her up and let Toji have fun with her mouth." He stuffs his thumb into Satoru's mouth for him to suck on. "Then I want you to shove your pretty face into her beautiful cunt so you can put that annoying ass mouth to good use." He lets Satoru go.

He glides his thumb over Suguru's fat cockhead smearing pre-cum. He sticks his thumb in his mouth groaning from tasting Suguru's pre- cum.

Suguru sets the laptop down on top of a pillow, scrolling through the fic. "Cum spitting? Satoru when we cum in her you can eat it out and share it with her."

Satoru is quick tying at you in a mating press. "Are you gonna let me eat our creampie out of your cunt?." He slaps your cunt four times, pinching your clit. Your trembling, eyes stinging with tears.

Satoru grabs a vibrator turns it on and holds it to your clit. Slowly swirling it, stoking your soft sensitive nub. He stuffs his face into your cunt Suguru orders him "Keep your ass in the air."

He shifts keeping his face in your sloppy wet cunt putting his ass in the air. Satoru is giving Suguru a perfect view of his cock and balls. Suguru grabs a thin dildo with lube which he pours onto the tip before setting the lube aside.

Suguru lines the thin dildo up with Satoru's ass. Smacking his cheek. your sloppy wet cunt muffling Satoru's whine. Suguru nudges the head in, spitting in his hand and grabbing Satoru's cock.

Satoru lifts his head, "You arennnnnnn!" He moans when Suguru stuffs the thin dildo deep into Satoru's ass. Turning it on, leaving it on the highest setting, keeping it still, it's head pulsing against Satoru's g spot. "Fuck!" Suguru stuffs Satoru's head into your cunt.

Toji glides his cock out before he cums in your mouth. Pinching your nipple to hear your breathy whines get louder. He tugs on the leash, moving his hand to let you get a view of Satoru being a moaning mess between your legs with Suguru stuffing his ass.

Suguru looks at you and smirks, "Why not show him what it's like living with him? A pain in the fucking ass." Satoru bites your thigh in between the rope. Stopping when you cry. He licks the bite mark then stuffs his face into your soaking-wet cunt.

Satoru glides his tongue through your lips. Stroking your clit with the toy faster. Your cunt clenching his tongue. Satoru grabs the plug quickly fucking your asshole with it.

Toji orders, "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out." Slapping his cock on your tongue. Stuffing his thick fat into your mouth with a groan. Your eyes sting with tears as you choke on him.

He pinches, twists, and tugs on your soft nipple. "Fuck her soft wet mouth feels so good on my cock." You pull Satoru's hair, struggling to reflexively arch your back, feebly twisting your hips away from Satoru. He rubs your clit faster with the toy, sending you over the edge.

Your gushing into Satoru's mouth, your body trembles with your toes curling. Toji's thick cock muffles your moans. Toji groans, "Look at that our slut can squirt." Satoru sets the toy aside still vibrating.

Suguru grabs Satoru's hair making you let Satoru's hair go. You watch as Suguru lifts Satoru up out of your cunt by his hair. Fucking the dildo faster into Satoru's ass. Suguru lets his hair go spitting into his palm and grabbing Satoru's cock swirling his fist.

Suguru croons, "Are you getting close? You wanna cum on her pretty cunt then stuff it in with your sensitive cock?" Satoru whines unable to answer until Suguru is pulling the toy out of him.

Satoru cries, "Why did you stop?" His cock throbbing from the lack of stimulation. Missing the feeling of being full of getting his g-spot fucked.

Suguru quickly retorts, "Why won't you stop waking me up when you crawl into my bed?"

You grab Toji's thick muscular thigh digging your nails in. He glides his cock out of your mouth, slipping off the bed. He yanks you upright by the leash, causing the leather collar to dig into your sore throat.

You grab the leather prying it away from your throat. Toji leans down, "What's your color beautiful?" Twisting you around and laying you on your back with your butt dangling off the edge of the bed.

You plea, "Green please I wanna cock in my cunt or ass!" Toji cups your cheek hanging off the edge of the bed. Softly messaging your cheek then roughly slapping your ass. The force of the thrust makes you lightly bounce.

He unwinds the leash, asking you, "What about both?" He hands the leash to Suguru who shoves a pout Satoru aside. He dramatically face plants into the pillow that Toji rips out from underneath him.

He sits up and points at both Suguru and Toji, "Yall are both assholes, why she wants your dick in her is beyond me. Fucking hell, not letting me cum, shoving me to the side, and stealing a pillow out from under me."

You chime in with, "Don't cry on my other pillows either." His eyes widen, his fingers lower and his bottom lip trembles.

Satoru's voice cracks "Et tu?"

"Call me brutus."

Toji grumbles, "Suguru stuff her mouth these two are killing it mentioning some random ass dude's name and speaking gibberish." Suguru tugs you closer to the middle of the bed. Where Toji grabs your ass and lifts you up stuffing the pillow underneath you.

Satoru crawls over and lays down next to you. You grab his cock, still wet with Suguru's spit. He softly kisses your cheek ignoring Suguru's cock dangling close by. He turns your head by your chin to steal a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

"Annoying ass thief I'm glad I didn't let you cum yet." Swirling your hand along Satoru's cock. His moans are beautiful, breathy, and needy. You could touch yourself listening to him moan.

Toji dips his head into your cunt licking up the sweet mess with loud groans. His nose occasionally nudges your soft, sensitive clit. He grabs the plug and tugs it out, setting it on your bed without giving a fuck. Softly biting your cunt's lips when you start to complain.

You break the kiss leaving Satoru's mouth at Suguru's mercy. Lifting your head looking down at Toji asking, "Did you bite me?" He slaps your cunt as Suguru nudges Satoru's lips with his cock.

You look to see Suguru grabbing Satoru's neck causing the chain leash to dig in. His thick cock glides past Satoru's glossy lips. His balls hit the top of Satoru's head. He’s so beautiful getting face fucked.

Toji grabs the male strap-on, steps into it, and sets the dildo above his own cock. He tightens the straps making sure it's comfortable and secure. He climbs onto the bed, holding both and lining himself up.

He nudges your ass with his warm, thick cock head. Swiping the cool dildo between your cunt's soft wet lips. Smearing your slick down it and gliding his cock head in. You reach down flattening your hand on Toji's hard abs.

There is a sweet pleasurable pain from Toji splitting your ass open. "Nnfuck your cock is going in! Put the other one! Please! Please! Pleeease!" Moaning when he gives you just the tip of your dildo. Stretching your wet cunt out alongside your lubed-up.

Suguru slips his cock out of Satoru's mouth. Satoru grabs your chin and roughly kisses you. And all you can taste is Suguru when Satoru's tongue rubs your's. You moan into his mouth when Toji's hips hit yours, roughly and quickly filling you up with both cocks.

He strokes your clit with his thumb, slowly rocking his hips, keeping a slow steady pace. He groans, "Fuck I don't think I can last long the dildo in her pretty cunt is pushing against my cock. Her ass is so soft n' tight, she's gonna make me bust too quickly."

Suguru grabs the bottle of lube off your side table handing it to Toji. He pulls out till the tips of the dildo and his cock are tugging both sloppy wet holes. He carefully pours a line of lube on his cock, then gives the bottle back.

Toji grabs a part of the rope binging your thigh by your side. "Stupid little slut keeping my cock hard walking around the house looking so damn fuckable." He uses that to pull you towards him as he slams into you. The dildo brushes your sweet spot with the perfect pressure to make you lose your mind.

Suguru sets the bottle aside, spitting in his hand and stroking his cock. Admiring Satoru and You making on the bed, your soft hand stroking Satoru's pretty cock. Smearing his thick white pre-cum down his cock with swipes of your thumb.

Your soft moans sound so beautiful alongside Satoru's needy whines. Suguru groans "I can't wait to feel the both of you."

Toji roughly fucks both cocks into you without mercy. Stroking your soft clit with his rough thumb, the bed rocking, your body would be harshly bouncing away if not for his grasp on the rope. The course rope rubs and presses more into your thigh.

Toji decides, "This house slut thing works whenever my cock gets hard I'll come to you." Fucking you harder, adding more pressure to your sensitive clit. Each quick stroke of your sweet spot has your mind going blank.

You can't focus enough to stroke Satoru's cock. He grabs your hand and sloppily fucks your hips. Suguru sticks his cock in between Satoru and You. You lick and kiss one side with Satoru sucking and licking the other. Your tongue brushing Satoru's.

You clench Toji with your ass and his massive beautiful muscular body trembles. He hunches over biting your chest, flicking your nipple with his tongue. His pace becoming sloppy. He lets you go and grunts, "Nn fuuuuck I don't wanna cum in ya yet mama wanna keep feeling you."

"Please cum, wanna feel your thick warm cum in my ass." Toji picks his pace keep, franticly fucking his cock into your soft warm ass. The sound of skin smacking skin joins the grunts, groans, and creaking of your bed. "Please daddy!" Toji busts instantly his thick warm cum shooting in your ass with a force you can feel.

Suguru pulls away and Satoru lets your hand go. He gets on his knees and grabs Suguru's hand pulling him in for a rough kiss. Leaving you all to Toji. He leans over, keeping enough space between to play with your soft sensitive clit.

His thick hard pecs into your face. You wrap your arms around him clawing his backside up with one hand. Burying your face into his chest, tugging on his hair. You can't help but bite down hard. The way Toji whines is getting you off.

He stops with his cock and dildo deep in you, keeping his cum from spilling out. "I couldn't stop cumming." He sits up out of your grasp, looking for another buttplug. "There's so much that I fucked deep into your ass." Snagging the biggest one, its thickest point is still thinner than Toji's cock.

Slowly pulling his cock and dildo out, slipping the plug in. He croons, "Can't let it drip out while Satoru and Suguru are fucking both their cocks into your messy slutty cunt." He kisses your forehead. "Ya did good for me, took my cock so well. How does your ass feel?"

You smile up at him, "Sore but good." He softly kisses you, keeping it short and quick. Pulling away Toji is quick to get out of the strap-on.

"I'll leave you at these two's mercy n' I'll be back for aftercare." He smirks, "Good luck you already look like a tired whore." He slaps your cunt then leaves you at Satoru and Suguru's mercy.

You look to see Suguru and Satoru sloppy kissing each other. Suguru has his large hand around both cocks, holding them together. Satoru slowly grinds his hips, rubbing their cocks together.

You suggest, "Why not rub your dicks together in me?"

Suguru breaks away from Satoru and drops the leash. "And here Toji was wishing her luck." He grabs his knife off the desk. "After all that she is already ready for more." Suguru lifts you up by your throat. His fingers are beneath the leather collar.

You feel so perfectly helpless and vulnerable tied up, held in the air by your throat. With two big guys about to sandwich in between their hard chest. You're about to feel their cocks rubbing together inside you after watching them make out.

Suguru and Satoru line their cocks up. Suguru lightly nudges past your lips. Satoru is rubbing down your slit, groaning when he feels Suguru's cock head brush his. Then gliding his wet head to your clit, stroking you.

You can't shift your hips to sink yourself down on Suguru's cock. Satoru remembers, "Weren't you about to show us how a whore begs to be a sugar baby?" You're clenching nothing, aching to feel them both.

Suguru grabs your hip, and Satoru squeezes your other hip. He presses the knife to your neck whilst glides his head in. Teasing you with his tip before pulling out. He swirls his cockhead in small circles o your clit.

Satoru taunts, "Before we double stuff your messy little cunt tell us what you are?" He loves the sight of your soft pretty nub touching his pale pink cock head.

You confess, "I'm a needy cock loving pervert who spends too much time reading smut and playing with her cunt. Please fuck me into a mindless mess then pamper me afterwards." Satoru lines himself up, with their strength they can stuff their cocks in together.

You loudly cry from the overwhelming sweet pain. Digging your nails into Satoru's hard pec whilst reaching behind you. Grabbing a handful of Suguru's hair. You are desperate to ground yourself, but they don't give you a chance.

Their pace is uneven causing their cocks to stroke each other's. Satoru grabs your hair. "Pretty little slut you gonna eat the creampie Suguru and I make if I spit it into your mouth?"

You can't think of a response. It's impossible to think with their cocks stirring your guts up and the cool metal of the knife against your neck.

Suguru croons, "We just stuck our cocks in, are you really this easy to break?" His pace is harder but slower than Satoru's. His cockhead reaches just beneath Suguru's but he's thicker pressing Satoru against your g-spot with intense pressure.

Satoru points out with a cocky smirk, "Our slut only had enough energy to beg for more cock." He slips his finger underneath the collar tugging on it. "We should get her one just for her. What do you want your collar to say? Should it say brat, house slut, or cock sleeve?" You're so full, their cocks reaching so deep.

Suguru looks down into your eyes and groans, "She's such a pretty whore taking both our cocks in her soft wet cunt." Satoru's pace falters, his cock lightly twitching, veins pulsing. "You close already? With her tight cunt pressing our cocks together I feel the pulsing of your cock."

Satoru whines "Can't help it I was so close earlier n' I really wanna cum." He leans down softly kissing you, cupping your cheek. Gently cradling your face like he isn't bullying your sore, sensitive soaking-wet cunt with his cock.

Suguru slips his hand in between Satoru and You, flicking your nipple with the knife. There is an exciting fear that he could cut you at any moment. Part of you hope he does when he glides the knife lightly across your thigh in between the ropes.

Satoru whines, his pace falters, slowly down and getting harder. Satoru moans as thick warm cum trickles from his cock in short quick bursts. He grabs your bound thigh and digs his nails into your skin between the tight rope.

Suguru groans picking his pace up chasing his high. Fucking Satoru's thick cum deeper into you getting you off. Satoru breaks the sloppy, rough kiss and whines, "Fuck her soft cunt, your soft yet hard cock both is too much. I wanna do this again later, please I wanna cock warm with both of our cocks in her."

Your soft cunt squeezing their cocks is becoming too much for Satoru. He pulls out, getting on his elbow and licking where Suguru and You connect. Your trembling, eyes rolling back, tears trickling down your face.

"Look me in the eyes and lemme see you crying." Suguru wraps his large hand around your neck tilting your head up. He stares into your eyes, fighting to keep his pace steady. Satoru groans, "Cum in her, lemme taste you both." Suguru falters, stopping with his cock balls deep in your sloppy cunt.

His thick warm cum steadily pours into you from his fat head. "You're both beautiful filthy cum loving perverts." Satoru gets on his knees grabbing you by the rope. He bounces you on Suguru's thick cock making him tremble.

Slowly Satoru lifts you off Suguru's cock. Softly laying out down, slowly pulling out the buttplug, and carefully undoing the rope, checking over for any burns.

Suguru accuses, "That was a bitch move." Carefully unfastening your collar and lightly massaging your sore neck. Their actions are a wonderful gentle contrast to how they were manhandled and fucked you a moment prior.

Satoru retorts, "So was edging me." He flips Suguru off who rolls his eyes.

Satoru softly peppers kisses along the sore indention of the rope's pattern in your thighs. "There is no rope burn, but I don't want you to try and walk anywhere. Get one of us to carry you if need be." He dips his tongue into your sloppy cunt getting a thick mix of cum in his mouth.

Kissing you softly spitting the cum into your mouth. Then pulling away, softly encouraging you, "Swallow, good, that's it. Such a good slut."

Toji comes back into the room, "I got a bubble bath going in Suguru's bathroom along with some candles. I'm not getting in but one of you can." He checks his phone. "In an hour the food I put on Satoru's card will be here."

Satoru stretches your legs out, softly massaging your thighs. "I feel too good right now to care how you got that information." He slips off the bed, leans over to pick you up, cradling you to his chest. "I'll take a bath while Suguru can do the laundry he prides himself on doing."

Suguru suggests, "We should flip a coin to see who gets to bathe with her and who washes the bedding."

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi love! Could you do Lewis with a teen daughter that always does his braids or his hair and is also kind of known around the paddock for her style/her own hair?

Braids

The sun glinted off the sleek, shining cars in the paddock as cameras flashed and fans cheered. It was a busy Friday at the track, the buzz of another race weekend filling the air. The usual suspects had already arrived—drivers, engineers, media—each adding to the electric energy. But nothing could prepare anyone for the wave of excitement that swept through the paddock when Lewis strolled in, exuding confidence and charm.

His hair, freshly braided, was styled with a precision and flair that had everyone doing a double-take. The intricate patterns woven across his scalp, sleek and symmetrical, highlighted his already striking features. His usual cool demeanor was accented by a sharp designer outfit—an oversized cream jacket paired with tailored trousers, accessorized with diamond studs that caught the sunlight.

"Whoa," Oscar said, nudging Lando in the ribs as they stood by the McLaren garage. "Look at Lewis. Fresh braids. Man's killing it."

Lando squinted, pushing his curly hair back under his cap. "Yeah, that's clean. Wonder who did them?"

The mystery didn't linger for long. As Lewis made his way through the paddock, reporters swarmed, eager to capture the new look. One particularly bold journalist caught his attention. "Lewis! Those braids are incredible. Where'd you get them done?"

A wide smile spread across his face, pride gleaming in his eyes. "My daughter did them," he said, his voice warm. "Yn's been braiding my hair since she was fifteen. She's eighteen now—practically a pro."

The crowd hummed with admiration. Of course, it had to be Yn. She was already a sensation in her own right. Known for her cutting-edge fashion and signature hairstyles, Yn had a unique flair that blended timeless elegance with modern boldness. More than once, she had turned the paddock into her personal runway, never afraid to experiment or push boundaries. It was no wonder her father's braids were flawless.

By the time Lewis reached the Ferrari garage, the internet was ablaze. Social media flooded with close-ups of his new hairstyle, captions unanimously praising Yn's talent.

Braids by Yn. The Hamilton genes are undefeated.

Forget the cars, can we talk about Lewis' hair? His daughter has hands blessed by the gods.

Lewis scrolled through the comments during a quiet moment, chuckling softly to himself. Pride swelled in his chest. He knew how talented his daughter was, but seeing the world recognize it too? That was something else.

The next day, just when the paddock thought it had seen everything, Yn arrived.

She walked in with her grandparents on either side, exuding effortless confidence. Her outfit hugged her figure perfectly, balanced by chunky gold jewellery and boots that clacked softly against the concrete. But it was her hair that stole the show.

Yn's braids, an intricate cascade of rich brown strands, shimmered in the sunlight. Small and delicate curles were woven throughout, catching the light with every movement. The patterns were even more complex than the ones she'd done for her father, a true testament to her skill.

As soon as Lewis spotted her, a grin broke across his face. He crossed the garage in a few strides, wrapping his daughter in a warm embrace. "You did these yourself?" he asked, pulling back slightly to examine the braids.

"Of course," Yn beamed, tilting her head to give him a better view. "You know I had to come correct."

He chuckled, reaching out to carefully take a braid between his fingers. "These are beautiful, baby. You outdid yourself."

"Wait until you see what I want to try next," Yn said, pulling out her phone. She swiped through her photo gallery, showing him a series of inspiration images. "This one's a geometric pattern—super sharp lines—and this..." She paused on a picture of short, shoulder-length twists. "I think you'd look sick with these."

Lewis listened attentively, nodding along as she spoke. He always loved how passionate she was about her craft. "I trust you," he said. "Whatever you want to try next, I'm game."

Just then, Charles wandered over, his eyes widening when he saw Yn. "Whoa, okay," he said, giving an approving nod. "The braids are next-level. You're making the rest of us look bad."

Yn laughed, bumping her shoulder playfully against her father's. "Can't help it if we're the most stylish ones here."

"Facts," Lewis added, his arm draping comfortably around her shoulders. "It's in the blood."

Their easy banter and undeniable charisma made them the most photogenic duo in the paddock. Cameras followed their every move, capturing moments of laughter, admiration, and love. By the time the day was over, the hashtag #HamiltonRoyalty was trending worldwide.

Later that afternoon, while Lewis prepared for qualifying, Yn sat in the Ferrari hospitality suite with her grandparents, chatting softly. Every so often, she'd glance at the TV screens broadcasting her father's on-track performance, a quiet pride blooming in her chest.

When he emerged after a blistering lap that put him on the front row, Yn was the first person he sought out. "Told you I'd deliver," he teased, pulling her into another hug.

"Of course you did," Yn replied, her voice soft with affection. "You're the GOAT."

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the paddock settled into a golden glow, the image of the stylish Hamiltons—father and daughter, side by side—lingered in everyone's minds. The world could talk about race strategies and lap times all day long, but nothing was as iconic as the bond they shared. And if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that Yn was just getting started.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[fleuriion]

✦ Chiming Bell ノ MODERN! High school hcs with the Chrysos Heir because I love them so much ⸝⸝ gn reader ⸝⸝ wc: 1780 ✦ Note ; The usual grammar error and spelling mistakes warning ⸝��� if they come across as ooc then I apologize because I'm still not very confident in my ability of writing HSR characters haha ⸝⸝ This can be interpreted as both romantic and platonic as your liking! ⸝⸝ will probably edit out some mistakes ⸝⸝ I'm very sorry for not including Hyacine TT

♡ Phainon ⸝⸝ I feel like he's kind of a jock BUT also not a jock. Like, he's not THOSE jocks that get angry at you if you cannot catch the ball that is beaming at 1000 mph to your face. ⸝⸝ Those popular kids that are actually super nice to everyone. I feel like he doesn't judge people much and if he does dislike someone, will not rub it in their face unless they deserve to. ⸝⸝ Basically just a ray of sunshine. Definitely has Mydei as his seatmate and I just imagine Phainon walking into class greeting everyone every morning and then Mydei is just sitting there massaging his temple, wondering how he's so bright this early. ⸝⸝ While he's generally super nice, I think Phainon is also pretty mischievous though. I can already imagine him getting into some light troubles and then having to sweep the hallway as a punishment LMAO. ⸝⸝ Probably enjoys learning history and literature, he just gets super sleepy and perhaps bored in them. Decent at math but HORRIBLE at science like chemistry. Phainon comes up to Mydei as lab partner and Mydei prays the two of them don't get involved in any sorts of explosion or chemical accident /j ⸝⸝ When Phainon is pinning on you, he will 100% turn into a golden retriever. Follows you around in a non-creepy way, helps you carry stuff, probably tries tutoring you the best he could, sometimes ask to have lunch together and then drags you to the rest of his friends. ⸝⸝ Gets super shy about it and it didn't escape his friends. Also gets not bullied but teased a lot for it, when you walked past them far enough, I feel like most likely Mydei would go "holy shit is that Phainon's lover walking past by just now?!" ⸝⸝ When he announced that the two of you are dating to his friends, they would hold their pearl necklace and pretend like they're shocked (except it's so purposefully exaggerated it's hilarious wow Phainon you're so slick!) ♡ Aglaea ⸝⸝ I hc'd that the Chrysos Heir is basically akin to the Student Council in the modern world, so expect no less that Aglaea is definitely the president or at the VERY least the vice president. ⸝⸝ That one strict classmate who always looks her best and behaves the best too. Probably a class president or rep too?? Would reprimand her classmates or the other students to mind both their attire and attitude. ⸝⸝ Teacher's pet, except she's one that you can't really walk over or trample. Girl just has that aura in her for not only being smart but also beautiful?!?! (My GOAT Aglaea as always) ⸝⸝ Looks scary at first glance, but if you need her help with studying she would help say no more! That one meme that goes like "would you let me copy your homework?" "no, but I'll help you with it" ⸝⸝ This may sound pretty personal and specific but hc that she excels and enjoys public speaking. Her words and articulations are probably amazing if you get what I mean... ⸝⸝ Honestly, if she is pinning on you? Nobody would pretty much find out about it unless she personally said so. I'm sorry but Aglaea strikes off to me as the type to be super good at hiding aka slick with her feelings for someone. (Ironically for being the bearer of Mnestia's coreflame in lore lol) ⸝⸝ So when she told her friends that you two are dating, their surprise is actually real and pure. ⸝⸝ It's still noticeable though subtle tho! Aglaea will be extra mindful of you and will no doubt worry about your grades and your performance. Would help you study even if it takes time say less! ♡ Mydei

⸝⸝ Similarly to Phainon, seems like a jock but isn't too much of a jock once you get to know about him. I think it's pretty much just a first impression since he's physically well built and healthy. For someone with his looks, Mydei is a pretty quiet and calm seatmate, ones targeted by people who is just full on comical nonsense (Trailblazer for instance…. They're so stupid I love them).

⸝⸝ Seemingly messy appearance (that slightly loose collar and messily tied tie fix that rn Mydei i hate hastily tied tie and sometimes spends 5 minutes redoing it if I couldn't get it right sobs), but is actually very discipline and a pretty decent student. Also hc that he uses reading glasses.

⸝⸝ Bluddy is probably the first to arrive at class and is usually pretty punctual with a few exceptions being made. Definitely that one friend who sleeps early and wakes up early. Probably lets you copy his homework just so you can get off his ass.

⸝⸝ Excels at history, terrible at math, probably decent at chemistry??? Hear me out though, he's terrible at math and physics but he's interested in them so it's kind of a party pooper LAMFAO (self projecting). Mydei doesn't hate it, he probably just doesn't understand it.

⸝⸝ Those type of guys that people are scared of because of his appearance, but is actually good with juniors. He helps them with studying and getting the subject's concept wrapped around their head and somehow patient for a man that doesn't look like he has patience at all.

⸝⸝ When Mydei pins on you, he won't look nor act THAT much different around you. If you're a much more comical or hilarious kind of person, he endures and tolerates you more. He will offer more lending hands though; for instance, explaining things you don't understand more, willingly tutors you, sneaks gifts into your desk or locker and then softly denies it when questioned (you're not slick bro.)

⸝⸝ Mydei doesn't announce it if you two are dating, rather, his friends found out on their own by the slight flush on his face when he's around you and the way his fierce eyes seemed to simmer down a little when you're around.

♡ Castorice

⸝⸝ SUPER quiet and probably finds it hard to communicate all the time. The reason people know her is mostly because she's apart of the Student Council, but that aside, she's also super kind and nice!

⸝⸝ Hangs around Aglaea a lot and acts as her 'assistant' or similar. Also a teacher's pet except on the more mellow side and one that even the meanest of the mean doesn't have the heart to mock.

⸝⸝ She probably could be vice president.. But that's just a rough gut and because I see her as one. Also reprimands her classmates and other students to be mindful of their attire and attitude.

⸝⸝ Generally good at any subjects given, but I hc that Castorice really likes art and music classes. The atmosphere is quieter and much more peaceful that even her mind could rest a little. Definitely joins clubs like sewing club.

⸝⸝ Sometimes sleeps on recess because I see her as those super-tired looking type of people who can doze off while standing but refrains on doing so in classes. Due to this, probably picks the seat closer to the window to hide away from the lights at the center of the class.

⸝⸝ When Castorice pins on you, she will subtly get super shy around you. Sometimes stutters on her speech and is extra polite at you much to the awkwardness. Be prepared for cuteness overload!!

⸝⸝ Castorice definitely makes things for you! A small crochet plush, flower crowns, or some fake flowers that reminds her of you. Surfs into flower language to express her affection to you by making said flowers for you!

⸝⸝ Castorice would reluctantly yet shyly declares her love for you one random evening, and the rest of the Chyrsos Heir is totally NOT spying at you two from behind some bushes. ♡ Anaxa

⸝⸝ This man is canonically a professor according to the in-game lore what else do I need to say??

⸝⸝ That one smart kid who's super snarky and sarcastic. If you think Mydei is pretty sarcastic for someone, then behold Anaxagoras and his sharp yet elegant tongue that totally does not remind me of a certain doctor.

⸝⸝ He definitely no doubt enjoys subjects science related. Chemistry, physics, biology, name it. Yet nobody really dares to approach him and ask him to be their lab partner due to, again, the aura that surrounds him. You feel like you're shrinking per second you stand next to him if you don't know anything about him. Also hc that he enjoys scientific debates.

⸝⸝ He probably goes overseas to attend science olympics like a lot, and obviously comes back with victory by his side. He's probably academic rivals with Aglaea haha. I can just see them competing for the school's 1st place.

⸝⸝ Anaxa gets avoided by plenty people because of his personality, but he doesn't pay any mind nor does he care about it. After all, his only interest currently is knowledge, isn't it..?

⸝⸝ Well that's until you, who doesn't seem to be that much avoidant of him, came along to his life. Anaxa is that one person that goes deep into denial when he has feelings for someone. "NO. WDYM I HAVE FEELINGS FOR THEM. FUCK."

⸝⸝ The rest of the Chrysos Heir found out about this when one random day, Anaxa suddenly came up to Hyacine and started asking her questions related to feelings that are leaning a little bit tooooo much on the romantic side (much to his dismay and denial). Even with his denial, he found himself coming up to the pink haired girl and asking her about this… Very foreign feeling of what she described as "butterflies fluttering in his stomach" and a suspiciously big grin on her face.

⸝⸝ Like Phainon, Anaxa doesn't escape the constant teasing from the Chrysos Heir for this, mainly Aglaea. She will devilishly giggle into her fingertips and make subtle jabs at him when she talks to you; "[name], do you have just any idea how breathtaking you are?" while giving Anaxa looks to which he responded with not only a glare but a suspiciously burning pair of ear tips <3

[siempre-bucky]

existence

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

summary: There's a rumor at the base that MRs. Torres doesn't exist. No birthday parties, no drinks at the bar after a mission, no base run functions. Sam crashes at the Toress' after the White House incident and sees if she actually exists.

wc: 1457

a/n: Spoilers for CA:BNW

 His ears were still ringing. 

Echos of gunfire and police sirens shrouded his mind, Sam’s body was on autopilot with his eyes burning holes into the dirty apartment complex carpet and his sore feet dragging along it. He still doesn’t comprehend how Joaquin could be in a chipper mood after that. Sam noticed the limp in Joaquin's step and the bruise on the back of his neck. It could have been worse, the President could have died, Cap reminded himself. 

“Wait till you meet her, Sam! Ugh, I have been waiting for this for the longest time!” he cheered, clearly forgetting the late hour. Right, Sam blinked, he was finally meeting Mrs. Torres. After working together for three years, he thought this mystery woman didn’t exist. The younger man would make excuses “She’s working overseas,” or “She has no service.” But after catching a glimpse at his lock screen which proudly displayed a photo of the pair at a Hurricanes baseball game he changed his mind. The rest of the base thought it was AI-generated. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, man,” Sam forced out a chuckle, ribs screaming back at him. 

Joaquin stopped at the door, digging his key out of his pocket and turning the lock. The echoes disappeared once Sam took a step into the small DC apartment. The smell of baked goods and a soft “We’re home, Amor” coming from the other man was enough to silence them for a moment, the pain in his ribs dulled with the feeling of anticipation rising. 

She was real. His brown eyes discreetly widened as she appeared in the doorway that divided the kitchen and living room, wiping her hands with an orange and green rag. He didn’t take his eyes off her, she examined Joaquin up and down before giving herself the ok to crash into him.  “I’m so happy you’re ok,” She muttered against his neck, his arms holding her against him. 

The soft interaction made something in his chest ache, and the way Joaquin then cradled her face and whispered reassurance in two languages almost made him tear up. Almost. He’d be sure to make fun of him for this later. 

“Sam, this is my wife.” 

The woman smiled softly, aware of the situation at the White House,  and introduced herself, outstretching her hand. He noticed her firm grip, but he could feel the tremble. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Sam. I can’t get him to shut up about you,” she chuckled, leaning back into Joaquin’s embrace. 

“Nice to meet you too,” he said with a small smirk. 

“There’s a pillow and blanket on the couch for you along with some clothes. Half his closet is just U Maimi stuff—I hope you don’t mind the colors.”  

Sam turned around and glanced at the neat pile resting on the arm of the couch. “It’ll do fine. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome anytime. I’m going to get him cleaned up, let me know if you need anything else.” She patted her husband on the back and ushered him into the kitchen, dismissing all of his protests. 

Sam walked towards the couch and ran his fingers over the plush olive green material of the blanket before picking up the vibrant green t-shirt. He snickered and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“Shit!” a shrill curse came from the kitchen followed by soft apologies. It was instinct for the hero to look over and check out the scene. Joaqquin was fine, sitting on the counter with a piece of gauze covering his eyebrow. She stood between his legs, a look of sympathy on her face while she dabbed at the wound. 

Love looked good on the kid. In their line of work, there wasn’t much room for love or even just the look of it on someone's face. He remembered the first night he saw it on Joaquin’s face; it was at a bar somewhere in Europe and Sam had been counting on his fingers how many girls the other had turned down for a dance. 

“Five,” he laughed wiggling his fingers in his face. 

Joaquin rolled his eyes and playfully shoved his hand away, “Yeah, yeah.” 

“Wanna go for six or do you wanna tell me why you’ve said no to every pretty girl in this place.” 

The curly-haired man took a swig of beer for confidence, letting out a deep sigh as he put the bottle back on the table. “I have someone back home,” he finally admitted. 

“You got a little girlfriend!” 

There was a small blush on his cheeks and a smile so soft and sweet it was sickening. “A wife.” 

“Wife,” Sam repeated slowly. 

“College sweethearts, I think that’s what it’s called.” 

Yeah, love looked good on him. Sam snapped out of his memory and opened the blanket his eyes watching her press her hand against Joaquin’s chest with his wrapped around her wrist, his thumb swiping along the bone. His heart was beating, he was alive. Sam wondered if that was something they did after he came home from deployment, or now when he returned from a mission. Tonight was just supposed to be a fun night celebrating their mission, not stopping an assassination attempt. 

“Sam…bro, you good?” 

The couple stood in front of him, a red first aid kit in her hands. “Go get changed, I’ll patch up Captain America,” she smirked. Joaquin smiled and kissed her on the temple before retreating to the bedroom down the hall. 

“I’m fine,” Sam laughed it off. 

Her eyes flickered down to his arm, wet crimson staining a patch of his forearm. “Sit,” she told him firmly. 

He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeve. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought as he looked at the sliced skin, it shouldn’t need stitches. She popped open the kit and got to work in silence. He should say something, the gears in his brain working overtime to come up with something appropriate. 

“You know, I was starting to think you didn’t exist.” He settled on that. Nice going, Sam. 

Thankfully she laughed, pouring a clear liquid over the cut that made him wince. “We get that a lot. We have a tally of all our friends who’ve said that.” 

“Sorry to add another. Work keeps you away?” 

She smiled and nodded, “I work for a charity. Helping communities rebuild after the blip. Some places haven’t been as lucky as we have. I was away a lot—it worked out when he was deployed.” 

A sadness began to loom over her as she gently wrapped his arm with a white gauze. She missed him, and he missed her just as much. “Was?” he narrowed in on the past tense of her words. 

“I requested a transfer to a desk job as soon as he finished those wings. I need to be here if something happens.” There was a tremor in her voice, “Him being Falcon puts him in even more danger. I want—need to be closer to him.” 

“He’s a good man,” Sam told her gently, “a damn good Falcon, he learned from the best.” He got a smile and a small chuckle out of her relieving her of some of the nerves she carried. 

She put her hand over the gauze and looked at him dead in the eye. “Keep him alive, Sam.” It was a gentle command. “He means everything to me.”

His lips parted and glanced down at the silver wedding band around her finger, thinking of a way to tell her that he might not be able to in this line of work. Joaquin saved the day, strolling into the room with a signature toothy smile. “Have you been talking about me this whole time?” he joked. 

Her smile instantly brightened. “You wish,” she laughed, collecting her things from the couch and rose to her feet. 

“She’s a miracle worker.” Sam raised his arm to show his partner the neatly wrapped gauze. 

“Looks good, Sam!” The other man cheered, leaning forward to get a better look. “We don’t have a well-stocked medicine cabinet for nothing.” 

“Yeah, I learned after too many scraped knees from the basketball court back in Maimi.” 

Joaquin winced and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side. “Let’s let Captain America get some sleep,” he suggested, pressing his lips to the side of her head. 

“Let us know if you need anything, Sam,” she told him. 

“Will do, Mrs. Torres. Thank you for everything.” 

“Anytime. We’re here or you.” 

Sam got comfortable on the couch, and surprisingly he felt like he could fall asleep instantly. Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to his friends at the base: ‘Mrs. Torres exists.’

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny had promised the movie was kid-friendly but also said the previous movie "Her Melody" was technically kid-friendly too. So the better question was if it was emotion-friendly because this family was full of sensitive people.

"It's based on my puppy Cujo." Danny said holding up the movie case called "Echo & Ash"

It was hard to say no to Danny. He looked hopeful and sad. So movie night would happen.

Damian was not giving a proper memo. Last time Danny brought a movie Damian slept in Dick's room and everyone was super clingy. It was....new. Not a bad feeling but it was pathetic how a single film did this. It was actually Alfred's favorite as well.

***

Movie: "It's your new friend Eddy. She's a girl so give her a good name." "She barks everytime I talk so her names going to be Echo." "That's a wonderful name"

The movie started with a feel-good story of a boy named Everest and his first pet. A puppy named Echo. Echo followed him everywhere and loved running in the woods with Everest. The family sighed collectively that nothing sad had happened.

But this was a Danny movie so emotional trauma will be had.

One clear day the two were playing when the camera suddenly shifted to the woods. Nothing could be seen other than trees. The camera shifted like it was being held by someone and you realize. The threat isn't out there...there was someone there and they are currently holding a camera as they watch the boy.

Uncertainty builds as Echo suddenly stops. Her ears stand at attention as she zeros in on the camera, her eyes laser-focused.

Then she begins pulling Everest away. She makes him chase her out of the woods. But the camera stays stationary and not moving to follow.

The scene lingers a little too long before the view shifts upwards and in another direction as heavy footsteps follow.

Stephanie: Oh god, I hated that.

Barbara: I don't think I remembered to breathe.

Movie: One afternoon as Everest walks home alone after running from a group of bullies a car races down the road. As the car rears closer a series of barks rang out. Echo chased the car like a mad dog. Everest felt a shove on his side as the dog's body pushed him aside.

There was sharp bark, a thud, and a whimper.

Then the scene shifts to a vet office. There is no sound other than a soft piano. Everest cries with Echo in his arms as a vet kneels next to him, probably explaining what's going to happen. Echo pants heavily before she slowly stops and closes his eyes. Then she is gone.

Damian: *bitting his lip and trying to hold back emotions* Nightingale...What. Is. This.

Danny:*smiles gently and shrugs*

Damian: Daniel! No!

Danny: It'll be okay.

Bruce: It's okay Damian. Come sit next to me.

Movie: Echo wondered around the endless woods for what felt like forever until a voice called put.

"Hey, puppy! What are you doing here?" The boy asked.

Echo sniffed around searching.

"You looking for someone?"

Echo whimpered as she turned in every direction searching for her family.

Duke: Ah, nooo. She's so cute.

Movie: "Well, I'm Ash."

Echo sniffs the boy briefly before turning to keep looking elsewhere.

Echo wondered for a long time. Night and day passed but she wasn't getting tired or hungry.

"Only other spirits pass through here. No one stays like you do. Did you come to keep me company?"

The boy was very talkative but Echo didn't seem to mind. Slowly she warmed up to him and spent time playing with him. Her ghost friend was happy to have her.

But she would still think about her family.

In the real world, Everest couldn't stop thinking about Echo. He was all alone now.

"She probably hated me."

But he didn't feel like she was gone. Sometimes he felt a brush against his leg or strangely a push on the swing. A ball rolling on the ground towards them alerted him one afternoon. He had been hiding in the backyard again from the neighborhood boys when he felt it.

"Echo?"

The wind blew against his face and somehow he knew for sure she wasn't alone.

Damian: Daniel, tell me now that they see each other.

Dick: Damian, be nice. Just watch the movie.

Movie: "Is that your friend doggy? That human?" *bark* "Why is he crying like that?"

Ash hovered near the boy making a cold wind brush past.

"Hey, you shouldn't cry. Your dog is right here. She's been badgering me to help her visit so the least you can do I put on a smile." Ash said. "Come on! Get up!"

Evening he couldn't see Everest heard something in the back of his mind. He knew he wasn't alone.

Dick: He kind of reminds me of Jason.

Jason: What's that supposed to mean?

Dick: nothing bad...not good either.

Movie: Over time Everest learned to see and not just hear the spirits. Playing with them after school. He was able to run with Echo again and have a friend like Ash. Ash also played tricks on his bullies.

However, Ash would always look over his shoulder, and when it got late Ash said it was time to go.

"Can't you just stay a little longer? The sun still up." Everest complained.

"But it's still winter. It'll be gone in minutes. Besides we can't stay on this side for long. We have to go." Ash's eyes didn't leave the horizon as he scanned it.

Duke: Calling it now. Ash died after the sun went down.

Stephanie: No shit, Sherlock.

Bruce: Language.

Movie: "Ash? I've been wondering. How did you die?"

Echo whined pawing at Ash.

"Don't worry Echo it's fine. I don't remember. Most ghost I've met do but I don't really know."

"The other ghosts?"

"Yeah, they come over from the other side sometimes to visit but they have to go back. They are all older so they take care of me. I can't go there with them though."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. They said that I couldn't move on until I get what I needed and let go. But I don't know what that is. I'm scared though, of leaving the woods."

"Oh...is these something you want now?"

"I wanted a friend and then Echo showed up and now I can visit you. So I think I'm happy now."

Barbara: Am I insane or does Ash look like a slightly younger Phantom.

Cassie: (in sign) I thought so too. But I'm not sure. That guy rarely shows up.

Movie: "It's dark! You need to leave! Hurry!"

"Not until you tell me the truth! You're hiding something! You've been hanging around looking for something! You won't tell me anything! Then when I found that burnt-up shack you yelled at me to leave and not come back! I thought you were my friend!" Everest screamed at the ghost.

"Ever, please! Go home! It's not safe here." Ash pleaded with tears in his eyes.

But it was too late. That monster came. The same one from Everest's nightmares. The visions he had gotten after seeing Ash. Instead of just a black shadow, it was a man.

Bruce: *takes a sharp breath*

Jason: No. God damn it. Don't do this.

Tim: Danny. Tell me this isn't-

Danny: *holds Tim's hand* It'll be okay.

Movie: The man who lurked in the shadows had waited look enough. He had always been there in those woods just out of frame watching and hidden in the tree line. You couldn't see him but you felt him every time the camera panned around the woods. The barren leafless trees giving the illusion of safety since you could see more than in the summer and the noisy leaf litter on the ground would warn you. But not when it was dark and certainly not now that the noisy dog wasn't around.

Everest had forgotten that even with ghosts he was still alone.

Everest was taken to that shack deep in the woods as Ash screamed unheard to the ears of the living and knowing very well what would happen next.

But spirits like Ash can't say after nightfall. Not when they feared the dark. But Ash persisted, fading but still hanging on. His ghost form flickering like a flame. Echo was dead but her mission and life were the same in death. She would protect her boy.

The ghost dog sprinted into the night back to her old home. She bumped into anything she could to cause a ruckus and catch the adults' attention. Knocking over family photos until they noticed Everest wasn't home. Making the worry enough to look for him.

All the while a pyre was built for another soul.

Damian: Come on...

Movie: The climax rushed by as the fire burnt and a search party was launched. But when it was over all the sound stopped and a body was zipped into a bag. A family held eachother and cried. A serial child killer was put in handcuffs.

The worst part was how believable it was. Even Ina story of talking to ghosts and pranks the reality of these cases still exist.

But there are small blessings. As Ash cried in the dark a pair of arms wrapped around him and a wet nose pressed against his cheek. His two best friends were here and they all felt ready. It was time to see the other side now that they were together and not alone.

Dick: I am..not okay.

Barbra: I hate that I actually enjoyed that.

Bruce: *brooding*

Damian: I'm going to bed.(he didn't and went to check on his pets)

Jason: ...

Tim: I trusted you.

Danny: But it's a beautiful ending.

Tim: Okay yes but...still sad. They died!

Danny: But they are together. That's a happy ended. Not the happiest but it's not the end for them. Death is just a new chapter not a bad one.

Tim: You optimism scares me and it is unneeded in this family.

Danny: I'm family now~

Tim: You're mine at least.

A continuation of this

Danny: I got another movie for us!

Tim: Danny, I love you so much...but I can't take another sad movie.

Danny: But it's really good and it has a good ending.

Tim: Really?

Danny: It's about a boy and his dog. You see his dog dies-

Tim: Danny no.

Danny: Let me finish! The dog dies but meets another boy who's a ghost on the other side. It beautiful story about a dog who goes back and forth to keep his friend safe. The two boys become friends and unravel the truth behind the ghost boy's death. Come on Tim...I worked hard on this one.

Tim: Fine, but only if I can sucker everyone else to watch it with us.

(Danny doesn't consider death to be a sad part of a movie or a bad ending.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: I need the weekend to come so I can cum

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Things aren't too bad. Not since I got my ass kicked," Vaughn chortles. "Mighta knocked some sense into this thick skull at last."

"Hopefully," you agree. "Mom said--"

"I tried calling. She didn't pick up."

"Oh..."

"Why-- Why should I even bother?" His humour fades to hostility, "and why are you acting like you're my mother? When she does answer, she just calls me a fuck up. Like I don't fucking know."

"Vaughn," you hum, "please, I'm not trying to piss you off."

"But you are," he snarls. "Always gotta ruin a good time, don't ya?"

You frown. This is the Vaughn you don't know. The one with the anger like a grenade pin. One tug and it's over. You sit back and wait. Arguing only fuels the flames.

"You're the one person who's s'posed to believe in me and you're nagging me about mom," he snarls.

You look away guiltily. You wonder how he'd react if you told him about Steve. If you mentioned that the reason things 'aren't too bad' is because you did something just as stupid as him. Somehow, you don't think that him knowing you do dumb stuff too will help.

He tugs at his cuffs. The guards come forward. You say his name again.

"Vaughn, please--"

"Piss off! Yeah, you meat head, get me outta here," he turns his wrath on the guard. "Waste of my time."

"Please, I didn't-- I just--"

"I told you not to talk about it no more," he barks. He did. You didn't listen.

Your eyes well. You don't know what happened to him. Where did all this anger come from? As you watch the guards unhook him and he stomps away, you can only think you may have made a good decision talking to Steve. At least there's someone in there who can help. Or try to.

You wiggle your nose and dab your eyes with your knuckle. That was embarrassing as much as it was scary. The guard on the other side returns.

"We'll bring the next early, miss."

"Thanks," you nod. You recognise him. You realise most of the guards must know your face too. It's so strange to think this is a normal part of your life now. That this has become your social life as late.

It isn't long before Steve appears. He sits calmly lets himself be leashed. He leans forward and takes the receiver. You still have yours in hand but it's against the table. You lift it.

"Couldn't wait to see me, huh?" He purrs.

Your cheeks draw tight, "how are you?"

"Mm," he narrows his eyes as he looks you over. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, Steve," you swallow the dregs of your tears. "Really. It was an early morning."

He stares a little longer, the lines deepening in his forehead. His eyes meet yours. His aquamarine irises are speckled with gold and silver. He takes a breath and tuts.

"You were crying."

"No, Steve, it's nothing."

"That brat brother of yours," he nods as his expression turns dangerous.

"Please, Steve, not you too. Okay? It's... a sibling spat. That's all," you assure him. You wish you were as transparent as the window between you.

"I don't like that. I had family coming to see me, I'd be nice," he snarls.

"It's not your problem."

"That's where you're wrong, sweetheart. You made it my problem when you started coming around." He insists.

You chew your lip, "I know..."

"I'm not complaining, so you know," he leans back. "Kinda used to ya now."

"Thanks," you utter grimly and stare at the desk.

"Hey," he says and your eyes flick back up. "I didn't drag myself out here to see you mope."

You swallow and push away the rest of your chagrin, "sorry, I... better?"

"How can that face get any better?" He winks. You squirm.

He's been more forward lately. You assure yourself that it's just him playing with you. He's bored and you're the only person he talks to that isn't a guard or an inmate.

"That's... Right. Um, I guess it was dumb to ask how it's going," you scoff at yourself.

"It's going good, now I'm here," he runs his hand over his mouth, feeling his cheeks, "fresh shave this morning. Looking good, huh?"

You let your eyes focus. You can tell. His chiseled jaw is bare, not one speck of stubble. And his blond hair is parted and combed back. It's getting a bit long.

"You look refreshed."

"Well, I got something coming up later today."

"Another visitor?" You wonder.

"Lawyer," he shrugs. "No big thing. I got business on the outside still. Power of attorney or whatever."

"Mm," you hum.

"Boring stuff. What about you? Besides that idiot you call a brother, how's life?"

"It's life," you say. "Go to work, come home, sleep, it's all the same."

"Huh, sounds like being in here," he snorts. "Lonely?"

You don't realise at first, he's asking.

"I guess. Thought about getting a cat."

"Ah, you're young. Probably wait a few years before that," he chirps.

You tilt your head wryly, "no harm starting early."

"You're funny, sweetheart."

"Am I?" You wonder dryly.

"Well, the things they think are funny in here..." he makes a face. "You know, I wouldn't tell a lady all that, but it's low brow."

"Right."

"I'm still trying to figure you out, you know? Your brother, well, not to pile on top but he's not exactly a model citizen, but you, you're practical, considerate, you make stuffed chicken and pesto. I can't help but wonder how you're not adopted," he snickers.

"Life is strange."

"Isn't it? Never saw some girl knocking on my cell door but here we are," he drawls.

"Here we are," you agree. He smiles and bites his thumb. You shift as his eyes sparkle.

"I might never get outta of this place, but at least I can see a pretty face now and again," he growls.

Yep, at least he'll never get out. You just need to hope Vaughn doesn't get any time added and it will all be over soon. 

⛓️‍💥

It's the first night Steve doesn't call. You're a bit disturbed by how it seems to throw the whole evening off. It's not like you're friends. He's an obligation. You should be happy to have one less thing on your plate.

You take a long bath, your phone on the back of the toilet, the ringer set to chirp. But it doesn't. The soak isn't enough to ease your nerves.

If something happened to him, what about Vaughn? It's a selfish worry but you can't help it. How could that even happen? Steve has this invincibility about him. You just can't believe it.

You get out and dry yourself off slowly. You're achy from sitting on your ass all day. Admin work isn't very thrilling. You stretch and rub the cushion of your bottom, the muscles easing beneath the layer of padding. You've always had a bit extra. It never bothered you as much as it bothers men. Your brother used to beat up any guy he heard hurling insults at you.

It's not your biggest care in the world. You tend to eat those away. Your sweet tooth hardly helps.

You put on a night shirt and lay awake for a while. Even when you do sleep, it's not peaceful. You dream of iron bars and blood on the floor. You wake with a thumping in your temples.

You dress for work. Your stretch-waist grey pants and the silk blouse with roses on the collar. You pack your lunch and brew your coffee, honey and a dash of almond milk splashed in. You leave with your bag and thermos.

The traffic around the clinic is always clogged. You get in with two minutes to spare. You sit behind the window and the phone rings as soon as opening hour strikes. You're swept up in the demands of patients and doctors alike. One thing you can't complain for how quickly the days fly.

You eat your lunch in your car. You cherish the moments you're not surrounded by sniffling, coughing, and complaining. You head back in and finish the last half, yawning at the monitor.

It's even busier when you pull out into the street. You let the music flow into your ears and distract you. You tap the pedal as you slog along. Finally, you get to a side street and cut a zig zag across town. You pull up to your building and linger in your car.

You have this eerie feeling. You glance over at the unfamiliar car parked facing the brick. The sleek white muscle car is vintage and polished to a shine. Someone loves that thing.

You get out of your dusty Honda and snatch your bag from the passenger's seat. You tap your fob and enter through the side. You stop before the elevator and turn back. You should at least try to get a few steps in. You take the stairs.

You stare at your pointed flats as you drag your soles over the carpet. You smother a yawn behind your hand. A throat clears. You move over, thinking someone's coming your way. You stir in your bag for your keys. Your name brings your chin up.

You gasp and drop your keys. You teeter as you nearly spin and sprint away. Your bag slips and you barely catch the strap. You gape at Steve as he stands beside your door.

Silence wafts around you with the smell of cooking and laundry. He holds a bouquet of classic red roses. He sports a tailored suit in black that puts his prison uniform to shame. The collar is crisp and the tie perfectly knotted. His jawline is shaved and his hair is styled down to the strand.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greets with a smirk.

You wordlessly bend to pick up your keys then stand and fix your bag on your shoulder. Your eyes glaze in disbelief and horror. A million questions flurry to a storm of terror.

"How..."

"Appeal went through. They turned over my conviction," he struts away from the wall. "These are for you, sweetheart."

You look at the petals then at him as he comes close. Your shoulders sag as you shrink down at the breadth of his shadow. He's even bigger like that. You shudder, the lack of barrier unsettling.

"I got you speechless," he intones and grabs the strap of your bag. "Look like you had a long day, let me take a load off."

He takes your bag then guides your hand to the bouquet. You close your mouth and gulp. He sweeps away your keys and hooks his arm through yours. You let him lead you to the door of your apartment. He swings it open and you flinch.

"Wait, Steve, how did you-- how do you know where I live?" You quaver.

"Told you, I got friends on the outside. You don't think I'd leave you unprotected--"

"Wait, wait," you plead as you face him, untangling your arm from his. "How is this real? How are you here? How- Why-- You don't think--"

"I think I spent months talking to you and you spent the same time coming to me. It's not what I think, it's what I know," he insists. You choke.

If his conviction was flipped, maybe that means he isn't so bad. No, no, you heard of what he did in there. He's dangerous. Whether he did what the court said he didn't or not.

He waves you in, "come on, we can take it slow. We'll talk, like old times."

You shake your head but enter. You see no other choice. You're too stunned to think of any.

He follows and pulls the key free of the door before shutting it. He hangs them on the little hook beside the frame. He faces you as you focus on slipping off your flats. He puts your bag on the top of the small shelf where you store your mitts and whatnot.

He whistles, "you look... good. I mean, I never got the full angle." He steps back and you feel him raking you with his eyes. "Got a nice shape..."

"Steve," you snap and face him. "I... I never..." you pace yourself and take a breath. "The flowers are lovely, thank you. And I appreciate you coming by but I think there's a bit of a miscommunication." You turn and slowly inch away. You spin around as he watches you, his expression betraying nothing. "I only talked to you to keep Vaughn safe."

He sighs and his eyes narrow. His brows tilt slightly and his jaw squares. He nods and smooths the front of his jacket.

"Well, sweetheart, I went and got a new suit for you."

"I'm sorry--"

"No, get this," he strides forward and stops before you. "Whether it was for me, for you, or for that scum you call a brother, it happened and it's not over. You got me? I might be out but I got men inside. Men who are willing to do a lot worse than me," he snarls.

You shudder and he grabs your chin. You whimper. "I wanna be nice to you, sweetheart. That's all I've been dreaming of. I went out, got all dressed up, got you flowers, now you do me a favour, go put a dress on so I can take you out for dinner." He sniffs and squeezes just until your jaw throbs, "see, I'm still doing stuff for you. I'm not asking much except you to come out and look pretty."

He lets go and you stagger back. You sniffle and quickly hide your face. Your voice comes out hoarse, "I'll put these in water first."

Your heart races and you go into the kitchen. You find a vase and focus on filling it. You put the flowers in and toss the paper cone. He looms in the doorway.

"I'll find something to put on, okay?" Your voice cracks.

You cross the kitchen and he stays firmly in your path. He brings his knuckle up under your chin and forces your face up.

"Smile, sweetheart," he growls. "We're together. At last."

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Not on the carpet! | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |

Notes: Different from the other ones. Reader knows what his husband does for work.

Summary: Your dear Husband comes home with blood and all you want is it to not touch the dam carpet!!

Warnings: Blood - Canon Violence - Suggestive -

The Salesman knows he is not looking his best right now. Not after having to kill some people who were getting too close to the truth of the games.

And he knows what his dear wife will say once he opens the door. Instead of a warm smile a look of panic will be there. Not for him.

"Dont let that blood fall on the carpet!" You tell him in a stern tone coming to greet him when you did hear the door open but stopped after seeing the blood on him.

"Hello my Love. I hope your day went better than mine" He says pulling off his suit jacket but not moving from the entrance.

Last time he did get blood on the carpet not only was he forced to clean it himself. He was banned to the guest room (no problem the bed its comfortable). But his lovely wife banned him of sex. For a week. And she did nothing but keep temting him all week. Wearing pajama shorts that barely covered her ass and let him see her legs. Light colored shirts that let him see her tits and nippels.

Oh, how he wanted to just throw you over the table and fuck you nice and rough. Make you forget your name and only know his. He wanted you to regret it.

But he had to demostrate he did have some self control. So on the last night exaclty when the clock did hit the final time he was on you like a dog in heat. Pulling you over his lap, touching all the exposed skin and leaving bruises behind.

And while that sex was amazing. He would prefer to not be on another week without sex.

"Here" You did appear again giving him a big plastic bowl so he could put his dirty clothes in. "I will wash it later. I can only imagine how much of a pain its going to be" Your face did show the small anger towards it.

"Sorry Love. But the blood of these worms seems to be as dirty as them" He responded removing his tie too.

"You are not injured, right?" You asked seeing some blood on his cheeck but he just dismisses your question with a move of his hand. "Good. Let me get you some cotton and water then"

"Im finally allowed inside my home?" He half joked as he saw you go then do a stop and look back at him. "It did not get on my shirt I promise"

He remembers that one time when it did get on his shirt. He had to sat for then minutes of you scolding him.

"...Then come. But you know what will happen if I see a single blood drop!"

The Saledman groaned following you into the big bathroom taking a seat on the toilet. "Not sex ban again my Love" He begged pulling you close so he could get his face against your stomach "Jerking off to pictures of you or videos of us its never enough. I need the real thing" To add his point he gives your ass a firm grip.

You try to ignore him as you get some water and cotton to clean off the blood from his face.

"Dont be a baby" Its your response as you slowly clean his handsome face. Glad to see that there are not injuries but just dry blood as he said. "And you did make up for it when the week ended" You added the memory still fresh on your mind.

"I came so fast" He says his eyes never leaving you. Him falling for you soft touch. "I was inside you and then I just filled you up so fast" he sounded so dissapointed with himself.

"You did. But it was a lot. I believe we should let your balls get as much cum as they can so you can fill me up really nice"

The Salesman let out a small sound between a laught and a groan. "Dont make me pull you against that wall...I still need to shower so you dont get the smell of these men"

You smiled at his possessive nature giving him a kiss on the head once you were done cleaning him.

"And I havent finish making your favorite food. So looks like we both will have to attend diferent things before I can greet you properly"

"You are my favorite food. You always taste so divine. I wish I could be between your legs all day. Making you cum over and over again. Getting all of hit on my face and chin. I will lick it up so good. You would be crying from how much stimulation you are getting. But I know you would not care about it. You would let me keep going, because you love me. And you love what I do to you"

You blushed hard under his gaze and his smirk. He was not wrong. And that scene did happen once. You were so wasted after it...you could barely walk let alone think straight. You were like a doll and he loved it. He loved being the cause of your pleasure.

"Yeah well. Maybe later" one look from him made you crumble. There was not a "maybe" it was a "defenetly" and part of you believed he would not wait till you ended dinner.

"Its a promise my Love" He said kissing your hand and wrist. He closed his eyes as he smelled your skin. Oh how he loved it. It was just...you and it was all he needed. "Go and try finishing that dinner for me. But...maybe I will skip it and go for the special plate of the house"

You let out a small smile your face burning. "Go on, get on that shower first" You said leaving him to be "I will bring you a new set of fresh clothes"

"Thanks Love" Your Husband responded removing his shirt in order to get inside the shower, his mind already thinking on the idea of having you for himself once he removes the smell of these worms from himself.

And, oh how much he is going to enjoy every second of it.

[jazziejax]

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐤 ‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Cowboy!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - They had always had this lingering tensions between them. But not it seems that whatever feelings were there have now boiled over and at the Sweet Tooth Saloon, things get a little hot.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - 18+!, MINORS DNI, Heavy tension, sensual dancing, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), soft!Terry, mild dominance, tender aftercare, implied feelings

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - since yall only like me when I write about Aaron Pierre 🙄 I’m not good at wiring smut and I don’t even like doing it but this is something to hold yall over in case I drop off the fave if the earth soon. I have Finals next week :( UNEDITED, sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes. There probably many because my laptop over heated…also, I can’t write a short fic to save my life.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭- 9,567+

The small bell above the door jingled as the large man stepped into the beauty salon, ducking slightly to avoid the low-hanging dried herbs strung up near the entrance. The scent of lavender and bergamot mixed with the faintest trace of hot iron and other chemicals, the kind used to curl or straighten a lady’s hair.

He had never set foot in a place like this before. Not because he didn’t believe in looking presentable—he just never trusted another person with a razor near his throat. And, to be honest, he didn't mind looking rough sometimes, but he was starting to become a little self-conscious whenever a woman looked at him for too long. Especially her. But the dust of the road clung to him, so his beard and his hair had grown past the point of comfort as he and his comrades spent more time than they thought in Sugar Cane Creek. Everything needed a trim. At least, the mirror at the bar last night told him as much, and Jim had made a comment about him “starting to look like a wild man”.

Terry didn’t care much what people thought, but he cared about feeling like himself.

A woman stood behind the counter, fingers-deep in a bowl of soapy water, scrubbing a comb. The early morning light that poured through the shop window was caught in her dark hair, making it shine like polished mahogany. She looked up, recognizing him instantly—because who in Sugar Cane Creek didn’t know who he rode with? But she didn’t stiffen or frown like some folk did when they saw a man from the Nat Love Gang.

Instead, she wiped her hands on a cloth, tilted her head, and smiled just enough to let him know she wasn’t afraid.

“Well, well." She mused, setting her rag aside. “Never thought I’d see the day you walked in here.” She said, a soft grin on her face. Her voice was as rich and smooth as honey fresh from the comb.

Terry removed his hat with a sigh, brushing a hand over his curls that had gotten a little thick on top of his head. “I think I'm in need of a trim.”

She raised a brow. “Hair or beard?”

“Both.”

Her gaze flickered over him, lingering on the rough edges of his beard. “I’ll say. Starting to look real close to a mountain man.” She quipped. Terry, however, didn’t smile, but something in his dark eyes did shift, a flicker of amusement that only she would catch. They had always danced around one another. Something they had been doing for a while now—exchanging looks in town while Terry earned his keep over at Cotton's and she began to start her work day at The Blush and Brush Parlor, brushing shoulders when they shared time at The Sweet Tooth Saloon. He was a quiet man, but she liked that about him. A man who didn’t talk just to fill space.

Her eyes flickered over his face, then lower to where his suede, dark brown, coat stretched broad across his shoulders. “Take your coat off." She said, already gathering her scissors. “You might be here a while.”

Terry hesitated, looking down at the shorter woman with a tired look. "Don't talk about me like I'm some sort of ruffian, now." He said, his voice deep and his country drawl thick. The brown skinned woman gave him a faux pout with a small laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, bright eyes, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Now take a seat and let’s get you looking decent again, okay?" She grinned, playing coy with him. Terry didn't flinch at the name, but a small twitch was his lip was noticeable to her before he then shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the empty chair not far from him. He then sat down in the chair she stood in front of, allowing the woman to drape a sheet over his front, tying it at the back of his neck with nimble fingers before combing through his hair. She was gentle, but precise—no wasted movements, no hesitation.

"You know how to do men's hair?" He asked.

"Yup." She said. “Been cutting my daddy’s since I was eight. Used to say I was better than any barber in town.” He could hear the smile in her tone at the thought, though it veered off into something a little sad.

Terry hummed, the closest he’d come to laughter anyways, but he could also tell that the subject was a little sensitive to her. He let her work, let the soft snip of the scissors fill the quiet. Every so often, he felt the barest brush of her fingertips against his skin. He could also feel her large chest brush against the back of his neck every now and then, causing him to look up into the mirror in front of him, watching the woman work. He wasn’t a man who flinched easy, but something about that gentle touch made him tense in a way he couldn’t explain.

The shop was quiet except for the snip of her scissors. She worked with practiced ease, combing through his hair, trimming away the weight. Every so often, her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, light and deliberate. She felt the way he tensed, barely noticeable, but there.

“Relax, cowboy." She teased. “I ain’t gon' hurt you.” She said softly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, settling into the chair.

She then suddenly grabbed the side of his head, straightening his head and looking at him though the mirror. He wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but he didn't question it as he watched her intensely though the mirror.

“Alright." She murmured after a while. “That’s the hair. Now the tricky part.”

She brush the excess hair from him before she turned to the washbasin, dipping a cloth into warm water before wringing it out. He expected her to hand it to him, but instead, she pressed it against his face herself. She held his head steady with her other hand, gripping his chin. And he couldn't help but wonder if she did the same procedures with all her clients, because even though his hair looked better than before, the way she was touching felt oddly intimate. The heat from her touch as well as the warm cloth sank into his skin, soothing the roughness of travel and the dry air. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

She worked carefully, rubbing a mixture of soap and oil into his beard before picking up the straight razor. She tested the blade against her thumb. She hummed before moving over to the leather strap against the wall to give it a quick sharpen. She tested it again, obviously to her liking since she walked back over and tipped his chin up with two fingers.

“You ever had a woman shave you before?” She asked, looking up from inspecting his unruly beard to lock eyes with his bright ones. It was a simple question, calling for a simple answer, but their gazes were intense. Terry shook his head, just barely, caught in her big eyes and soft touch as he licked his lips.

His response, or lack there of, caused her to grin. “Good. Means you’ll keep still.” She said, only leaning in briefly as she joked with him, but her sudden contact made allowed him to catch a whiff of sweet scent like, something like Ambrosia.

“Lean back,” She instructed, her foot hovering over the pump that allowed the chair to recline. Terry hesitated, blinking at her. It's not that he didn't trust her, he'd known her for quite some time now. He trusted her hands in his hair, but a blade near his throat? That was different. He never trusted anyone that much, not even his closest comrades. It's the reason why all his self-cut's were a little choppy. Something that wouldn't have mattered if he was still up to his outlaw duties and on the road. But now he was spending his time in saloon's and around beauties they didn't offer at home.

She caught the shift in his posture, her smirk turning knowing. “You scared?” She questioned.

Terry met her gaze, his own steady. “No.”

“Then sit still.” She said before she pushed down on the pump under the chair, allowing it to recline. And that he did, opening his growing facial hair to her, ample room left in case of his worst fear. But he had no reason to fear her and her intentions, because her blade was steady. Her hands were sure, and he trusted her, even though he had no reason to.

The razor glided slow, careful. She kept her grip steady, the blade sharp and sure as it skimmed along his jaw. The heat of the late afternoon pressed into the shop, thick and lazy, but it wasn’t what made her skin prickle. It wasn’t what sent that slow, creeping flush up her neck, settling warm in her cheeks.

No, that was him. It was his eyes that were watching her.

They were unblinking, steady, tracking her every move like a man who had nowhere else to be. He was always like this—silent, still, and always looking—but something about it felt different now. Maybe because they were closer than usual. Maybe because she could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest under the weight of her touch.

She set her jaw, trying not to let on just how much she felt him. The every move he made under her touch.

Instead, she focused.

“Bet you’re the kind of man who don’t like feeling vulnerable." She murmured, trying to make small talk with staring man.

Terry’s eyes stayed on her. “You talk too much.” He said, quirking a brow at her. She chuckled, dragging the blade along his jawline. “Maybe. But you don’t talk enough, so it evens out.”

Her hand shifted, fingers pressing just beneath his chin as she tilted his head for a better angle. He was warm beneath her touch, his pulse steady, but she felt it jump when her nails scraped lightly against his throat. She tilted his chin just slightly, her fingers light under his jaw, and dragged the blade down his throat in a slow, deliberate motion. He let her, not moving, not even swallowing, though she could see the tight pull of his muscles beneath his skin, right at the peek of his shirt.

She shouldn’t be looking there, but how could she not? This hunk of a man was lying below her, almost open and willing as he gazed up her with a soft look in his eyes. The air between them was thick, something unspoken curling at the edges. Her grip on the razor tightened just a little as she worked, and his gaze burned hotter for it.

“You always watch this hard?” She asked finally, keeping her tone light as she wiped the hair she cut on a rag after shaking it off in the water basin and then wiping it away. She glanced up some, catching sight of his lips—pink, full, and slightly parted—tipped up at the corner. “Always.” That single word, rough and low, sent something straight to her stomach.

She swallowed as she continued working, trying her best to focus, steadying herself. She wasn’t about to let him get the better of her, no matter how much heat curled between them. But she also took her time finishing the shave, enjoying the rare sight of the outlaw that is Terry Richmond—silent, still, and at her mercy.

“You’re awful quiet for a man with so much to say in his eyes." She murmured, brushing away the lingering shaving foam with the pad of her thumb. Her hand lingered a second too long, caught in the shape of his jaw. Terry still didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched her.

“Didn’t know I needed to talk." He said, and she could’ve sworn she saw his blue eyes flicker to a sea green as the light hit them. The warmth in her cheeks…and else where, deepened. She pulled back, making quick work of the last stroke of hair she had to eliminate, but her hands weren’t as steady as before.

And he knew that.

By the time she was done, the shop felt too small, too warm, too much. She grabbed the cloth and wiped his face cleaning, looking at her finished product around his mouth. Her eyes met his briefly as she took in the goatee she set him up with, a small smile beginning to grace his feature as his eyes bounced across her face. She cleared her throat softly, wiping an imaginary spot of lather from his jaw and leaned back to admire her work. “There. You clean up nice, cowboy.” She said with a grin.

She turned, quickly wiping the blade clean, setting it aside, and moving a few steps away to compose herself as she gathered the material she sat out in front of the mirror.

But then she felt him stand up from the chair, taking the cape off. She felt the shift in the air when he got close—just behind her. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back. She glanced up, watching as he inspected his face in the mirror from behind her. He rubbed his large hands across his face, taking in his fresh look. He only did that for a few seconds before his gazed dropped to the round woman below him. He her her eyes in the mirror, nothing but an exchange between their eyes. She was the only to look away first, cleaning the station.

Terry sat the hair cape he had in his hands in the chair, looking as himself one last time before he hummed in content. He place his hand on her shoulder, large over her breakers that was far from small. “Good job.” He said, voice low near her ear. He then stepped away, his hand dragging down and across the back of her waist as he moved over to shoulder on his coat. She froze at the feeling of him touching her, and then gulped at his fingers tracking off her body. She looked up, looking herself in the eye and blinking, making sure this was all real, before looking in the mirror to watch him put the coat over his large frame.

Terry ran a hand over his chin, feeling the smoothness. He met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

“How much?” He asked after putting on his hat, straightening his clothing, and she tried not to get distract by the way he grabbed his belt, using it to adjust his pants. She turns, tiring her head at him as she gave him a noticeable once over. “Hmm.” She stated with a hum, placing her hands on her hips as she stepped closer. “Well, if you were any other customer, I’d charge five cent. But for you, Terry Richmond, I’ll charge you three.” She smiled.

Terry’s lips twitched, his expression unreadable as he glanced off into the distance out side of the parlor’s windows. He adjusted his belt, the large buckle dinging softly while the leather shifted under his grip. His eyes, sharp and knowing, flicked back to her.

“Three cents, huh?” His voice was smooth, lazy, but there was an edge to it—like he was turning something over in his mind. “Mighty generous of you. Can’t help but to think I’m special.” He quipped, though his tone never really wavered from his deep baritone and his serious manner.

She lifted a brow, arms still crossed as she tilted her head at him. “Well, I’m feelin’ kind.” She smiled, playing along to the game she knew she started, all for the hell of it.

That little smirk of his deepened. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, closing some of the space she’d put between them. She felt it immediately—his warmth, his presence. It was impossible not to.

“You always this kind? Or only to me?” His voice had dropped, rough and low, like gravel dipped in honey.

Her pulse skipped. She held his gaze, not backing down, but he knew what he was doing. He knew the way his voice curled around her, the way his eyes made her skin prickle. Her breath caught, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she kept her expression even, playful, letting her smile linger as she tilted her chin up at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She murmured, voice smooth as satin. “Mr. Special.” She finished, a certain glint in her eye as she tilted her chin just slightly—like she wasn’t the least bit affected. Like she wasn’t keenly aware of just how close he was now.

Terry huffed a quiet chuckle, but there was something else in his eyes—something sharp, knowing. His gaze flickered down, just briefly at the Lowe part of her face, before settling back on hers. His presence was suffocating in the best way, heavy and warm, filling up the little space between them.

“I would.” He admitted, voice slow and deliberate, like he was testing the weight of the words. “Got a feelin’ the answer might keep me up at night.” He said, crossing his arms.

She let out a soft laugh, looking away from his heavy stare as she shook her head. The heat curling in her stomach was unmistakable. He was good—too good. And she didn’t now how’s long she last in this little game they always played before she pounced on him.

“Don’t go losin’ sleep over me, Richmond.” She teased, even as her pulse thrummed in her ears. She breezed past him, making sure her side brushed against his as she moving over to the small counter on the left side of the door. His eyes trailed down her figure once her back was to him, taking in her round and voluptuous curves from behind. “Wouldn’t wanna be the cause of your troubles.” She finished as she turned to look at him from behind the counter. She leaned her weight in the counter, her hand clasped together with her forearms resting on cold wood. She watched as Terry stood there for a moment, the look in his eye darker than before as he stated at her. He then blinked before moving, not taking his eyes from her with his pace slow and deliberate before he stood on the other side of the counter, looking down at the woman.

Terry tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was seeing something no one else had the sense to look for.

“Too late for that.” He said. The words were quiet, but they landed heavy between them, sending a shiver straight down her spine. Before she could find something clever to throw back at him after gulping, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver dollar, and placed it on the counter in front of her hands. His fingers brushed hers, Cushing him to glance down at the small touch.

He then looked back up, his blue eyes staring into her brown ones. “That oughta cover the next few visits.” He said, voice even, but there was that flicker of something else in his eyes again—something smug, something dangerous.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s too much.”

Terry simply shook his head, glancing away from her. “Nah.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, lips parting slightly, but he was already shrugging into his coat, the weight of his scent—tobacco and something deep, something him—lingering in the air. “And here I thought you didn’t like to talk.” She mused, watching him, arms placed on the counter as she thought over all their silent but pleasant times together in the Saloon while the rest of the gang chatted.

Terry confined to gaze at her, his eyes taking across her face. “I don’t.” He said, his smirk lazy, knowing. He paused, casting her a slow, lingering glance—one that made her stomach twist up in knots. He then turned to the door, but before pausing and casting one last glance over his shoulder. His gaze swept over her—slow, deliberate, enough to make the air feel thick with something unspoken. Then, after a beat—“But you make it worth it, Mrs.Special.” Then he tipped his hat and walked out.

And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, staring after him, her heart racing, her face burning hotter than a summer’s day in Cane Creek, her fingers gripping the counter a little tighter than before and the lingering ghost of his eyes still burning against her skin.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The Sweet Tooth Saloon was alive tonight—thick with the scent of whiskey, tobacco, and the heat of too many bodies pressed close together. Laughter and conversation swirled beneath the hum of string instruments, boots tapping against the wooden floor. The music was thick, rolling through the air like smoke, wrapping around every body packed into the space. Heat clung to the walls, thick with whiskey, sweat, and the deep, throaty hum of anticipation.

But all of it quieted—just a little—when she stepped onto the stage. Her deep red dress hugging her curves, sinching in her waist and pushing up her breast.

The pianist struck a slow, rolling tune, and a hush fell over the crowd like a held breath. She let them wait, dragging her fingertips along the microphone stand, tilting her head slightly as she took in the sea of faces before her. Then, just when the tension thickened, she let her voice pour out, smooth and rich like warm molasses.

The song was sultry, the kind that curled its way around a man’s spine and made him lean in just a little closer, made him think about things he shouldn’t in a room full of people. And Lord, did they lean in. The entire saloon was hanging onto her voice, watching the way she swayed, the way her fingers trailed down her own arm, the way she made every lyric sound like a promise whispered against bare skin.

Men leaned closer, their drinks forgotten, their gazes fixed on the woman commanding the stage. Her voice was rich, full of promise, of something dark and sweet.

But there was only one pair of eyes she felt, steady and unwavering through the thick haze of smoke and lantern light. In the very back, where the light barely reached, where the smoke curled the thickest—she saw him.

Terry Richmond.

He was leaning against the bar, broad and still, his hat tilted low but not enough to hide the way his bright eyes. He was half-shrouded in shadow, his bright blue gaze cutting through the dim like a knife. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking—just watching.

Her heart skipped a little.

Heat licked up her spine at the intensity of it, but she didn’t let it shake her. She didn’t falter under his gaze. Instead, she let it fuel her, let it shape the way she sang, the way her lips curved around the lyrics, the way she dragged her fingers over the curve of her own waist. If he wanted to look, she was gonna give him something worth looking at.

She kept singing, dragging out the final note, letting it settle over the room like the last flicker of a candle before it goes out. By the time the last note left her lips, the saloon erupted in cheers, men whistling, clapping, stomping their boots against the floor. She gave a slow, knowing smile, dipping into a slight bow before stepping down from the stage.

She didn’t make a show of looking for him, but she knew exactly where she was going.

The moment she reached the bar, a whiskey was already waiting for her—on the house, as always. She took a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep before finally turning, finally meeting his gaze up close. The bar was crowded, but somehow, the space next to Terry was clear. He didn’t look at her right away, just lifted a hand slightly to catch the bartender’s attention. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just looked at her, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“Whiskey?” He asked, voice low, smooth like dark molasses as he gave a small gesture to the glass she already downed. She leaned against the counter, close enough that the edge of her skirt brushed his leg. “You know me too well.” She grinned, already feeling the buzz that the alcohol as giving her. At that, Terry slid a silver coin across the counter, and within seconds, a glass was in front of her. She looked away from him as she took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest. She could feel him watching her, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. That was the thing about Terry—he could say more in a look than most men could in a thousand words.

“You always stare this hard, Richmond?” She asked, looking over at him with a tilt of her head once she had enough of the hard liquor, her voice still thick with the remnants of the song. His lips quirked, just barely, his eyes drifting over her figure. “Only when I like what I see.”

Her stomach flipped at his words, but she kept her expression even, playful. “That so?” She asked, a smirk in her lip and quirk of her brow. “That’s so.” He repeated in confirmation, then kicking his lips. Terry then leaned in just a fraction, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that she caught the scent of tobacco and cedarwood clinging to his coat.

“So much so.” He murmured, “That I might just have to get my hands on it.” Her breath caught, pulse quickening, but before she could say something sharp, something smart—before she could even decide if she wanted to—Terry’s head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering to the dance floor.

A new song had started.

Something slow. Something meant to be felt more than heard. She barely had time to set her glass down before Terry’s hand slid to her waist.

Without another word, without giving her the chance to refuse, his other hand reached for hers, his grip warm and sure as he led her away from the bar. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded as she let him pull her into him, his palm settling low against her back. He didn’t ask. Didn’t say a damn word. Just pulled her onto the dance floor.

If he wanted to play with fire, she was more than happy to let him burn.

The moment they stepped into the space, bodies made room for them. Not out of fear, not tonight, but out of knowing. Because everyone in Sugar Cane Creek had eyes. And at that moment, everyone had seen the way Terry Richmond looked at her. The way she looked back.

The tension wrapped around them thick as smoke, curling in the air, pressing against their skin.

Terry moved slow, deliberate, his hand firm at the small of her back, the other clasping hers as he pulled her close—closer than what was proper, closer than what was wise. She let him, her breath shuddering as she settled into him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. The saloon blurred around them, the lights dim, the chatter distant. None of it mattered. Not when his blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when she could feel the slow drag of his thumb against the back of her hand.

“You dance?” She murmured, her voice teasing, her lips dangerously close to his jaw. She felt him take in a breath with her chest against hers, and if she paused attention, she could’ve sworn she felt the way his heart was beating. “Only when I got reason to.” He answered, his voice a low rumble against her skin. “You given me plenty.” He said, his lips close to her ear as they danced.

She swallowed that his tone so close, heat curling in her belly. “Is that so?”

His fingers flexed against her back, pulling her that last inch closer. His breath, warm and slow, ghosted over her cheek. “Mmhmm.” He hummed with a lick of his lips, the sound causing his body to rumble against hers. She exhaled softly, turning her head just enough that their noses brushed, just enough that if either of them leaned in—just a little—they’d be past the point of no return.

The music swelled, the rhythm thick and slow, wrapping around them like a promise. The way they moved now—close, slow, like something dangerous just beneath the surface—only confirmed what they both had long suspected.

His hand was firm against the small of her back, his other clasping hers as he led her through the steps. It wasn’t a fast dance, nothing rowdy or wild, but it was just as electric. Every turn, every shift, had them pressing together. His breath skimmed the shell of her ear when he leaned in, his grip tightening just enough to let her feel the strength in his arms.

“You always hold a woman this close when you dance?” She whispered, looking up at him through her lashes. Terry’s lips barely curved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Only when I don’t plan on lettin’ go.” He said, his eyes inspecting every crevice her face had to offer. He didn’t know if he’d bee be this close to her again, and he was taking advantage of the blessing he had to hold her in this way, and gaze at her face as he did.

Her breath hitched.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked.

Lord, the way he watched her. He looked at her as if she was the only thing in the room. Like he was memorizing her in real time. She met his gaze, bold as ever, and let her fingers trail slow up his shoulder, tracing the line of his coat until her nails met the hot skin of his neck. A muscle in his jaw ticked at that. His grip on her waist flexed. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

And then, just when she thought he might tip his head and close the space, just when she thought she might lose her damn mind waiting for it—

He pulled her into the next step of the dance, smooth as silk, a satisfied glint in those blue eyes of his. He was teasing her. Daring her.

If he wanted a game, she was more than happy to play.

“Oh, is that how you want to play?” She asked, feigning innocence while her pulse quickened with anticipation.

Terry’s smirk returned, a challenge wrapped in his expression. “You started it, darlin’.” He replied, stepping into her space that was no longer available due to him, their bodies flush against one another. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, lulling her in despite the playful facade they each wore. He controlled their movements with a firm yet gentle lead, the world around them fading as she lost herself in the intensity of his gaze and the cadence of their bodies moving in sync.

She narrowed her eyes, but her smirk was knowing. Two could play that game. She let her body press just a little closer, her curves molding against the hard lines of him, her breath a warm whisper against his cheek. He swallowed, his fingers tightening against her waist, a sharp inhale the only sign of restraint.

She felt it, that slip of control, and it sent something hot through her veins. "Careful, cowboy." She murmured, voice all honey and silk. "You might not want to let go, but I ain't so sure you can handle holdin’ on."

His eyes then darkened. His grip flexed, strong fingers digging into the curve of her waist, keeping her against him like he had no intention of letting her go. Not now. Not ever. Now, Terry didn’t scare easy. Didn’t flinch and didn’t fold to many.

But her?

She was dangerous in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her voice, all thick honey and slow-drawn silk, wrapped around him, testing, teasing, tempting as it spilling through his ear and ran though his veins like it was his blood. Keeping his heart pumping. He could feel the shape of her, soft and warm against the hard planes of his body, the sway of their dance turning into something far more dangerous, far more intimate.

He leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t handle you?” He asked, his hands drifting lower as he practically engulfed her in his body. She let out a breathy little laugh, conveniently covering the way she took in a sudden breath at his touch, one that made his pulse jump, made his restraint strain at the edges. "Wouldn’t be the first man to try and fail, cowboy.” She whispered to him, her fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, feeling the freshly shaved haircut he had gotten only hours prior.

Terry exhaled through his nose, amused, darkly so.

She was pushing him, daring him. And he welcomed the challenge. So he let his hand slide lower, fingers grazing the base of her spine, just above the curve of her ass, applying the slightest pressure that had her breath catching. She was quick, though. Slipping her arms around his shoulders, she placed her hand on the back of his head, nails scratching ever so lightly. That same muscle in his jaw ticked again.

Her smirk widened.

That was it.

The last frayed thread of his patience snapped.

Without warning, Terry spun her, pressing her back against his front, effectively caging her in. The movement had her chest rising, her lips parting, and damn if that wasn’t the prettiest sight he’d ever seen as he looked down at her. His voice dropped, a low murmur only for her.

"Darlin'..." His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the side of her neck, lingering at the base of her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his touch while his other hand rested low on her waist in the front, easing down to a place unimaginable in front of folks. “You’re playin’ with fire." He muttered.

She tilted her chin up, leaning her head back against his chest, gaze smoldering. "Good thing I ain't afraid to burn.” She whispered. And that was all he needed. He quickly spun her around and his mouth was on hers, rough and consuming, his kiss leaving no room for question, no space for anything but him—his hands, his body, the heat of him pressing against every part of her.

She met him with equal fervor, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth when he pressed himself fully against her. The saloon around them might as well have disappeared.

Nothing else existed in that moment. Just him and just her. That and the fire threatening to consume them both.

One moment, they were moving with the rhythm of the music, spinning slow in the dim glow of the saloon lights. The next, he was leading her off the floor, through the press of bodies, past the thick haze of cigar smoke and whiskey-scented air. The second the cool night air hit her skin, she was backed against the wooden frame of the saloon’s outer wall, the rough grain pressing into her spine, his body caging her in.

There was no more teasing, just as there was no more space between them. She barely had time to breathe before his lips found hers again. Slow, at first, like he was still savoring, still memorizing, but the second she sighed against his mouth, the second her fingers slid into his hair and pulled, something broke between them. The kiss turned hungry and deep.

Like he’d been starving for this—for her—for longer than he cared to admit.

She gasped when he gripped her thigh, hitching it up against his hip, pressing her flush against him, making her feel a bulge she that didn't know was his belt buckle, the crease of his jeans or his manhood. Heat coiled between them, urgent and burning, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, down the curve of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him more, losing herself to the feel of him—the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the quiet growl he let slip when she dragged her nails down his back. "Oh, Terry," She breathed, and damn if he didn’t shudder at the sound of it.

He lifted his head, his forehead pressing against hers, their breath mingling, their bodies still tangled together in the shadows. "I ain’t lettin’ go," He murmured, voice rough, edged with something dangerous. "Not tonight."

She grinned, breathless, running her fingers down the side of his face, feeling the slight roughness of his freshly shaven jaw. "Good." She said before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to place her lips against her. The kiss lasted for mere seconds, a mash of panting breaths and slick tongues before Terry pulled away. He didn’t say a word before he took her hand, his fingers wrapping firm around hers, rough and warm. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes, the quiet pull of his grip, said enough.

She followed him back through the saloon, past the clinking glasses and low murmur of conversation, past the haze of cigar smoke still hanging thick in the air. The wooden stairs creaked under their steps as he led her up, slow and steady, his thumb tracing slow circles against her palm like he was trying to keep himself anchored. Or like he was memorizing her touch.

She should’ve felt nervous. Should’ve felt some sense of hesitation as they moved further away from the music, from the people, from any excuse to slow this down.

But she didn’t. All she could focus on was him.

The broad stretch of his shoulders. The slow, deliberate pace of his steps. The way he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, something that made her stomach dip and heat coil between her ribs.

They reached his door.

And for a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, facing the wood, his breath slow and measured like he was giving himself a second to think—to decide if this was a line he was ready to cross. Then, without a word, he pushed it open. The second they were inside, it changed.

The tension that had been simmering, stretching between them in the dance, in the way he watched her, in every unspoken moment leading up to this—it snapped.

She barely had time to take in the room before she was against the door, her back pressed against the worn wood, her breath stolen by the press of his body. Terry’s lips crashed against hers, no hesitation now, no teasing restraint. He kissed her like he’d been holding back for too damn long, like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again, and she felt it all. The hunger. The need. The slow, deep pull of something dangerously close to devotion.

She gasped when his hands—big, warm, calloused from work—spanned her waist, dragging her closer, molding her to him like he needed to feel every inch of her against him. His hands tacked down, bending slightly to gather the bunch of her skirt. He hiked it up, catching a feel of her warm thighs that molded under his grip. The feeling of her hands caused her to moan in his mouth, her hands moving over him feverishly as she was filled heat she was giving her. He didn’t hold back, moving his hands up for the back of her legs and gracing over the smooth skin of her ass. He tightened his grip, needing it and causing her to gasp into his mouth. He took his as an option to slip his tongue deeper, almost sucking on hers while he moved his hands to begin to untie the strings of her corset.

She didn’t hold back either. Her fingers found the buttons of his vest, fumbling with them, her hands eager and desperate to feel the heat of his skin. His breath hitched against her mouth when she dragged the fabric from his shoulders, then she felt the quiet rumble of a chuckle against her lips when she yanked his shirt free and ragged her hands down his ribbed abdomen, impatience getting the best of her.

"So eager.” He murmured against her lips, voice low and teasing.

She narrowed her eyes, nipping softly at his bottom lip with her teeth, her nails grazing down his chest, feeling the sharp inhale he took at the touch. "So are you." She purred.

And he didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he reached back down, cupped her though just under her ass, and lifted her, carrying her further into the room like she weighed nothing at all. She barely had time to register the shift before she felt the softness of the mattress beneath her, his weight pressing her down, his mouth trailing slow, lingering kisses down the column of her throat. His touch was slow and sensual, his hands finding any place to rub and caress. Like he was still memorizing, like he was savoring.

But the moment she whispered his name—breathy and wanting—something shifted again. His slow, deliberate control had snapped.

And neither of them held back anymore.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him closer as if she was trying to meld them into one. Terry's breath caught as his bulge hit her core, his hands gripped her tighter, holding her as if he were afraid she might slip away. The world outside faded -no clinking glasses, no murmurs, just the vibrant thud of their hearts battling for attention in the silence between their kisses. Their mouths slid together with a hunger that left her breathless. Every kiss deepened the fire sparking between them, waves of adrenaline crashing over her as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer as he dipped down to claim her throat once more. He kissed his way down, worshipping her skin with heated touches and soft bites, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

"Tell me what you want.” He murmured against her collarbone, his breath hot against the cool air of the room. “Come on, tell me baby. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He breathed out. There was something dangerously tender in his rough but needy words, as if he genuinely wanted to know-not just in the heat of the moment, but in that space where everything was laid bare.

She didn't hesitate. "You. All of you. Right here, right now, baby. Give it to me." It was a wild and brisk admission, and a thrill shot through her at the honesty in her voice. She could feel Terry's pulse quicken at her words, a primal urge coursing through him. He raised his head, looking directly into her eyes, and in that moment, she understood. This was more than a fleeting encounter. This was a collision of desires that had been simmering for far too long.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dove back into her mouth, a feverish kiss that stole her thoughts and drowned her in pleasure. She felt the weight of him press into her, his body a delicious contradiction of strength and softness. He paused for the briefest moment to catch her gaze, the heat in his eyes burning deeper than before, and she sensed the shift—not just in the proximity of their bodies, but in the intensity of everything that hung between them.

"Are you sure?" He rasped, pulling back just enough for her to see the uncertainty mingled with desire in his eyes. She could sense it— the weight of the moment, the gravity of their choices. "Absolutely.” She replied, her heart racing with certainty. She reached for him again, pulling him closer, and felt a grin split his face as he dove into her once more, taking her breath and leaving nothing but a breathless gasp in its wake.

Their clothes were off in an instant.

Once her corset was off and the full expanse of her skin was showing, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, his tongue trace the outline of her areola to his heart's content before pulling away to show the other the same attention. He listened to her sigh and smiled. "I love the way you sound." He said before grumbling out her name.

"Yeah?" She sighed, eyes closed as she took in the feeling of his tongue as he licked up her sternum. "I love the way you say my name." She breathed.

"Yeah?" Terry releated as his hands drifted lower in her body. “ I love your body. Your perfect." He paused to place a kiss on her stomach. “Perfect.” Another kiss, this time below her belly button. “Perfect, body.” He finished, his warm breath blowing on her core. His hands moved from her waist, deriding lower to ease her legs apart as he took in the sigh before him. He audibly moaned at the sight, practically drooling as he looked at her. “So fucking pretty.” He whispered. He wanted to taste all she had to offer. Before she could sink in, She placed her hand on his head, pushing his head back. “Wait.” She said.

Terry looked up at her, his large blue eyes dark and blown with lust. “What is it baby?” He asked, licking his lips as his eyes trailed over her form laid out before him. Her eyes sifted away from his stare, biting at her bottom lip before she spoke. “I…I’ve never had a fella go down there before.” She said softly.

Terry’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something softer, something reverent. He rested his hands on her hips, his thumbs stroking slow and reassuring circles against her skin, before he placed his head on her bender knee. “Ever?” He asked. His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving, but there was no judgment—just understanding, just care. And something a little more that neither of them knew.

She shook her head, eyes darting away, almost shy. “Ain’t never been with a man who wanted to.” She shrugged a bit, still biting at her lower lip.

Terry exhaled sharply, his brows pulling together for the briefest moment, like the thought alone frustrated him. He cupped the side of her thigh, grounding her, making sure she felt him, felt the sincerity in his touch.

“Well.” He said, voice warm and steady, “You got one now.”

Her eyes flickered back to his, searching, cautious. But all she found was certainty. His lips brushed against her skin, his breath warm as he murmured, “You just tell me what feels good, darlin’. I got you. I just want you to play back. You ain’t gotta worry no more.” He said, his voice going back into the deep ruble that set her ablaze. And the way he said it—so sure, so gentle—made something deep in her chest tighten. Because she believed him.

So that’s what she did, ladies back against the pillows and open her legs further, barring it all and offering it to him. And Terry took it with life, gratitude, as well as pure lust. Like a magnet, Terry's fingers found their way to her slick lips as he gathered wetness before dragging his skilled digits around her clit. Her breath audibly hitched from the contact, making him chuckle before he pressed his lips against her plump thigh, squeezing with the other hand. Slow circles, maddeningly slow and gentle enough to feel like nothing at all had her willing to agree to just about anything to get off.

He then lunged forward with hunger, letting his tongue do all the talking, slithering inside of her warm walls as his nose nudged her clit. She tensed up with every nudge, let out small pants at the unfamiliar yet raviging feeling that washed over her. He glanced down, watching as he freely put his face in her center. He made it messy enough to admire when he pulled his mouth off of her, her pussy glistening like he just doused her in oil.

"Ohh, look at you, baby.” The grumble that came deep from within his throat as he watched her cute clenched around nothing as she continued to whine from the loss of contact from above. And his green eyes on her most intimate parts made it so hard not to get hot and bothered even with him not doing anything. Her poor nub was jumping with excitement as he used his large fingers to spread her lips open. “Look who’s happy to see me." He said as he took in a sharp breath, feeling her slick coating his fingers, the sound of her wetness loud within the room. “You happy to see me, hun? Huh?“ He questioned, looking up at her.

She moan and nodded eagerly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth at the stimulation he was giving her down under. Terry smiled at that, sharp teeth flashing from under his lips. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, looking into her large orbs that were filled with pleasure and a slight sheen of tears at his touch, but her pussy that just kept sucking his fingers in had him in a trance as his sick standing at attention in his underwear. “Tell me you’re happy I’m down here. Making you feel so good.” He demanded. His tone didn’t leave anymore for defiance, which she took as she angered him. “I’m so happy you’re here, Terry. You feel so good, baby.” She whined out as best as she could, breaths short and rocked her hips into his fingers.

"Mmm, yeah, I know.” Terry grinned. “When the last time sometime touched you, huh?" He asked, but this time he got no response watching as she began to reach her high and feeling her clench around his finger. Tweeting pulled his hand back at that, causing the woman to whine at the loss of contact. “Tell me, hun, and we can continue.” He said.

"I-I don't remember.” She said, and she was telling the truth, she truly couldn't. It had to be nothing worth remembering, especially in comparison to what he was making her feel now.

"Well, I’m gon’ make sure you remember this, hear" He then bent down to deliver a bite to her plush thigh, almost as if he was warning her for what's to come before he dove his face back into her heat, slurping at her hard and soaked clit. Her belly was doing summersaults, she could barely contain her volume at the feeling of his long and warm muscle working a magic she’s never felt before. But her sounds were the last of his worries, they were actually only fuel to his already burning fire.

As he ate, he made noise. He moaned, grunted, groaned in her, letting he know and feel that he was having just as much fun as she was.

Her legs had began to shake the longer he was down there, her hands gripping onto the white sheets of the inn bed since that was all she had to hold on to after he practically ripped her’s and his clothes off beforehand.

"Yes! Yes, oh, yes! I'm so close, Terry baby.” She struggled to keep her eyes on him even with his staring back up at her over her pudge, his eyes low lidded and dark. They beckoned her to stay, to not go levee the edge just yet, but her pleasure had came rolling through like a monsoon and wiped all the thoughts from her brain. She was a shaking, blubbering mess under his weight as he continued to lick and eat at her juices. He moved his mouth away from her pussy only to replace it with his hand, rubbing her clit in tight circles as he subconsciously moved her hips.

"Just feel it, baby. Let it happen.” He cooed in that sexy country drawl. She tried to fight against his hand, her thighs subconsciously closing around his wrist. But he smacked his large hand into her juicy thighs and kept at it with his other hand until he felt like he was done. "Be still and met it happen, baby." He cooed, enticing another moan from the woman. She felt like she was literally about to float up into the heavens, her back arching up off of the couch just to get away from the overstimulation.

"Okay! Oh, Fuck!" She screamed. “Yes, Terry!” He moved his hand to allow her to go through the motions, watching as she twitched until that special feeling left her center. "Good job, baby.” He said, pressing a soft kiss on her thighs. “Good job, my pretty girl." Another kiss from him was placed beside her opened mouth as heavy breathing left as he moved up her body.

As the tremors faded from her body, she lay there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim lights of the room. Her limbs felt weightless, boneless, as if she’d melted right into the bed.

Terry was still there, right where he had been, his hands firm on her thighs, holding her steady like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. He pressed slow, lingering kisses to the inside of her knee, then another, trailing up, as if savoring the aftermath.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found him watching her, his expression unreadable at first—like he was memorizing her in this moment, like he was trying to etch the sight of her pleasure into his bones. A slow, lazy smirk then tugged at his lips. “Ain’t never seen somethin’ so damn pretty.” His voice was rough, thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too. Something deeper.

She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers finding their way into his hair, rubbing lightly. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, cowboy.” She smirked. Terry hummed with chortle, leaning into her touch, his hands sliding up to rest at her waist as he crawled up beside her. “Ain’t about makin’ you feel special.” He murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You already are.”

Her breath hitched, her heart fluttering in her chest at the way he said it—so simple, so certain. She turned her head to look at him, finding those piercing blue eyes already on her, unwavering. And for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need to.

Instead, she reached for him, guiding his face to hers, and kissed him slow—letting him feel exactly how much she believed him. She slowly came back to herself with her lips attached to his, still basking in the warmth of his touch. She let her fingers trail down his chest, her nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his briefs. She could feel the way his breath hitched, bus bulge rubbing against her. The tension still coiled tight in his body despite the easy way he lay beside her.

A slow smirk pulled at her lips as she traced top of his boxers, slipping her hand into them with practiced ease. “Reckon I should return the favor.” She murmured, her voice soft, teasing.

But before she could go any further, Terry’s hand caught hers—not rough, not forceful, just firm enough to stop her in place. She looked up, brows furrowing in confusion, but the look in his eyes made her pause. “Ain’t about that.” He said quietly, his voice still thick, still warm, but full of something deeper. He squeezed her fingers, rubbing slow circles into the back of her hand. “You just came down from somethin’ real intense, darlin’. I just wanna hold you right now.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his words, by the tenderness in them. “Terry, I—”

“I know.” He gave her a small, lazy smile, shifting so he could pull her closer against him. “We got time for all that. Just… let me have this. Let me have you right here in this exact moment. We might not ever get it again.”

And the way he said it, like holding her in his arms was just as much of a pleasure as anything else, sent something warm through her chest. They wet her already planned for this to be sitting more made her body flutter in a way only he can make happen. She sighed, settling against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s my good girl.” He said before placing a kiss on her warm skin.

And with that, they stayed there, tangled up in each other, letting the night stretch out slow and easy.

@kneelarmhstrung @winorlosetogether @joshuafatubaee

@becauseimswagman1 @nubiagurlll @gwenda-fav

@susanhill @sIvt4her @cryotrain @fakxmbj j

@wayytoocooll @brattyfics @brownskin-bratz @alonahh

@kaylalb @blackpinup22 @xjjawsomex @borednblk

@trash-panda-xoxo @luckydaye777 @dreadheadmadi @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @saturnville @zillasvilla @kinginwithbreezy-blog

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

— drunken night —

Warnings: alcohol intoxication, excessive drinking, fluff, sprinkle of angst, pregnancy, allusions to violence, nudity (not sexually), a few suggestive comments

Summary: Jason comes home from a boys night out.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader from She’s Mine

Word Count: ~4.7k

A/N: I was initially writing a drabble, but I got carried away. So it’s a little longer than expected, but full of cute drunk Jason. Please, feast upon this!

DC M.List || Navigation M.List || MCU M.List

Jason fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the front door, his coordination impaired by the alcohol. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he managed to open the door and step inside. Roy and Dick followed behind, still thoroughly entertained by the entire situation. They toed off their boots and threw their jackets on a sofa. 

“Careful there, Jaybird. Don’t want you tripping over your own feet now, do we?” Dick drawled out, a little tipsy, but much better than Jason. Jason shot both of them a withering glare before stumbling into the living room. He collapsed onto the couch, groaning as his muscles finally relaxed from the strain of walking. 

“You both are assholes, you know that?” He seethed at them. It was their fault he was drunk anyway—he would never admit it was actually his stubbornness to prove to them he wouldn’t be the first to cut out of the drinking game. 

Roy smirked, unable to resist taking another jab at him. “Yeah, but we’re your assholes, dude. And right now, we’re having the time of our lives watching you stumble about like a drunken buffoon.”

Jason groaned again, closing his eyes. “Thanks for the support. Really feeling the love here,” he grumbled out sarcastically. His head throbbed at the thought of you seeing him like this. 

Dick laughed, unable to hold back his amusement. “Trust me, little bird,” he started with a shit-eating grin as he flopped down to the couch, “this is how we show our love. We lovingly tease and humiliate your drunk ass.”

Roy chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s right, dude. This is just our way of showing we care.” He glanced at the stairs lead for a moment before his gaze flickering back to Jason. “We’re taking the piss out of your state right now because we care. It's called tough love.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to give them a sarcastic smile. “Oh, I feel so loved right now. My heart is just bursting with joy and appreciation.”

“Yeah, Jay. Consider yourself lucky we’re not recording this entire scene for future blackmail purposes,” Dick chimed in, a cheeky grin on his face. 

A floorboard creaked overhead and Jason’s eyes widened as he and the other two men snapped their heads up towards the ceiling. “Please don’t tell me that’s her coming down the stairs...” he muttered, bracing himself for the worst. Dick and Roy turned their attention to the staircase, curious to see what will unfold when you came down at this time of night. 

“Oh, mate, you’re in trouble now,” Dick said with a chuckle, unable to hide his excitement.

Jason groaned, feeling the effects of the alcohol still weighing heavy on him. He tried to sit up a bit straighter on the couch, but it only made his head spin more. “Yeah, I know... I’m screwed.”

You came down to the last step, arms crossed and an unamused expression in your face at the sight of your drunk husband and his tipsy friends. Your hair was in a braid while you wore an old band tee of his to cover your big belly fully and some maternity sweatpants. 

Jason’s eyes widened as he saw you standing at the bottom of the stairs, your arms crossed and a look of annoyance on your face. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, bracing himself for the impending storm. 

Roy snickered, loving every moment of Jason’s discomfort. “Oh, dude, you’re in for it now. The missus doesn’t look too happy, does she?” Roy exchanged a glance with Dick and tilted his head towards the door, a silent plea to leave before you ultimately started your lecture for Jason. 

Dick nodded eagerly, not wanting to be in the middle of a couple’s quarrel. “We should get going,” Dick announced, nodding at you. 

You nodded back, eyes softening slightly at the two. “Do you two have a ride home?” You asked, knowing if Jason was drunk, they’d also be tipsy enough not to drive. 

“Uh, yeah, we’ll be fine. We can call a taxi or something,” Dick replied, standing up from the couch.

“I can—” you started, about to offer to call an uber. 

Dick held up a hand to stop you. “No, no. We don’t want to impose any further. We’ll make our own way home. Besides, we’d hate to further ruin your night any more than we already have.”

You hummed. “Thank you for bringing him home safe,” you murmured, nodding at them. Dick and Roy nodded back, feeling relieved that the tension had eased a bit. 

“No problem. We’ll be sure to keep a closer eye on him next time,” Roy said, giving you a small smile. 

You smiled back slightly. “Be safe, you two.”

Dick and Roy nodded again, grabbing their jackets that they had thrown onto the sofa and heading towards the door. 

“We will, Y/N. Take care,” Dick called over his shoulder as he opened the front door. 

Roy followed close behind, stepping into his boots. “Yeah, we’ll be careful. Thanks again for everything.” And with that, the pair left the house, the door closing softly behind them.

Jason watched in silence as Dick and Roy left, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. He knew he had caused quite a scene in front of them, both at home and at the bar, and he dreaded the thought of them ribbing him relentlessly for the things he had said and done. 

You glanced at him then, hands going to your hips. The movement made the tee stretch across your baby bump and the sight made Jason soften a little. He loved your bump. He loved touching it and talking to the baby. He was almost obsessed with it. 

As you turned your gaze a little sterner, Jason couldn’t help but wince. He knew that look all too well. It was the look that told him he was in for a lecture.

“Why are you so drunk?” You asked, feeling a little irritated at the fact that Jason would drink so much. You wanted him to have fun, but right now he was totally shit-faced. 

Jason looked up at you, feeling a little sheepish under your gaze. “I know, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so drunk,” he replied, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. He knew he had overdone it, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit guilty for letting things get out of hand. 

When you seemed to look unimpressed, he sighed and knew he’d have to come forward with a more sincere apology. 

“I guess the drinks just went down too easily, and before I knew it, I was pretty smashed.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry for putting you through that. I know it’s not a great look, coming home like this.”

For some stupid reason, perhaps because of how much you loved him, your eyes softened at his genuine apology. “Stupid,” you muttered as one last word, an insult filled with fondness, before you let a hint of a smile grace your lips. 

Jason couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him as he saw your features soften even just the tiniest bit. He knew he was lucky to have you in his life and he never wanted to take that for granted. The way you had just called him stupid, but with a hint of affection in your voice, reminded him of the playful banter you two often engaged in.

He couldn’t help but crack a small smile in response. Even though he was in trouble for his drunk behaviour, he couldn’t help but find your affection endearing.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stupid drunk. I just got carried away, I guess. But I promise I won’t do it again,” he said, trying to sound sincere despite the alcohol still coursing through his system.

You sighed, shoulders loosening with the breath escaping you. “Tell me that when you’re sober,” you retorted gently, taking a seat on the sofa beside him. Your hands rested under your belly as you glanced at him. 

Jason chuckled softly, feeling a flutter of affection for you as you sat down next to him. Even though he knew he was still in hot water, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in your presence. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you that when I’m sober,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “But you know I can’t promise that I won’t have a drink or two again. It’s just... sometimes I need to unwind, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding the need to loosen up after a rough patrol or even a stuffy gala that he had to attend. You smiled slightly and nudged his shoulder with yours. “Just one or two.”

Jason smiled warmly as he felt your shoulder nudge him. The small gesture felt like reassurance; you weren’t angry with him, only concerned and slightly frustrated. 

“Just one or two,” he agreed, holding up two fingers in a mock salute. “I’ll try to stay within my limits.” 

“Good.” You stared at him for a moment, just raking your eyes over his flushed face and disheveled hair, finding it endear. You nodded, shifting slightly so that you could get up without losing your balance due to the bump. “You reek.”

Jason chuckled, knowing that you had a point. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” He rubbed his face with his hands, the smell of alcohol and smoke clinging to his skin and clothes. “I could use a nice hot shower.”

“Maybe not a shower with your jelly legs,” you teased, knowing very well that when Jason was wasted, he often stumbled and tripped over air. 

Jason chuckled weakly, knowing that you were right. Even though he was a highly trained vigilante, when he was this drunk, he couldn’t even walk without stumbling. 

“Yeah, you might have a point there.” He sighed as he looked at you. “Do you think you can help me to the bathroom? I’m afraid I’ll fall headfirst into the toilet unless you help me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding at his ask for assistance. He had done this a few times for you when you two had first started dating and you used to come home a little too drunk after a night out with friends. You supposed this was how he felt when he was caring for you; both finding it annoying and endearing. 

You helped him up from the couch. “I’ll run a bath for you, yeah?” You led him to the stairs and then paused, glancing between the stairs and your wobbly husband. “You think you’ll be fine on the stairs?”

Jason looked at the stairs with a mixture of defiance and hesitation. He didn’t want to look weak in front of you—or anyone for that matter, but he knew he wasn’t in the best shape to take on a flight of stairs. 

“Yeah, I think I can manage,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Just, uh, keep a hold of me, yeah?” 

You nodded. “Just so you know, I’ll let go of you if I think I’m going to fall with you. I have the little one to think about.”

Jason nodded, sharing your concern for the baby’s safety. "Alright, that’s fair," he said, draping an arm heavily around your shoulders for support. "And don’t worry, I wouldn’t have let you fall."

With your help, Jason began the slow and careful ascent up the stairs. He clung to you and the stairs like a lifeline, his grip tight on your shoulder and the railing. Every step was a strain, his legs feeling like jelly and his head spinning from the alcohol. But Jason made it up the stairs, albeit with a lot of stumbling and muttered curses.

Despite the seriousness of safety, you couldn’t help but find the situation a little amusing; here you were, guiding your drunken husband up the stairs like a wobbly toddler. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reached the top of the stairs and entered the bathroom. “Alright, sit down here,” you instructed, guiding him to the edge of the bathtub. 

Once he was sat, you gently helped him out of his clothes, now a little damp in some places with sweat. 

Despite his inebriated state, Jason tried his best to help you undress him, but it was a clumsy and awkward endeavor. He was grateful for your help, but also felt a bit embarrassed at his lack of coordination. Once Jason was undressed, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking up at you with a goofy smile.

You smiled back unconsciously, something that often was merely a result of seeing Jason happy. “What is it?” You asked in a quiet murmur, started to fill the tub with water, adding some epsom salt and lavender oil as well. 

Jason’s drunken smirk grew wider as he watched you prepare the bath, the smell of the soothing oils filling the room. “Nothing, just enjoying the view,” he replied jokingly, his eyes scanning over your form. “You look pretty damn hot, y’know that? No, wait, scratch that, you look absolutely gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head fondly as a light wave of heat flushed your cheeks. For as drunk as he was, he was still the same flirt you knew. You didn’t know how he did it, even after three years of marriage, but he always managed to make you flustered. 

Jason let out a satisfied hum, enjoying the sight of you flustered as he complimented you. Even in his drunken state, he couldn’t resist teasing you. He knew just the right things to say to make you squirm and it was a skill he was proud of. 

“See, that's the reaction I was hoping for,” he said, pointing at your flustered state. “You still get all bashful after three years.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and nudged him, turning off the water. “Get in, you flirt.” 

Jason chuckled and slowly stood up, holding onto the edge of the bathtub for support. He stepped into the warm water and sunk down, letting out a sigh of contentment as the heat seeped into his muscles and joints. 

“Ah, this is nice,” he mumbled, his eyes half-closed. “Join me?” He peeked up at you with a smirk plastered to his face. 

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the tub. “No. You’re drunk.” You tucked a hand under your belly while the other rested on the edge of tub to keep your balance. 

“Damn. Can't blame a man for trying.” Jason pouted playfully, but he knew you were right. Despite his desires, he was in no condition to be intimate with you right now. He leaned back against the bathtub, soaking in the warmth. 

“You're such a buzzkill, you know that?” He joked, the words slurring together slightly. He didn’t blame you for not wanting to get into the tub. If roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have gotten in either. 

You merely hummed as he moved to rest his head against your thigh. Jason closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his head resting against your thigh. It was a simple but comforting gesture and it made him feel even more relaxed. 

“You know,” he said, his words still slurring slightly. “I don’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow at his unexpected confession. “What makes you say that?” You asked softly, your free hand moving to gently stroke his hair. Jason groaned, enjoying the feel of your hand through his hair. 

“I just... I don’t know. I’m a mess, y’know? I screw up all the time. I'm always away on patrols and missions, I've got a stubbornness problem, and I'm hardly a ray of sunshine.” He paused for a moment, then added, “You deserve someone better than me.”

You sighed softly, your hand still stroking his hair. “Jason, you may have your flaws, but we all do. And you’re not a mess, you’re just human. You do what you have to do for your job, and sometimes it's hard on you.” 

You kissed his temple, whispering the rest against his skin. “And as for someone better than you, I don’t want anyone else; I want you.” 

Jason opened his eyes to look up at you, his gaze searching your face. He could see the sincerity in your eyes and it made his heart ache. 

“I just feel like I’m a disappointment,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, the protector. But here I am, drunk and needing you to take care of me again.” 

You leaned down, gently placing a kiss on his damp forehead. “You are strong, but that doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time. Everyone needs help and support sometimes, even you.”

You continued, “As for being a protector, that doesn’t mean you can never show any weakness. You may be a vigilante, but you’re also human, and humans make mistakes and stumbles. And I’m here for you, to pull you back up when you stumble.” 

You rubbed your belly. “We’ll always be here.”

Jason’s eyes softened at your words and the gesture of rubbing your belly. He placed a hand on top yours, feeling the warmth of it and the knowledge that there was a baby growing inside you. 

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “You and the little one. You two... you’re my everything.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, cupping his cheek. “And you’re our everything.” 

You wanted to take every little self-deprecation thought of his and drown it in your reassuring words and sweet kisses, but you knew it would take a lifetime to do so. The best you could do was just tell him. Remind him why you chose him. 

Instead you settled on changing subject for now. “Boy or girl?” You asked with a glint in your eyes. 

Jason looked up at you, feeling the warmth of your hand on his stubbled cheek. The change of subject caught him off guard, but he appreciated it nonetheless. He pondered the question for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Well, I don’t think we'll know for a while,” he said with a shrug. “But if I had to guess... I think it’s gonna be a girl.” 

You raised a brow, silently asking why. 

Jason chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I don’t know, just a feeling I have,” he said with a shrug. “I think it’s gonna be a little girl who’s as beautiful and strong as her mother.”

“And if it’s a boy?” You asked, not expecting anything but the best from him. You knew all he wanted was a healthy and happy baby. So did you. 

Jason smiled, a warm and genuine smile, at your question. “If it’s a boy, then he’s gonna be a little hellraiser, just like me,” he joked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And I'll teach him everything I know about the world and how to take care of himself. But most importantly, I’ll teach him how to treat a woman right.”

He took your hand in his, his touch soft and gentle. "But no matter if it's a boy or a girl, they're going to have the best mother in the world. And that's all that matters in the end."

“And father,” you said, tugging his locks gently to emphasize your point. 

Jason chuckled softly, his head moving with the tugging of his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, the best father in the world too.” He looked up at you, a small grin on his face. “Can I be honest with you for a moment?”

“Of course. Always.” You stroked his cheek as you reached for a wash cloth with your other hand. 

Jason sighed, his eyes closing briefly as he leaned his cheek into your touch. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Terrified, actually. I don’t know anything about being a father. I had a terrible upbringing, and I’m afraid I’ll screw this up.”

You hummed, rinsing the cloth and then gently trailing it over the expanse of his back, not even blinking at the scars you had seen so many times that littered his body. 

“Can I be honest with you, baby?” You murmured, waiting for his response. 

Jason nodded, his eyes still closed as he relished the feel of the cloth gliding over his back. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured back, his voice low and rough.

“I think you’re worried for no reason,” you whispered, pressing the cloth into his skin a little firmer to drive in your point. “You’re attentive, caring, and responsible. You love with all you got and that’s what matters. Maybe you can’t be home all the time, but the quality of the time you do spend with us is what matters.”

Jason opened his eyes, his gaze settling on your face as you spoke. Your words sunk in, each one chipping away at the self-doubt that had settled in the back of his mind. You were right. He was more than capable of being a good father. The fear of screwing up was natural, but he had to trust himself and his abilities to do right by you and the baby. 

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice tinged with an edge of amazement and affection. 

You grinned. “That’s what happens when I know your brain, Mr. Todd, and, as your wife, I’m supposed to know what to say.”

Jason chuckled weakly at that, his shoulders shaking slightly in the warm water. “Supposed to, huh?” he said, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, I’m glad you do. I swear, you’re the only one who can put up with me and my bullshit.” 

You put away the wash cloth with a gentle smile before grabbing his shampoo and pouring a decent amount on your hand. “I love you,” you murmured before massaging it into his scalp. 

Jason closed his eyes again, the feeling of your fingers massaging the shampoo into his scalp making him sigh in contentment. “I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice low and raspy. As you continued to rub his scalp, he couldn't help but let out a soft moan, the mixture of the heat and your touch lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.

As you worked through his hair, you noticed how tension seemed to seep out of his body. His shoulders relaxed, and the lines on his forehead seemed to soften. You smiled softly, loving the effect you had on him.

“Feeling better?” You asked quietly, your fingertips tracing lazy circles on his scalp.

Jason hummed in agreement, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. “Much better.” He opened his eyes briefly to look up at you, a lazy smile gracing his features. “You have magic hands, you know that?”

You chuckled softly. “Is that so?” You continued massaging his scalp for a few more moments before rinsing the shampoo from his hair. The warm water cascaded down over his head, the suds running in rivulets down his neck and back.

As you finished rinsing the shampoo out, you noticed his gaze was on your belly, his hand moving to rest on the small bump.

Jason’s eyes were drawn to the swell of your belly, his hand reaching up to rest gently on top of it. His touch was tender, almost reverent. It was clear that he was already feeling protective of the life growing inside you.

"You're starting to show a little bit more now," he commented softly, his finger tracing a gentle circle around your belly button.

You hummed, feeling the slight swell of your belly under his hand. It was a constant reminder of the life growing inside you, and it made your heart flutter every time you thought about it. 

“Yeah,“ you murmured, your hand covering his. “Won’t be able to hide it much longer with these old shirts of yours.” 

Jason chuckled, his eyes shifting to the oversized shirt you were currently wearing. It was one of his old ones, the fabric faded from years of wear and tear. 

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing your hip. 

You hummed. 

“Makes me think about what you're wearing beneath them,” he added, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You laughed then, flicking his nose and getting up carefully to make sure your balance didn’t falter with the growing weight of the baby. 

Jason chuckled at the playful flick on his nose, his eyes watching you as you stood up, carefully making sure you didn't lose balance. “Careful there, sweetheart,” he said, his hand resting on your hip briefly to steady you. 

You could see the weariness in his eyes now, the exhaustion slowly taking over as the effects of the alcohol wore off. He looked tired, both physically and emotionally. 

“Looks like the alcohol is wearing off,” you murmured, your hand tracing his shoulder.

Jason nodded weakly in agreement, his head lolling back against the edge of the tub. “Yeah... it's catching up to me now,” he said, his voice hoarse and tired. “I’m gonna pass out any second, I think.”

You smiled. “Let me grab your towel and get you dried up.” 

Jason grunted in assent, his eyes fluttering open as he let you attend to him. He was too tired to protest, and secretly he relished the feeling of your touch, tender and loving, as you dried him off with a soft towel.

You draped the towel over his shoulders, gently patting his back and chest dry. Jason leaned into your touch, his body heavy and weary. You could see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the weight of the world and his demons catching up with him.

“Come on, baby,” you said, grabbing his bicep and helping him. “Let’s get you in some cozy pyjamas and then in bed.”

Jason nodded, allowing you to help him out of the tub. He wobbled a bit on his feet, clearly still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but he managed to stay upright with your support.

“Cozy pyjamas, huh?” he mumbled dryly as you helped him walk to the bedroom. 

You chuckled softly. “I suppose it would just be a soft shirt and sweatpants.”

“Probably more comfortable, anyway,” he agreed, his arm looped around your shoulders for support. He shuffled to the bed and collapsed onto it with a weary sigh, his body immediately sinking into the mattress. 

You quickly grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and an old, soft t-shirt, helping him into the clothing. He was practically half-dead at this point, barely able to move on his own. 

Once he was dressed, you helped him under the covers, tucking him in snugly before making your way around to your side of the bed. You settled into bed next to him, the sheets cool against your skin. You could hear Jason’s ragged breathing, a sign of just how tired he was.

Jason grunted in appreciation as you tucked him in, his eyes already drooping shut. He was exhausted, his body desperate for rest.

You reached out, gently stroking his hair, letting your fingers trail through the messy, damp locks. Jason let out a soft moan, his head instinctively tilting towards your touch. He may have been drunk and exhausted, but he still craved your affection.

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered, your hand continuing to stroke his hair. “Just sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jason mumbled something incoherent, his words slurred with sleepiness. But you could tell he was comforted by your presence. He shifted closer to you, his head finding a place on your shoulder and a hand on your stomach protectively as he finally succumbed to sleep. 

Reblogs are really, really, really appreciated! Please consider reblogging authors/creators work!

Join the taglist —> HERE <—

[theonottsbxtch]

WHEN THE WORLD GOES QUIET PT 1 | LN4

an: i was listening to an orchestra version of young and beautiful by lana del rey when this idea came into my mind. i am so ahh feral over this version of lando i've written. i hope you enjoy him as much as i enjoyed writing him and as much as @iimplicitt loved reading about him.

wc: 5.8k

THE CITY WAS BURNING AGAIN.

Smoke curled into the night, thick and suffocating, folding itself around the bones of London like a funeral shroud. Somewhere beyond the rubble, the sirens had stopped, but their echoes lingered, rattling against her ribs.

She walked through the dark with her hands buried in the pockets of her coat, head bowed against the cold. She should have gone home—should have counted her rations, mended her stockings, whispered a prayer for the city’s dead. Instead, she turned down a narrow street where the lamps had long been extinguished, following the sound of muffled jazz bleeding from behind a half-broken door.

The Starling Club still stood, stubborn and smoke-filled, its windows blacked out, its basement packed with men and women who refused to die quietly.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, whisky, and the ghost of some lost summer, the scent of gardenias clinging to the collar of her coat. Someone had patched the ceiling where shrapnel had torn through last winter. A pianist played slow, heavy notes from a corner stage, and in the candlelight, she almost forgot the world was ending.

She reached the bar, slipping into the last empty seat, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

And then—him.

A man sat beside her, sleeves rolled to his elbows, uniform jacket slung over the back of his chair. RAF, she thought. The kind of man who lived in the sky, who counted time in take-offs and landings, who made promises he had no business making. Curly brown hair and eyes light like they lit up a barrack.

She could feel him looking at her before she turned her head.

"Whisky?" he asked, his voice edged with smoke and something rougher, something worn.

She exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze. His face was all sharp angles and tired eyes, chocolate brown hair curling at his temples. He looked too young to be carrying ghosts, but they lingered in the hollows of his face, just the same.

She hesitated. "I don’t take drinks from strangers."

He smirked. "Good thing I’m not a stranger, then."

She raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you?"

He leaned in just slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Lando," he murmured. "Now we’re acquainted."

The pianist started a new song, something slow and aching. A woman laughed too loudly in the corner. Somewhere above them, the city still smouldered.

She could have walked away. She should have.

Instead, she lifted the whisky glass he had placed in front of her, let the burn settle in her throat, and stayed.

The whisky burned the way the night did—slow at first, then all at once. She wasn’t sure why she stayed. Maybe it was the way he leaned against the bar like he belonged there, like he had nowhere else to be. Maybe it was the way his gaze never quite left hers, watching without expectation, without urgency, just quiet curiosity.

"You're not military," he said after a moment, tipping his glass towards her. A statement, not a question.

She swallowed, setting her drink down. "No."

"Thought all the good girls were off knitting socks for the war effort."

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Thought all the good boys were supposed to be fighting it."

Lando smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Oh, I fight." He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I just haven’t lost yet."

Yet. The word sat between them, heavy and inevitable.

She glanced down at his uniform, the creases still sharp despite the scent of cigarettes and whisky clinging to him. The wings on his sleeve glinted under the dim light. "RAF," she murmured.

He nodded. "And you?"

She hesitated. She could tell him anything, and it would make no difference. In a city like this, names meant little, and the future meant even less.

"I sing," she said finally.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Of course you do."

She frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Lando shrugged. "You’ve got the look."

She scoffed. "And what look is that?"

He studied her—really looked this time. She felt his gaze trace over the curls pinned at the nape of her neck, the smudge of ash on the cuff of her coat, the way her red dress peeked through when the fabric shifted.

"Like you’ve got something to run from," he said finally. "And nowhere to run to."

Her breath caught, sharp and sudden, like he had pulled something from inside her and placed it on the bar between them.

She reached for her glass again, more for something to hold than for the whisky itself. Outside, the world was burning. Somewhere in the East End, families would wake to nothing but dust and open sky. And yet, here they sat, drinking, waiting, listening to the low hum of jazz and the quiet certainty of things that could never last.

"Tell me something, Lando," she said, tilting her head. "Do you say things like that to all the girls?"

He smiled, slow and lopsided. "Only the ones worth saying them to."

She huffed, shaking her head, but she didn’t look away.

Because for all the places she could have been that night—for all the choices she could have made—she had ended up here. And maybe that meant something.

Or maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

Either way, she stayed.

Lando watched her over the rim of his glass, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. She wondered if he was studying her the way she was studying him—if he was collecting details, trying to decide what sort of woman she was.

She already knew what sort of man he was.

Not just a soldier. A pilot. The kind who played cards with death every time he took to the sky, betting his life against gravity and steel. The kind who laughed too easily, drank too much, and lived like he knew he wouldn’t be doing it for long.

"How often do you fly?" she asked, swirling the whisky in her glass.

Lando smirked, as if he knew what she really meant. How much time do you have?

"Every time they ask me to."

"And when you're not in the air?"

"I do this," he said, gesturing vaguely to the bar, the smoke, the dim candlelight. "Drink. Try to forget I'm going back up."

She studied him for a moment. "Do you like it?"

His smirk faltered, just a little. "Flying?"

She nodded.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake the question off. "I used to."

"And now?"

Lando tapped his fingers against the bar. "Now I just do it because it’s the only thing I know how to do."

Something in her chest pulled, just slightly.

She had heard men talk like this before. Men who came into the club wearing uniforms like second skins, who drank until their hands stopped shaking, who kissed girls they didn’t love just to feel something real before the world took them away.

She could have asked more. Could have pushed. But what would have been the point?

Instead, she finished her whisky, let the warmth settle in her throat, and slid from her seat.

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Leaving?"

She shook her head. "I’m sure you wanted a song, didn’t you?"

For the first time since she sat down, he looked surprised. Then, his lips curled into something almost like satisfaction.

"I did," he murmured.

She smirked, stepping away from the bar. "Then pay attention."

She didn’t look back as she moved towards the stage. Didn’t need to. She could feel him watching her.

The pianist glanced up as she approached, recognising her instantly. He dipped his head, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys, shifting into something slow, something aching.

She stepped into the light, gripping the microphone with steady hands.

The first note left her lips like smoke curling into the night.

The room quieted, the low hum of conversation fading into stillness. The band followed her lead, the bass murmuring beneath her voice, the piano rising and falling like waves.

She had never been a religious woman, not really. But music was the closest thing to prayer she knew.

She closed her eyes. Let the words settle on her tongue. Let herself disappear into the song.

For a moment, there was nothing but melody. Nothing but the way the room held its breath, the way the war didn’t exist here, not in this single, fleeting moment.

And then, too soon, it was over.

Applause rippled through the club as she stepped down from the stage, but she barely heard it. She made her way back to the bar, slipping into her seat, heartbeat still thrumming in her ears.

Lando was watching her, the remnants of a cigarette burning between his fingers. But it wasn’t the same gaze from before. This was something else. Something deeper.

His eyes flickered down, just briefly.

She followed his gaze—to the delicate gold cross resting against her collarbone, catching in the candlelight.

Lando exhaled slowly, tipping his glass towards her.

"You a woman of God?"

She glanced at him, then at the whisky in her hand, then back again.

A slow smile pulled at her lips.

"Depends on who’s asking."

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he stubbed out his cigarette. "Well, it isn’t me," he said, voice edged with amusement. "God and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms."

She raised an eyebrow, swirling the last of her whisky in her glass. "That so?"

He nodded, leaning back against the bar, fingers drumming idly against the counter. "I used to believe. Proper altar boy, once upon a time. The whole lot—prayers, confessions, even Latin." He smirked, but there was no real humour in it. "Then I grew up. Went to war. And it got a bit harder to buy into the whole merciful God thing."

She understood what he was saying before he even finished. She had seen it in the eyes of so many soldiers—young men sent to the front with medals in their pockets and fear in their throats, coming home half-alive, empty-handed, faith left rotting in the trenches.

"Didn’t seem to be much mercy up there," Lando murmured, taking another sip of his drink.

She didn’t answer right away. Just traced her fingers over the edge of her cross absently, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

Lando noticed.

"You still believe, then?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She exhaled slowly. "I don’t know," she admitted. "I suppose it depends on the day."

He smirked. "That complicated, is it?"

"Everything is complicated," she said simply. "Faith. Love. War. You name it."

Lando tilted his head slightly, considering her. "But you still wear the cross."

She glanced down at the delicate gold chain resting against her skin. It had been her mother’s, passed down with whispered prayers and expectations, pressed into her palm with the weight of generations.

"It’s not that simple," she murmured.

Lando watched her, something unreadable flickering behind his tired eyes. "Sure it is," he said. "Either you believe, or you don’t."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You make it sound so easy."

"Isn’t it?"

"No," she said softly, turning the chain between her fingers. "It’s never easy."

She could have told him everything then—about the Sundays spent kneeling in pews, reciting words she wasn’t sure she believed. About the rosary beads pressed into her hands as a child, the whispered warnings of sin and damnation, the way faith had been both a comfort and a noose around her throat.

She could have told him about the way she still prayed sometimes, even now, in the middle of air raids, when the sirens screamed and the ground shook and she wasn’t sure if she would see another sunrise.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she drained the rest of her whisky and met his gaze, steady and unflinching.

"Do you ever pray?" she asked, tilting her head.

Lando scoffed. "No."

"Not even up there?" She nodded towards the ceiling, though they both knew she meant the sky.

His smirk faltered, just a little.

He looked away, fingers tightening around his glass.

"Not even then," he said.

A silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. The music swelled again—something slow, something aching. Laughter rang from the other side of the club, distant and hollow.

She should have said something light. Should have teased him, steered the conversation back to safer ground.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she let the silence settle, let it stretch between them like the space between confession and absolution, between faith and doubt, between a war that had already taken too much and a city that refused to fall.

And Lando—he didn’t look away.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw before glancing at her again. "So, tell me," he said, tilting his head. "How does a girl like you end up here, singing to a room full of half-drunk soldiers?"

She smiled, slow and knowing. "A girl like me?"

"You know what I mean."

She shrugged, fingers ghosting over the rim of her empty glass. "I come to offer one song. No more, no less."

His brows lifted slightly. "That a rule?"

"A promise."

Lando smirked. "To yourself?"

She didn’t answer right away, just let her gaze drift to the candlelight flickering against the bottles behind the bar. "Something like that."

Silence settled between them, thick and unspoken. The city outside still smouldered, and the weight of the war pressed against the walls of the club, but for a moment, none of it seemed to matter.

Then, she pushed back her chair.

Lando frowned. "Where you off to?"

She reached for her coat, draping it over her shoulders with an easy grace. "Home."

"That time already?"

"It is for me."

Lando leaned forward, arms folded on the bar as he watched her. "And you do this every night? Show up, sing your one song, then disappear into the night like some ghost?"

She smiled, but there was something unreadable in her expression. "Not every night."

"Right," he said, standing as well, reaching for his own jacket. "Come on, then."

She blinked. "Come on where?"

"I'll walk you home."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "I can make it home just fine."

Lando smirked. "Oh, I don't doubt that, sweetheart. But imagine how awful I'd feel if London swallowed you up and I never got to hear that one song again."

She exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. "And you suppose I owe you that?"

"Not at all," he said easily. "But if I'm to keep a shred of my gentlemanly reputation, I think it's best I see you home safe."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, stepping towards the door. He followed.

The air outside was crisp, heavy with the scent of smoke and damp stone. The city was quieter now, save for the distant hum of sirens that never truly stopped.

They walked in step, their strides easy, their conversation slipping into something softer. She asked him about flying—what it felt like to be in the air, to see the world from above. He asked her about singing—whether she’d always done it, whether it made her feel alive or only made her remember things she’d rather forget.

They stopped at a newspaper stand, the little wooden kiosk barely held together by nails and hope. A young boy sat on a stool behind it, his face smudged with ink, idly flipping through an old paper.

Lando rapped his knuckles against the counter. "Got a pen and paper, mate?"

The boy eyed him warily but rummaged under the counter and produced both. Lando took them, resting the paper against the kiosk’s edge as he scrawled something quickly.

He tore the sheet and turned to her, holding it out between two fingers.

"If you ever take pity on a man like me," he murmured.

She hesitated—just for a second—then reached for it, tucking it into the top of her dress with the faintest glint of mischief in her eyes.

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "My writing between God and your heart. Ain’t I a lucky fella?"

She smirked, stepping back. "Don’t get used to it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he said, but his eyes told a different story.

They stood there for a moment longer, the city stretching out around them, time slipping between their fingers like cigarette smoke.

Then, she turned, her silhouette vanishing into the dark.

And Lando—he stayed a moment longer, watching the place where she had been, wondering if she’d ever let him hear more than just one song.

For weeks on end, they developed a pattern. When he had two feet on the ground, when the sky had allowed him a minute to breathe, he'd be at her door by eight, sharp as a whistle. He always came in the same way—casual, like the weight of the world hadn’t been pressing on him for days. But it was there, in the quiet of her flat, in the heavy glint of his eyes when they met hers. He would always find a seat by the window, leaning back against the wall, a half smile tugging at his lips as he waited.

And she—well, she’d never turn him away. Not once. Even when she wanted to, even when she felt the heaviness of it all, the creeping doubt of having something real with a man who could disappear in the blink of an eye. She never did. Instead, she'd pour them both a drink, settle herself at the piano, and without fail, she'd give him that one song. The one he’d asked for the first night they'd met, and the one he’d heard a hundred times since.

But sometimes, just sometimes, there was another song.

On quiet nights, when the air outside had that bite to it, when the windows rattled with the passing of distant bombers and the streets lay still beneath the weight of silence, Lando would hear it in the corners of the room.

On her doorstep, late at night after the club had emptied, she’d stand and hum low and soft. It wasn’t a song anyone would know, not from a record or the radio. It was something new, something raw. Something that lived between her ribs and spilled out on the nights when the world was too loud, when the weight of it all felt too much. It was the song she didn’t want anyone to hear, except perhaps him. And even then, only in these quiet moments, in the narrow alleyways behind the club where their shadows tangled like ghosts.

One night, when he’d walked her home, they paused in Piccadilly Square, the old clock tower chiming softly in the distance, and the neon lights of the cinema flickering like tired fireflies. The street was mostly empty, save for the odd stray cat and the distant murmur of voices from the pubs.

Lando leaned against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, looking at her like he always did—like she was something just beyond his reach.

"Go on, then," he said, his voice low, almost an afterthought.

She tilted her head. "What?"

"Sing me that other one."

She didn’t hesitate. Just let the words roll off her tongue like they’d been waiting to escape for ages. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t rehearsed. But it was real.

For a moment, she was lost in the song—lost in the way it echoed off the stone buildings, in the way the night air seemed to hold its breath. It was soft, aching, and tender, and when it ended, she felt something shift inside her, something like a weight lifting, like she’d let go of a small piece of herself that she hadn’t known she was holding.

Lando didn’t speak at first. He just watched her, his gaze more intense than usual.

"Where’d that come from?" he asked, his voice rough, as though the song had caught him off guard.

She shrugged, offering him a small, almost sad smile. "Just a little something I’ve been keeping to myself."

He studied her for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something on it, the pen moving quickly, but with care, like he was writing a letter he didn’t want to send.

When he was done, he folded it and tucked it into her hand. "Don’t forget me," he said, the words soft but weighted, as if he already knew that the world might pull them apart soon enough. This was the third time he’d changed base.

She tucked the paper into the top of her dress, the cold of the night settling into her bones as she met his eyes.

"Don’t you worry, Lan," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "I won’t."

And for a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, mingling with the hum of the city around them. The world may have been crumbling in places—may have been falling apart piece by piece—but in that small, fragile moment, it felt like nothing could touch them.

But everything always did, in the end.

His address had burned in her pillowcase, the ink from his note faint against the fabric, yet it never seemed to fade. She’d memorised it in the quiet, sleepless hours, tracing it with her fingers long after the paper had gone.

It had been a week since she’d seen him. Seven days. No letters, no word, nothing but the silence that spread across the empty spaces between them. Nothing could have happened, not really. He’s fine, he’s fine—she told herself that, but the gnawing doubt clawed at the back of her mind, relentless, like the distant hum of the war that never seemed to end.

She had convinced herself that it was nothing. That maybe he’d been busy, or maybe he just didn’t have the time. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true. He’d always made time for her, even if it was only for a drink or a song or the comfort of her voice at the end of a long, war-torn day.

Next thing she knew, she was standing at the gates of RAF Bovingdon, the wind biting at her face, her fingers shaking slightly as she adjusted the ring on her left hand. It was a habit—one she hadn’t realised she had until now, until she felt herself slide it over to her ring finger, the gold cool against her skin. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

She stood tall, tried to push away the flutter in her chest, the anxiety tightening its grip as she approached the entrance.

The soldier at the gate eyed her, a quick flicker of recognition in his eyes before he looked away, his tone indifferent.

"Can I help you, miss?"

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to steady. "I’m looking for information on a pilot here. Lando Norris. He’s—" She hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie that slipped so easily off her tongue. "He’s my fiancé."

The soldier looked up at her, his brows knitting together for a moment. "Fiancé?"

She nodded, trying to mask the sudden tightness in her chest, though the lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She felt the words echo inside her head, a sharp contrast to the tenderness with which Lando had once looked at her. The guilt threatened to creep in again, but she shoved it away. She didn’t care. Not now.

"I didn’t know he had one of those," the soldier said flatly. "Can’t say anything, I’m afraid. Military protocol."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show.

"Please," she said, stepping closer to the gate, voice low but insistent. "I need to know. He’s been gone for a week. I’ve tried reaching him. Can you at least tell me where he’s been?"

The soldier’s eyes softened just a fraction, a quick flash of pity or perhaps simple exhaustion crossing his features. He paused, glancing at her for a moment too long, and then sighed.

"He was sent out last week. They haven’t heard from him since."

Her breath caught in her throat, the world seeming to tilt just slightly. "Sent out? For what?"

"Operation," he answered, his voice clipped. "They’re all sent out. Every day. But once it’s been more than nine days and they haven’t returned… well, in two days, he’ll be presumed dead."

Her stomach twisted. It felt like the ground had fallen away beneath her feet, like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping for breath. "Presumed dead?"

The soldier nodded, expression unreadable. "That’s standard procedure."

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her head spun, her mind reeling with the weight of the words. Two days. She had two days to know whether the man she’d come to care for—this reckless, impossible man—was lost to the war forever.

And then, as though the words were a punch to the gut, he added, "We need your address. In case… well, in case we need to contact you."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the gate, the skin of her palms cold, but she managed to push the words past the lump in her throat. "I—yes. Of course."

She gave him her address, her voice strained but firm, and when the soldier took it down, she felt as though something deep inside her cracked wide open.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this—the weight of a lie, the truth of a life that might never be.

When the soldier nodded curtly and moved away, she turned on her heel and walked, slow and deliberate, until she was far enough from the base to breathe again. But even as she took a step away, the words echoed in her head—presumed dead.

The wind cut through her coat, but it didn’t stop the chill from settling deep into her bones.

She moved on autopilot, the world around her a blur of grey and motion. She’d taken the train back to London—a rickety thing, crowded with people whose faces were tired, whose eyes held the same weariness that she felt inside herself. The journey felt endless, like it stretched on for years, and yet in the same breath, it seemed too short. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been on the train. She barely noticed the other passengers, their muffled conversations and quiet laughter blending into the clatter of wheels against tracks.

When the train screeched to a halt at Paddington, she stood without thinking, the motion too automatic to be deliberate. Her legs carried her across the station, through the bustle of London, though her mind never truly followed. The streets were chaotic, as they always were—people rushing to and fro, the distant hum of carriages and lorries, the clang of trams against the cobblestones—but it was all distant to her, like a dream she couldn’t quite wake from.

She hadn’t been to church in ages. Not since before the war. Not since before Lando and the nights of whiskey and music and fleeting moments of comfort. The old rituals, the incense, the whispered prayers—they felt like someone else’s life. And yet, today, they called to her.

By the time she stood outside St. Paul’s, the weight of the world pressing down on her, she could already feel the faint pull. The faint thread of something sacred, something familiar, like a forgotten lullaby. She didn’t know why, but she stepped inside, the coolness of the stone welcoming her, the silence wrapping around her like a blanket. The interior was dim, the light soft and filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting long shadows that danced across the worn pews.

She walked, each step slower than the last, as though the space itself was holding her back, forcing her to confront the questions she hadn’t dared to ask. She had no words to speak, no requests to make, only a desperate, aching need to feel something—anything—that wasn’t this overwhelming emptiness.

Her feet led her to the altar, the cool marble beneath her knees as she sank down into a low kneeling position, the weight of her own body pulling her further into the cold, silent stone. For a moment, she just sat there, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut against the world. She hadn’t prayed in so long, not since she was a girl, not since her mother had whispered hymns beside her bed. But now, in the stillness of the church, it came to her like an old memory—familiar and sharp.

Please, she thought, the words slipping out like breath in the cold air. Please bring him back. Please let him come back to me.

Her hands gripped the edge of the altar, knuckles white, the cool stone biting into her palms. She closed her eyes tighter, her voice barely a whisper, barely a prayer. I don’t care what it takes. Just let him come back.

She stayed there, the minutes stretching out like hours, or maybe days. It was hard to tell. The only sound was the faint murmur of distant voices from the back of the church, the echo of footsteps on stone, and the soft rustling of her own breath. The war seemed so far away in this place, as though it couldn’t touch her here, couldn’t reach her in this cathedral of silence.

But even as she prayed, even as the words tumbled from her lips, she knew there was a part of her that didn’t believe. She knew that even as she asked, there was a quiet truth at the back of her mind—a truth she couldn’t escape—that in two days, Lando would be lost to her, like so many others. And all the prayers in the world wouldn’t bring him back.

But she prayed anyway, because it was all she had left. A hope she clung to like a thread in the dark.

She remained there, kneeling, for what felt like an eternity, until the coldness in her bones became too much to bear. With a sigh, she rose to her feet, brushing the dust from her knees as she straightened. The silence felt deafening now, the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders as she made her way back toward the door.

On the second day, she couldn’t get out of bed.

The world outside moved on as if nothing had happened—lorries rumbled down the streets, market traders called out their prices, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang, slow and steady, counting the hours. But she stayed where she was, curled beneath the thin blankets, staring at the ceiling as if she could hold back time just by refusing to face the day.

It was today.

Today was the day they would decide he was gone. The day his name would be written on some crumpled ledger in an office, another casualty, another life swallowed whole by the war.

She wanted to move. She wanted to get up, to do something—anything—but the weight in her chest held her down, heavy and suffocating. She had spent the last two nights staring at the door, hoping. Foolishly, desperately hoping that somehow, against all reason, he would come back. That he’d walk through the door with that easy grin of his, shake the rain from his coat, and say something maddeningly flippant about how she worried too much.

But the door stayed closed. The hours passed. And now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

She barely heard the knock at first. It was firm, clipped—too formal to be anyone she knew. Her heart clenched, her stomach twisting itself into knots. No. Not yet. Just one more hour.

But the knocking came again, sharper this time, and she knew.

Her limbs felt leaden as she forced herself to sit up. The room swayed slightly, but she ignored it. The cold wooden floor sent a shiver up her spine as she pulled on her dressing gown, tying it hastily at the waist.

By the time she reached the door, her hands were trembling.

She pulled it open, and there they were—two men in uniform, their expressions carefully neutral, their caps damp from the rain outside. They stood rigid, as though they had done this a thousand times before, as though this was just another task to complete before moving on to the next.

"Miss," the taller one said, his voice measured, almost detached. "We’re here about Flight Lieutenant Lando Norris."

Her throat felt like it was closing. She nodded, unable to speak.

The soldier hesitated, then continued. "His aircraft went down last week. No recovery. He hasn’t returned to base, and as of today—" He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves weighed something. "As of today, he is presumed dead."

She had known it was coming. She had known from the moment she woke up, from the moment she saw the grey light filtering through her window, from the moment she heard the knock. And still, the words hit like a hammer, splitting something inside her clean in two.

She swallowed hard, but before she could force a word past the lump in her throat, the other soldier spoke.

"Since he has no family," he said, his voice softer, as if he didn’t want to say it at all.

She sucked in a breath, but it did nothing to steady her.

No family.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dressing gown, gripping it tightly as if it might keep her standing. She had known that too, hadn’t she? He never spoke of them. Not his mother, not his father, no brothers, no sisters—only half-formed stories, half-smoked confessions in the early hours of the morning when the war felt far away, and it was just the two of them and the sound of her voice.

But hearing it now, from the lips of a stranger, made it unbearable.

Lando had no one.

No mother to mourn him, no father to curse the sky for taking his son. No home to return to, no childhood bedroom left untouched, no one to light a candle in his name. Just her.

Just her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if she could steady the storm brewing there, but it was no use. The ache was too deep, too wide.

The soldiers were still speaking, saying something about his belongings, about official documents, but she wasn’t listening. The words blurred together, distant and unimportant.

When they finally finished, she nodded—just enough to make them leave. Just enough to close the door and turn away before they could see the way her face had crumpled, the way her breath came too sharp, too ragged.

She pressed her back against the door and slid to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves.

Lando was gone.

And she was the only one who would remember.

part two

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day twenty-six: possessive

ᰔ pairing: joel miller x reader

ᰔ summary: you and joel spend a friday night at the bar, which ends up with bloody hands and a hospital visit.

ᰔ author's note: a change of plot in the ninth hour thanks to that one picture. it's past 10pm and i'm writing like a madman. send help please god. inspired by this picture ✋😮‍💨

ᰔ content warning: no outbreak but canon typical violence, irritable joel, bar setting, alcohol consumption, creepy bar patrons, reader gets hit on, blood, hospitals, doctors, strong language

"Are you sure you want to go in? We can head back home and watch a movie," you offered. "Let's go out another night."

Joel shook his head, his hand extended out to cut the engine of the truck. He wanted to give in to your offer— turn right around and drive straight back home. Dread had filled him the minute he sat in the truck.

At the beginning of the week, you had asked to go out to the bar on Friday. Some of your friends were supposed to be getting together for drinks and pool. You agreed, and they urged you to bring the guy you had been seeing. When you brought it up to Joel, he surprised you with a nod and a 'sure, it'd be nice to get out'.

"We'll have a good time. Figure it'll be good to let your friends see I'm not just some cranky bastard," Joel huffed out a laugh. He had an amused smile on his lips as he climbed out of the car.

"Oh, I don't think you'll be less cranky," you chuckled. "That's okay. They know I like them bitchy." You put a hand on his chest and kissed him once he was close enough. Joel rolled his eyes; you swore they'd fall out of his skull with how often he did it.

"Bitchy? That's a new one." Joel opened the door for you as the two of you approached. You glanced over your shoulder.

"No it ain't. No one's bold enough to say it to your face," you chuckled.

Like most dive bars, the place was packed for a Friday night. The crowd ranged from long time regulars that regaled with each other to college kids that were too proud of their fake ids that no one really cared about.

You scanned the crowd to find your friends, who were tucked in the back. They were all gathered around a pool table and on what seemed to be the second round of drinks. You slipped your hand into Joel's and led him through the crowd. Before you got too far, he planted his feet. You turned, a look of confusion written on your face.

"I'll get us some drinks," Joel offered. You nodded and thanked him with a kiss. His hand slipped out of yours— he already knew your drink of choice. The two of you hadn't been together more than a few months, but he paid enough attention.

You joined your friends and gave the round of hugs and greetings.

"No 'Joel' tonight?" One of your friends teased as they elbowed your side. You shook your head and crossed your arms.

"Nope, but I did pick up that hot guy at the bar on the way in," you teased back. Every set of eyes turned to the bar to analyze the man in the flannel, his back turned to you.

"Bitch, that's fucking Joel. You posted a story with him in that same shirt a week ago," another friend chided. You cackled as she punched your arm. Your other friends waved you off or flipped the bird.

None of your friends had met Joel yet, but they had seen and heard more than enough about him. They knew he wasn't very social so as soon as you said he would come along, there was a buzz of excitement.

"He offered to grab us some drinks. What was I gonna do, say no?" You watched as two of your friends argued over the rules of pool. They fought like this every time, so you tuned them out.

Joel returned with two drinks in hand, a beer and one of your old faithfuls. He slipped a hand onto the small of your back. Your shirt shifted and you felt the press of his fingertips against your skin. A small shiver came over you.

"Guys, this is Joel. Joel, these are my friends." You went through the group and introduced everyone by name. Joel, ever the southern gentleman, shook everyone's hand and gave a polite hello.

You stuck close to Joel as the two of you settled into the group. He fit in easily as he jested with your friends. He even offered to play a round of pool with one of the guys— totally unprompted!

As you watched him and chatted with a friend, you noticed how quickly your drink had disappeared. With a small pout, you held your glass up.

"I'm going to get another drink! Be right back," you yelled over the loud background noise. He gave a nod, and you slipped him to head for the bar.

Since you had arrived, the bar had only grown more rowdy. It seemed the football team from the local college had finished their practice and wanted to party. You couldn't blame them, considering the drinks were cheap and it wasn't a far drive from the stadium. Still, you had to practically elbow your way to the bar.

As you waited for the bartender to finish with their current task, you felt a presence beside you. That, and you could practically smell them from where you stood. God, college boys smelled just as bad axe-laden middle schoolers.

"You all by yourself?" You almost didn't believe the boy was talking to you. If not for him pressing closer to you, you would have ignored him all together.

"No," you replied. "I'm here to grab a drink for myself and my boyfriend." You tried to move away, only to end up squished between an older woman and the man with no clear sense of personal space.

"I don't see him," he chided with a smirk. "Isn't that what they all say? I've got a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a partner— yet no one by their side."

You whirled around with a raised eyebrow.

"You do know that I don't have to stand near him all night, correct? Just because we're not next to each other doesn't mean I don't have a boyfriend," you returned. The boy rolled his eyes and leaned on the bar.

"Baby—"

Your skin crawled at the name. Nothing angered you more than some shitty pet name from some random guy who didn't know you. The only person who deserved to call you baby was across the bar and in the middle of a pool game.

"I'm not your baby. Don't call me that," you snapped. "Can I just get my drink in peace? I'm not going to be polite next time." You turned your shoulder, your back to him as you waved down the bartender. She was on her way to you when a hand landed on your waist. It made your skin crawl as you launched yourself away from the bar.

"What, baby? You a fuckin' prude or something? Savin' yourself for your little imaginary boyfriend?" The tone in his voice had you seeing red. Your fists balled up and your expression twisted into one of rage.

"Is this how you pick people up at the bar? How's being an idiot working out for you?" You had to take a deep breath before you went in swinging. It had not been the first time you had been in a bar fight, and it seemed old habits died hard.

"Worked every time before. C'mere, baby, I'll buy you—"

You watched the scene play out in slow motion. One minute, the idiot's hand stretched out to grab for your hand. In a blink, a big, calloused hand grab his wrist and yanked him away from the bar.

Joel looked enraged. You had seen him angry plenty of times, but this was different. His lips were downturned, but the look in his eyes scared you. Not for yourself— god, even the idea seemed ridiculous to you— but for the dumbass.

"Choose your next words carefully. Say baby one more time, pretty boy." Joel's tone sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost like he was begging the boy to do something dumb.

"Get the fuck off of me, old man. Like you have a better chance with the bitch."

Oh.

Yeah, this boy was gonna die. Time stood still as you watched the football player try to deck Joel with his only free hand. In one swift move, he yanked the boy's arm forward and threw him onto the ground. He managed to land a punch that sent a crack so loud that the bar fell into a hush.

The boy yelped and tried to swing back, but Joel was quicker. He had at least fifty pounds and half a foot on him. That, and a load of unbridled rage. He didn't take kindly to harassment, but to insult you in the process? Call you a bitch?

You stood, your mouth open in pure shock. Truth be told, you were glued to your spot. Two men managed to pull Joel off, while a few other bystanders tried to stop the boy's scrawny friends from getting the same ass-whooping.

Finally, as if your brain seemed to come back to Earth, you blinked and lurched towards Joel. You blatantly stepped over the boy to get to your boyfriend. His hands were bloody and his expression was soured.

"Hey, hey— Joel, baby, take a deep breath," you muttered. The two men who held him back lead him towards the exit, and you followed. One of the guys opened the door, and you took his spot as you guided him outside. You thanked the men as you managed to unlock the truck bed. Joel sat with a heavy sigh and murmured a thanks under his breath.

"Can I see your hands?" Your voice was soft. The air was cool and loud with the sound of the frogs all around. Joel was silent as he let you hold his hands. He sucked in a sharp breath when you fiddled with a few fingers.

"This looks broken," you frowned. "We need to get you to the hospital." You didn't care that Joel's hand was full of blood, or that his hackles were still raised. If you weren't so concerned, you'd be in shock still.

"It can wait until tomorrow," Joel gruffed. He never meant for it to happen, him beating the living daylights out of the idiot, but he'd be damned if he'd let someone talk about you like that. If anything, the kid's lucky enough walking away alive and talking.

"Please," you asked. "What if it's something serious?" If something bad happened to Joel, especially after he got hurt defending you, you'd be beside yourself.

By some miracle, or maybe the worry written all over your face, Joel conceded with a nod. He got off the edge of the truck bed and began for the driver's seat.

"Oh, absolutely not. I'm driving. Go." You weren't going to take no for an answer. Joel gave you the keys before he climbed into the passenger seat.

The ride to the hospital was short and silent. It wasn't uncomfortable, but you weren't sure what to say. How did you thank your boyfriend for beating some guy's ass? It was more than some verbal acknowledgment— did you buy him dinner? Suck his dick? All of the above?

You helped with the check-in process once at the hospital. As the two of you waited to be called to the back, you laid your head on Joel's shoulder.

"Thank you for defending me. I don't know what that guy's problem was." You felt Joel's jaw rest against your head. He reached over to hold your arm with his uninjured hand.

"Dumbass was too big for his britches. I only caught the tail end, but I figured it out real quick when I saw your face. If I hadn't'a swung first, it woulda been you." Joel knew that, no questions asked. If someone was going to get charges pressed, he'd rather it be himself than you.

"Shit, you're right. Though my uppercut wouldn't have done much, at least compared to your hit. I mean goddamn," you chucked under your breath. "You damn near knocked him into next Tuesday."

"Still wouldn't have been enough if I had. Who calls someone a bitch like that? Fuckin' vile, that piece'a shit," Joel grumbled under his breath.

Once he was called to the back, they made quick work on setting his hand in place. Joel bit back a groan as they popped his fingers into the right place and put a brace on his hand. He was sent off with a prescription for painkillers and an order for no heavy lifting. That hurt him more than anything else.

"Shoulda just put me down instead," Joel grumbled as he followed you out of the emergency room. You held good arm as you guided him to the truck.

"It won't be that bad. Maybe you'll actually get some rest," you lightly teased. Joel attempted to chuckle, but it just came out as an amused huff. He didn't even try to go for the driver's side. Not like he'd be able to drive for another week, at least.

"Don't go for miracles," Joel warned. You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your face.

"Eh, I'll take my chances."

Despite the unfortunate circumstances, Joel actually did rest. You thanked him with words, dinner, and a few orgasms to show how truly thankful you really were. No one had stuck up for you like that, and to have someone defend you like that...

Joel deserved more than you could ever give, but you'd try your damnedest for him.

[seasidefallenangel]

she's got those evil eyes

bllk boys and their mean girlfriends ft isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, reo mikage, alexis ness, bachira meguru

notes: reader is a BITCH! (not to the boys), actual horrible shit being said by reader but our boys are too in love to notice or care, suicide mentions, i'm not condoning what reader does the point is that they're feral

༄ isagi:

✣ you’re his precious angel who can do no wrong, so of course he’s defending you tooth and nail. when you’re at his games flipping off the opposite team he thinks you’re too adorable for words. during practice, kaiser is ragging on him as usual and you’re there before isagi can blink, telling kaiser that no wonder his dad hit him with a shitty personality like that. insanely harsh, but you’re so cute to have his back!

⁀➷ “you need to stop getting yourself hurt like this, princess,” isagi murmurs as he gently applies an antiseptic to your knuckles. he wasn’t expecting you to punch rin in the face after some off-handed comment during practice (mostly stemming from rin’s own insecurities, but you’re not tolerating any disrespect towards your man.) isagi had stepped in right as rin was about to retaliate and you had gotten kicked off the field anyway, leading to the impromptu patch-up in the locker room. 

with a final piece of medical tape, he kisses your bruised hand and smiles softly at you, cupping your cheek in his palm. “thank you for being my knight in shining armor, baby,” he says gently, all the love in the world filling his voice. maybe you’re not the most ethical about it, but your desire to protect him more than makes up for it in his eyes.

༄ sae:

✣ always assumes you’re correct in every single situation. he looks to be nonchalant about your dating life, but he is easily your number one shooter. you’re on twitter telling his fans to kill themselves when they talk about how attractive he is or how he should break up with you and he’s in the kitchen smirking at his phone watching you go to war. never once in his life has he ever gave a shit about what people think about him, but the second something about you is viewed in a negative light? all bets are off. he’ll get just as toxic as you are.

⁀➷ the reporters are crowding him the second he’s getting off the plane. he already knows exactly what it’s about yet it still pisses him off. in his opinion, people are at fault for provoking you in the first place. in an irritating attempt to get his attention, one of the interviewers calls out, “sae! what do you have to say about your girlfriend tweeting ‘if i was your mom i would’ve killed myself too’ to one of your fans?!” 

yeah, he saw that one, and he thought it was funny. someone had been trying to rile you up by saying how re ai would be better off without sae on the team. unfortunately for them, they had “rip mom🩵🕊️” in their bio, giving you the perfect ammo to shoot back with. he clears his throat and simply says, “she’s right,” before walking off, leaving the paparazzi stunned.

༄ reo:

✣ you are so awful for the mikage image and reo loves every second of it. having such a stagnant and pre-planned upbringing versus your unhinged nature was just what he needed. barely a week can go by without you trending online for something heinous you said or did. in turn, you have quite a large following for simply how funny your antics and toxicity towards others is. reo must have the most heavily tinted rose colored glasses ever, because he always talks about how sweet and kind you are. the fans are still searching for the person he’s trying to describe, because it sure as hell isn’t you.

⁀➷ you’re lounging in bed, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when reo approaches you. like clockwork, you shift into his arms as he climbs into bed and relaxes next to you. his fingers are running through your hair when he finally asks in the most soft and gentle voice, “my love, why are you being called out on twitter again?” of course, you’re always sure to voice how it isn’t really your fault and that people should stop pissing you off if they don’t want you to come for their necks. 

quite honestly, he’s not really listening ; not because he’s not interested, but because you’re just irresistible when you defend yourself. regardless of whether or not you’re actually at fault (you are), he still sees you as his precious and adorable lover. he simply nods and leaves feather light kisses up and down the side of your neck, mumbling something like, “how dare they?” or “you’re so smart, angel,” every so often. if you ever were to get in any real trouble, the mikage fortune would be there to bail you out - so he sees no real reason to stop your tirades. 

༄ alexis:

✣ “me and my girl don’t argue she tells me to shut up and i do.” ness is honestly thankful for how much of a raging bitch you can be. not only does he never see anything wrong with it, but actively encourages it as well. you’re cussing out the mcdonald’s worker for putting pickles on his burger while he’s behind you with a dopey smile on his face, clinging to you like a lifeline. the only time he had to tug you away is when you were half a second away from clawing kaiser’s eyes out and had his neck bruising beneath your fingers for insinuating ness was more of a dog than a person. the german is still terrified whenever you accompany your boyfriend to practice.

⁀➷ in all the plans alexis had for his future, standing in front of the two people that crushed his childhood fantasies in facts and testing wasn’t one of them. he had left on a bitter note when he joined bastard münchen yet hadn’t found the courage to voice his true feelings on the matter. luckily for him, you had no shortage of guts to lay into his parents without fear.

for the first time in their lives, they’re stunned silent at your vicious words and mockery of their profession, upbringing, parenting, even going so far as to point out his mother’s physical imperfections and saying the only worthwhile thing she did was give birth a child that wasn’t nearly as ugly as she is. they can’t even get a word in before you grab alexis’ hand and drag him out, kicking a dent in his father’s car for good measure. even though your display was nothing short of pure evil, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt closer to god than when you cradle him in your hold, whispering words of love and praise into his ear. being a crybaby was something he was told he should be ashamed of, but the sensation left behind when you wipe his grateful tears is worth it to him.

༄ bachira:

✣ might honestly be the biggest enabler on this entire list along with alexis. he absolutely lives for chaos plus he’s too sickeningly in love with you to ever question a move you might make. he can hear you arguing with ego on the phone about bachira being overworked and while normally nothing phases blue lock’s director, the death threats you sent to his office were incredibly convincing and contained information that should’ve been impossible to obtain. he’d probably hire you if he wasn’t positive you’d pipe bomb the entire structure if anyone even gave a dirty look to your boyfriend. 

⁀➷  “whatcha doiiiinnnn?” bachira asks while plopping on top of the couch - in the exact spot while you were resting, mind you. you let out a light ‘oof!’ as his weight crushes you for a moment before leveling out. the second his head falls to rest on your stomach, you're carding one hand through his hair while the other angrily taps on your phone. he doesn’t really think to ask as he’s on the verge of falling asleep, but the sound he has set for your tweets dings from his phone (because of course he has notifications for you on.)

he lazily unlocks his phone and clicks onto the app only to bust out into laughter. whatever useless no-name had decided to say bachira’s playstyle only hinders his teammates was met with your quote retweet stating to ‘go take a long walk off a short bridge.’ in his overly happy splendor, he blows raspberries onto the soft skin of your tummy while you squeal and try to push him off. stubborn as he is he just refuses to let up until you're curled up in laughter. behind his silliness, he’s eternally grateful to have someone so devoted to him after years of isolation from his peers. he can’t help but think he’d do anything to keep you in his grasp - regardless of the consequences that might follow.

[clemswinecorner]

To be loved is to be known [Harry Lewis/W2S]

Summary: Y/N knows Harry, and Harry knows Y/N.

Wordcount: 775

Warnings: some swearing, nothing major

Lots of people knew lots of things about Harry. People knew his favourite colour, his favourite football club, his favourite types of videos to film. His friends knew his favourite drink, Simon knew his favourite football top, Tobi knew his Nando’s order. But nobody knew him quite like Y/N did. She could tell whether Harry wanted to buy something within seconds of him seeing it, she could tell the difference between him wanting to leave a place and him wanting to disappear completely. 

“Are you joining us having a couple drinks at Cal’s place?” Lux asks Harry, leaning towards him. They’re out for dinner with quite a big group, which wasn’t too unusual for them, and Harry glances over at Y/N sitting across. She’s fixing her off-shoulder top when he catches her eyes. She gives him a questioning look, knowing him well enough to recognize he wants an answer out of her. “Are we having drinks at Cal’s after this?” He asks, and she shrugs. She notes the way his hands are tapping against the tabletop and his phone’s screen is facing upwards. “I don’t know, maybe one drink but don’t think we’ll stay out late, unless you want to?” She raises her eyebrows at him. She sees the doubt in his face, and how it’s different from his body language that tells her he’d much rather go home. “Won’t be too special, I think there’s people going straight home as well,” Lux mentions. He isn’t stupid, and after living with him for a couple of years, Harry’s face tells him that the day has been long enough. “Yeah, think we might do the same actually, but we’ll be there Saturday,” Y/N jumps in, and Callux nods. Harry gives her a smile, as she swiftly changes the conversation topic.

Later that night, they’re sitting on the couch, a pile of cards in front of them. “You fucker,” she curses as he puts down another plus four. She takes the cards from the pile as he puts down another card. “Thanks for saying no to Lux tonight,” He softly says as she puts down her card. “Hmm. I could tell your social battery would run out halfway through, I’m glad you listened to me,” She jokes, and he chuckles, grabbing a card from the pile. “When have I ever not?” He asks, and she raises her eyebrows at him. “Do you really want me to answer that?” He shakes his head with a laugh, chucking down another card. “No, no I don’t,” He confirms, and she laughs, looking at the cards in her hands. “We should skip nights out to play games more often,” She comments, before she smirks at him. “You didn’t say Uno, by the way.”

In the same way she knew him, he knew her. 

“Baby, have you seen my…” He trails off as he walks into the living room, where she’s sitting crossed legged under a fluffy blanket, invested in her book. She’s comfortably nestled in a hoodie slightly too big, bright blue and more importantly the exact one he’d spend the last fifteen minutes trying to find. He sighs, and she looks up with those adorable clueless eyes, “Never mind. Did you drink anything?” She nods before getting back to her book, “Yeah, have tea,” she absentmindedly says. He walks over, checking the temperature of the mug— completely cold, as he guessed. He picks it up, walking away with a small smile and a shake of his head. 

She doesn’t even notice him coming back until his hand is going through her hair. She looks up, waiting for him to speak. “Hi. My bag’s almost packed, my Uber’s here in fifteen minutes. I made you a tea,” She smiles, putting her book down next to her. “I didn’t realize it was that late already, you should’ve said,” she mentions. “Nah, you were too comfortable, thought I’d let you read. I get you to myself again after the weekend anyway,” he disagrees. She sits up and leans onto Harry, who’d sat down next to her, his shoulder. He lets out a content sigh, turning around to fully envelop her in a hug. She snuggles into his comfortable chest, loving how cuddly he could get. “Thanks for the tea,” she lowly says, and he presses a kiss on top of her head. “Don’t want you to dry out, do I? I know how into the story you can get,” he says, as if it’s nothing. To him, it probably was nothing, it’s just how he was. To her, it was everything. To be loved is to be known, after all.

[ogwintersmind]

Kiss the chef ꨄ - w/katsuki

Katsuki is an amazing chef, after years of watching his mother cooking and baking in the kitchen, it’s only natural that he'd pick up on the habit.

As time wore on cooking would become one of his main love languages. He isn't too big on physical touch (or so he claims. He’s so clingy...) He's terrible at compliments and expressing his feelings without adding some witty comments, though he tries, it's safe to say words of affirmation aren't his main love language. But acts of service (specifically cooking/baking) he could do that.

Whether it be Japanese, American, Korean, Mexican, Italian, etc, this man can cook! And it's always the best food you've ever had. I mean so good your taste buds are dancing, celebrating and, thanking whatever food god there is for blessing them with these amazing flavors and spices.

He also hates when you ask to go out for fast food like McDonald's or Wing Stop, his answer is always "No, we have McDonald's at home.�� while he proceeds to make you the best burger and fries you've ever had.

One day you're on break at work and start scrolling through TikTok to pass the time. While scrolling you come across a video of a woman making homemade chicken and waffles + cinnamon rolls from scratch (idk I saw a TikTok of both recently so that's on my mind.) and they looked so good!

You send the TikTok's to katsuki of course, like you always do.

— MSG

“Look how good this looks! She's eating like royalty and I'm stuck at work eating leftovers 💔.” - YOU

"It's cinnamon rolls, chicken and waffles ou how is that "royalty" idiot? - KATS

"And I made those left overs so have some respect would you.”

“I never said the leftovers were bad.“

“I'd just much rather have the royalty meal.”

“‘Royalty meal’ you're such an idiot, get back to work.”

“Fine. See you later I love you ❤️❤️”

“See you idiot.”

“Love you❤️.”

Obviously, after this conversation, he immediately goes to the kitchen and starts setting out the ingredients for the chicken and waffles + cinnamon rolls.

He gets the chicken breasts, cutting them up and pulling Off any extra fat. He mixes his seasonings with the flour and makes the buttermilk. After this he coats the chicken In the flour, then the buttermilk, then back into the flour once more.

After frying all of the chicken he gets started on the waffles, once those are done he sets the chicken and waffles to the side and starts on the cinnamon rolls.

After all of the cooking is done he plates the chicken and waffles, topping the waffles with whipped cream and fruits, before drenching everything In syrup.

Just then the front door unlocks, and a moment later you come into the kitchen.

“You're 10 minuets late, idiot." katsuki says while walking over to you and placing a quick kiss to your forehead.

"Traffic.” you say while clearly more interested in the food on the counter.

“I made yer damn royalty meal or whatever. Taste it.”

You quickly grab the plate and dig In. And of course, it's the best thing ever!? Who knew chicken and waffles could taste like a 10 ⭐️ meal? And you can taste all of the love he cooked it with.

“This is so good i could literally cry.” you say while inhaling the food. Katsuki is just standing there shaking his head.

“It’s literally chicken and waffles you're so dramatic.” he secretly loves that you like the food so much, it makes him happy that he can express his love for you through this action instead of having to use his words because you know.. this guy stinks at communication.

“I made the cinnamon rolls too. They're in the oven.” you push the plate a side, “Give them to me now! Pleaase.”

He rolls his eyes and gets the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and places them on the counter. He grabs a spatula and hands it to you and you immediately try to cut one of the cinnamon rolls out of the pan but he stops you. “Whattt??” You ask with an annoyed look on your face.

“Don’t give me that damn look, idiot. You know the rules. Eat the food, kiss the chef.” He says bluntly. He made this stupid rule up about 6 months into the relationship and now every time u eat anything he cooks he expects a kiss in return.

You let out a huff as if you’re annoyed but there's a large smile on your face. You lean up to kiss the idiot. “There. Now can I eat?”

You’re joking right..? He made you your royalty meal and you have the nerve to PECK his lips? He’s genuinely offended and his face says it all.

“That’s all I get?? Come ‘ere.” he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into a gentle tongue kiss. "Don't you ever disrespect me like that again, eat yer dam food, idiot."

THE END (cs I’m lazy)

Hi friends!

I haven't been posting because I have no ideas + no motivation... But I wanted to get something posted because inconsistency is not a good look.

I hope you enjoyed reading!

Thank you for reading!

Not proofread

(Commenting improvement tips are highly appreciated!)

(Commenting or sending messages for recommendations are highly appreciated as well! I check my notifications hourly and every day so please please do recommend! It’s very appreciated especially with my head space at the. Moment!!)

xo -winter 🪼🤍

[aspenmissing]

hello hello !! glad to always see your work on my tumblr :DD is it possible to make arcane characters (mainly viktor but the rest is good too >:)) x s/o that just got really good grades after working so hard the entire semester ? maybe its them telling the reader how proud they are of them ! (totally not inspired by irl events rn) once again i love your work ! <33

ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4645 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ᴍʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ! ᴡᴇ��ʟ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʏ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ!! ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ!!! ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴏᴜɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

The moment the grades were posted, Y/N nearly stopped breathing.

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through the list, her vision scanning over names and numbers, heart hammering against her ribs like a drumroll. This was it—the culmination of months of effort, of sleepless nights hunched over textbooks, of ink-stained fingers and exhausted sighs. Every moment of struggle had led to this exact second.

Then—there it was.

Her name. Her score.

Top of the class.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain barely processed it at first, as if her eyes were playing some kind of cruel trick. But no, the number didn’t change, her ranking didn’t shift. She had done it.

A sharp inhale. A flood of emotions.

A joyous laugh bubbled up in her throat, a mixture of relief, disbelief, and overwhelming pride. The weight of stress and self-doubt she had been carrying for weeks suddenly lifted, leaving her light, almost dizzy.

She didn’t even think—her feet were already moving.

Jayce. She needed to tell Jayce.

She knew exactly where to find him—his lab, where he spent hours buried in research and blueprints, half the time forgetting to eat because his mind was too occupied with hextech. The moment she reached his door, she didn’t bother knocking. She burst through, panting slightly from the rush.

"I did it!" she blurted out, the words tumbling from her lips before she could catch her breath.

Jayce, who had been bent over his workbench, straightened in surprise at her sudden entrance. A wrench clattered onto the table as he turned, brows raised. But the moment he saw her face—her wide eyes, the way she was practically glowing with excitement—a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.

"You did it?" he echoed, stepping toward her.

"I got top grades!" She was breathless, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. "All that studying, the late nights—it paid off!"

For a moment, he just looked at her, taking in the sheer joy radiating from her. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he moved.

Jayce scooped her up effortlessly, his arms wrapping around her waist as he spun her in the air, laughter rumbling deep from his chest. She let out a surprised squeal, clutching onto his shoulders as the room spun around her, but all she could do was laugh.

"Y/N, that's amazing!" he exclaimed, setting her back down but keeping his arms locked around her. "I knew you could do it!"

She was still dizzy, still floating, both from the spinning and the sheer happiness surging through her. "I worked so hard, Jayce," she murmured, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. "There were times I thought I wouldn’t make it."

His hands found her face, warm and gentle as he cupped her cheeks, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were soft, filled with nothing but admiration and pride.

"I saw how hard you worked," he said, his voice low, sincere. "I saw you push yourself, even when you were exhausted, even when you doubted yourself. And I never doubted you for a second." His thumb brushed her cheek, a soft caress. "You're incredible, Y/N."

Her heart clenched, warmth pooling in her chest.

"I couldn’t have done it without you," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "You kept me sane. Every time I wanted to give up, you were there."

Jayce chuckled, the sound low and affectionate. "I was just reminding you of what you were always capable of," he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "This? This was all you."

Her throat tightened with emotion. The exhaustion of the semester, the pressure, the nights spent doubting herself—it had all built up to this moment, and now, standing here in his arms, she felt seen. Truly seen.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but they were happy ones.

Jayce noticed and let out a soft laugh, brushing his lips over the top of her head. "Hey, no crying," he teased, his tone light, but his grip on her was steady, secure. "This is supposed to be a celebration, not an emotional breakdown."

She let out a watery laugh, playfully swatting his chest. "Shut up, I’m happy!"

"I know," he grinned, his arms still wrapped firmly around her. "And I’m happy for you."

Then, his expression turned mischievous, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

"So," Jayce drawled, tilting his head. "How are we celebrating? Fancy dinner? A whole day off where you don’t think about education? Or maybe—" he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, "—I just kiss you until you realize how insanely proud I am?"

A delighted laugh escaped her as she tugged him down by the collar of his coat, her fingers curling around the fabric. "Why not all of the above?"

His grin softened, his eyes filled with something deeper, something tender. "Sounds like a perfect plan to me," he murmured before pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss was warm, lingering, filled with everything he couldn’t say with words alone—pride, admiration, love.

And with that, the celebration began.

VIKTOR

Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the paper in her hands as if it were some sort of mirage. The bolded letters at the top confirmed what she had hoped for all semester—she had done it. A perfect score. The highest marks she had ever received.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she set the paper down, exhaustion weighing heavy on her bones from countless sleepless nights. It had been worth it, every long hour spent in the dimly lit library, every page of notes scribbled in frantic handwriting.

A knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Before she could even respond, Viktor stepped inside, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. His golden-brown eyes were filled with their usual warmth, but when he saw the stunned expression on her face, his brow furrowed.

"Y/N?" He limped closer, resting his weight on his cane as he glanced down at the paper in her hands. "Is everything alright?"

Instead of answering, she turned the sheet toward him. Viktor's gaze flicked over the numbers, and his lips slowly curled into a proud, affectionate smile.

"You did it." His voice was gentle, full of something deep and unwavering.

"I did it," she breathed, the weight of all her effort suddenly crashing into her at once.

Viktor set his cane against the desk and, without hesitation, pulled her into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around her securely, as if he could shield her from all the stress she had endured.

"You worked so hard for this, láska," he murmured into her hair, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. "I knew you could do it." (Love)

She melted against him, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. "I just… I was so scared I wouldn't make it."

Viktor pulled back slightly, just enough to cup her cheek. "Nonsense. You are one of the most brilliant minds I know. Your dedication, your passion—it is inspiring." His thumb brushed against her skin, a silent reassurance. "I have seen the way you push yourself, how much you care. You earned this, and I could not be prouder."

Her throat tightened with emotion, and she managed a shaky laugh. "You're going to make me cry."

He chuckled softly, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Then let me give you another reason to cry—with happiness, of course."

Before she could ask what he meant, Viktor carefully pulled out a small, wrapped package from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

"You got me a gift?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Of course," he said, nudging her hands gently. "Go on. Open it."

With a mixture of curiosity and excitement, she peeled away the paper to reveal a beautifully bound leather notebook, its cover embossed with delicate golden designs. She ran her fingers over it in awe.

"It's for your next journey," Viktor explained softly. "I figured you would need somewhere to record all your brilliant ideas."

Y/N's heart swelled with warmth. "Viktor…"

Before she could even think, she leaned up and pressed a kiss against his lips. He hummed in surprise, but his hands immediately found her waist, pulling her closer as he returned the kiss with soft, lingering affection.

When they finally parted, his forehead rested against hers, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"You are incredible," he whispered. "And I will always be here to remind you of that."

Y/N smiled, gripping the notebook to her chest as happiness bloomed within her.

"Thank you, Vik. For everything."

He kissed her forehead one last time, the warmth of his love wrapping around her like the safest embrace in the world.

And in that moment, with Viktor by her side, she knew that every late night, every ounce of effort, had been worth it.

Because she wasn’t just celebrating alone—she was celebrating with him.

JAYVIK

The crisp evening air of Piltover carried a gentle hum of celebration. Inside the shared apartment of Y/N, Viktor, and Jayce, the atmosphere buzzed with warmth. A small table was adorned with a modest spread—your favorite pastries, a bottle of sparkling juice, and a single candle flickering in the dim light. It was a celebration of your incredible achievement.

"To Y/N! The smartest and most hardworking person we know," Jayce declared, raising his glass. His golden eyes shimmered with pride as he looked at you.

Viktor, sitting beside you with his cane propped against the chair, gave a small, pleased chuckle. "I believe you may have outdone even Jayce's old Academy records. And that is quite the accomplishment." His amber eyes softened as he gazed at you, his voice filled with warmth.

You grinned, cheeks heating up under their combined attention. "I just... worked really hard. I wanted to make you both proud."

Jayce scoffed playfully, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "As if we weren’t already proud of you every single day. But this? Y/N, this is huge! You pushed yourself so much, and now you’re top of the class." He pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "Of course, we’re celebrating you."

Viktor nodded, his hand settling gently over yours. "Hard work should always be acknowledged, moya lyubov'. And you, můj drahý, deserve nothing less than admiration." His thumb traced absent circles over your skin. "I hope you know that no matter your grades, we would still be immensely proud of you. But seeing you achieve what you set out to do—it is remarkable." (My Dear)

Your heart swelled at their words, the exhaustion from months of studying melting away under their praise. You had worked tirelessly, pouring over textbooks late into the night, attending extra lectures, and pushing past the limits of your own endurance. But in this moment, with their unwavering support surrounding you, every sacrifice had been worth it.

Jayce nudged the plate of pastries toward you. "C'mon, indulge a little. You earned it."

You picked up a pastry, savoring the sweetness as it melted in your mouth. Viktor watched you with a satisfied expression, sipping his drink as he relaxed beside you. "You should allow yourself to enjoy moments like these more often," he mused. "It is easy to get lost in ambition, but balance is just as important."

Jayce nodded in agreement, his fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair. "Exactly. And besides, we’re always here to remind you to take a break when you need it."

You smiled, warmth filling your chest. "I know. And I appreciate it more than I can say."

Viktor smirked. "I would offer to carry you to the couch to rest, but, ah…" He tapped his cane lightly against the floor. "Perhaps Jayce should do the honors."

Jayce laughed and easily scooped you into his arms, earning a surprised squeak from you. "Your wish is my command, Y/N." He grinned, carrying you toward the couch while Viktor followed, shaking his head with a fond smile.

As you settled between them, Viktor leaning comfortably against you while Jayce held you close, you felt an overwhelming sense of contentment.

Jayce rested his chin on top of your head, sighing happily. "You know, we should make this a tradition. Whenever you accomplish something big, we celebrate like this."

Viktor chuckled. "I like that idea. And perhaps, next time, we go beyond our apartment—dinner at a fancy restaurant, perhaps?"

You giggled at the thought. "I’d like that. As long as you both are there."

Viktor and Jayce exchanged amused glances, their hands entwining with yours. "Always," Jayce assured softly.

Viktor pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "Forever."

You had worked hard, you had succeeded, and most importantly—you were loved.

And that was worth celebrating.

VANDER (PLATONIC)

The Last Drop was always full of energy, but tonight it had a different kind of buzz. The usual clinking of glasses, shouts of drunken laughter, and the occasional scuffle were still there, but they were mere background noise to the excitement at the far end of the bar. Vander’s kids—Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder—were huddled around Y/N at their usual table, their expressions ranging from amazement to skepticism.

“You really got all top marks?” Mylo leaned forward, elbows on the table, his brows furrowing in suspicion. “Even in math? No way.”

Y/N grinned and waved the parchment in front of his face. “Yes way, Mylo. Do you want to check my work?”

“Like I’d understand any of that nerd stuff,” he scoffed, crossing his arms in defeat. “But I’m just saying—this is a first. We should get this framed or somethin’.”

Powder practically vibrated in her seat, her hands clutched into excited fists. “I knew you’d do it! You worked so, so hard! Vi and I saw you studying all the time. Even when we told you to take a break, you just kept going.”

Vi smirked, reaching over to nudge Y/N’s arm. “Told you it’d pay off. Look at you, all fancy with your grades. Might as well start teaching the rest of us now.”

Claggor let out a chuckle, shaking his head in admiration. “That’s some real dedication right there. You’re gonna be the smartest one in all of Zaun at this rate. Maybe even Piltover. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm at their praise. It wasn’t easy balancing everything—living in the Lanes, helping Vander with errands, keeping up with Vi and the others, and still pushing herself through every late-night study session. But hearing them all acknowledge her effort made it all feel worth it.

=

From behind the bar, Vander had been listening the entire time, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He watched as Y/N beamed under the attention of her found family, pride shining in her eyes. She’d worked herself to the bone for this. He knew it better than anyone—how she’d sit by the dim lantern light long after the others had gone to bed, muttering formulas under her breath, scribbling notes furiously, erasing and rewriting when she didn’t get something right. He’d caught her nodding off over her books more than once, always too stubborn to admit she needed rest.

Now, seeing her finally celebrate, he couldn’t be prouder.

With a deep chuckle, Vander stepped forward, setting down a fresh round of drinks on the table—nothing too strong, just something sweet to mark the occasion. He placed a firm but gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I always knew you had it in you,” he said, his voice warm, steady, and full of pride. “Hard work like that—it ain’t easy. Takes a strong heart, real discipline. But you stuck with it, and now look at you.”

Y/N swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. She had looked up to Vander for so long, seeing him as the father figure she had never really had. He had taught her so much—how to hold her own, how to keep going even when things got tough. And now, hearing the pride in his voice, seeing it in his eyes… It meant everything.

“You deserve to celebrate,” Vander continued, ruffling her hair like he always did when he was particularly proud of her. “And I don��t wanna hear about you locking yourself away with books for at least a few days, got it?”

She laughed, swatting his hand away. “Okay, okay! I’ll take a break.”

“Good.” Vander chuckled, before lifting his glass high in the air. His voice carried through the room, firm and unwavering. “To Y/N—the smartest, hardest-working kid in all of Zaun.”

“To Y/N!” the others echoed, clinking their drinks together.

Vi gave her a one-armed hug, Powder practically tackled her, and Claggor and Mylo smirked as they raised their glasses. The warmth that spread through Y/N’s chest was unlike anything she had ever felt before. In this moment, surrounded by the people she loved, she had never felt more seen, more valued.

This was her family.

And more than anything, she was proud to have made them proud.

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s neon lights flickered outside the window, casting long, hazy shadows across the polished surface of Silco’s desk. The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight, the usual raucous laughter and clinking glasses replaced with a soft murmur as patrons indulged in their drinks. The scent of whiskey and smoke lingered in the air, but Silco was hardly paying attention to any of it.

No, his focus was entirely on the woman in front of him—the woman who had just burst into his office, eyes bright with excitement, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in her trembling hands.

"You did it," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly over the parchment as he scanned the grades printed across it.

All top marks. Every single one.

"I did it!" Y/N practically beamed, barely able to contain the joy bubbling inside her. "Silco, I actually did it! After all the late nights, the stress, the headaches—I passed everything! And not just passed, I did well!"

Her breathless words filled the space between them, and for a moment, Silco simply studied her. He had watched her work herself to exhaustion, nights spent hunched over books and notes, fingers stained with ink, pushing herself beyond her limits. He had seen the frustration in her eyes when things didn’t come easily, the way she fought to understand, to be better.

And now, she stood before him, victorious.

Silco’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as he set the paper down and turned his full attention to her. Slowly, he rose from his chair, his movement deliberate as he stepped around the desk, closing the space between them. His gloved hand reached up, fingers tracing the side of her face with uncharacteristic softness, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something deeply fond.

"I never had any doubts," he said, voice low and warm, the rasp in his tone softer than usual. "You are brilliant, my love. Determined. There was no other outcome for you but success."

Y/N felt her heart swell at his words, emotion tightening in her throat. The weight of months of effort, the exhaustion, the overwhelming pressure she had put on herself—it all unraveled in that moment. Because for all of his sharp edges, for all of the ruthlessness he displayed to the world, she had always known this side of him. The part that cared. That cherished. That loved.

And right now, that love was focused entirely on her.

"I wanted to make you proud," she admitted, voice quieter now, her hands gripping the lapels of his coat. "I wanted to prove to myself—and to you—that I could do this."

Silco exhaled softly, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You’ve always made me proud, darling," he murmured, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "This only proves what I already knew."

His words unraveled something deep inside her, a relief so profound it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She rested her forehead against his chest, and for a moment, he simply held her there, one hand resting at the small of her back, the other tangling in her hair.

Then, a smirk tugged at his lips as he murmured, "I suppose this calls for a celebration."

Y/N sniffled slightly, looking up at him. "Oh? And what exactly does Silco consider a celebration?"

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he guided her toward the door, his fingers lacing with hers. "I was thinking dinner. Something special. Something worthy of my brilliant, hardworking girl."

Her laughter was light, warm. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I refuse?"

=

He led her out of the office, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten as they stepped into the night together. Zaun stretched out before them, its streets a mix of neon haze and deep shadows, but for once, Y/N wasn’t thinking about anything beyond this moment.

Silco didn’t take her to one of the usual places in the Undercity. Instead, he led her to a quiet, tucked-away restaurant near the industrial district, one she had never been to before. It wasn’t grand, nor was it flashy, but it was private. The kind of place where Silco could let his guard down, even if only slightly.

The owner, an older woman with knowing eyes, greeted Silco without surprise, leading them to a secluded table in the corner. The lighting was dim, the scent of warm spices lingering in the air, and as they sat down, Y/N realized that Silco had planned this.

"You knew I’d pass," she accused playfully, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Silco leaned back, smirking as he picked up the wine glass the waitress had placed in front of him. "Of course I did. I don’t waste my time on anyone less than extraordinary."

Y/N flushed, biting her lip as she shook her head. "You have too much faith in me."

"No," he corrected smoothly, swirling the wine in his glass before meeting her gaze. "I have exactly the right amount of faith in you."

Something about the way he said it—the confidence, the absolute certainty—made warmth spread through her chest.

The rest of the night was soft, quiet, intimate in a way that very few moments in Zaun could be. Silco indulged her, letting her talk about everything—the stress of her exams, the moments she doubted herself, the overwhelming relief when she saw her grades. And he listened, truly listened, in a way so few people did.

=

And when dinner was over and they returned to his office, when she curled into his arms on the worn leather couch, exhaustion finally catching up to her, Silco pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and whispered, "I will always be proud of you, my love."

She fell asleep with those words settling deep in her heart, safe in the knowledge that, no matter what came next, Silco would always be in her corner.

And she would always fight to make him proud.

SEVIKA

The dim lights of The Last Drop flickered overhead, casting a warm, golden glow over the corner booth where you sat. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and liquor, the usual hum of rowdy patrons filling the space, but all of that faded into the background. Because tonight wasn’t about the undercity’s chaos—it was about you.

Your heart still fluttered from the moment earlier today when you’d opened your results. The anticipation, the fear, the months of grueling effort—it had all built up to that single second, where time seemed to freeze before relief crashed over you like a tidal wave. You’d done it. You’d pushed yourself beyond limits you didn’t even know you had, buried yourself in work, and proved to yourself that you were capable of more than anyone—maybe even you—had expected.

Now, here you were, still feeling the remnants of that high, pressing your lips together to keep from grinning too wide as Sevika slid a drink across the table to you.

“Go on,” she urged, her gruff voice laced with something softer, something rare.

That was the thing about Sevika. She wasn’t the kind of person to throw around affection easily, nor did she waste words on empty praise. Everything she did, everything she said, was deliberate. And that made moments like these all the more meaningful.

You picked up the glass, your fingers brushing against hers briefly, and even through the cool metal of her cybernetic hand, a shiver ran up your spine.

“Can’t believe you dragged me here for this,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest only grew.

Sevika leaned back against the booth, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. She looked at you like she always did—like you were something worth admiring, worth protecting. The sharp edges of her usual hardened expression softened just enough to make your heart clench.

“Damn right I did,” she said, voice brimming with pride. “You worked your ass off all semester. You deserve to celebrate.”

You chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. The burn was smooth, comforting in a way that reminded you of her—strong, steady. “Guess I do,” you admitted, still getting used to the feeling of accomplishment.

Sevika tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “No guessing,” she corrected. “You do deserve it. Smart, dedicated, and still got enough fire in you to keep up with me? Damn impressive.”

Heat rushed to your face, and you rolled your eyes to cover it. “Oh, so now you’re a fan of my brain, too?”

Her smirk deepened, her fingers lazily tracing the rim of her glass. “Always have been.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dipping lower, meant only for you. “Brains and beauty? Deadly combination, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

She always did this—always had this way of catching you off guard, slipping under your skin in a way no one else could.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re proud of me,” you murmured, trying to play it off, but your voice betrayed you.

Sevika exhaled, tilting her head slightly, gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Damn right I am.” A pause, then, softer, more sincere, “Proud as hell, Y/N.”

The words settled deep in your chest, warm and reassuring, more intoxicating than any drink in this bar.

A lump formed in your throat, the weight of it hitting you all at once. Maybe it was the exhaustion from all the work catching up with you, or maybe it was just Sevika—her presence, her unwavering support, the way she always stood in your corner, even when you weren’t sure if you deserved it.

Unable to resist, you reached for her hand under the table, fingers tracing over the smooth metal of her cybernetic arm before lacing them with her other, warm and calloused. She didn’t pull away.

“Thanks, Sev,” you murmured, squeezing gently.

She looked down at your joined hands for a moment, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, lazy circles. A quiet kind of tenderness that most people never got to see from her.

“Always, babe.”

She didn’t say much more after that, but she didn’t need to. The noise of the bar faded into a dull hum, the laughter and shouting of patrons becoming nothing more than background noise. Because right now, nothing else mattered—just you, her, and the quiet understanding that, no matter what, Sevika would always be there.

And that? That was better than any grade you could ever earn.