#because what if they like the fic you just called bad

[senigami-yltsom]

Miss July, you’ve done it again

To start, I love how you catch the reader up with the vibe of the day we’ve been having in such simple yet effective ways. The tedious interruptions and misfortunes piling up minute by minute, leading us to really being right there with reader, curled up on the couch and exhausted.

The readers actions/thoughts also feel very real. Her wanting to throw her phone but not because it wouldn’t be worth the damage, leaving the phone on the ground when it got to be too much effort to get it…

This fic also does a really nice job establishing where in the relationship the two are without saying it too directly. Hinting at it with their dialogue and tone towards each other went a long way.

Jason’s “…not even me?” broke my heart omg. I can picture that so clearly coming from him and also hearing it from the readers side.

“It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.”

I’m having trouble verbalizing why I love this but I do. That’s so—that’s so jason. That paragraph shows a deep understanding of your characters and their relationship, not only within just the context of the two of them, but their relationship with others as well.

“”I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.”

He’s so awkward and scared to be in love I love him. The way you wrote him is so sweet and thoughtful, I think it’s a very accurate take on what jason would be like in love. Not to mention, I can see all of it playing out like in a movie—you do that really well.

Ugh he’s such a loverboy deep down and you did an amazing job representing that side of him here.

dark chocolate cherry

i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]

jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful)

The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.

The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.

From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.

By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.

At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.

Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.

Jason About to leave Be there in 20

You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.

You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great

After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.

Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.

Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”

“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”

“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.

“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”

“…Not even me?”

Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.

“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.

The phone is quiet for a long moment.�� Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”

-

-

-

It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.

“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.

He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.

“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.

“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.

You just stare at him.

He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”

Then, you burst into tears.

Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.

He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.

“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.

With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.

“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”

“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.

You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.

The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.

“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”

“Jason.”

“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.

“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.

You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.

“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.

You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.

He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”

You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.

"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.

“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”

“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”

With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.

At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.

You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.

“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”

His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”

With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.

He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.

Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.

You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”

He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.

You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”

But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”

You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.

“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.

He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”

Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.

You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”

“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?” He asks.

“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.

“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.

“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.

“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.

“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.

“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”

You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”

He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.

“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.

He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.

He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.

when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle

also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)

divider is from here

quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3

[todoriin]

x : TOUCH ME NOW *+ﾟ

in which: you help sunday through a predicament. a part 2 nsfw to this sunday fic.

warnings: 3k wc,MDNI or u fail ur next test, afab!reader but no pronouns, sex pollen trope, oral (m receiving), fingering, idk how in character sunday is but i blame it on sex pollen, sunday busts like multiple nuts, wall sex that then becomes bed sex, riding, creampie, unrealistic sex, unprotected p in v, emotionally charged sex towards the end, multiple rounds.

a/n: there are so many warnings i'm kinda ashamed. anyways, i hope u enjoy! i'm never gonna look at this again lol

A feverish heat clings to Sunday, racking shivers up his spine. Warmth suffocates him, expanding to all edges of his body- legs, chest, head, there’s a particular stubborn sensation that clings to his core. And his pants.

It must have been because of that mysterious substance that befell him during the mission. At first, it was a stinging in his nose and eyes that eventually faded, but after a while the real side effects kicked in, and he concluded that it was some sort of material that enhanced… sexual needs, if the growing stiffness in his pants was any indication. He excused himself from the group, and darted back to the hotel at record pace.

Curled up on his made bed, the linen sheets are a mild balm against his hot skin, coat and shirt discarded the second the hotel room locked behind him. Hours have passed since he separated from the group but the symptoms still stubbornly fester in his gut, falling and rising but never fading, sticking to his being like glue. 

It’s already painful enough on its own, but you just have to be on the other side of the hotel door, knocking and knocking, asking if he was alright in that sweet, concerned voice of yours. 

Things have been… awkward since that incident with you in his room. He hasn’t been able to look you in the eye since, and Sunday’s positive the entire Express can tell that something happened between you, just not entirely sure what.

Having a good memory can be a curse sometimes, and because of it, he hasn’t been able to forget the feel of your warmth atop him, and the paralysing fear when he realised just how strong his desire was. Sunday won’t deny it, even back in Penacony when he was the strict and rigid Head of the Oak Family, there were undertones of attraction that stirred in his heart when he first got to talk to you, but they were quickly buried, just as he was taught to do years ago.

Now, in closer proximity and freed from shackles of duty, he can’t help but let the desire roam wild, peaking at the incident that occurred not too long ago.

A siren’s song. He’s going to give in to your call. 

He opens the door no more than a crack, letting your voice come through loud and clear.

“Sunday?” Your tone is gentle, kind, treating him like a wounded stray that would run if you got too close. In some sense, he is, except he thinks if you got too close, he’d pounce on you and do what he’s been thinking of doing for days- weeks, even.

Except in his barely-lucid state, he thinks it might be worse.

“Can I come in? Mr Welt told me you were unwell and separated from the group when March and I went away.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, strained.

You raise a brow. “You’re clearly not. No offense but… you sound a bit worse for wear.”

“It’s alright, I can manage alone.”

“Yes but you don’t have to, I’m happy to help.”

“I don’t think this is something you might want to stick around for.” 

With each passing moment that you turnaround his rejection, Sunday feels his sanity slipping and pants growing tighter. And when you raise your eyebrows again in defilement, he just wants to pull you in and sink you both to the floor, reduced to a puddle of limbs where neither of you can tell where he ends and you begin.

“How bad can it be?” You whisper and all fighting spirit leaves him. He lets you inside.

As soon as the door clicks shut, you’re putting a hand up to his forehead, testing his temperature as if his entire face wasn’t flushed, pale skin heating up to an uncharacteristic pink. You seem to be avoiding the obvious issue that’s happening in his lower body.

“What happened?” 

“I- uh, was hit with something,” he groans when you steps away.

“Like hay fever?” You ask, still somehow innocent and unaware.

He never thought he’d need to spell this out to someone. “Like extreme arousal.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth forms a small ‘o’ in realisation, eyes trailing down to his bare torso for a mere second before meeting his gaze again, as if deciding how to word the next sentence you want to say. 

“Would you like some help with that?”

In any right state of mind, Sunday would be double checking that what you said was right. That he wasn’t hearing things. However, in a lust-ridden state where he can’t even tell north or south without thinking of the incredible stiffness in his pants, he says what he thinks is most logical.

“Please.” It’s no more of a whimper, but you hear him loud and clear because next thing he knows, you’re cupping his face with bringing it to yours, tongue parting the seam of his lips. 

Sunday backs you up against the hotel door. You seem eager, that delights him. 

With the invitation pressed into his mouth, he uses it to lick into your mouth, exploring and reaching wherever he can, tilting his head slightly for better access, overpowering whatever control you had previously exerted over him, just has he’s dreamed of. Biting on your bottom lip, he feels saliva dribble down his chin, wetting his skin. He separates from you to catch the trail, kissing down your chin and going even further, lips meeting the dips and curves of your neck as you gulp, overwhelmed by the onslaught of affection. 

It’s your hands that remove your shirt, pulling it over your head as he continues his flurry of kisses, eventually stopping near your sternum. It’s your hands that exposes you- all of you, to him, letting him near his mouth and hands to your breasts. He squishes and pinches your left mound as the right one is enveloped by his lips where he spits and suckles, the sound so unabashedly wet that it shoots straight down to your core- where you need him the most. So you roll your hips against his and enjoy the vibrations of his moan, mouth still connected around you. You do it again and this time, his grip tightens, parting from your breast with a satisfying pop. 

Crazed hunger gleams in his eyes and you sink to your knees before him. 

“Let me take care of you,” you mutter breathlessly, now eye level with his member. His very obviously, very painfully hard member. Your hands make quick work of his pants, unbuttoning them as Sunday does the work of discarding both his boxers and the pants, leaving him naked before you, cock hitting the base of his abdominals. 

It’s an odd sensation to present yourself so wholly to someone for the first time, especially when your most private parts are in the other person’s face, but Sunday’s mind is too far away to feel ashamed. Not when your hands crawl up and play with the angry, swollen tip of his dick.

“This looks so painful,” you mutter. “How long did you suffer for?”

“A couple hours,” he confesses through stifled teeth, feeling your hands move up and down along his shaft. You’re toying with him, seeming so sympathetic to his current condition when the only thing you’re doing is making it worse, the heat flaring hotter and hotter than he thought humanly possible in his abdomen. 

It’s like torture, but he never wants you to stop. Never wants you to leave.

“Poor thing,” you coo. When you kiss his leaking tip, he collapses against the hotel door, bent arm catching him against the hard material. From this perspective, Sunday gets to watch you take him whole, his cock disappearing into your mouth inch by agonising inch until you stop just short of the base. It is so filthily wet and warm, and his skin glistens from your saliva when you move back, only to take him again, tongue sliding over the veins of his incredibly sensitive member. 

The pleasure is overwhelming. It feels like everything and not enough, all at the same time. He wants your mouth to be hugging him like this forever, but he wants more, wants you to sink into his ligaments and press this feeling of pleasure into him permanently. Wants his muscles to remember the sensation of your tongue and lips, and how your spit mixes with his precum as small whimpers and moans leave him.

A hand comes to the back of your head, and Sunday begins to move his hips in tandem with your actions, and a surprised sound rings from the back of your throat when he forces himself deeper into your mouth. He does it again and again, wings fluttering as a coil begins to tighten in his lower half.

“I’m- I’m close,” Sunday whimpers. “Don’t stop, please, I want to- I want-”

The pleasure climaxes and hot ropes of cum shoot into your used mouth, dribbles out when it’s too stuffed to stay in, falling down the curve of your lips, down your chin, and landing on the floor or your body. He feels like ascending. This has been the high he’s been craving, the solution to the mania Sunday has been subjected to.

It is still not enough. He watches you swallow his cum, using your finger to clean around your mouth, and gulps when his dick springs to life again, aroused by the sight alone. 

Only a fraction of his issue has been solved it seems, because neediness still burns hot in his veins, and he needs you so pathetically bad. Needs to press you against the nearest surface just to take you again and again. 

Your eyes widen at his hard cock again.

“Still not enough?” You ask, voice slightly hoarse from being used. 

“More,” he groans, and presses his mouth against yours when you rise from your knees, pressing a flurry of kisses against your lips, mixed with moans as words are spoken against your mouth. “Want more of you, let me inside.”

You nod against him, hands coming up to hold onto his shoulders, desperate for the anchor. “Please.” 

A hand traces over your hip and moves down to your core. Two fingers part your folds, letting two digits sink into your wet entrance, collecting your slick as he glides in and out, feeling the constriction of your walls around his hand. 

You cling to him tighter, resting your forehead against his shoulder as you deal with the onslaught of blinding pleasure, heightening when his thumb plays with your clit, rubbing circles and moving the nub up, down, left, and right. It’s mind-numbing, you don’t know what else to think of except the pleasure he’s bringing you. 

It’s torn away when he retracts his hands, heated golden gaze staying locked with yours as he licks himself clean. An act so obscene that it leaves you speechless, all coherent sentences slipping from your brain as Sunday holds your leg up to his hip, allowing him more access. 

He grinds his hard length against you, sliding it along your wet slit, sometimes catching your clit, causing you to jolt in his hold. Your breath is heavy with anticipation as you claw at his back, unable to take anymore of this gentle torment, walls clenching around nothing when his tip rests against your entrance. Sunday’s testing you, teasing as his perceptive, golden gaze never strays away from your expression, analysing every micro change as he slowly, slowly, slowly eases in, feeling every movement of your walls parting to make space for him.

You’re constricting him, pulsing around him so tightly that it’s getting harder to breathe, harder to think straight without fucking into you so recklessly that you leave an imprint on the door. His lust-filled brain wants to, but the composed part of his mind knows to give you time to adjust first, even if you’re wet enough for him to move freely. 

However, it seems that he’s too impatient himself. 

A sudden warmth floods your walls, gushing hot white as Sunday rests his forehead against you, shuddering, laboured breaths heaving out his chest.

“Did you just… cum?” 

“Yes,” he pants, wings fluttering lightly as he recovers from busting his load without warning.

Your hands move to play with the hair at the base of his neck, twirling the strands as you wait for him to come down. It’s alarming that you can already feel him getting hard again. Just how strong was this pollen? 

“Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t felt anything this powerful this before.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, holding his cheek. “Sunday, use me. Don’t hold back.” 

With your blessing, he regains his footing and slowly retracts his hips, almost sliding out of you before thrusting back. You moan right by his ear, nails clawing his skin. The pace of his movements stay slow, methodical as he splits you open, but with a last few rolls of his hips, Sunday begins to pick up the pace, listening to his frayed mind as the wet sound of skin slapping skin fills the hotel room. 

Your whimpers of his name are soft as he keeps moving, holding your leg higher to his hip for more access as he relentlessly bullies himself into you, reaching even deeper parts of you. Mixed essences coat your skin, the last load he spilled into you falling out and dribbling from your entrance, and down to the apex of your thighs. It sounds obscene every time he thrusts into you, and the pleasure makes you bite into the junction of his neck- a coping mechanism against the searing build up in your abdomen.

He’s thrusting into you so deep, hitting a sensitive spot over and over again, causing you to see stars on the edge of your vision. 

“I’m almost there, please, don’t stop,” you’re puffing against him now, gasping for air when his hand suddenly crawls between your bodies, rubbing your clit in the exact way he did before, intensifying the pleasure as it shoots through your nerves.

Without warning, you gush all over him, walls spasming around his cock as he continues chasing his own high, hands squeezing you harder as he grows sloppier. Then, with a muffled moan, he lets go and spills hot semen into you, his hips stuttering flush against your pelvis as he presses himself as close as possible. 

Both of you pant erratically, still coming down from the high as you cling to each other with vice grips. He nuzzles into your shoulder, wings and silver hair tickling your skin. His is still feverish, burning and hot against your body. You can’t even remember if he grew hotter since you first began, but it’s hard to think about it when Sunday’s still nestled inside with no intention of leaving any time soon.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, careful not to break the delicate atmosphere.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m feeling… a little more clear-headed now.”

“That’s good. Should we move away from the door and sit on the bed?” 

He slips out of you and you wince at the feel of thick fluids dripping out of you and down your inner thigh. Sunday is at least conscious enough to sit you down and go grab a towel, gently grabbing your ankle to stretch your leg, patting your skin gently to rid the traces. Despite how methodical and tender he is, he can’t hide his growing erection, even if he’s diligently avoiding looking at your spent cunt. 

“This… predicament of yours must be stubborn,” you joke when he takes a seat next to you, unable to meet your eyes.

“I think this one might be mostly my doing.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

Without hesitation, you swing a leg around and straddle him, sitting daringly close to his cock. “Need a little more help?” 

He groans through gritted teeth when you roll your hips, teasing him with a half-lidded look, lips turning into a smirk. You will be the reason for his demise, an obsession growing in the depths of his mind.

“If you are fit enough, don’t exert yourself for me.”

“But I want to help,” you pout at him. 

Yes. Something like obsession. 

Sunday’s hands are vice grips on your hips as you lower yourself down on his dick, the familiar stretch causing you to wince, but his touch is grounding as he places a flutter of kisses on your face when you’ve lowered yourself completely, the back of your thighs meeting his. You watch as his face contorts with pleasure, gaze focused on where you’re joined. 

“You feel so perfect,” he murmurs. “I’ve been dreaming of this, I can’t believe it’s real.”

“Dreaming? How so?”

“Ever since that… day, where you visited me in my room,” he grunts, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, to stop desiring you, I felt it was better for the both of us if I just kept my distance since then.”

You cup his cheeks, placing a kiss on his nose before you move, rising before slamming down, causing the both of you to moan in sync, his being more of a whine. Repeating the movement a few times, you feel wet droplets landing on your hands, and you stop moving out of surprise, the ichor falling from his eyes catching you by surprise.

“Sunday, are you-”

Catching the liquid gold with your thumbs, you are so devastatingly careful handling him that he might just cum again, decorating your insides with white for the fourth time that night. He barely just holds on, though, for the sake of his own sanity. 

Although he almost snaps when he feels you catch a tear with your lips, and then you clench around him- oh, this is the recipe for his downfall.

“You will drive me crazy.” He whispers as he holds onto your wrists. “T-This… this is incomparable. I-I want you like a man starved.” 

Then, without warning, he rolls you around so that your back is on the bed and he’s the one on top. Climbing between your parted legs, he carves a space for himself in your arms, infatuation glazing over his expression. 

“Let me show you how badly I crave you.” 

© TODORIIN 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[bluewhitehues]

“ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ, ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ, ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ” ~

♡Choi Seungcheol/ S.coups × Female reader 《FLUFF, COMFORT》

♡t/w: mentions of pimples/acne.

"Aghhh I told you don't kiss my cheeks, there are pimples everywhere." You said groaning pulling back from seungcheol. Where you're snuggling against him on your couch.

"Do I look like I care baby?" He says pulling you on his lap like he is on a mission, trying to kiss your cheek but you stop him.

"No but like it's dirty, there are probably bacterias and all everywhere." You say making a face.

Seungcheol scoffs, "You're impossible baby, and if I want to kiss you,I'll kiss you nothing will stop me. It's not like I'll die, come on." He squints his eyes giving you a look,"plus you look hot with all the pink on your cheeks, it enhances your beauty." He says scanning your face, holding your chin, tilting it downwards towards his face.

You finally let out a little laugh, "Seriously? Are you throwing my words at me right now? I told you you were hot with your pimple once."

"No, exactly now I get why you said that, I found it ridiculous back then,but I get you now." He says scanning your face, kissing your cheek again.

"Extra pretty" another kiss, "extra cute", another kiss on other cheek, "extra beautiful" another kiss, "extra beautiful" He finishes with a last kiss on your forehead (or you thought so).

And you know he means it by the way he looks at you with all the love he has for you in his eyes. " Really?" You whisper.

"Hmm. Really really" He says squeezing you to himself, hand sliding to back of your neck and pressing his lips on yours firmly, kissing you tenderly. Showing how much he means it.

To say you're the happiest seems like an understatement. Your man knows how to keep you/ his woman happy, how to make her feel loved everyday. He makes sure you don't have any insecurities or worries by crushing them down even before they arise, even before they have a chance to mess with you.

Masterlist

A/N:This is a hug for all my beautiful girlies out there. You are beautiful no matter what. If you are insecure about anything may it be acne, scars or something else... My beautiful it just so happens that our prettiest moon glows brightly flaunting her scars and spots. It is a part of her own beauty, it adds on to her beauty. And you're no different.🫂🩷

>> I get pimples atleast once a month and right now it's bad and call me weird or narcissistic idk I really do sometimes like them, it gives you a blush like appearance idk.😭😂 just random thoughts made me write this fic. I wanted to write this with wonwoo as a lead because let's be honest we all are stuck on that one TTT GoSe episode, the water games one 👉🏼👈🏼 I might post wonwoo version tomorrow. Ok bye I'm talking so much hope you enjoy this fic. See you soonnnn🫡

[peachylynnie]

garlic

word count: 1.4k

synopsis: in which sylus feeds you too much garlic

contains: sylus x reader (doesn't have to be mc, gender neutral), an obscene amount of garlic (slight crack fic), mentions of cooking, eating, and love of food, suggestive at the end, and cussing.

a/n: i was rewatching wgm the other day and the male star did this to the female star. couldn't help but feel inspired to write this for sylus since he would totally tease us. do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs and comments always appreciated :)

you love sylus' cooking. even before you started dating, you always thought his cooking was immaculate—so immaculate you can't help but wonder why he even had a private chef. rich people shenanigans, you like to conclude. you also wonder if rich people put a lot of garlic in their food. because there are a shit ton of garlic slices on the linguine pasta sylus just served you.

by no means are you a picky eater. heck, you love garlic. it's a blessing to humankind. garlic bread, fried rice, pesto, you name it. so many foods have garlic in them, and you enjoy all of them. but this? this was way too much.

sylus raises a brow as he sits next to you, wondering why you haven't picked up your fork yet. "something wrong, sweetie?"

"what's with the garlic, sylus?" you turn to face him, leaning back in the leather high chair.

he looks at your plate, then back at you. "is there something wrong with the garlic?" picking up his own fork, he goes to inspect your food. you stop him by holding his wrist.

"no," you shake your head, laughing a little. "it's just... this is a LOT of garlic." you nudge your head towards the incredibly noticeable pile of garlic slices. "did the tutorial really call for this much?"

sylus chuckles, returning to his own plate. meticulously, he twirls the pasta with his fork, leaving you to admire his sturdy forearms. not only do you love sylus' cooking, but you also love WHEN he cooks. why? because this absolute godsend, silver-haired, ruby-eyed, strong-nosed, supple-lipped, and deep-voiced of a man rolls up his sleeves when he cooks. his veins protrude and his muscles flex whenever he chops some vegetables with a knife. you don't pity the buttons that hold on for dear life to keep his sleeves together whenever he maneuvers a pan. resting an elbow on the kitchen island, you set your head on your hand to admire the current view.

you're taken aback when sylus holds up his fork to your mouth. normally, you would gush at such an action. the ruthless and relentless head of onychinus, offering YOU the first bite of HIS food. oh, you would happily accept, eager to taste absolute heaven in your mouth because sylus always makes great food. but, this time, you frown, noticing the mini TOWER of garlic slices on top of the noodles wrapped around his fork.

"i didn't take you for a picky eater, sweetie." sylus teases as he tilts his head. your jaw drops, flabbergasted by such an accusation. not that there's anything wrong with being a picky eater; it's just that sylus should know you by now. he's cooked for you plenty of times before. he's seen you eat plenty of times before. he should know by now you generally enjoy most food, and it takes a lot for you to even hesitate to pick up a utensil.

"i'm not picky," you cross your arms, a slight pout forming on your lips. "there's just too much garlic."

"there's no such thing as too much garlic," sylus quips. as if to further prove his point, he lifts the fork closer to your mouth. you begrudgingly accept, not without giving him a look, of course, because only you would accept a mouthful of garlic offered by sylus himself.

it's not necessarily bad. that's the first thought you have when you close your mouth. except you immediately change your mind after you bite down. holy shit, it's just straight garlic. you grimace, immediately uncrossing your arms to cover your mouth. you can't even taste the linguine. groaning, you try not to spit out the food. no matter how bad a dish may be, you wholeheartedly believe it's rude to spit it out in front of the person who made it. furthermore, this was sylus we're talking about; you're fricking boyfriend. you scrunch your shoulders as you painfully swallow, instantly reaching over the counter for a glass of water. after you relieve your mouth of garlic hell (it didn't help at all), you face sylus, glaring at him with all your might.

"that's too much garlic!" you snap, using one hand to slap sylus' shoulder and another to cover your mouth, overwhelmed by the smell. trying to ignore sylus' snickers, you drink more water. this motherfucker dares to laugh at your agony. you swear the next time he calls you over for some parmesan garlic linguine, you're going to tell him to shove a garlic braid up his ass.

"oh come on, sweetie," sylus jests as he twirls some more noodles with his fork before offering them to you again. "it can't be that bad."

you look at him with wide eyes. there's no way he's serious right now. "why don't YOU try then?"

"gladly," sylus says smugly. he takes a bite and lets out an obnoxious "mmm!" you scoff when he goes back for a second bite, unable to believe the audacity he has.

"there's no way it tastes that good," you say as you jerk your head away, determined to stay mad at him. "you just want to flatter your cooking."

"you're missing out," sylus says nonchalantly as he takes another bite. "besides, garlic is good for your health. it can provide a lot of strength. in fact, laborers were fed garlic back then, so they could have enough stamina. "

you roll your eyes. of course, he brings health into this. not that there's nothing wrong with it. you actually admire how much sylus takes care of himself. he's quite the competent man. but you know what he's doing. he's making fun of you. your eyes can't help but twitch as you look down at your plate. good for your health, my ass. no way an entire plate (sylus has massive plates by the way) topped with heaps of garlic is good for anyone. not even five serving spoons can rid your plate of its garlic slices.

suddenly, you get an idea.

"hey, sylus," you say as you reach over the counter for the serving spoon he used earlier to serve your plate. "since you like your linguine soooo much, mind if i feed you?"

sylus doesn't look up from his plate, clearly too occupied with his own making. "sure, sweetie."

you giggle, setting the spoon against the edge of your plate before scraping only the garlic slices onto it. given how much garlic there was, it doesn't take long for you to fill the giant spoon with it—garlic and garlic only.

"don't do that."

"don't do what?" you don't stop scraping.

"that," sylus answers as he warily eyes the spoon your hand is now holding up to his face. that was, indeed, too much garlic.

"come onnnn," it's your turn to tease. "there's no such thing as too much garlic, right? besides, it's good for your health. what good is the head of onychinus if he doesn't have enough stamina?"

"i have plenty of stamina," sylus insists. "and that," he juts his chin towards the spoon, "is too much stamina."

you snort as you nudge the spoon closer, ignoring him entirely. "say ah! eat and gain lots of stamina! you need it!" you chirp as you lift your free hand and extend it underneath the spoon, hoping to catch any stray slices.

sylus' eyes flicker from the spoon to your face. he leans in, acting as if he's going to listen to you. though, not before asking, "where will i use all this stamina? will you use it with me?"

you choke, immediately retracting the spoon. "what?!" you dump all of the garlic back onto the plate, avoiding the amused look on sylus' face and also the imagery of exciting... stamina-related activities involving him. "pervert," you grumble, a rosy hue appearing on your cheeks.

"i was talking about training, sweetie," he smirks.

no fucking way. you gape at him, not believing a single word.

sylus stifles a laugh, enjoying the hilarious expression on your face. look at you, so cutely flustered over the idea of taking your relationship to the next level. yes, he was talking about whatever was going on in that head of yours. no, he wasn't talking about training. but hiding such a fact was worth it, given your embarrassed state. wanting to admire your adorable face some more, sylus grips your chin before tilting it up.

"although, i'm not against what you have in mind, sweetie."

[songs-of-future-past]

(Just reblogging straight cause I'm lazy)

Castle. I got it from the comedy-drama series (which also happens to feature Nathan Fillion, voice of Cayde-6). Where Nocturne got that name we don't know.

The Impasse, Cosmodrome

10 years prior to present game (start of D1)

Prismatic (SoF/Dive/Needle/Coldsnap), usually with the Last Word, Lubrae's Ruin, and Ascendancy

Confusion, then a mix of anger and depression over losing the memory of who he was

Nope

They've overheard fragments from Corsairs and even pieced things together from rumours in the Last City, but that's it. Mostly he has his dog tags from his time in the military prior to the Collapse

Loner, but will join fireteams when necessary

Dredgen, mostly due to disillusionment with everything going on and not really believing the Vanguard had everyone's best interests at heart (especially in regards to the "forget your past" thing)

It's literally just a force. It's tied to the intangible rather than the tangible, and it looks bad because bad people get ahold of it (not because it's inherently evil)

It's complicated. On one hand, he's alive again. On the other... He's alive again. Because of the Traveller. Also, his appearance has been so fundamentally changed by the Traveller that he struggles recognising his reflection, so he's extremely resentful.

Again, it's complicated, although that's because Nocturne is stubborn and easily irritated when he's tired. Most of the bitterness and disdain he points towards Castle is out of resentment for the Traveller.

Voluntold. He was kinda pressed into it, and to be honest he didn't exactly have anywhere else to go at the time.

Oof... There's a lot of possibilities, but JUST to make Nocturne suffer I'm gonna go with a close friend of his who was called Ciel, who was killed by someone called Dredgen Hereward during the Red War (I kinda want to write a fic where Nocturne actually teams up with Shin to deal with him, but that's another story altogether?

The Dawning, because collecting ingredients is the closest thing to "time off" he gets. Or takes, for that matter.

Haha what's off duty He goes off to help Banshee when he can, but if he doesn't need help he'll probably be reading.

Sometimes? Not often though. Most of the time he interacts with civilians they come up to him

It varies

Repair kit, a bracelet from Ellis (you didn't think he'd leave it forgotten in his vault, did you?), and a backup radio in case the Comms he built into his helmet get jammed.

Plenty, though the main thing is how much he's figured out about his past.

While he claims he doesn't care about anyone, Nocturne is very much a "guard dog" to people he likes (arguably he can be a bit of an attack dog too if he feels the need to be one). This has led to MULTIPLE plans to delete the Spider from the face of existence, and the only thing stopping him from carrying any of them out is A) he's still considered useful and B) Drifter, Crow, and Eido begging him not to because of point A

20 Questions prompt list for Guardians! Download, yoink and repost away, add images of you like, tag me if you want cause I love hearing about everyone's guardians! ❤️

[peachhcs]

we need more macklin fics and fluff bc that one was actually so cute. i need more asap 🩷

sorority formal

still debating if i should make a macklin au to add to my samy + will verse (HAHA my own fanfic verse??) but here’s some more fluff between the lovely rookie and his gf from santa clara university :) — also cleaning out my inbox so that’s why i’ve posted four times in a row LOL

also if this is bad i’m so sorry. i lowkey awkwardly switch between 2nd person and 3rd person pov sometimes so apologies for that. otherwise, i’m really starting to like writing about mack 😌 (slight allusion to sex but there’s no sex actually described just kissing)

masterlist

macklin had never been to a college sorority formal before, nor did he really understand what it was or what to expect, but he agreed to be your date nonetheless. plus, the look on your face was hard to say no to when you asked him two weeks ago.

the brunette was in his room trying to find the right suit to wear while will sat in the corner on his phone. he knew a little bit from when he was at boston, but he never found any interest in going to those frat and sorority parties, so the rookie was a bit in the dark when it came to this stuff.

will wasn’t much help either.

“i dunno man. i’ve never been to a sorority formal before. i assume it’s the same as any other formal? i’ve been to samy’s soccer banquet,” will shrugged, watching his friend try on his third suit.

“y/n said to just wear something neutral. her dress is pink i think,” macklin explained as he examined the dark navy suit in the mirror.

“i think that looks fine. navy and pink go well?” will nodded.

“i’m kind of nervous. is that bad? i don’t really know what to expect,” obviously, he didn’t want to make y/n look like a fool at her own sorority, so the boy’s nerves were at an all time high at the moment. what if he did something stupid?

“samy texted me back and she said it’s like prom but for college. there will be food and drinks and then you dance if you want. some sororities will do speeches or superlatives,” will read off the text his girlfriend just sent him.

“oh, okay. that’s not too bad then. i’ll be fine,” macklin assured himself and decided on the navy blue suit.

“yeah, it will be chill. you basically get to spend a whole night with your girlfriend,” will grinned and the brunette couldn’t help but smile at the thought. he hadn’t seen you in a few days because of your crazy busy schedules, so having this night to yourselves would be nice.

“yeah, you’re right. it will be chill and we’ll have fun,”macklin was basically saying positive affirmations to himself at this point which made will chuckle. he stood up to help his friend with his suit.

“don’t even sweat it, dude. she’s gonna love you,” the blonde assured and if will thought so, then macklin was gonna believe it.

once he was finished getting dressed, he grabbed his phone to let you know he was on his way over to your dorm. the boy rushed through the house, double checking his pockets that he had phone (check), keys (check), wallet (check), and a small bouquet he decided picking up for you because he knew you liked flowers.

“knock ‘em dead!” will called from the porch as macklin got into his car.

the brunette drove the short drive to the university. being new to driving in the states still and the nerves about tonight made his hands a bit shaky as he turned onto the drive that led to your dorm. he didn’t need to sweat this. it was you. y/n. his girlfriend. there was no reason for him to be nervous about some sorority formal.

he parked in the lot and climbed out, doing a third check that he had all of his belongings. you were waiting in the lobby for him after getting his text about being on his way. the hockey player stopped in his tracks though when he laid eyes on you.

your strapless, silky dress stopped around your ankles where he could see your pretty white heels. your hair was down like it usual was and macklin was pretty sure his pupils turned to hearts.

“hi,” you grinned when he got closer.

“hi..wow..you look..” the boy lost his words making you laugh.

“you look pretty..wow,” you complimented his navy suit.

“s-so do you. wow..i..i’m in awe,” he admitted earning a bright blush on your cheeks.

“you’re sweet. are these for me?” you noticed the bouquet wobbling in his hands. the brunette quickly flushed and handed them over to you.

“yes, sorry. they are.”

you admired the pretty pink and red petals, “thank you. these are pretty. wanna come up for a second so i can put them in water?” it wasn’t really a question because macklin was going to follow you regardless.

the two of you stepped into the elevator. mack’s nerves were now because of how beautiful you looked beside him and he didn’t know how to express it other than telling you and the building desire to kiss you. he followed you down to your dorm. your roommate grinned at him.

“hey mack,” maya waved.

“hey maya,” he waved back.

“look, he brought me flowers,” you showed maya the pretty bouquet.

“wow, brownie points for the hockey player,” she teased a bit which made him flush. he watched you find a vase and fill it with water from your bathroom. you came back out and placed the flowers into the vase.

“like them?” you asked for his opinion.

“i like them,” he nodded.

“i’ll put them by my desk for now. thank you, again,” you pecked his cheek.

“of course,” the boy was glad you liked them and he was glad he decided on getting them the other day because the smile on your face was so worth it after spending an hour at the store trying to pick them out.

“okay, we’re gonna head out now. we’ll be back later,” you called to maya who threw up a thumbs up.

“have fun! don’t get too drunk.”

you went back down the elevator and then out of the building where you latched your arm with mack’s. he rubbed your hand and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“it’s not far from here,” you explained as you led the way.

“i’ve never been to one of these before,” the boy admitted a bit nervously.

“don’t worry, it’s so chill. you’ll get to meet some of my sorority sisters, we’ll eat, dance, drink some, and then we can leave whenever,” you explained and it eased some of mack’s nerves a bit more hearing you explain it. as much as he appreciated samy’s brief explanation, he also liked hearing it come from your lips too.

the two of you came up on one of the college bars in the area. it was already blasting music that could be heard from outside. macklin followed you inside where you were immediately greeted with security to check your ids. you both got little x’s on your hands meaning neither of you were 21. mack’s gaze flicked around the space that was dimly lit and pumping base through his bones.

“omg, y/n, hey!” a girl greeted you.

“hi jen, you look gorgeous!” you admired your friend’s dress.

“no you do! is this your boyfriend?” she turned her attention to mack.

“yes, this is macklin,” you gripped his arm again and the boy managed a tiny smile.

“nice to meet you. i’m jen, the sorority president. come on in. we have food in the back and drinks at the bar so get whatever,” jen explained.

you quickly led macklin to the back because you were starving. the boy watched you take a plate so he copied whatever you did. you laughed at his behavior.

“don’t be so nervous, mack.”

“sorry. just getting used to it all,” he said. he’d never been into a bar before because he wasn’t old enough first of all and if he was caught underage drinking he’d definitely get a mean punishment from his coach.

“it’s okay. it’s overwhelming, but i’m right here remember,” you assured and some of the worries eased hearing you say that. macklin offered a grateful smile as he followed your lead with the food and then followed you to a seat.

you sat with some other girls and their dates which got all of you quickly talking. the more you talked, the more comfortable macklin became and flushed when a few people recognized him as a hockey player. being next to you made him feel a lot more comfortable too. seeing you look so calm and content helped him do the same and by the time you were done eating, he was having a full conversation with some of the guys without you involved.

“let’s get pictures!” one girl exclaimed when she came around with her camera.

you pulled mack up. he eagerly wrapped his arm around your waist, the two of you smiling wide as the flash went off—almost blinding you guys because it was so bright and the room was so dark.

“aw, you guys look adorable,” the girl spun the camera around so you could see the preview. macklin quickly kissed your cheek.

“i love it, thanks,” you said.

you guys ventured back towards the center of the dance floor to start dancing along with the others. macklin was big on getting to dance, so he took full advantage, urging you to join his energy. you giggled at the way he bounced on his feet and pulled out his best dance moves for you.

when everyone started coming onto the floor, it got warm fast so the brunette lost his suit jacket leaving him in just his dress shirt that was almost halfway unbuttoned by now. his arms were around your waist, the two of you swaying to the beat and being in your own world together.

any anxiety the rookie felt earlier had completely disappeared being in the center of the dance floor with you. all that mattered to him was you in his arms as he spun you around.

“did i tell you how gorgeous you look?” the boy leaned in closer as he spoke over the music.

“you did, yes,” you grinned.

“well i’ll tell you again. you look gorgeous. prettiest girl here,” his words earned a bright blush on your cheeks.

“you’re too sweet, mack.”

“i’m serious, y/n/n. you’re beautiful,” he leaned in closer, still wanting that kiss he hadn’t gotten yet. you saw his request and closed the gap.

the two of you shared a sweet kiss, not caring that there were others around you or watching. your lips felt like heaven against the hockey player’s. he never wanted to let you go, but forced himself to to get some air back into his lungs.

“i could kiss you forever,” he mumbled.

“me too,” and you reconnected your lips for another quick kiss. mack’s hands wandered a bit lower towards your hips and then swiping over your ass. a giggle left your lips at his behavior.

“we should save this for the dorm,” you smiled while directing him away for now. a little pout appeared, but he understood and let you go.

the music picked up again and it had him spinning you around once more. because all of his focus was on hockey growing up, the brunette’s never had an experience of going to an end of the year dance or prom or anything, so he was glad he was getting to make this up with you right now.

as the night winded down, you and macklin decided to leave. he threw his suit jacket over your shoulders for the quick five minute walk back to your dorm. you appreciated his gesture, tugging it closer to your body to hide yourself from the semi-cold evening temperatures.

“thanks for coming tonight,” you smiled as you rode the elevator.

“of course. i had a lot of fun. thanks for bringing me,” mack returned your smile.

“i’m glad you did. better get ready for next semester,” you teased a bit and mack’s heart swelled just a little bit at the idea of coming back to your formal because that meant you wanted him enough to stick around for the next one.

he knew what you two had meant a lot to both of you, but sometimes he got in his head just a little bit wondering if he was good enough for you or not enough because he was some big shot hockey player and he knew what everyone thought about hockey players. he worried he wasn’t the one for you even though you were 100% the one for him. he knew it from the day he met you, so hearing you say that made him burst with joy.

maya wasn’t in the dorm, probably taking the hint that you guys wanted the room to yourselves. macklin was glad because he wanted to continue that kissing you guys were doing earlier.

he watched you hang up his suit jacket like you did every time he brought his suits with him and kick your shoes off. he followed suit and then didn’t waste another second bringing your lips to his again.

that urge he’s had all night only got stronger the more he kissed you. you reciprocated all of his actions and unspoken wants, pulling your hand through his pretty brunette locks and running your hand down his chest.

“i love you,” the boy mumbled between kisses.

“i love you,” you breathed.

he found your gaze for a second, wondering if this was right. wondering if you were sure about him. his thoughts were answered though when you grabbed ahold of his face to kiss him again and lead him to your bed.

needless to say, all of his anxieties were eased by the end of the night and the love he had for you had never been bigger.

[moonbaby26]

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Pairing: Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (plus a bit of Bellamy)

Warnings: language, non con, oral sex (male receiving), forced exhibitionism, vaginal sex, rough sex, punishment, pain, humiliation, blood, cruel!Doffy playing with his human toys, possessive/toxic/abusive/controlling relationship, reader is at their breaking point, reader has suicidal thoughts but does want to live, Doffy is just being shit

Synopsis: You are Doflamingo’s wife and the queen of Dressrosa. But this status does not absolve you from your husband’s particular brand of discipline or cruelty. After offending the mad king earlier in the day, you now must suffer the repercussions. But as always with him, things are often more complicated than they first appear.

Author’s Note: Oneshot mostly inspired by this single, overly suggestive (in my opinion) Doflamingo statue shared by @physics-of-one-piece . But also the Pink song of the same name here! Terrible, terrible flamingo man… 😅

Fic Masterlist

——————————

Poor Bellamy.

That had been your very first, very useless thought as the so called “Bullet of Dressrosa” had walked into the library grinning.

The smug look and new strut in his step told you that he was playing errand boy for your husband again.

What did Doflamingo want now?

You and your egomaniac spouse had had a rare, very loud, very public argument this morning in front of both his crew and the servants. Stemming from his continued tortures of the citizens in the underground of course.

Horrors you just couldn’t look the other way on any longer, if you ever really had. 

The servants had thought you’d just been angry on behalf of the prisoner gladiators from the colosseum and not the toys which languished all around them though.

You hadn’t given up your husband’s real secrets.

But he’d been so affected by your uncharacteristic defiance regardless. He’d been in a bad mood for days before now too really. Maybe this was just the final straw.

So you’d kept to yourself, drinking wine and reading in the palace library ever since. The king was too busy to have dealt with you immediately earlier.

But you knew that he would.

If you were lucky at all, it’d only be in the form of you begging for mercy tonight, beneath him in your shared bedroom again instead of strung up and screaming in the dungeons below.

Which was exactly what all this wine was for. By the time Joker would retire for the night, finally turning off the snails and coming for you like the savage he really was, you hoped to be as drunk and numb to him as humanly possible.

But that plan was now being derailed as you’d glanced up with tired, narrowed eyes to one of your king’s other biggest fools.

Second in idiocy only to you of course.

Because Bellamy hadn’t been the one to actually marry that monster after all.

Yet the young pirate was so embarrassingly proud as he’d approached you. His smiling face the straight up mimicry of his master’s normal expressions. “Doflamingo requests you at the pool, your highness. Immediately.”

And you didn’t like any of that either of course. Your brain churning with all the awful possibilities that could mean. Only doubly insulting to you with how oblivious Bellamy still seemed in it all.

As if it really were a simple summons and not a potential walk to the gallows.

But you had no choice. 

You never did.

“Fine.” You downed the rest of your wine glass before reluctantly placing your bookmark to leave the book you’d been working through on the table.

You’d straightened your dress as you’d stood, doing your best to ignore Bellamy’s now puffed out chest as he got the privilege of escorting you back through the corridors of your own home.

And soon out into the sunlight and exuberant voices of the courtyard that you were not at all in the mood for.

Most of the busty, string bikini crowd were there in full force, hitting a ball back and forth, splashing one another, and climbing in and out of the rectangular pool like it was their private playground. 

And Doflamingo himself was there as well, seated dead center as if on his throne. Purposefully choosing to be the visual focal point in all that other movement and noise.

Girls in g-string bottoms, who were carrying snacks and alcohol on trays for him, had to step out of your way as you did approach that large couch and Dressrosa’s smirking ruler with your arms crossed over your own body defensively.

It could have been comical for how overdressed you were in comparison to every other female now in this yard.

But you’d also already felt his harsh gaze from behind those sunglasses, roaming you the moment you’d stepped foot outside regardless.

He was always watching you.

Always ready to prey on you in one way or another.

“And where was the queen hiding this time?” Doflamingo questioned Bellamy, stretching his own long arms out across the back of that couch. In a way that spread his already open shirt even further to show off more of his muscular chest.

“She was in the library…sir.” And you heard just that hint of flustered reaction in Bellamy’s voice when more of the king’s tan skin and two pierced nipples had come into view. Those small gold piercings glinted briefly in the Dressrosan sun as they were exposed.

Which was Doflamingo’s attention seeking intent to begin with of course. Bellamy’s obvious obsession with his own captain being just another passing entertainment for this narcissist.

“Predictable.” Your husband scoffed at you and your comparative non reaction to his display however. “Were you pouting, reading your little morality tales then, darling? Did the unlikely hero triumph over the dark hearted conqueror yet?” 

And Doflamingo’s long tongue had edged briefly out at the mention of his fellow dark hearted, still trying so well to bait you.

“No. The villain still reigns. Healthy and immovable.” You answered coldly, looking dead into those reflective sunglasses. 

But you had no intention of bantering out here in the blazing heat either. You knew Doflamingo was going to do whatever he had already decided to do, whether you played along or not. “So just tell me why I’m here, and let’s be done with it.” You said, cutting to the chase.

Which his smile did finally fade at that. The rarer frown beginning instead. Which was always a far more honest expression in your experience.

Honest and wholly dangerous.

“Well…that is unfortunate. And here I thought you might have been willing to apologize for once.”

The change in his voice was actually very subtle, despite what he’d said. But the shift in his body language was not.

You could only stare at first as those previously crossed legs suddenly opened wide across the couch.

Very wide.

A provocative position you’d seen many times within the privacy of the royal chambers in fact. 

Always just before this animal would lasso your neck with string, and yank your face down to greet that hardened weapon he only barely concealed in the best of times.

And your body must have tensed in realization.

Because his voice was slipping into something more saccharine then as his teeth began to bare. “Something wrong, mi cariño?

It was akin to a rattlesnake’s rattle. 

But still another lie, in that this was not a warning at all when he had already chosen to bite you.

“Sugar.” Doflamingo then drawled to his other subordinate who had still been eating grapes beside him. “Be a dear and go find something else to do. Bring Dellinger with you too.”

And that little devil who was only “little” in her appearance looked up at him and then to you. But she was unbothered.

Sugar stood up on the couch with her basket of grapes, walking along the cushions before hopping off at the end to not have to climb over the new wall of her captain’s legs.

You only glanced as she did leave obediently with Dellinger moments later.

Baby 5, Buffalo, and Monet must already be elsewhere as well.

Your stomach was beginning to twist terribly. Your skin now felt clammy.

“You really are forgetting your place.” Doflamingo said more flatly there once they had gone.

But you wanted to now be dragged anywhere with less eyes instead, to have your punishment be carried out behind locked doors at least. Though the whole castle may still hear your cries.

“Doff-“

And his fingers jerked before you could finish even his nickname. His other hand had already moved down against himself too, the heel of his palm rubbing his groin roughly as you saw the shimmer of strings emerging in the sunlight.

Just before your knees slammed down to the stone tiles in front of that couch.

Hard enough that you made a gasp of real pain, with the bone of your knee caps losing easily to the stone.

Out the corner of your eye you saw Bellamy’s copycat smirk finally falter from where he still stood. 

But his master’s chest rumbled in a deep chuckle, in tandem with the delayed quieting of the remainder of the courtyard.

“No one else leaves this yard without my permission!” Doflamingo ordered much louder then as you stayed kneeled before him. 

The new desperation must have been fully in your eyes too as you saw his head tilt at you in response.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You didn’t mind at all when everyone was watching us earlier, did you? Disagreeing with me, chastising me. I’m only giving you more of that audience you so clearly desire, aren’t I?”

Doflamingo’s thighs were still spread, almost unnaturally in that extreme flexibility of his. Your face so close to all the bright fabric and body heat.

“So get to work then.” He commanded you next. “Because the pavement is hot too isn’t it? It’ll only scorch that soft skin more and more, the longer you delay, dearest.” His dark smirk curled upward again.

And it was beginning to burn. The ache of the initial hit fading enough for you to feel that hot stone through the thin fabric of your dress you were now kneeling on.

But even as your trembling fingers began undoing the drawstrings of his pants, he still did not relent in his continued cruelty.

Even this was not yet enough for him.

“Bellamy.” Doflamingo said abruptly, with insulting informality in the context of what was already being done to you. “Come here and hold her hair back from her face. She’ll be sweating soon enough in this travesty of a dress. I don’t need that dripping on me too.”

And that was just another purposeful barb by him to twist the knife even further.

Because the long sleeved, ankle length dresses which had become your seemingly pious trademark among Dressrosa’s people were solely the product of his own behavior.

You would have loved to feel the freedom of the breeze on your skin again, and even the sunlight too in reasonable doses.

But all that extra fabric was there to cover your ugly tapestry of scars no matter the weather.

Years of string cuts, and the constant bites, bruises, and sucking marks left behind from this largest physical and emotional leech that the New World had ever seen.

Yet even Bellamy’s blind obedience must have stuttered at such a surprising order.

Because you saw the impatience beginning in Doflamingo all over again.

The Heavenly Demon scowled threateningly. “Are you even listening to me, Bellamy?”

“Yes, sir! It’s just…” He stammered. “You always said we’re not allowed to-“

“To touch the queen?” Doflamingo finished the words for him. With his brows lowering in a way that meant he was now glaring through the both of you. “But who owns the queen?” Doflamingo questioned as his hateful voice grew that much louder again. “I do.” He then answered his own question for everyone. “So hold her tightly while she completes her punishment.”

And you’d never felt more worthless. More defeated than you did then and there as Bellamy’s clumsy fingers scraped the sides of your face in front of everyone.

He couldn’t risk his master’s ire by hesitating further.

But the heartless king just smiled again as soon as Bellamy’s black leather pants came to brush behind you. The younger man held your hair out of the way just as instructed. Your scalp in his grip as well, as he stood behind you with one leg on either side of your own while you still kneeled.

Your husband relaxed back into the couch at this submissive sight. Pleased at last with his hips jutting forward just that bit more towards you.

Of course Doflamingo wouldn’t let himself be caught lacking in front of everyone either. That was why he’d been rubbing his groin harshly with his hand before.

Between that physical touch and the view of you now helpless before him like this, you knew he’d be fully up and ready by the time you did get those awful capris pants pulled all the way open.

The only unexpected thing for you was in the way you did feel Bellamy’s grip twitch against your skull when Doflamingo’s long cock had indeed sprung free into the air.

This was surely Bellamy’s first time ever seeing it at all.

And part of you wanted to reprimand the fool to say that this wasn’t the time to be impressed.

But you’d fallen for it all too in the beginning. Hadn’t you?

So hot and bothered for Doflamingo when you were younger. Easily seduced and dumb enough to think yourself lucky whenever this pirate had first obsessively courted and then fucked you over years ago.

When he’d deceived you with both his body and his words, pretending that that initial level of care and attention was the real him.

Long before you knew just how many nights you’d only be bleeding around this torture device instead of worshipping it. 

Doflamingo’s rock hard cock had never been intended for anyone’s pleasure but his own. 

And he quickly proved this again, still smiling as he’d given it an abrupt stroke from base to tip before aiming it directly for your mouth.

The courtyard was fully silent.

The king and queen of this country were about to perform public fellatio all because you’d dissented one time too many in front of others this morning.

Doflamingo had hurt you so many times, in so many ways.

But not like this.

Your tears were forming before his length ever touched your lips. Before he forced his way past them. The head of that thick cock moving beyond your teeth immediately after.

“Push her head down.” He grunted at Bellamy, trying to angle himself deeper already without letting his ass fully leave the couch.

And you gagged as soon as that command was dutifully followed.

“That’s it.” Your husband only laughed at your clear distress. “Get a rhythm going, you two.”

It was humiliation beyond words. Spit slid down your chin and the tears ran quickly to join it. Bellamy only made it so much worse every time too, as you’d tried briefly to resist those subsequent pushes.

You needed to breathe, but you were given no time to. You were being fully choked by the continued shoves and the slamming of the king’s cock against the back of your throat.

But Doflamingo didn’t care.

“Harder.” He ordered again, voice urgent even as heavier arousal already began to cloud it. It took him no time at all to be consumed by these sensations.

His perfectly defined abdominal muscles began tensing and releasing already as his breathing quickened while you only gagged on him again and again.

He was getting off too much, too fast actually as your mouth moved up and down against your will with every further push.

You understood his body’s signs well. Meaning, Doflamingo would have to force himself to calm back down if he wanted this to last at all.

But you knew all the other things which would set him off as well. You could stop this here and now by using any of those tricks.

Yet only if you didn’t fear what else he would do to you in return. But did that really matter anymore?

As dark as your thoughts often became in this hell, you’d never really tried to do it.

You’d never wanted to end yourself with your own two hands.

Just as you’d never been able to harm him either. Even when he slept beside you, vulnerable and taunting you each night with that trust of his steady heartbeat beneath your hand. So guiltless and comfortable, regardless of whatever new sins he’d committed against you and others every single day.

You could never pick up a knife or one of his pistols, no matter how many nights you’d lain awake knowing that you should.

Because he was the villain of this story.

But you were not the hero.

You were nothing.

And you could not endure it any longer.

You still couldn’t breathe. But you could make your hand move as it came up without warning and thrust itself into those still open pants to grab your panting king right by his most vulnerable flesh.

His sensitive sack, big and heavy as always as you squeezed those balls so hard just beneath the base of his now spit soaked cock.

Doflamingo gasped in your surprise attack. His thighs jerking, with long legs trying to close defensively in his moment of true pain.

Yet your monster liked pain.

And you knew exactly what his body would actually do in further reaction as he’d tried to pull back out of your mouth to stop that overstimulation in time. 

But Bellamy hadn’t understood what was happening of course.

Bellamy had kept you pushed tight onto his master’s length just as ordered instead of releasing you.

Enough that Doflamingo couldn’t escape as he did cum prematurely right then and there. Fully unwilling as those hot ropes of semen spattered your airway and the king of Dressrosa shuddered pitiably with an angry moan.

You’d ruined his show.

You’d just made it look like the strongest man on this island, and maybe in all of this part of the Grand Line had no sexual stamina at all.

A brutal knee did impact your chest in immediate retribution, knocking you back fiercely with a crack of bone to bone.

But Doflamingo’s cock had finally left your mouth in all of that chaos.

You were coughing and sputtering while Bellamy hit the ground with you. The force had been too unexpected for him when you’d slammed into him.

And as you’d laid on Bellamy, with your lungs trying to refill, your terror had also waited for the strings to begin ripping through you both.

Yet the very next scream wasn’t either of yours.

It was your husband’s. 

“Get her out of my sight! NOW!” Doflamingo practically roared in the purest of that white hot rage.

And your muscles had frozen.

But Bellamy’s hadn’t. His reflex had been to fall right back into that hopeless obedience. 

He’d picked you up as if you were weightless. His springs had coiled at his legs, and he’d launched you both from the courtyard and that eruption of true fury within a single leap.

——————————

You were still shaking. Bellamy had cleared the roof easily, and the two of you had landed elsewhere on the king’s plateau.

At some point he’d realized his arms were still fully around you. And it was almost as if that impropriety was what frightened him even more as he abruptly let go.

Your feet met the ground and you stumbled before straightening up to look at him still in your own shock. But whatever you’d first wanted to say to him didn’t come. His expression looked so lost. Yet he wouldn’t make eye contact with you now.

So your gaze drifted down to his deeply breathing chest instead. And right to your husband’s jolly roger that Bellamy had so stupidly defiled his own body with a tattoo of.

That mark was no different than all the scars that branded your own chest.

You and Bellamy were the same.

“Go!” Your voice broke as you finally found it. “Leave while he’s still distracted by his rage at me! Take the first ship out of port and never-“

“No.” Bellamy cut you off through a clenched jaw. His stare at last met yours. That momentary confusion was already leaving him. Denial was flooding back in again to cover it. “This is just another test of our loyalty. He-”

And you wanted to either strike him then, or fall to your knees and beg.

“He doesn’t care about us!” You screamed through a hoarse voice.

Because who would feel anything for an ant or a fly, even if killing them accidentally? 

Doflamingo saw himself as a god.

And you were all only the pawns. Every single one fully replaceable.

But Bellamy’s heart wasn’t yet shredded like yours. He still had optimism, he had lies and excuses one after another.

“It’s not Joker’s job to care! He only wants the strong in this family...he chose us!” Bellamy dared, even with his head bowed submissively to you.

You were still the queen. He thought you were somehow above him. You could not reason to deaf ears.

You let out a sound of pained frustration, turning your back to him in a twirl of your dress as you headed for the walking path which led back towards the palace.

There was nowhere else for you to go. Nowhere in all this world or any sea that the devil wouldn’t hunt you down to finish this.

“Then be well, Bellamy. Survive in this prison for as long as you still can. And if I don’t see you again…then by your logic, that just means one of us wasn’t strong enough for this family.” You said with another exhale through tears while you walked away. 

But you heard that continued delusion behind you even then, though he did not try to stop you. 

“You’re his wife…he wouldn’t...”

“He would.” You promised.

————————————

You didn’t change your clothes once back inside. You didn’t clean your face or try to hide. You just laid on your and Doflamingo’s bed, curled and listless while you awaited the inevitable.

You closed your eyes and eventually dreamed of nothing.

Because miracles weren’t real. And heroes didn’t exist.

Darkness had fully crept over that room by the time your eyes did open again.

The sun was gone, and the monster’s weight was already pressing you down painfully into the mattress.

The bed creaked as strong hands bunched your dress up from behind and then yanked you up onto your knees.

Doflamingo grabbed you by the back of your neck after, keeping your face and chest shoved down so very hard as his hips lined up to what he first wished to take.

He never allowed you to wear underwear any longer. So there was no other barrier before you’d cried out as he’d slammed himself into you at full force.

There was no foreplay, no words of warning. He was just fucking you relentlessly at very first contact, growling like a vengeful animal while he stabbed into you over and over.

The bedsheets had always been dark fabric of one hue or another for this very reason. So the frequent blood stains didn’t annoy him when they rarely laundered out well. Those droplets that’d be running from you soon enough while your eyes remained tightly shut.

His thrusts became too rapid, too close together for the pain to even separate anymore then. It was just constant, and debilitating as your tears ran freely again.

And then it was over.

Doflamingo shuddered violently, and you felt that final pulse from the base of him as hot seed overran your insides just the same as he’d done to your throat hours ago.

That man was briefly on all fours after releasing your neck again. He panted with his torso still high over your back and his arms walling you in on either side. He was holding himself up with both his hands splayed against the bed.

It took him a moment to regather his voice as he recovered.

But the sound was still rough, not its normal smoothness at all when he did at last speak.

“You have been a very stupid bitch as of late…”

His excess release was still dripping from you as he slid that now softening cock back out. And with your differing heights, he actually had to crawl backwards on the mattress. Enough to even your and his shoulders up before he collapsed down on top of you. 

You grunted in further pain for that additional physical insult as well. 

He was fully nude, his chest hot against your still clothed back. His lips brushed your ear as you kept your face turned to the side against the bed. 

“Answer me when I’m speaking to you, dearest.” He warned lowly.

You obeyed reflexively through the continued tears when your eyes had opened again. “I…I just couldn’t breathe.” In the courtyard earlier, when you’d made your surely fatal choice in order to stop that public assault. “I couldn’t take it…I can’t anymore…”

And he laughed at you. Right in your ear.

Just before he bit it.

You cried out again, trying to curl up once more to keep him from tearing into anything else.

But his hands forced between you and the bedding. Your thighs stung as he raked those claws over your legs to break into the thin layers of skin once his fingers had clamped down.

“Doffy!” You begged without shame by then. Not for your life, no. It was far too late for that. You just wanted it all to be done. You wanted it to be quick.

And his laugh was even louder that time.

His angriest version of it actually.

“You don’t even understand why you’re being punished, do you!?”

His voice was rising. The same as when he’d yelled at you this morning before you’d hid yourself away in the library.

But you couldn’t meet him there this time. 

You were done.

Your voice was so quiet in contrast, but wholly broken as your fingers dug helplessly into the sheets. 

“Please, Doffy! Just do it already!”

He was still holding your thighs. The torn skin there now dripping blood into his palms. He grabbed harder into that mess, his body still laid over yours with his suffocating weight.

“You fucking idiot!” He was furious, and he bit the side of your face that time. Those white teeth nailing you right at your jawline from behind in retaliation.

And you thrashed in reaction, but he was far too heavy. All the cursing and crying in the world wouldn’t move him an inch now.

“You think this is what I want!?” He screamed at you fully then. You didn’t have to look back to know the blood vessels in his forehead would be throbbing.

But you had no chance to even try to answer either before those same blood stained hands flipped you. He was back up on his knees, straddling you as you were thrown down to the mattress all over again.

The sunglasses were gone. His eyes were widened in that familiar rage as his teeth grit above you.

You stared up at him, helpless with your throat and underbelly now facing the beast. 

He could eviscerate you. He could paint this entire room red.

Yet he didn’t.

Doflamingo grabbed your tear stained, bleeding face instead.

“I don’t care about what you did in the courtyard. I was never going to leave them as witnesses regardless. They’re already gone.” He hissed, with his voice dropping again from his prior outburst.

And your confusion was real. As was the new heartbreak of your eventual realization. Because of course he was right. You could still remember the emotion, the humiliation of being watched in the courtyard today.

But you couldn’t remember any names, no actual faces. They were gone, purged from your memory.

All but one?

“No. It’s why you did it. That is what matters. You’re being punished for this goddamn addiction of yours!” He kept right on talking though, not letting you focus on trying to yet reason out any of it. “You and your self pity! Your self destruction! You don’t get to decide when you leave me! You don’t get to leave here at all!”

And then his mouth was over yours.

Doflamingo had leaned down, his lips capturing your own in a way that was equal parts desperation and extreme frustration. 

His fingers had moved into your hair. He was pulling it as he kissed you over and over.

But even he had to breathe. Your eyes had stayed open in your fear, and you saw the way his lips jerked downward against his will in the brief moments he’d come up for air.

He was so emotional. He was fighting it and losing completely.

His eyes even looked pained, confused when he had fully paused again.

“I saw it…clearer than ever this time.” Yet the accusation against you was still so evident in his tone. “You wanted me to kill you. And…I…if that mongrel Bellamy had been any slower...”

Yes, Bellamy was the one name and face that still existed in your mind from earlier. He had not been taken to Sugar then, even while all the rest had. Bellamy had been the only one to whisk you away before his master could give in to those worst impulses.

“Doffy…” The sudden tenderness in your own voice disgusted you just as much as your hand that then reached for your husband’s face.

This was an incurable disease, a terminal affliction.

And he leaned his face into that touch without hesitation. 

“I only spared him because of that. At least for tonight.” Doflamingo finally admitted. His deep voice was so much quieter while you petted him. 

Bellamy had saved your life then.

And you had fully scared your own captor in how close it’d come to being otherwise.

“I do want to live.” His rare honesty brought out much the same in you. “But I’m so tired…I really am.” You told him.

“I know.” He was laying on you fully again, chest to chest as he buried his face against yours. He only shifted to grab the blanket, pulling it over the both of you protectively. “But it doesn’t mean you can leave me. You can’t ever do that…”

You were stroking his scalp by then, still feeling suffocated under his significant weight as his eyes closed against your skin. 

“I’m sorry, baby…” You whispered like the gutless thing you really were.

You weren’t even allowed to die once you’d finally tried to.

The last light of hope was fully gone.

“I still love you.” And he checked those locks to say it to you of course. He had to always make sure you hadn’t loosened a single, invisible chain between the two of you before he could rest again.

You belonged only to him.

“I love you too.” You tried not to whimper in your shame.

But the tone didn’t matter to him. It was enough for you to also still be saying it.

Every day, every night, year after year until the true end. 

He was the villain. You were the pet.

That would never change until a real hero could step in. Until storms and miracles would one day come that you didn’t yet believe in.

You didn’t even know that that was the stuff of your lover’s nightmares. As his arms wrapped you tightly, needfully. 

You dreamed of freedom. 

But he feared the day that it would finally come true.

——————————

End.

Thank you for reading! 💖🦩

[loganhowlettshousewife]

hi, i absolutely love your animal series and can not wait to read all of your diversity december fics but especially the one about an autistic reader! if it's something you'd like to write and/or something that you have the time to fit in would you consider writing a logan x autistic!reader who is having one of those days where their taste buds are all out of whack and he is trying so hard to find something that you can eat because he refuses to let you go to bed without food. maybe a bit of trial and error in their too, like he makes you something but you just can't eat it and expect him to get mad but he's so nice and gentle about it. thanks and don't worry if not 💛

logan howlett x autistic!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

you may have a meltdown if this day gets any worse. all you want is to go to bed, to shut your eyes to the too-bright lights and fall into a slumber where you don’t have to deal with the buzzing under your skin. tomorrow you’ll wake up feeling marginally better, and you’ll move on as you always do.

but logan’s protective, obsessive about taking care of you, and refuses to let you go to bed without eating. usually it’s nice to have someone like him around, helpful when you’re often forgetting to take care of yourself in such ways, and it’s likely that tomorrow you’ll be grateful to him for feeding you, but right now you’re just tired and overstimulated.

nothing tastes right, your taste buds are all out of whack, and no matter what he makes you, you’re pretty sure it will only make you feel worse. even some of your safe foods aren’t sounding very safe food-y at the moment.

he’s wrapped a weighted blanket around you, turned the lights off in your shared room so that the only illumination comes from the open window, the golden glow of the setting sun. you focus on your breathing, in and out, the texture and weight of the blanket, the rocking motion of your body, back and forth.

there’s a quiet knock on your door, logan letting you know he’s returned, making sure he doesn’t catch you off guard when you’re in this state. he enters with a plate of food, one of your safe foods, and yet when you have the plate in your hands, when you have a forkful of food in your mouth, all you can feel is nausea crawling up your esophagus.

“i can’t,” you choke out, pushing it back into his hands, swallowing against the lump in your throat and pressure in your chest, “just let me sleep. i’ll be better tomorrow.”

he stands by your bedside but doesn’t come any closer, allowing you full control of the situation, letting you decide what kind of proximity you can handle right now. his eyes are so gentle, so understanding, and the kindness he affords you only makes you feel worse.

you wish he would shout at you, call you impossible the way your parents did, throw his hands in the air and tell you to deal with it yourself if you’re going to be difficult. his reactions are an unknown in a world that you thought you finally understood, and it scares you sometimes, how easily he breaks through your walls with his helpful nature and quiet admittances of somewhat understanding the way you’re feeling.

“you can’t go to bed without food,” he says, as if he doesn’t do it all the time. but he wants you to be healthy, never wants you to imitate his bad habits.

tears prick at your eyes, frustration rising in your chest, anger at yourself and at him and at the world and at your brain for being the way it is. he catches your hands before you can bury them into the skin of your arms, nails digging into the flesh, the only way you’re able to let out the volatile energy coursing through you.

“i’ll eat this, you don’t have to,” he continues, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, “just tell me something you think you can eat. anything. it doesn’t have to be big or a full meal. and i’ll go make it for you.”

he’s too gentle with you, too kind, too understanding. it’s something you never thought you’d find in a relationship, not when you’ve been told your entire life that it’s too difficult to deal with your issues. but if logan’s willing to put in the effort, you tell yourself that you’ll try too, push yourself to be the person he thinks you can be.

so you let your head fall into his chest. he doesn’t touch you, doesn’t push your boundaries any further, just lets you rest there while you think, while you cycle through all your safe foods to find the least offensive of them. and when you whisper it against the soft, worn material of his shirt, he smiles down at you and says, “okay.”

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

autistic!reader: @thegothempress @z0m3r-blud @yourlocalmerchgirl

[mrs-kodzuken]

early christmas ⟢ rintarou s.

synopsis: you get an early christmas gift from your boyfriend and love it beyond no end, timeskip!suna x fem!reader, christmas time, fluff, short fic

“You've been on that thing forever, at this rate you’re likely to forget me soon.” Rin deadpanned, almost regretting buying that damned thing for you.

Almost.

He could see how happy it made you, especially now that when he got on the game with his friends, you weren’t completely lonely with your new switch lite.

Of course, Christmas was coming up but with being stuck in the house for days due to snow and not being able to make it to work, he knew the best solution for his dear girlfriend.

He watched carefully as you concentrated on digging perfect holes to place trees in, your face was definitely one to remember. He loved seeing your joy filled face as you explained the animal crossing terms to him, even though he'd probably forget half of them within the next hour.

"Uhh, nuh uh." you retorted, not even looking up at him from where he was standing. After Rintarou surprised you with an early Christmas present, even though the big day was less than a week away, you could not stop playing. It was like an excitement that was slowly becoming an addiction.

You took your nintendo lite with you everywhere, to the bathroom when taking long, relaxing baths, to the bar in the kitchen where you both eat breakfast.

And even so far as playing it in public during downtime if you both were able to leave the house. You loved every minute of your new game console, especially since it was in your favorite color too.

However, Suna had to draw some lines when you pulled an all-nighter playing your game because you 'just had to get something done'.

"I think it's mostly your fault though, you let me open it early, so." you trailed off, sticking your tongue out wherever you thought he was from your peripheral.

Your eyes stuck to your little character as she ran around the plaza trying to talk with every villager. You couldn’t help but to get so happy when you saw the Christmas decorations around your island. As well as hounding on your game for so long, day and night, you were able to make lots of progress.

You barely noticed that Suna sat down beside you on the king sized bed, his PS5 left on and if you really paid attention, you could hear his friends calling for him.

"Love, at least give me a kiss before you leave off into the island of Y/n." he joked, you tore your eyes away from the screen and started to feel bad in the way that you were ignoring your boyfriend.

"I'm sorry Rinnie, I just really love the game, but I'll be sure to take breaks and spend actual quality time with you." you promised, saving and putting your game console away.

The relief basically melted off of Suna, now he finally understands the other side of the story when he used to not pay enough attention to you when gaming.

"Thanks, love." he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, relishing in the fact that he could taste the leftover dark chocolate crumbs on your lips from when you snack as you play.

"You're such an angel, you know that right? My angel." he couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face when you laughed and rolled your eyes. You were such the purest sight ever to him, this is what he missed. Of course he loves when you have an enjoyable hobby but physical contact was so much better in his opinion.

"Want to ditch the games for the rest of the night and watch a Christmas movie with me?" you giggled into his black sweatshirt, it smelling of his fancy body wash that you gifted him as a 'just because' gift.

"Obviously, anything to spend more time with you love." he hopped up, turning off his own gaming console and sending a text to his group chat before lounging with you in bed.

After a small discussion on which streaming service, you both finally decided on Hulu to watch Elf.

As the movie played and the lights were dimmed in the bedroom, you got sentimental, watching Rintarou’s handsome features being lit up by the movie.

"You know, I'm really grateful for my gift. I love it." you said quietly, hiding your face even though you both have been together for almost four years now.

He squeezed you tighter to him, loving your small confession, his heart felt unbearably warm at the act.

"I'm glad love, only the best for you." he kissed your temple knowing that his small confession would ring true when he got the balls to get the ring box out of his sock drawer and pop the question.

But for now, he smiled and watched your reactions to the movie, wondering how he got so lucky. 

a/n: hihi! i've been obsessed with animal crossing lately, so sorry i've been inactive!! i hope you enjoy, and requests are open! <3

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 23

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

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

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

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

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

Sitting on the hard concrete platform of your cell, you were scheming every possible way to kill Noah when he crossed your path. From plucking out his hair with tweezers to tearing out his guts with your nails.

All the humiliation you endured when you were approached and locked in this smelly square, he was going to pay back double, with interest. It was a surprise to you when the police stopped you just a few meters from your house. They had received a report that the car you were driving was stolen, and since you had no idea where the paperwork was, you had to go with them.

The Jaguar was registered in Gerard's name, of course. Noah couldn't possibly afford a month of a car like that when he was still paying off the damage you had caused to the other vehicle. While it was impressive that he had borrowed a car to cross the city looking for you, you couldn't help but think about how dirty he had played after your departure.

“Hey!” the guard called out in a dragging tone as he unlocked and opened the cell. “You’re free to go.”

“Finally!” You stood up from where you were sitting, planted your feet firmly on the ground, and tossed your hair back.

Standing at the reception, waiting for your belongings, a shadow covered the light from the lamp when he positioned himself behind you, causing immediate tension in the guard. From the irritated clearing of his throat and the absolute silence, you knew Jolly wasn't happy about being woken up in the middle of the night.

“I want to go back to my cell…” you whispered to the guard, leaning over the counter.

“Not happening.” He handed you your belongings with a barely contained smile, and you shot him a narrowed look before grabbing your phone, purse, and keys, turning to face Jolly’s serious gaze, which immediately made your shoulders shrink.

Still silent, he walked ahead toward the station doors, and your hurried steps, despite wearing heels, managed to keep up. You hated when your best friend stayed silent for so long—perhaps because you knew exactly what would happen when he finally spoke.

“Honestly? I’m almost afraid to ask how you ended up here.” Jolly shook his head as he adjusted himself in the driver’s seat.

“Jolly…” you admonished, pretending to be offended. “This time, I really didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Then how did you go from an awards ceremony—where, oddly enough, you behaved all night—to a police station hours later, wearing your ex-boyfriend’s jacket and accused of stealing your record label owner’s car?”

“Noah Sebastian.”

“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

He rolled his eyes with a groan, banging his head against the steering wheel. It wasn’t the best moment, but you couldn’t help but burst into laughter at how absurd the situation seemed when viewed from the outside.

“I’m not going to tell you again to be careful with these games you and he play. If someone leaked this or took a single photo, you know exactly how the next few days will unfold, don’t you?” he warned, spinning the steering wheel with an indignant tone. “He went after you, didn’t he?”

“Yes…” You sank into the car seat, biting your lips. It was complicated to bring up his name without recalling every detail of the bar still etched into your brain—like the scent of him on your skin.

“I could say something, but I think I’d better stay quiet.”

“I actually care about what you have to say, Jolly.”

A string of insults? A harsh dose of reality? A mix of mockery about your situation? It was inevitable to guess what he was about to unload, but no matter what it was, he had a way of making any word sink in and stick, often breaking through your stubbornness.

“So I’ll ask just one question, and I want you to be as honest with me as we always are with each other in all our conversations, okay?”

You nodded without taking your eyes off his side profile, tight-lipped as he dodged cars on the fog-clogged road.

“Do you honestly think that allowing any kind of intimate moment last night won’t make things worse between you two?” He threw the question while stopping at a red light, and out of the corner of his eye, Jolly noticed your face shift as you looked away toward the dashboard. “I’m not talking about you; we both know how you’ve handled the breakup since it happened. I’m talking about him…”

“He wanted it just as much as I did.”

“Of course he did, girl!” he retorted, snapping you out of your reverie. “He hasn’t thought about anything else since you left, and last night, you handed him the perfect opportunity. But I’m talking about what happens tomorrow. Noah will wake up alone again. He’ll see that the problems between you two still exist and that he didn’t solve everything with a snap of his fingers like you made it seem. That’s the part that worries me, you get it?”

The light turned green, and you pressed your fingers together as the car moved forward once more. Jolly was right; you would treat it as a mistake that shouldn’t have happened. As difficult as it might be, you’d try to keep moving forward. But for him, the weight of that night, layered atop the hurt he already carried, was far greater.

Hurting him with an impulsive act had never been your intention. But the magnetic pull that drew your bodies together in that moment spoke beyond reason, as if, for that fleeting time, there were no endings, no anger, no pain, no lies, or anything bad that had driven you apart.

In the end, it was just you and him.

Him and you.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed him…” you said softly, almost embarrassed, as you picked at the loose skin around your nail. A wound formed there, but you kept pulling until the trail of blood stretched longer. “But it’s not just his body I miss, Jolly. I miss my friend Noah, you know? I miss staying up all night talking nonsense with him, hearing him laugh until he chokes, sharing a space with him where the energy feels different, singing truly with him, composing, sharing ideas, making plans…”

You didn’t know what it was like to make long-term plans anymore. You had never pictured yourself going so far before him. It was usually Noah who injected confidence into your veins, who pushed your mind to believe it was worth living longer. You just wanted more time with him and begged the universe every day to extend it.

But now that plea was useless. You didn’t know how to use that time alone.

“I know how you feel. I miss my friend Noah too,” Jolly said for the first time in a more melancholic tone, keeping his eyes on the road. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him swallowing hard, as if struggling with something. “The same one who insists he died almost two years ago.”

With the silence of thought that situation brought to both of you, Jolly reached your street and stopped in front of your house. You took a deep breath as you glanced sideways at the road leading to the front door, dark due to the absence of street and porch lights.

"Are you okay staying here alone tonight? The guys and I are spending the night at the studio. You could keep us company; I’m sure anything there is more comfortable than this house..." he said, his eyes comically wide, drawing a smile from you.

"I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow. I definitely won’t be productive at the studio at this point."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged. "You're gonna miss out on pizza."

You let out a quick laugh and shook your head at his sarcastic remark. Jolly said goodbye with a light touch to your hand, and you closed the passenger door, holding your belongings and high heels in your hand as you made your way to the entrance.

The drizzle kept hammering against the asphalt, each cold drop serving as a soundtrack to your uneven steps. The shoes in your hand felt as heavy as if they were made of lead, but something else began to unsettle you: a creeping sensation that something wasn’t right.

It was when you reached your front door that you noticed it was ajar. Your heart raced. For a moment, you stood still, staring at the small dark gap between the door and the frame, trying to rationalize. Had you forgotten to lock it? Could the wind have pushed it open? But deep down, you knew neither of those made sense.

The unease rose in your chest like a tide. Your trembling fingers touched the damp wood, carefully pushing the door open. The sound of it scraping against the floor echoed in the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. Inside, the house was completely dark, except for the faint light from the street casting long, distorted shadows on the walls.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, its flashlight trembling along with your hand as it lit up the hallway ahead.

"Hello?" Your voice came out weak, almost swallowed by the heavy silence.

No response.

Every step you took seemed to echo louder than the last. The air inside the house was still, suffocating, yet there was something about it — a presence you couldn’t quite pinpoint. The flashlight swept over furniture, corners, slightly open doors, but revealed nothing beyond shadows and silence.

You checked every room. The living room was untouched, the couch exactly as you had left it. The kitchen was empty, but the cabinet doors seemed strangely ajar, as if someone had rummaged through them.

"Is anyone here?" you tried again, your voice slightly steadier but still met with no reply.

Your chest tightened, fear beginning to blend with anger, a natural reaction to the vulnerability you hated feeling. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking beneath your weight. Upstairs, you checked the bedrooms, the bathroom, even the hallway closet. Nothing.

Finally, you stopped in the center of the house, clutching your phone as if it were your only line of defense against the void. Your breathing was quick, almost gasping. There was no one there. There was nothing.

And yet, the weight in your mind remained, as though something invisible was watching you. You tried convincing yourself it was just your imagination, that the ajar door had been a mistake, and all of this was the result of an overly long night.

You turned off the flashlight, the phone’s light vanishing and plunging the house back into darkness. The silence now felt even more oppressive, almost deafening.

And still, the feeling that you weren’t alone refused to fade.

The next day, the weather seemed gloomier, and you barely slept due to the paranoia implanted in your mind that someone had entered your house while you were away. After torturing yourself with those thoughts for hours, you finally dozed off just minutes before your alarm went off.

Showered and dressed, you yawned while hurrying down the stairs to head to the studio. If this was the life you had, it was up to you to at least try to make things right, even if just a little. That included pretending you cared about this project.

Not for the label. Not for that idiot Noah. Least of all for yourself. But your friends deserved for the band to still be taken seriously, for their dreams and efforts not to go to waste.

They believed in you and hadn’t let go of your hand even when everything fell apart. It was only fair to push this forward for their sake. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t done this before—finding yourself in places you didn’t want to be.

On the sidewalk near the studio, you slowed your pace, letting yourself drift into thought. In truth, you were reflecting on how it would be to face him after everything that happened the night before.

But he landed you in jail by the end of the night, you thought. Though that was just a detail, as at that moment, you were trying to channel your energy into a different kind of memory.

It had been a while since you’d felt him, since you’d been so close and exchanged anything other than insults. With the growing distance, you’d gradually gotten unused to Noah’s physical presence. You’d forgotten what his touch felt like, the texture and natural scent of his skin, the way he worshiped and knew your body as if he lived to study every part of it.

All of it resurfaced in seconds as your memory returned.

You didn’t want to think a single night could change everything between you or erase over a year of suffering—it was impossible. But part of you thought about clinging to it as soon as you stepped through the studio gates and heard his voice.

Noah was out of tune, and you dared to say his voice was dragging as if being there was a huge sacrifice. Dressed warmly despite the studio not being that cold, he had drooping eyes that betrayed a sleepless night and seemed utterly distracted as the guys discussed sound adjustments.

“Sorry I’m late…” you said, drawing attention to yourself.

“It’s not like it made much of a difference,” he replied, sharp-tongued as ever.

“I think I did make a difference if you consider the tone you’re singing in. Need help?” you countered, challenging him.

“I need you to stop interrupting the rehearsal.”

“Great! Then you won’t mind if I head back home to watch a series and do my nails?” you retorted, narrowing your eyes with a fake smile as you walked toward him.

The guys slumped their shoulders in dismay, realizing how close the exchange of barbs was to turning into a real argument. You had left home determined not to give the devil a voice, which included avoiding trivial fights with Noah—even if he was begging for attention.

Slowly, you stepped up onto the short stage and adjusted yourself behind your microphone, your fingers tapping on it as the intro began.

“If you think you’re getting away with your stunt last night…” you muttered, glancing at him sideways.

“Try something, and I’ll make sure you spend more than a night in jail, you pickpocket!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“You should be ashamed to call me a thief when your wallet had twenty dollars, and the car wasn’t even yours!” Your attempt at whispering seemed to fail with every sentence.

“Twenty dollars you didn’t return.”

“It’s the fee for putting up with you!”

“I thought your services were a bit pricier.” He shot back, amusement lacing his voice as he watched your chest puff up in fury.

“GO TO HELL, JERK!”

Noah only tightened his fake smile at you before turning back to adjust his microphone and start singing. Fine. You’d just broken your promise not to let him get under your skin today.

During the song, you focused on your part but couldn’t ignore his unusual behavior. Noah was breathing harder than usual during breaks, his voice still fluctuating, and he couldn’t hit all the notes, needing your help to complete them.

By the end of the first song, you saw him stop and rest his forehead against the microphone, leaving a strange feeling lingering over you.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly.

“Just a headache.”

“How long have you had a headache?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s keep going,” he said, lifting his gaze and motioning with his chin for the guys to move on to the next song.

“I think we should stop for today.”

“If you want to stop, you can just leave,” he snapped, his tone curt as he began the intro to the next song.

Noah couldn’t keep up the rhythm, not even until the chorus, when his body leaned forward, and his fingers pressed against his temple. Everyone stopped immediately, and you set your microphone aside to help him to the couch.

The pain he was feeling clenched his jaw, and his teeth were so tightly pressed together that you could clearly hear them grinding.

"Hey!" You called out as you crouched in front of him, and in a sudden motion, he grabbed your hand. Noah was gripping it too tightly, perhaps causing some pain, but you didn’t care.

"My head hurts so much I can't see," he groaned, his voice a near-painful rasp.

"Let’s take him to a doctor," Ruffilo appeared, concern etched on his face, but Noah tightened his grip on your hand and shook his head.

"No, I don’t need a doctor."

"Alright, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to..."

"What?" Jolly interrupted. "We don’t even know what the hell is wrong with him, and you're just going to listen to him?"

"Rehearsal’s suspended for today. I’ll take him home once he’s better."

You gave the order without turning to face them, your thumb never leaving his skin for even a second. In that moment, your heart felt like it was racing; you needed to be certain of where you were standing, as if afraid.

Afraid of truly losing him.

The boys, confused and irritated by your decision, left the studio. You remained there, crouched, waiting for him to lift his head while fighting your own uneven breaths.

"I know you hate headache medication, but since you don’t want to see a doctor, I don’t see another option." You shrugged with the suggestion, and he just groaned.

"I’m just really stressed. There’s nothing a doctor can do for me unless it’s a lobotomy." He rolled his eyes, and you smiled.

"Hey, but that’d destroy most of your memories, I’d imagine. Do you really want to forget everything?"

Noah paused for a few seconds, as if he needed extra time to process your words through the sharp pain. He seemed to drift away, and gradually the force he was using on your hand subsided, leaving a cold air between you.

"Just the last nine years."

Your smile vanished as quickly as the thought hit you. You could barely feel the pins and needles in your heels; the burning in your chest was stronger.

"Makes sense," you muttered, pressing your lips together slowly. "Memory loss is the least of it in cases like this. You’d basically become a vegetable—your brain wouldn’t work anymore, nor your basic functions..."

"Not much different from how I live now."

You swallowed hard when you heard his raw words and saw his downcast gaze, the weight in your throat growing as he leaned closer to your face.

"I made a deal with Gerard. I’d sell him three singles, and he’d shorten the band’s contract," Noah exhaled the information with the limited air in his chest. "Just because I wanted to get rid of you once and for all."

"You tried to betray me and ended up having to put up with me even more in the fine print," you said, shaking your head.

"Consequence."

"How can you keep being so selfish, acting like you’re the only one who suffered through all this? Like you’re the only one who ended a relationship, the only one who was hurt, the only one who loved, Noah!"

"Because I’m the one who lost the most in all of this!" he snarled through tears, leaning his face closer to yours. Noah pointed at his own chest, his labored breathing visibly unstable. "You never needed me to live, so your life goes on. But I always needed you—I made you my life!"

"Just because we handled it differently doesn’t mean I loved any less or that my life’s been better than yours. It just means I’ve gotten used to sweeping pain under the rug."

You responded, wiping under your eyes.

"I told you, you wouldn’t last a day living in my shoes. That’s what I was trying to avoid when I protected you."

"Protected me from your own lies and the horrible person you become every time you break a promise."

"Look at that—we’re not so different," you challenged, locking your eyes onto his. "I was broken by you too. I saw you turn your back on me, I saw you lie, Noah. You just forget the feeling when it’s not happening to you!"

"I wanted it to hurt you as much as it hurt me," he said weakly.

"But before you ever knew that pain, I’d felt it countless times, my love."

He shook his head slowly. His trembling hand hovered near your face but retreated, as if pulling back from an action he couldn’t bring himself to complete. Both of you were crying at the same pace, and you remembered the conversation in the car.

The impact of the previous night was different for you than it was for him: where you saw hope, he saw memories of failure.

He seemed trapped in an internal struggle, wanting to console you but convinced he was no longer worthy of that role.

Both of your tears fell in silence, and you couldn’t tell if it was the despair of the situation or the memory lingering between you. The conversation in the car. The words that had left their mark.

"I don’t know what to do anymore, I... I don’t know," his voice came out fragmented, almost a whisper, as he pressed a hand to his chest. Then you realized.

Noah’s breathing was too fast, irregular, as if he couldn’t find enough air. His chest rose and fell erratically, his hands trembling like leaves in the wind. He brought a hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut, but the motion only made him look even more lost.

"Hey, hey, Noah, look at me," you said, trying to stay calm but feeling panic rise within you. You placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to anchor him, but it was like he was far away, unreachable. "Breathe with me, okay? Just... inhale, slowly."

He shook his head, still clutching his chest. "I... I can’t... I can’t!"

The ground seemed to vanish beneath your feet. He was having a panic attack, perhaps the worst you’d ever seen.

"Noah, listen. I’m here. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to do this alone." But it was as if your words couldn’t penetrate the veil of agony surrounding him.

You picked up your phone with trembling fingers, dialing the record label’s medical support and describing his condition as clearly as you could. Seconds felt like hours as you waited, trying to keep him focused, trying to hold back the chaos consuming him.

When they arrived, you could hardly think. They placed him on a stretcher, and you held his hand the entire time, ignoring the questioning looks. All that mattered was that he felt he wasn’t alone.

At the hospital, the waiting was torture. You paced back and forth, images of the previous night blending with guilt and fear. He was in a room with the doctors, and you were there, not knowing if he would come out of this stronger or if this was his breaking point.

"Always at the crime scene," said the devil.

"We seem to have that in common," you replied, rolling your eyes and stopping at the reception desk to face him.

Chewing gum and crossing his arms, Gerard couldn’t have looked more amused.

"What happened to that brat this time?"

"Panic attack," your voice was serious. "Do you know if he’s had anything like this recently?"

Gerard thought for a few seconds, making a ridiculous pout.

"Not that I know of."

"Strange, this attack seemed way too intense for a first time. Noah didn’t even seem surprised... he didn’t even want to come to the doctor."

"Because he knows it’s nonsense," the man shrugged, continuing to chew the never-ending gum in his teeth. "But of course he wouldn’t be surprised. You stress the poor guy out all the time just by being around. No wonder he’s falling apart."

"Surely it’s not the working conditions or the pressure you put on us. Of course, blaming me is easier."

He laughed, waving a hand as if you’d told the funniest joke, but you remained serious, arms crossed and frowning.

"It’s the most obvious thing. No wonder he didn’t refuse the label’s strategy to dissociate his image from yours," Gerard noted, raising his shoulders. "Noah isn’t that stupid."

"What are you talking about?"

"Playing dumb, are we? Haven’t you been paying attention to the news lately? Little by little, people are talking more and more about his appearances with Scarlet, and fans are confirming theories that the two of them are together."

You stared at Gerard for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

"He hasn’t denied a single one of them," he continued. "In fact, he thought it was a good idea that his name is now being tied to someone less... well, you know."

"How can you be so pathetic?" you countered. "Noah doesn’t have all his wits about him, but a PR romance..."

Your words died in your throat when you glanced across the reception and saw the girl with voluminous red hair approaching the room’s entrance.

"He’s desperate to put an end to you..." Gerard continued. "Are you going to say it’s a lie?"

No.

You weren’t going to say it was a lie.

Not after what you’d heard at the studio.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff

[enemiestolovershoe]

hey :) .. i‘m in desperate need for a very fluffy fic with chris and bsf!reader where reader went to the triplets house earlier that day and ever since she was off. she crashed on the couch and as chris went to the kitchen to get some pepsi he saw that the lights are still one and reader is still up. crying. he askes whats wrong (you make something up) and chris is comforting her in the end and they end up cuddling falling asleep on the couch. :) thank you so much

Shattered Trust

Christ Sturniolo x bsf!reader

Summary: After Y/N’s world shatters from betrayal, Chris offers her comfort and support, helping her navigate the painful path of healing and rediscovery.

Words: 5k

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Emotional Hurt, Mild swearing, Crying, Emotional Distress, Betrayal

The glowing screen of your phone illuminated your tear-streaked face as you typed out a message. Your hands trembled, but you forced yourself to hit send:

Hey, Chris, are you busy?

It only took a few seconds for the reply to pop up.

Not at all. What’s up?

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth or to brush it off as nothing. The thought of sitting in your room, replaying the betrayal over and over, was unbearable. You needed a distraction, somewhere to go, people to be with—people who felt safe.

Can I come over? you finally typed.

Chris’s reply came faster this time.

Of course. We were just about to pick a movie. You coming over for our movie night?

You blinked at the screen. You’d completely forgotten tonight was one of your monthly traditions with the triplets. Normally, the thought would’ve excited you, but now it just felt like a lifeline.

Yeah, movie night sounds good. Be there in 15.

Chris stood in the living room, holding his phone with a faint smile. "Y/N's coming over," he announced to Nick and Matt, who were sprawled across the couch, arguing about which movie to watch.

"Finally," Nick grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn at Matt. "I was about to call her myself. It’s her turn to pick the snacks anyway."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "You sure she doesn’t just want to escape from her crazy family? Remember that time she showed up because her mom and sister were having a screaming match over hair dye?"

Chris shrugged. "I don’t care why she’s coming. She asked, so she’s welcome."

As you drove through the quiet streets, your mind drifted back to the moment everything shattered.

Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, you corrected yourself—had always been charming, maybe too charming. You’d never questioned his late nights or the way he sometimes avoided your gaze when your sister was around. You’d trusted him completely.

But a week ago, you’d come home early from a canceled lunch with friends, only to find the two of them tangled up on the couch. The image was burned into your memory, along with the sound of their voices stumbling over excuses.

"Y/N, it’s not what it looks like," he’d said, his voice dripping with guilt.

"Seriously?" you’d spat, unable to even look at your sister. "How long has this been going on?"

Your sister had said nothing, just stood there, avoiding your eyes. That silence had hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

Pulling into the Sturniolos’ driveway, you wiped your eyes and practiced a smile in the mirror. The triplets didn’t know what had happened, and you weren’t ready to tell them. Tonight needed to be about something else, anything else.

Chris opened the door before you could even knock. "Hey, you made it!" he greeted, pulling you into a quick hug. "You okay?"

You nodded, forcing your practiced smile. "Yeah, just needed some company."

"Well, you’re in luck," Nick called from the couch, waving the remote. "We were about to watch something, but Matt refuses to watch anything fun. Save us."

"Hey!" Matt protested. "At least I pick movies with actual plots."

"Sure, if by 'plot,' you mean boring dialogue and depressing endings," Nick shot back.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Ignore them. You want something to drink? Snacks? Or just want to settle in and pick the movie?"

You hesitated, but the warmth of their familiar banter started to thaw the icy weight in your chest. "I’ll take snacks and the remote," you said with a weak laugh.

"Now that’s the Y/N we know," Chris said, his smile softening as he led you into the living room.

You flopped onto the couch with a sigh, curling into the corner as Nick and Matt argued over yet another movie choice.

"Okay, but why would we watch Inception right now? It’s like three hours long, and my brain’s not ready for all that," Nick said, waving his hands in exasperation.

"Because it’s a good movie," Matt shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, but good doesn’t mean fun, and I’m in the mood for fun," Nick retorted.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, your first real laugh in what felt like days. "How about The Hangover?" you suggested, cutting through their debate.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you.

"Classic choice," Chris said with an approving nod.

"Finally, someone with taste," Nick said, glaring at Matt.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Fine. At least it’s better than whatever Nick would’ve picked."

"Excuse me, my taste is immaculate," Nick replied, throwing a handful of popcorn in Matt’s direction.

Chris handed you the remote and stood. "I’ll grab some snacks. Pepsi okay?"

"Perfect," you said, your voice soft but grateful.

A few minutes later, Chris returned with a can of Pepsi and a small bowl of your favorite chocolate. He placed them on the table in front of you, giving you a brief, searching look.

"You good?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that Nick and Matt wouldn’t hear.

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. "Thanks, Chris."

He didn’t push further, just gave you a small smile before sitting down next to you.

As the opening credits of The Hangover rolled, you settled into your corner of the couch. Nick had sprawled out on the floor with a blanket, Matt took the recliner, and Chris sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

The room quickly filled with laughter as the movie’s chaotic antics unfolded. For the first time in a week, you felt a little lighter, the ache in your chest dulled by the comfort of their company.

"Okay, but how does no one realize there’s a tiger in the bathroom until it’s too late?" Nick asked between bouts of laughter.

"Because they were all blacked out, genius," Matt replied, tossing a kernel of popcorn at him.

"Still. I would’ve noticed a tiger," Nick said with mock seriousness.

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, you wouldn’t. You’d be too busy freaking out over a missing tooth."

Chris chuckled beside you, his gaze lingering on your face. When you glanced over, he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the screen.

It happened again a few minutes later during one of the movie’s funniest scenes. You caught Chris watching you out of the corner of your eye, his expression soft, almost worried.

"Chris," you whispered, leaning toward him slightly.

"Yeah?" He looked at you, his face unreadable.

"You don’t have to keep staring. I’m okay," you said, forcing a small smile.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I wasn’t staring."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a little," he admitted, his voice lowering. "I just… You seem different tonight."

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you quickly shook your head. "Just tired, that’s all."

Chris hesitated but nodded, letting it drop. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know," he said softly.

"Thanks, Chris," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the movie continued, you tried to focus on the humor, on the familiar warmth of being with the triplets. But Chris’s quiet concern lingered in the back of your mind, making you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he saw through the smile you were trying so hard to keep.

As the credits of The Hangover Part III rolled, Matt stretched with a dramatic yawn and stood up.

"Alright, I’m done," he announced, rubbing his eyes. "If I watch one more scene of Alan’s nonsense, I might lose my mind."

"You lost it a long time ago," Nick quipped, earning a glare from Matt.

"Whatever. I’m going to bed. Night, Y/N," Matt said with a small wave before disappearing down the hall.

Nick was quick to follow, gathering his blanket and pillow. "Yeah, I’m out too. Y/N, make sure Chris doesn’t make you watch some artsy indie movie if you guys stay up," he said with a wink.

"Goodnight, Nick," you replied with a soft laugh.

As their doors closed, Chris turned to you. "It’s pretty late," he said, glancing at the clock. "You sure you’re okay to drive? You could crash here if you want."

You hesitated, but the idea of going back home, back to the empty room where every corner reminded you of betrayal, was unbearable. "Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you guys."

"Y/N," Chris said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. "You could never bother us. Stay."

You nodded. "Okay. I’ll take the couch, then."

Chris got up and grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet. He draped it over you carefully, his hand lingering on the back of the couch for a moment. "If you need anything, just knock on my door, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, Chris," you said quietly.

"Goodnight," he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

"Goodnight."

As soon as he was gone, the silence of the room felt overwhelming. You curled up under the blanket, the warm fabric doing little to shield you from the cold ache in your chest.

You pulled out your phone, hoping for a distraction, but the sight of an unread message made your heart sink. It was from your sister.

Why are you ghosting me? We need to talk.

Your breath hitched as the words blurred on the screen. She had the nerve to text you, to act as though everything could be fixed with a conversation. Fresh tears welled up, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs. The last thing you wanted was for the triplets to hear. They didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you could bring yourself to tell them.

In his room, Chris lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Something about tonight wasn’t sitting right with him. You’d been quiet, more than usual. The message you sent earlier had been short, almost hesitant, and now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week.

Chris frowned, running a hand through his hair. He hated seeing you like this—guarded, distant. It wasn’t like you to pull away, not from them.

He turned onto his side, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. But it was no use. His mind kept replaying little moments from the night—the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you flinched when he asked if you were okay, the way you seemed to deflate the second Matt and Nick left the room.

Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but he was sure of it.

Back in the living room, you wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears kept coming. The betrayal, the pain, the gnawing guilt of not telling the triplets—it all felt like too much.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your sister’s name on your screen, her message taunting you, demanding an answer you couldn’t give.

You wanted to tell Chris, Nick, and Matt everything. You wanted to spill it all, to let them comfort you like they always did. But the words felt trapped in your throat, too heavy to say out loud.

And besides, they were probably asleep by now.

What you didn’t know was that Chris wasn’t asleep. He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, still thinking about you. And something told him he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep tonight.

Chris tossed and turned in his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Sleep just wouldn’t come. His thoughts kept drifting back to you—your forced smiles, the way you’d seemed a little too quiet all night. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

With a sigh, he gave up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, noting the time: 2:37 a.m.

"Great," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He decided a Pepsi might help, so he padded quietly out of his room and into the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. The kitchen and living room were joined, and he didn’t want to accidentally wake you.

As he opened the fridge, the faint sound of a muffled sob reached his ears. Chris froze, his hand hovering over the soda can.

He turned his head toward the couch, his brow furrowing. The room was dim, but he could see your figure curled under the blanket, your shoulders trembling.

"Y/N?" he called softly, stepping away from the fridge.

You stiffened, biting your lip to keep any more sounds from escaping. But it was too late—he’d already heard you.

Chris approached the couch slowly, his heart sinking at the sight of you trying to hide your tears. Without a word, he sat down beside you, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

You turned your head away, wiping at your face furiously, but Chris wasn’t having it. Gently, he laid a hand on your head, his fingers threading through your hair in a soothing motion.

"Hey," he said softly. "What’s wrong, hm?"

"Nothing," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"Y/N," he said firmly, though his tone remained gentle. "Please. Tell me. We both know something’s hurting you. You can tell me anything, I promise."

You shook your head stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself.

Chris sighed but didn’t pull away. "Okay," he said after a moment. "How about this? If you don’t want Matt or Nick to know, I won’t tell them. Whatever it is, it’ll stay between us. I swear."

You hesitated, his words making the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter. Taking a shaky breath, you sat up, letting the blanket fall to your lap. Chris stayed close, watching you carefully, his concern etched across his face.

Your eyes fixed on the ceiling as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Jason cheated."

Chris blinked, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand, stopping him.

"And it wasn’t just with anyone," you continued, your voice breaking. "It was with my sister."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Chris stared at you, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers twisting in the blanket. The silence felt suffocating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Finally, Chris found his voice. "Y/N..." he started, but his words trailed off, as if he didn’t know where to begin.

Chris sat there for a moment, stunned into silence. His mind reeled at your words, trying to process the betrayal you’d just revealed. But as he looked at you—your trembling hands, the tears that streamed down your cheeks—his shock quickly gave way to something else: protectiveness.

Without hesitating, Chris moved closer, sliding an arm around your shoulders. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to spiral.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t even know what to say… but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. Not from him. And definitely not from her."

His words broke something loose inside you, and the tears came harder, pouring down your face and soaking the neckline of your shirt. You buried your face in your hands, your body trembling as you let out the sobs you’d been holding back for days.

"How could they do this to me, Chris?" you choked out between sobs. "My own sister… she knew everything—everything Jason and I had been through. And she still—" You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Chris felt a sharp pang in his chest. Seeing you like this—completely broken—made his blood boil. He wanted to storm out, to confront Jason, to demand answers from your sister, but he knew none of that would help you right now. Right now, you needed him here.

"They’re both selfish," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "They didn’t think about you at all, and that’s on them. That’s not your fault, Y/N."

You shook your head, tears still streaming. "But it feels like it is… I keep thinking, ‘What did I do wrong? Was I not enough?’"

Chris grabbed your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. "Hey, stop that. Don’t do that to yourself," he said, his tone more intense now. "Jason cheated because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to value someone amazing when he has them. And your sister…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She’s the one who betrayed you, not the other way around. You’re not to blame for any of this. Not even a little."

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The weight of everything—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the shame—was too much.

Chris seemed to sense that. He didn’t say anything more, just pulled you into a hug, wrapping both arms around you tightly. Your head fell against his chest, and he rested his chin lightly on top of your hair.

"Just let it out," he murmured, stroking your back in soothing circles. "I’m right here. You don’t have to hold it in anymore."

The dam broke. You clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely, your tears soaking into his shirt. Chris didn’t flinch or pull away. If anything, he held you tighter, his hand continuing its steady rhythm on your back.

"It’s okay," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Cry as much as you need to. I’m not going anywhere."

And he didn’t. Chris stayed there, holding you like you were the most fragile and important thing in the world. Even as your sobs wracked your body, he remained calm, offering the kind of quiet strength you desperately needed.

Minutes passed, though it felt like time stood still. Slowly, your crying began to subside, your breaths becoming less ragged. But Chris didn’t let go, not until he was sure you were ready.

The warmth of Chris’s embrace began to steady your breathing, though your body still felt heavy with exhaustion. Slowly, you pulled away, your hands resting in your lap as you avoided his gaze. Chris leaned back slightly, giving you space, but his concern didn’t waver.

Your eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, your cheeks streaked with drying tears. Chris reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear that lingered.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Let’s try and get some sleep, okay?" he said softly, his voice warm and steady. "It’s been a lot tonight, but it’s going to get better. I promise."

You nodded wordlessly, lying back down on the couch and pulling the blanket up to your chin. The headache from crying so much throbbed behind your eyes, and you couldn’t deny how tired you felt.

As you settled in, you expected Chris to stand and head back to his room. But instead, he surprised you. Without saying a word, he shifted to lie down behind you, sliding in close and wrapping an arm protectively around your waist.

You stiffened for a moment, startled by the gesture. "Chris… you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to," you protested, your voice soft and hesitant.

Chris’s hold didn’t falter. He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head and hushed you gently. "Shhh," he murmured. "I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll get through this together, okay? You don’t have to do this alone."

His words, spoken with such quiet determination, made your chest tighten. You felt tears prick at your eyes again, though this time they weren’t from sadness.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Chris." Your voice cracked slightly, but you meant every word.

He gave your waist a small squeeze. "Always," he said simply, his tone carrying a weight of sincerity that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in days.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his arm around you, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t going to leave finally allowed your body to relax. The headache and emotional exhaustion took over, and before you knew it, your eyes fluttered shut.

Chris stayed awake a little longer, watching over you as your breathing evened out. He held you close, his heart breaking a little as he thought about everything you’d gone through. But more than anything, he was determined to be there for you, no matter what it took.

Finally, a small, tired smile crossed his lips as he rested his head against the pillow, letting sleep claim him too—right there with you in his arms.

The morning light crept through the blinds as Nick shuffled groggily into the living room, his eyes barely open. He stretched with a yawn, heading toward the fridge for something to drink. As he turned toward the couch, he froze mid-step.

At first, he blinked a few times, convinced he was still half-asleep. "What the…" he muttered, rubbing his eyes dramatically. The sight before him—Chris curled up behind you on the couch, his arm draped protectively around your waist—was not something he’d ever expected to see.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked aloud to no one in particular. After a moment of staring in disbelief, he turned and bolted down the hall.

"Matt!" Nick hissed, bursting into his brother’s room.

Matt groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "Nick, if this isn’t an emergency, I swear—"

"It is!" Nick interrupted, shaking Matt’s shoulder. "You need to see this. Like, right now."

Reluctantly, Matt sat up, his hair a mess and his expression sour. "This better be good," he grumbled, throwing the blanket off and following Nick back to the living room.

When he caught sight of the two of you on the couch, his annoyance vanished, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.

"Is that…" Matt started, leaning closer to get a better look.

"Yup," Nick whispered, his tone somewhere between shocked and amused.

"Did he finally make a move?" Nick asked, tilting his head.

"I don’t know," Matt replied, scratching the back of his head. "But… doesn’t she have a boyfriend?"

Nick frowned, looking at Matt. "Yeah, she does. At least, I think she does. So… what’s this about?"

Matt shrugged, his brow furrowed. "No clue. But they look pretty cozy."

Nick pulled out his phone, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Should we ask them? Or should I just take a picture for evidence?"

"Definitely a picture," Matt said, smirking.

Nick nodded, holding his phone up and aiming the camera. Just as he was about to snap the shot, his fingers fumbled, and the phone slipped from his hand.

The loud clatter of the phone hitting the floor echoed through the room, and both you and Chris stirred.

Chris blinked awake first, squinting against the light and taking a second to register what was happening. He glanced down at you still in his arms, then up at Nick and Matt, who were both frozen like deer in headlights.

You woke up a second later, groggy and disoriented. "What’s going on?" you mumbled, sitting up slightly and noticing Chris’s arm still loosely around you.

Nick recovered first, quickly scooping up his phone. "Uh, nothing! Morning! Just… you know… didn’t mean to wake you guys!"

Matt, however, wasn’t as subtle. "So… are we gonna talk about this, or…?" He gestured between the two of you, his brows raised.

Chris rubbed his face, clearly trying to think of a way to explain. "It’s not what it looks like—"

Matt snorted. "Really? ‘Cause it looks like you two were cuddling all night."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Can we not do this right now?"

Nick crossed his arms, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. "Oh, we’re definitely doing this right now."

Chris’s body stiffened as he quickly sat up, his expression suddenly serious. His protective instincts kicked in, and he shot a sharp look at Nick, his voice firm. "No, Nick. Seriously. Drop it. It’s not the time."

Nick froze, blinking in confusion at the sudden change in Chris’s tone. He wasn’t used to hearing his brother so... intense. But before he could ask anything more, his gaze shifted to you.

You had your face hidden in your hands, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. That’s when it hit Nick. It wasn’t just a casual morning moment between friends. Something was wrong.

Matt’s playful smirk faltered, and his eyes softened as he noticed the tears trailing down your face. His teasing nature immediately gave way to concern. "Y/N…?" he began, but Chris cut him off before either of them could say anything else.

"Look, this is serious," Chris said, his voice still low and full of emotion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he turned toward Nick and Matt. "You guys don’t know what happened."

Nick looked at him, unsure. "What happened?" he asked, his voice quieter now, sensing the weight behind his brother’s words.

Chris glanced over at you, his heart breaking as he saw how upset you were. He didn’t want to push you, but he also knew you needed support. "Y/N gave me permission to tell you guys," he said softly, then turned to face Matt and Nick fully. "Jason—her boyfriend—cheated on her. With her sister."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Matt and Nick both looked at each other in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Wait, what?" Nick whispered, shaking his head in confusion. "He… cheated on her with her sister?"

Chris nodded, his jaw tight with anger. "Yeah. And I know she’s been trying to keep it together, but it’s been eating her up. She didn’t deserve any of this." His voice cracked slightly, the weight of what you were going through becoming even more apparent as he spoke.

You wiped at your eyes, feeling the sting of their stares but too drained to care. Chris’s hand remained on your back, offering what little comfort he could, but you could tell this was a lot for Matt and Nick to process.

Matt was the first to speak up again, his face hardening. "That’s messed up," he muttered, clearly frustrated. "She doesn’t deserve that." He glanced at you, his expression softening. "Y/N, I’m sorry."

Nick nodded in agreement, though his voice was still filled with disbelief. "I… I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

You sniffed and looked up, finally meeting their eyes. "I didn’t know how to. It hurt too much. I didn’t want to drag anyone into it." Your voice trembled, but you tried to hold it together. "I just needed some time to figure out what to do."

Chris gave your back another reassuring rub, silently telling you it was okay to let them in. He looked up at Matt and Nick, a heavy sigh escaping him. "She needs our support right now, not questions. So please… just… give her space if she wants it."

Matt nodded solemnly, his usual teasing nature now completely gone. "Yeah, of course," he said, his voice softer than before. "You’ve got it, Y/N. Whatever you need."

Nick hesitated for a moment, then gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. "We’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone."

You nodded weakly, still feeling the sting of everything that had happened. But for the first time in what felt like days, you felt a small flicker of hope. With Chris, Matt, and Nick by your side, maybe things would start to get better.

Chris’s arm tightened around you once more, offering the quiet comfort of knowing that, for now, you weren’t alone in this.

The room fell into a quiet calm, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Matt and Nick gave you the space you needed, no longer pressing you with questions. Instead, they offered small, reassuring smiles, letting you know they were there—ready to support you however you needed.

Chris, still sitting close beside you, rubbed your back comfortingly, his presence a silent promise that he wouldn’t leave your side. The warmth of his touch brought a small, but much-needed sense of peace.

After a few moments of silence, you took a shaky breath and finally looked up at Chris. "I don’t know what to do… or where to go from here," you admitted, your voice still thick with emotion.

Chris met your gaze with understanding in his eyes. "You don’t have to have all the answers right now," he said gently. "We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time."

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words sink in. Maybe you didn’t have the answers yet, but you weren’t alone. With Chris, Matt, and Nick by your side, you knew you had the support to get through this.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice breaking again, but this time with gratitude.

Chris smiled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Always, Y/N. You’ll never have to go through this alone."

As the day began to unfold, you and the triplets spent the rest of the morning together. No more talk of Jason or your sister—just the comfort of knowing you were surrounded by people who cared. Slowly, the pieces of your heart that had shattered started to heal, one moment, one breath at a time.

And for the first time in a while, you felt a spark of hope for the future, knowing that with time and support, you’d find your way through the pain.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 11: A Night At The Center

Logan invites his roommates to a special event at the center. It's Y/N's first time meeting his colleagues and let's say they see right through whatever they got going on.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W.

A/N: hellooo! as you can see, we are currently in my active era. here's the third chapter of the week and I kinda LOVE it because I just adore including every character ever (as I've done with Y/n's colleagues a few chapters ago—and don't worry they will come back). Laura and Marie 🫂🫂 hope you like this one!! there might be a bit too much dialogue but I love to talk so that's what you'll get unfortunately. see you on Christmas for the next chapter!! enjoy🫶

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The hall buzzed with energy, the sound of conversations and faint music filling the space as Logan led the way. Y/N walked beside him, her gaze flickering around the room to take in the lively atmosphere. Wade, however, was already making himself at home, spotting a familiar face across the room.

“Wilson!” called a man with red glasses, all the way across the hall.

“Summers!” Wade shouted, grinning as he jogged over to join him and a man in a wheelchair.

Y/N chuckled at Wade’s enthusiasm. “He seems to know his way around here.”

Logan gave a low grunt. “Yeah, he’s been to a few of these. Can’t say he blends in, though.”

They continued deeper into the room, weaving through clusters of people until they approached a small group at the center. A woman with striking white hair turned toward them, her warm smile lighting up her features. “Logan!” she greeted, her eyes flicking to Y/N with curiosity sparking in their depths.

“This is Y/N,” Logan introduced, his tone carrying its usual gruffness. “She’s my roommate.”

Ororo’s lips quirked in amusement as she extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

“Only good things, I hope?” Y/N replied, shaking her hand, the corners of her mouth lifting in a playful smile.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard one bad thing about you coming from him,” Ororo teased, casting a sly glance at Logan, who was now scowling faintly.

Y/N’s brow arched in surprise as her gaze shifted to Logan, but before she could say anything, another man joined the group. His solid frame and thoughtful expression gave him an almost scholarly air. “Hank,” he introduced himself, offering Y/N a firm handshake. “So, you’re the one keeping these two in check?”

Y/N laughed, shaking his hand. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you.”

“She’s in charge of Logan and Wade? Poor thing,” Ororo quipped, earning a chuckle from Hank.

“Hey,” Logan muttered, crossing his arms, though a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The conversation flowed easily, Ororo and Hank quickly making Y/N feel at home. Logan contributed in his typical fashion, his dry humor earning a few laughs.

“Logan always says we’re the worst,” Hank remarked, mock-seriousness lacing his tone. “But I think we’re growing on him.”

“Like fungus,” Logan deadpanned, and the group burst into laughter.

“Logan, be nice,” a new voice interjected, smooth and teasing. A woman with vibrant red hair approached, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Jean,” Logan greeted, his tone softening just slightly.

Jean turned her sharp gaze on Y/N, her smile kind but shrewd, as though she were already peeling back layers. “You must be Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Jean, Scott’s wife.”

Y/N returned the smile warmly, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Jean’s eyes flicked briefly between Logan and Y/N. She caught the way Logan’s stance subtly shifted closer to Y/N, his arm almost brushing hers, and the way his gaze occasionally darted to her when he thought no one was looking. It was telling, though Logan himself seemed oblivious. Jean didn’t comment, simply storing the observation away with a knowing smile.

“So,” Jean asked, “how are you finding all of this? It’s a bit different from Logan’s usual environment.”

“It’s great,” Y/N replied. “It’s nice to see his world outside the apartment. I didn’t realize how much he does here.”

Jean’s smile widened. “He won’t admit it, but he’s an important part of this place. The students adore him.”

“Jean,” Logan muttered, his voice holding a warning edge.

“It’s true,” she countered lightly, raising her hands in mock surrender. “You’re their favorite.”

Logan huffed, clearly eager to move the conversation along, but Y/N’s quiet laugh drew his attention. She seemed genuinely charmed by the new perspective on him, and that realization left him slightly off-kilter.

The group eventually dispersed, Jean excusing herself with a meaningful glance at Logan. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I hope we see more of you around here.”

“Likewise,” Y/N replied, her smile lingering as Jean walked away.

Logan leaned against a nearby wall, his gaze scanning the room. Y/N approached with a drink in hand, her expression soft and thoughtful.

“Ororo and Hank are already plotting to steal you away,” Logan remarked, his voice laced with dry humor.

Y/N laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I doubt that. Hank has incredible stories, and Ororo’s so kind. I can see why you like working with them.”

Logan shrugged, his gaze sliding to the side. “They’re alright.”

Before Y/N could respond, a pair of younger figures appeared nearby, carrying plates of snacks. Marie’s confidence was apparent as she grinned at Y/N, while Laura lingered slightly behind, her shyness evident in the way she held her plate.

“Mr. Howlett,” Marie began, mischief glinting in her eyes, “are you gonna introduce us, or do we have to guess who she is?”

Logan sighed, his arms crossing. “This is Y/N. She’s my roommate. Like Wade.”

Y/N smiled warmly at the girls. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Marie stepped forward eagerly, shaking Y/N’s hand. “I’m Marie. And this is Laura,” she said, nudging the quieter girl forward.

Laura hesitated before offering a small, tentative smile. “Hi.”

“It’s great to meet you, Laura,” Y/N said, her voice kind and patient. “I’ve heard so much about both of you.”

Marie’s brows lifted. “Really? Mr. Howlett talks about us?”

Y/N chuckled, glancing at Logan, whose scowl had deepened. “Of course, he does.”

Logan grunted. “To complain.”

Marie laughed as Laura hid a small smile behind her plate.

Y/N turned her focus to Laura, her voice gentle. “Do you like it here at the center?”

Laura nodded, her tone soft but assured. “Yeah. It’s… different. In a good way.”

Marie grinned. “She’s the best here. Everyone loves her.”

Laura’s cheeks flushed, and she glanced down shyly. Y/N’s gaze softened. “I can see why,” she said, her sincerity shining through.

Marie leaned forward with mock seriousness. “But seriously, what’s it like living with Mr. Howlett? Does he secretly collect stamps or—”

“Alright,” Logan interrupted, his voice firm. “That’s enough.”

As the girls moved away, Laura offered a quiet, “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Y/N replied, her smile lingering. She turned to Logan, catching the faintest warmth in his expression before he masked it.

“You’re good with them,” Logan murmured, his tone gruff but genuine.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice soft. “And so are you.”

Logan didn’t respond, but her words settled somewhere deep, leaving him feeling unsteady yet strangely content. He shifted his weight, trying to ignore the way her smile seemed to light up the room. He found himself studying her profile, trying not to dwell on the warmth spreading through his chest. 

He was so screwed.

———

Meanwhile, as Jean walked away, she headed straight for the corner where Scott, Charles, and Wade were deep in conversation. Her knowing smile returned when she saw Wade animatedly gesturing while Scott and Charles laughed.

“Oh, Jean!” Wade exclaimed dramatically, spotting her arrival. “Perfect timing, as always. We were just discussing the hot gossip of the night.”

Jean folded her arms, her eyebrow lifting in curiosity. “And what scandalous topic could possibly have you this excited?”

Wade leaned closer, his grin almost conspiratorial as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward Logan. “Someone over there is completely smitten with his roommate. It’s practically Shakespearean.”

Jean blinked, her lips twitching with amusement as she glanced toward Logan and Y/N, who were chatting with Ororo and Hank. “Is that so?” she asked casually, though her tone carried just enough intrigue to stoke Wade’s enthusiasm.

Scott nodded, an amused glint in his eye. “You saw the way he looked at her, right?”

“I did,” Jean admitted, her gaze lingering on Logan. There was something undeniably different about him tonight. His usual guarded demeanor was still present, but there was a subtle shift in how he stood—just a bit closer to Y/N, as though unconsciously tethered to her. “And I think you’re absolutely right.”

Charles chuckled softly, his voice cutting through their banter. “Logan doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve, but even he isn’t immune to certain… connections.”

Wade clapped his hands together. “See? It’s not just me! The whole room can feel it.”

Jean shook her head, a laugh escaping her. “You’re incorrigible, Wade.”

Before anyone could add more fuel to the fire, a heavy presence approached the group. Logan’s steps were deliberate, his expression unreadable, though the subtle clench of his jaw hinted at his growing irritation. His gaze swept over them, narrowing when he caught Wade’s exaggerated grin.

“Logan,” Charles greeted smoothly, his voice carrying a note of mischief. “What impeccable timing. We were just talking about you.”

Logan stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course, you were.” His dry tone earned a chuckle from Scott and Wade, but his attention was locked firmly on the latter.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Wade said innocently, holding up his hands as though warding off a scolding. “We were being very complimentary. For example, Scott here thinks you’re incredibly dedicated to your job. A real paragon of professionalism.”

Scott rolled his eyes, struggling to keep a straight face. “That’s not exactly what I said.”

“And Charles,” Wade continued without missing a beat, pointing dramatically at the man in the wheelchair, “he was just saying how wonderful it is that you brought your delightful roommate tonight. What was it again? A breath of fresh air?”

Charles coughed lightly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “Something along those lines.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed further. “Wade,” he warned, his voice low, “don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m just warming up!” Wade said, throwing an arm around Logan’s shoulders. Logan immediately shrugged him off, but Wade pressed on. “We’re all just so happy to see you finally… loosening up. And let’s be honest: bringing someone who’s not only smart and talented but also cute? Bold move, my friend. I’m impressed.”

“She’s your roommate too, remember?” Logan said, his eyes throwing daggers at the man in front of him.

“Is he wrong, though?” Scott asked with a grin. “Honestly, Logan, it’s like watching a rom-com in real life.”

“Fuck off,” Logan grumbled, which only made his companions laugh harder.

Charles finally intervened, holding up a hand to restore some semblance of order. “Alright, let’s not torment him too much. After all, Y/N might not appreciate us meddling in her life.”

“Oh, she’d love it,” Wade said confidently. “She’s got a great sense of humor. Unlike some people here.” He jabbed Logan in the ribs, earning another withering glare.

“Wade,” Logan growled, his patience wearing thin.

“Fine, fine,” Wade relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop. For now. But just so you know, I’m totally bringing this up later. We’re gonna have a great time.”

Logan sighed heavily, grabbing a drink from the table and muttering, “Not if I kill you first.”

As he turned to leave, Jean, who had been quietly observing, stepped closer. Her expression was a mix of amusement and sympathy as she addressed Logan. “I hate to say it, but I think you walked right into that one.”

Logan groaned, taking a long sip of his drink. “You’re all the worst.”

“Maybe,” Jean said lightly, her smile softening. “But we’re not wrong.”

Logan didn’t respond, instead fixing his attention on the drink in his hand. He didn’t need to look back to know the others were still grinning behind him. And as much as he hated to admit it, they weren’t entirely off base.

From across the room, his gaze landed on Y/N again, who was laughing at something Ororo had said. Her ease, her warmth—it was like a magnet, pulling him in whether he wanted it or not. For the first time in a long while, Logan felt like maybe—just maybe—letting his guard down wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

———

The evening was lively, the room filled with a hum of voices and laughter that seemed to echo the warmth of the event. Y/N stood near the refreshment table, drink in hand as she admired the space. Decorations hung with care, and every detail seemed to speak of the dedication behind the event. It was impossible not to feel the heart of the center here.

She was lost in thought, taking in the scene, when Charles approached.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his tone as composed as ever. “I hope the evening has been enjoyable for you.”

She turned toward him, a genuine smile breaking across her face. “It really has. Everyone’s been so kind and welcoming. And it’s amazing seeing how much this place means to so many people.”

Charles inclined his head slightly, the corners of his lips tugging into a faint smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see new faces here, particularly those who seem to appreciate what we’re striving for. Logan doesn’t often bring guests, so it’s nice to see you and Wade join us tonight.”

“Logan mentioned you’re a teacher?” He asked.

“Yes,” she replied, setting her glass down on the table. “I teach literature and creative writing at the high school level. It’s not always easy, but I love it.”

“I can tell,” Charles remarked, his gaze steady. “Your passion is evident. It’s a rare quality, and one that makes all the difference in this line of work.”

Y/N found herself smiling at the compliment, though she quickly redirected the conversation. “And what about you? How did you start this center?”

Charles’s expression softened, his gaze momentarily distant. “I founded the center with a dear friend of mine with whom I parted ways. It was born out of a simple yet profound need. I wanted to create a place where children who often felt out of place or overlooked could find support and a sense of belonging. Logan joined us not long after we opened in this building. He’s been an integral part of our work here.”

Y/N glanced across the room to where Logan stood, his posture relaxed but his attention fully on the students around him. His face, often guarded and unreadable, seemed to soften as he listened to them speak.

“He seems to really care about them,” she said, her voice quieter now.

Charles followed her gaze, his expression growing more thoughtful. “He does. More than he’d ever admit, even to himself.”

There was a pause, and Y/N sensed the shift in Charles’s demeanor. The weight of something unspoken lingered in the air between them.

“What is it?” she asked gently, her brows knitting together in concern.

Charles hesitated, then let out a soft sigh. “The center is struggling financially,” he admitted, lowering his voice to ensure no one else could overhear. “We’ve been trying to secure funding, but time is running out. If things don’t change soon, we may have to close before the end of the year.”

The words hit Y/N like a stone sinking in her chest. “That’s terrible,” she said, her voice laced with sympathy. “Does anyone else know?”

“Only Logan,” Charles said, his tone heavy with quiet resignation. “He’s been doing what he can to help, but there’s only so much one person can do. The rest of the staff and students will have to be informed soon, and it’s likely we’ll begin the process of finding alternative arrangements for the children.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered back to Logan, now leaning slightly against a table as Rogue and Laura animatedly chatted with him. Despite the lighthearted moment, she could sense an undercurrent of tension in his frame.

“How is he handling it?” she asked softly.

“Logan is resilient,” Charles said with a small, weary smile. “But losing this place will be… difficult for him. He’s put so much of himself into these kids, this community. It’s become a part of who he is.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the thought of Logan bearing the weight of this struggle alone. “Why hasn’t he told anyone else?”

“Logan doesn’t like burdening others,” Charles replied simply. “It’s one of his strengths, and also one of his greatest flaws.”

Charles’s gaze settled on her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he added, “If I may, Y/N, I’d ask a favor of you. Don’t tell Logan I’ve shared this with you— he wouldn’t take kindly to it. But if you can, keep an eye on him. He may need support, even if he’s too stubborn to ask for it.”

Y/N nodded, the weight of his request settling heavily on her shoulders. “I will. Thank you for telling me, Charles.”

He offered her a faint but genuine smile. “It’s clear you care about him, even if he may not realize it himself.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but chose not to respond. Instead, she said, “If there’s anything else I can do to help, please let me know.”

Charles inclined his head in thanks before excusing himself to mingle with others. Y/N stayed rooted to the spot, her mind racing with what she’d just learned. Across the room, Logan caught her eye briefly before turning his attention back to the students. She could see now, more clearly than ever, just how much the center meant to him—and just how hard it would be for him to lose it.

———

The night was winding down, the lively chatter from earlier fading into a quieter hum as guests began to leave. Near the exit, Y/N stood with Charles, finishing their earlier conversation about the ups and downs of teaching. Despite the challenges he described, Charles spoke with such calm and optimism that Y/N couldn’t help but admire him. She found herself wanting to help somehow, even if she wasn’t sure how just yet.

Their conversation was interrupted by Wade and Logan approaching, Wade holding up an empty cup like it was a prize. “Alright, team,” he said with his usual flair. “We’re heading out. Charles, as always, it’s been a pleasure.”

Charles chuckled and nodded. “Likewise,” he replied, turning back to Y/N with a warm smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N. I hope we cross paths again soon.”

“You too,” Y/N said sincerely. “And thank you for tonight.”

Logan gave Charles a short nod, his typical way of saying goodbye, before the three headed toward the door. They’d just stepped into the hallway when a voice called out.

“Wait!”

They turned to see Laura running toward them, weaving between the few lingering guests. She skidded to a stop in front of Logan, who crouched slightly to meet her.

“What’s up, kid?” he asked, his voice softening in a way that surprised Y/N.

Laura leaned in and cupped her hands around his ear, whispering something only he could hear. Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, then smoothed out, his expression hard to read. He glanced toward the room, where Y/N noticed a group of kids, including Marie, watching from a distance, giggling and whispering.

Logan straightened, clearing his throat. “Alright, I’ll see you Monday,” he said, his tone gruff but kind.

Laura grinned at him, then turned to wave at Y/N and Wade before darting back into the room.

“What was that about?” Wade asked, raising an eyebrow.

Logan shrugged, his face back to its usual neutral expression. “Just kid stuff.”

“Kid stuff?” Wade echoed. “Yeah, sure. Looked more like ‘getting-red-in-the-face’ stuff to me.”

“I wasn’t,” Logan muttered, already walking toward the exit.

“You totally were!” Wade laughed, catching up to him. “Come on, spill it. What’d she say?”

“Nope.”

Y/N, walking beside Logan, smiled. “You’re being suspicious. Just tell us.”

“It’s a secret,” Logan said firmly, but there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Wade gasped dramatically. “A secret? Oh, now I have to know. Don’t think I’m letting this go.”

“Drop it, Wade,” Logan grumbled, quickening his pace.

“Never,” Wade shot back, practically bouncing with excitement as they stepped into the cool night air.

Y/N shook her head, laughing at their banter. As they walked home, she glanced at Logan and caught a rare softness in his expression. Whatever Laura had said, it had clearly stuck with him.

And though he didn’t say a word about it, her voice echoed in his mind: “You and Ms. Y/N look good together.”

[chicgeekgirl89]

A/N: @lemonlyman-dotcom. My darling. I HAVE CONNED YOU!! This is like in the Hallmark movies when you find out he/she was really a prince(ss)/secret millionaire/the owner of the evil corporation all along. YOUR SECRET SANTA IS MEEEEEEEEE!!! The Christmas tree fic is a FAKE!! I pretended to moan and groan about how I couldn't get this fic written BUT REALLY I WAS DELIGHTEDLY CRAFTING IT FOR YOU THE WHOLE TIME!!! Oh the evil joy it brought me every time I posted a little snippet of complete malarky and you reblogged it MWAHAHAHA!! 😈 How did I do? Were you fooled by my outstanding acting? Hehe, I hope you were and that this is a complete surprise! I took your @tarlos-santa prompt idea about Owen and Carlos teaming up to get T.K. the perfect gift and ran with it. It's full of holiday shenanigans and little easter eggs for you, good luck finding them all! (Also I hope you like this badly photoshopped header, I am delighted by the low quality badness of it lol!)

Read on AO3

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Carlos freezes, his lips pressed against the soft skin that lies just below T.K.’s bellybutton. His left index finger is hooked into the elastic waistband of T.K.’s boxers and  he’s already pulled them down low enough to see the sharp jut of his husband’s hipbone. He lifts his head, slightly alarmed. “Am I sure I want to give my husband a pre-work blowjob? Well I was, but now I’m not.”

“No, not that. Please keep doing that,” T.K. says, shifting a little bit, his hands going up behind his head. “I meant are you sure you want to go Christmas shopping with my dad today?”

“Oh, that.” Carlos presses another kiss into him. “Why wouldn’t I want to go?”

“Because my dad is…a lot,” T.K. says, then sucks in a breath when Carlos scrapes his teeth over that sexy hipbone. “And he’s terrible at Christmas shopping.”

“I know,” Carlos mumbles against T.K.’s skin. “That’s why I’m going.”

A week ago Owen had given him a call and invited him out for lunch and Christmas shopping. Surprised, but also pleased, he’d readily agreed and they’d made plans to meet at a restaurant in The Domain and hit up some of the stores afterward. Owen had texted Carlos last night to remind him to wear comfortable, practical footwear and bring reusable bags. 

“Maybe,” he says, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crux of T.K.’s thigh so that he squirms, “if I go, you’ll actually get something you like this year.”

“You really think that you can convince my dad to buy something normal for Christmas?” T.K. scoffs. “Good luck.”

Carlos looks up at him again. “You underestimate the cow eyes?”

“You’re going to use the cow eyes on my dad?”

“If I have to.”

“You’re going to use the cow eyes on my dad to stop him from buying me a fifteen pound block of imported cheese from Italy because the salesman tells him it’s a good deal? Or a decorative, three foot tall, hand carved horse statue that he thinks matches the aesthetics of the loft? Or—“

“I will take care of it,” Carlos assures him.

“What if he—“

“T.K.!”

“What?”

“How about we stop talking about your dad while I’m trying to blow you?”

He tugs T.K.’s boxers down, freeing his morning wood and T.K. lets out a hiss as the cool air of the loft touches his skin along with Carlos’ fingers. “Okay, yeah,” he says, his voice tight with the beginnings of pleasure. “We can do that.”

Two hours later Carlos is showered and dressed and pulling into the parking lot on the north side of the Domain. He checks the mall map and heads toward Flower Child, a restaurant with great vegan options and fresh ingredients.

Owen is sitting at a table outside, a Yankees hat on his head, and he stands when Carlos gets close, excitement on his face. “Carlos, good to see you,” he says, pulling him in for a brief hug.

“Thank you for the invitation.” 

Owen looks at him sympathetically as they sit. “I know this year is going to be hard,” he says. “And I know Christmas shopping with me isn’t the same as doing it with your dad, but I want to help where I can.”

Carlos bites back a snort of laughter. He and his dad never once Christmas shopped together. His dad hated shopping. It’s very sweet that Owen—who loves shopping and would consider an afternoon at the mall with his son a highlight of his week—thinks Gabriel and Carlos would have enjoyed doing the same, but honestly the idea of trying to drag his dad around for hours buying presents is hilarious.

“That’s very thoughtful Owen, thank you,” Carlos says, hoping with all his might that his dad is watching down from somewhere and laughing too.

“I took the liberty of ordering us both their seasonal rose petal lemonade,” Owen says. “Have you had the Glow Bowl here? The shiitake combined with the sunflower sauce is di-vine.”

“That sounds good,” Carlos says, flipping the menu over to take a look.

“The last time I brought T.K. here he had the roasted beet and organic apple salad.”

“I think I remember that,” Carlos says with a smile. His father-in-law has a penchant for taking menu items very seriously, a fun quirk that has carried over to T.K. His husband gets very excited anytime they try a new restaurant. Although he usually ends up liking Carlos’ meal better than his own, stealing bites until Carlos offers to switch. 

He ends up ordering the Glow Bowl and Owen decides to go wild and try the Brussels sprouts and organic kale salad after some banter with their server. “So,” Owen says, taking a sip of his lemonade. “How’s the new job?”

“Not so new anymore,” Carlos says. It’s been almost eight months at this point, but he and Owen really haven’t spent any significant time together since he started with the Rangers outside of professional reasons. He’s barely had time for his husband let alone anyone else. “I feel like I’m starting to find my place though. It’s different from beat work.”

“I’d imagine so. The hat and the belts alone are quite the change,” Owen comments.

Carlos chuckles. “Yeah it’s definitely a look.”

“Well, it’s one you wear quite well. How’s your mom?”

His smile dims. “She’s okay. The holidays are hard. She and my dad had a lot of traditions. But my tías and my sisters have been around a lot, so that helps.”

“And she has a son who is carrying on his father’s legacy,” Owen says. “I’m sure that helps too.”

Carlos shrugs, letting his fingers hug the glass in front of him, the condensation making them slick. “I guess.”

“You are humble to a fault Carlos,” Owen says. “I’m sure both of your parents are proud of you. I know I am. The way you’ve handled things this last year is impressive.”

“It doesn’t feel impressive.” Vulnerability slips into his tone. It’s not something he allows often, but his father-in-law pulled him back from the edge of making one of the biggest, most irreparable mistakes of his life. He’s already seen Carlos at his worst; admitting that he’s been struggling won’t do any damage. “It feels like I’m barely keeping my head above water most days,” he admits.

“The first year of marriage is always challenging,” Owen tells him factually. “I would know, I’ve done it several times. You and T.K. have faced some unique circumstances that have made it even more difficult. But you’re still together, working on yourselves, your relationship, your careers. That is impressive. Don’t forget to let yourself celebrate it.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes as his cheeks flush. “That means a lot.”

“Good.” Owen taps the table, his face serious. “Now, let’s talk about T.K.’s birthday. I have some ideas.”

They eat and talk with companionable ease. Carlos steers Owen away from the idea of hiring a mariachi band and circus performers for the party, but does concede to hiring a DJ. They also decide to have it catered by Carlos and T.K.’s favorite taco truck; the one that makes homemade churros that are to die for.

When they finish eating they throw away their garbage and Owen looks at him with renewed vigor. “So,” he says, “where should we start?”

“Well I have a few ideas—” 

“So do I! Come on, let me show you!”

Carlos follows his father-in-law down the line of stores. Even though it’s seventy-five degrees outside the place feels festive. There are windows decked out with wreaths and snowmen and Christmas trees, and Mariah Carey is blasting over the speakers. Families walk by, some smiling, others arguing. There are little kids dressed in their holiday best, ready for family photos, and a few melting down over toys that Santa won’t be bringing for several more weeks.

They walk into a store selling fitness equipment and Owen gestures grandly to a large black tub. “An ice bath!”

Carlos tries to school his face into something neutral. “An ice bath?”

“They are all the rage in the health and fitness industry right now. They boost your metabolism, provide stress relief, reduce inflammation, and improve your mood.”

“Mhm,” Carlos says, fully aware of the ice bath craze, but seeing for the first time just how difficult it might be to sway his father-in-law away from some of his more zany gift ideas.

Owen’s face falls in a way that is so reminiscent of T.K.’s disappointed face that Carlos feels a pang of guilt. “You don’t like it.”

“No, I—it’s a great idea,” Carlos says. “I’m just…I’m not sure where we’d put it in the loft.” He tries to emphasize how small and unsuited the loft is to this kind of gift without saying it aloud.

“Ah!” Owen says. “That’s the thing! This one is completely collapsible. Store it in the closet until you want it and then inflate it with one of these pumps in less than twenty minutes.” He grabs one off the shelf and holds it up to show Carlos. “It’s a cinch!”

“It…yeah. Seems…easy,” Carlos says, wondering how the hell he’s going to steer this ship to something more appropriate for T.K.

“And,” Owen says, “it’s really two for the price of one. Because you both can use it. Not at the same time obviously, it’s a very small tub.”

“Right,” Carlos says.

Owen eyes him critically. “Hm…you don’t seem to love the idea.”

“Oh no, I mean, if you think T.K.—“

“No, no, I can see it in your eyes. This isn’t the one. Not to worry, I have other options.”

He marches down a few aisles, but before they can find whatever it is he’s got his mind on, a smiling employee blocks their path. “Hello gentlemen. Finding everything you need?” she asks.

“Ah, not quite yet,” Owen tells her. “We are shopping for my son. This is his husband, Carlos.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says and something in her eyes hooks onto them. “You know, I’m not sure what exactly you’re in the market for, but we are having a sale on our elite face shape massagers.”

“Face shape massager?” Carlos asks in confusion.

She whips out a white box with a circular shaped device on the inside. “Yes! This little piece of technology can help reduce the appearance of double chins and improve skin quality! Would you like to give it a try?”

“Um, no, that’s okay,” Carlos says. “You know I really think we need to be moving on, right Owen?”

“No, no!” Owen says. “Give it a try. It can’t hurt. We Strand men have strong jawlines and I’m sure T.K. would like to keep his intact as the years go by. Let’s see how it works.”

Before Carlos can protest further the woman is looping the device over his head, his jaw clamping shut at the pressure. She pushes a button and red light illuminates his skin while the entire thing begins to vibrate. “Can you feel how the photons lift and firm the skin?” she asks.

“Mhmm,” Carlos says, the sound vibrating along with the massager.

“That is incredible,” Owen says, taking a step closer so he can get a better look. “It has red and blue infra lights?”

“It does! And it works even better when combined with our Cleopatra LED Light Mask,” she says, showing them a plastic mask that would make even Hannibal Lecter flee in terror. Carlos can only imagine how T.K. would use that to torture him, leaning over him in the middle of the night, his face lit by the red glow of the lights…

Carlos rips the massager off his face and hands it back to the woman. “Thank you so much for your time, but I think we’re going to go a different direction.”

"I don’t know Carlos, these both seem very reasonably priced,” Owen says, checking out the tag.

“You know what, I actually think T.K. already has both of these,” Carlos says in desperation. He mentally casts around for a believable lie. “…Marjan got them for his birthday… last year.”

“Oh, well, in that case—“

“What about for you, sir?” the woman asks Owen, her skills at capturing her prey honed to perfection after years of retail work. “I can see you take excellent care of your skin. Your pores are nearly non-existent.”

Owen beams and fifteen minutes later they walk out the door with two bags of “me-gifts” for him to put under his own Christmas tree. “Are you sure you don’t want some of these under eye de-puffers?” Owen asks, “They come in a two-pack.”

“I’m good,” Carlos says. “Thank you though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Will do.”

“Okay,” Owen claps his hands. “So we’ve struck out on T.K. so far, but I have another idea.”

“Great!” Carlos says.

Owen looks at him with great confidence. “A hat.”

“A hat?”

“A hat.”

Forty-five minutes later Carlos loses the hat battle and they leave a Western wear shop with a brown leather cowboy hat for T.K. that he is going to love, but will have no practical use for outside of their bedroom. Owen is thrilled that his son can now match with Carlos, and Carlos is just glad they got the brown one and not the shiny blue one with silver stars.

He offers to take their bags to the car since they’re starting to get in the way and he’s on his way back, trying to figure out how he’s going to convince his father-in-law to go to Dick’s Sporting Goods and buy some batting gloves that are actually on T.K.’s wish list. Owen will probably dislike this idea because it is both practical and reasonably priced.

Carlos is plotting his plan of attack when a hand reaches out and grabs him, jerking him behind a sign with a map of the mall on it. “Whoa, hey!” he says, before realizing it’s Owen who has latched onto his arm. “What’s going on?”

“Look. Over there.”

Carlos follows the line of his finger to a kiosk selling cellphone cases and accessories. “Owen, what am I looking at?”

“That guy.”

“The one that looks like Santa?” The jolly, bearded fellow is talking to the seller at the kiosk, smiling and laughing.

“And the other guy.”

A shifty looking man, younger than the bearded grandfatherly type who is talking to the salesperson, is lurking near the stand too. “Okay…” Carlos says.

“I’ve been following them since you left. I’m pretty sure they just shoplifted from Bath and Body Works. And it looks like they’re about to do it again. We need to stop them.”

“Owen, that’s a pretty serious accusation. Are you sure that’s really what you saw?”

“The jolly one was distracting the workers with his holiday charm and I’m pretty sure the shifty one put several hand sanitizers in his pockets.”

Carlos barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure?”

“There was a stand of candles in the way, but I know I’m very sure he was shoving them in by the handfuls.”

“Then let’s go tell a mall security guard.”

“All they’re going to do is call APD. You can arrest them now and prevent more crime from happening before APD can even get here.”

“I can’t arrest them because you think you saw them do something,” Carlos says.

Owen sighs. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

As they watch the shifty guy moves away from the stand and slinks toward another store a little further down. Carlos relaxes his shoulders. “See? Nothing happening here. Let’s check out—“

He’s interrupted by a huge crash as an entire shelf of the cellphone kiosk hits the floor, sending things flying everywhere. Everyone in the area stops and stares as the kiosk worker reels backward and falls to the floor.

Owen and Carlos move simultaneously. “Whoa, easy there,” Owen says as the kiosk worker tries to sit up. “That was a nasty fall. Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” he says, wincing as he pushes himself upright. “I don’t know what happened.”

“It looks like someone removed the pins from this shelf,” Carlos says, examining it. 

“Removed the pins? Why would someone do that?”

“Could have been a prank of some kind,” Carlos says.

“Or it could have been someone trying to create a distraction,” Owen says, giving Carlos a meaningful look.

“A distraction?” The guy looks confused. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Carlos tells him. “Here, we’ll help you clean this up.”

They spend a few minutes picking up cellphone bits and bobs and helping the guy get the shelf back into place. “Is that everything?” Owen asks.

The guy looks around. “Yeah. I think so. Thank you guys for your help, I’m sure you have other things to get back to.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot Owen shakes his head. “Told you. Shoplifters.”

“Owen…”

“I know, you think I’m crazy. But where are that Santa guy and his shifty elf helper now, huh? Did they stick around to help? No. I bet you that shifty guy loosened that shelf on purpose and then he and Santa grabbed things from one of these nearby stores while we were distracted.”

“Or,” Carlos says pragmatically, “the shelf was never installed correctly and fell on its own.” He smiles and nods toward the sporting goods store. “How do we feel about some batting gloves?”

Owen does buy the batting gloves, but Carlos suspects it’s only because he’s preoccupied with his fictional shoplifter case. He keeps looking around, trying to be casual about it, but failing miserably. Strand men are great at a lot of things; subtlety is not one of them.

“You’re still thinking about those guys, huh?” Carlos asks as they walk out of Dick’s Sporting Goods.

“I know in my gut that they’re up to no good, Carlos,” Owen says. “You see a lot of shady people in my line of work.”

“More than in mine?” Carlos asks skeptically.

“Okay, fair point. But are you really telling me you don’t think they looked a little suspicious?”

Carlos mentally reviews what he saw earlier. “They definitely looked like they could be trouble. But we have no proof. Unless we see something else, there’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m so glad you agree,” Owen says. “I think it’s time for further investigation.”

Carlos stops walking, his brow furrowing in surprise. “Further investigation?”

“Come on. We’re making a little detour. I hope you know what you want for Christmas.”

Carlos follows him toward the center of the mall where a giant Christmas display has been set up and fake snow flurries from the sky. There’s a large gingerbread cottage, fake reindeer, a candy-cane lined path, mounds of cotton acting as the only snowfall Texas will see this year, and the centerpiece of it all is a gigantic throne upon which sits a jolly Santa who is holding two screaming toddlers while an elf attempts to get a picture worthy of a Christmas card. 

“Owen, what are we doing here?” Carlos asks. Two men hanging around a kid-friendly area sans children is not a good look.

“I heard that Santa guy talking earlier. He doesn’t just look like Santa, he is one of the mall Santas. The scrawny guy is an elf. And I know where their green room is.” He takes a look around and then ducks under one of the candy cane striped ribbons that line the area to keep pedestrians out. “Follow my lead,” he says and then drops out of sight into a mound of cotton snow.

“Owen!” Carlos hisses, dropping to his own knees instinctually so that both of them are now hidden in the piles of fluff. “Owen what are you doing?”

“Investigating. This way,” Owen whispers over his shoulder, beckoning Carlos forward. 

He really has no choice. Owen is going to do this whether Carlos follows him or not. So Carlos crawls on his hands and knees after his father-in-law, past reindeer legs and lollipop stems, until they reach the base of the gingerbread house. 

Owen points silently toward a cutout window and, like something out of a cheesy, 90’s Christmas film, they both rise up underneath it, trying to listen and peek over the sill without being seen. 

Sure enough the Santa look alike and his scrawny elf partner are both inside. “Ugh. Only like fifteen hand sanitizers and a couple hand lotions,” the scrawny guy says, shoving merchandise into a large blue duffle bag. “Got some decent jewelry from Kendra Scott while everyone was distracted with that cell phone kiosk though.”

“I told you. We have to keep it small. Otherwise people will get suspicious. Besides, we got that laptop last week and all those clothes from Anthropologie. Those are worth a lot on resale.” Santa takes a sip from his coffee cup. “I made almost ten grand off a mall in El Paso last year. Trust me. This’ll be worth it if we can make it a couple more weeks.”

“It had better be. This elf costume itches,” the scrawny guy retorts, reaching for a red and green costume hanging from a hook on the wall.

Owen motions to Carlos and they crawl back out toward the regular part of the mall. “There you have it,” Owens says as they stand. “Proof. Let’s bust in there and arrest them.”

“You aren’t authorized to arrest anyone. And I’m off duty,” Carlos says. “There are lots of bystanders around. This isn’t a violent crime. We need to call it in first.”

“Okay, so call away.”

“I will,” Carlos says. “Keep an eye on them, let me know if they go anywhere.”

“You got it,” Owen says.

Carlos sends a mental apology to his dad. He’d been really annoyed all those times Gabriel had gotten caught up in one of Owen Strand’s schemes. But now he can see that it’s a very slippery slope and once you start sliding you can’t stop.

He places a call, explains the situation and confirms that officers will be arriving shortly. Relieved that this is almost over, he turns back to tell Owen they need to stick around until APD arrives, but Owen has vanished

Frantically Carlos scans the area, his eyes landing in horror on the line of children and parents waiting eagerly to meet Santa. Sometime in the last ten minutes their suspects have taken center stage, Santa on his throne and Scrawny taking photos. Owen is up next in line, the woman behind him eyeing him suspiciously as she holds tightly to the hand of an eager little boy in a sweater with a T-Rex wearing reindeer antlers on its head. 

Before Carlos can even move, Scrawny, now dressed in full red and green elf regalia, calls Owen forward and he marches up toward Santa’s throne. “Oh no,” Carlos whispers under his breath as he jogs over to the line. “Excuse me,” he says, trying to push toward the front.

“Hey! No cutting! Get in the back!” an irate father yells.

Another elf with a headset puts both hands out to stop Carlos from moving further. “Sir! Sir! You have to wait at the end of the line!” 

“This is official Texas Ranger business,” Carlos tells her, his heart pounding as he watches Owen step right up to their suspects.

“Right, sure it is,” she scoffs.”

“Buddy, what do you want?” Santa asks, suspicion in his voice, despite the smile on his face.

“Owen, stop!” Carlos calls desperately, pushing past the headset elf who immediately begins calling for security.

Either Owen doesn’t hear or he doesn’t care, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd. “What I want to know is, why you think it’s acceptable to use the good name of Santa Claus for criminal activity,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Santa tells him. “Ho, ho, ho, is this some kind of joke?”

“It most certainly is not a joke,” Owen says. “Santa is supposed to give gifts away, not steal them for himself.”

“Okay, get out of here,” Scrawny the elf says, marching toward him.

“I will not get out of here,” Owen says hotly. “The two of you are robbing the stores of this mall and I won’t stand for it. Not at Christmas.”

“Buddy, you knock it off right now,” Santa says, his twinkly persona dropping away as he gets to his feet.

“You don’t deserve to wear this suit,” Owen tells him, poking a finger at his chest. “We have evidence of what you’ve done. Let’s not make a scene in front of all these families. The respectable thing to do here is to calmly turn yourselves over to the authorities.”

Owen is right. That would be the respectable thing to do. But this is not a respectable Santa. 

Instead, he runs. And Owen goes after him.

“Owen! Wait!” Carlos yells, vaulting a gumdrop fence to try and get closer.

It’s too late. Owen takes a flying leap and tackles Santa into a snowbank, knocking a fake reindeer’s head off in the process as the crowd around the display gasps in shock and Run, Run Rudolph begins to blast over the speakers.

“Stop! Texas Ranger!” Carlos yells, and then ducks as Scrawny grabs a giant candy cane and swings it at his head. 

Carlos catches the candy cane in both hands and grabs on tightly. “Drop it!” he orders. 

Scrawny refuses to let go and they wrestle over it for a minute until Carlos manages to rip it out of his hands, chucking it to the side. “Get on your knees,” he says, but Scrawny is scrappy. He lunges forward and catches Carlos around the middle, sending both of them sprawling onto the floor.

Carlos grunts as he lands flat on his back, the air immediately knocked from his lungs. Scrawny takes advantage of that to deliver a devastating blow to his jaw that sends pain exploding through Carlos’ face. 

On instinct more than skill he manages to hook a leg around Scrawny and roll them both over, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. “Stop moving,” he orders between gritted teeth. “Turn over.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Scrawny yells.

“Yeah well, you can tell the officers all about that when they get here,” Carlos huffs out, shoving the man onto his front and pinning his hands behind his back. 

His assailant subdued, he looks up and find that Owen has Santa in a headlock. “Get off of me!” Santa yells.

“You, are a very bad Santa,” Owen says breathlessly as blood pools in a cut on his lip and a black eye begins blooming around his eye socket.

“He’s hurting Santa!” The yell of a small child catches Carlos’ attention and his face heats as he realizes how many onlookers are gaping at them, cellphones taking video that is likely going to break the internet at some point later today.

“Owen let him go!” Carlos calls as mall security appears in the distance, one of them cruising in on a Segway that has been decorated in red and green tinsel garland.

Owen releases Santa, both of them doubling over in pain as Carlos pulls Scrawny to his feet. The Segway security guard skids to a stop and approaches him warily. “I’m Carlos Reyes, a Major with the Texas Rangers,” Carlos tells him. “These two have been stealing from stores in the mall all day. I have APD on the way.”

“We’ve been getting reports of items missing,” the officer says. “Didn’t ever think it would be Santa and his elf though.”

“Do you have somewhere to hold these two until they get here?” Carlos asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Carlos hands off Scrawny as another two guards grab Santa and plop him down into the back of a golf cart, securing his hands with zip ties.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks Owen. It’s hard to get the words out, his jaw aching more and more with each syllable as it begins to swell.

“He got a couple good shots in,” Owen says, swiping at the blood on his lip. “I’ve had worse though.”

“You should have let me handle it,” Carlos says.

“Sorry Carlos, I know you’re good. But you’re not good enough to take on Santa and his elf,” Owen tells him. 

Someone from mall security gets them ice and then APD finally shows up. Carlos has just finished giving his statement to an officer when EMS arrives. He groans when he sees who it is. “We’re in trouble.”

Owen follows his gaze and winces. “Oh yeah. We are.”

Tommy, Nancy, and T.K. are moving toward them and Carlos can spot the exact moment they get close enough to realize who they’re going to be helping today because all three of them freeze on the spot. T.K.’s eyes go wide and then a mixture of worry and fury crosses his face as he picks up the pace and beats his partner and his boss to their sides.

“What happened?” he demands, kneeling down and putting a hand on Carlos’ thigh.

“There was a situation that needed to be dealt with and we handled it,” Owen says and T.K. shoots him a look of fury. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means Santa was up to no good and we stopped it,” Carlos says, suddenly feeling very tired. 

T.K. opens his mouth, but Tommy and Nancy reach them at that point and they have their own questions. “Well this is a bit of a surprise,” Tommy says, reaching for the ice that Owen is holding on his eye. “What on earth have you two been up to today?”

“Yeah Captain Strand, I thought you had worked through the anger issues,” Nancy says, attaching a pulse oximeter to Carlos’ index finger.

“This wasn’t anger. This was holiday related justice,” Owen says primly.

“More like holiday related shenanigans,” T.K. mutters under his breath, but the concerned eyes he shoots at Carlos and the steady rubbing of his hand up and down Carlos’ thigh for comfort bely that his anger is really just worry.

“Okay, both of you, tell us what hurts,” Tommy commands.

In the end they get taken to the hospital for x-rays. Owen is pronounced fine, no damage done to his eye socket, although he’ll have one hell of a black eye, and Carlos’ jaw isn’t broken, but it is badly bruised. Scrawny really packed a punch. He’s relieved when he’s finally back home in bed, T.K. fussing over the comforter and the ice pack he’s holding to his face.

“Is the ice too cold?” T.K. asks. “Are you hungry? Of course you’re hungry, it’s like eight o’clock. I’m going to make you some soup.”

Carlos has a feeling he won’t be eating solids for several days, and soup does sound good; lunch with Owen feels like weeks ago at this point. But he catches T.K.’s hand and tugs him down onto the bed instead. “In a minute,” Carlos says. “Sit with me for a bit first.”

T.K. perches on the edge a frown on his face as he brushes a hand through Carlos’ curls. “I shouldn’t have let you go with my dad today. I knew something like this would happen.”

“How could you possibly have known something like this would happen?” Carlos asks, cracking an incredulous smile and then wincing when it sends throbs of pain through his face.

“Because that’s how it always is with my dad. If there’s trouble, he’s going to find it. He’s almost gotten us killed twice. He went undercover with a white nationalist group. He bought a horse and kept it at the firehouse for weeks. It’s like he literally can’t help himself.”

“He did the right thing today though,” Carlos says. “Those guys had stolen thousands of dollars worth of stuff from the shops in the mall.”

“I know, but I wish you hadn’t been in the middle of it,” T.K. grumbles, his hand coming up to gently cup Carlos’ bruised jaw. “Did you get any shopping done? Or did you spend the entire time playing detective?”

“Oh we got some shopping done,” Carlos says. “And I tried. I really tried babe. But your dad is…”

“Stubborn? Difficult? Unpredictable?”

Carlos nods. “All of those things.”

“So? What should I look forward to getting for Christmas this year?”

“How do you feel about hats…?”

[feyd-meowtha]

@middlingmay's Fic Rec Questions

I saw this list and thought it would be fun to give it a go!!

1) Fic that's made you laugh the most

He May Be The Reason by @c-goldthorn. It's a Clegan Notting Hill au and it makes me squeal with delight. So cute that I got distracted while reading it and missed my stop on the train.

2) A fic that made you cry

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder by pillar of our community @swifty-fox. I'm sure most ppl have probably read this one but it's such an amazing post-show continuation that really doesn't pull it's punches when it comes to both PTSD and the realities of being gay in the 40s

3) Fave comfort, silly fic

It's a little rogue but I'm gonna say Awake, Alive by the wonderful @whirlpool-blogs. It's a pet sematary au so not exactly what you would call traditionally comforting but the ending makes me so happy and the whole thing is just a joy. The fact that this came to mind when I thought 'comfort fic' is probably pretty telling about me as a person....

4) The fic that made you try a genre or trope that you don't usually read

This is also a bit rogue but it was tricky since I'll read anything, so I'll go with Strings of the Strings of Life by the lovely @weimarweekly, not because of any of the content but because I don't, as a general rule, read Dune fic that was written after Dune 2 released. I've bored everyone to tears with my complaints about that version of Feyd but it is what it is so I tend not to like any fics written about that version of the character BUT the prospect of a feydpaul Berlin techno au was too delicious to resist and the whole fic is so fun. It makes me miss Germany sooo bad.

5) An author who has inspired your own fic writing

This one has got to go to the anonymous author of both Close And Yet Closer and The Replacement. Both of these fics are god tier and their character psychology and willingness to allow their versions of the characters and relationships to be ugly and messy are so inspiring to me. They were also the first person in the John/Hausman tag on ao3 which is currently just me and them. I think about the replacement all the time and it was a HUGE influence on 3am Eternal. If I can ever write half as well as them I will die happy.

6) What are your fave underdog authors? Those that you feel are underappreciated and deserve a bit more love

Hmmm, this is kinda hard cus the MOTA fandom is pretty small so I feel like a lot of stuff gets decent buzz. Imma shout out @whirlpool-blogs again and especially their fucked up clegans fics, I have read and reread all of their works and they're always so so good. I will also add @steeseman for Up In Our Bedroom. It's another great post-canon fic and while it has a lot of hits, I don't think I've seen anyone talking about it on here.

7) What's one thing you wish writers/readers did more of when it comes to fanfiction.

The obvious one is comment, it really does make my day when I get a nice comment, even just a couple words or an emoji mean a lot. The other thing I would say is writing curt/Kenny fic, there's not much out there and I want more please. Also more fics where characters relationships are like genuinely kind of fucked up and toxic. I love that shit.

8) What's one thing you wish writers/readers did less of when it comes to fanfiction.

Oh man, I really do not know. The only thing I can think of is that I hate the word 'yap' or 'yapping' so if I see it in a fic I shudder. Hmmmm, I guess I also wish that there was a little more consideration when writing Gale's dad as an alcoholic because it's often treated as the basis for him being a shitty person. Addicts aren't automatically bad people and I sometimes feel like it's portrayed that way. @blixabargelds wrote an excellent post on this

9) I'm adding an extra one and that is current WIPs I am reading

Sympathy For The Devil by @blixabargelds, it's a modern ghost hunting AU and the set up is AMAZING. I will also throw Superstar in here even though it's not releasing main story chapters yet, everything Frankie writes is so tailored to my personal tastes it's crazy and I am so excited to read @mildharm's John POV chapters too. Literally foaming at the mouth thinking about it rn. When it starts being released fully, I fear it may kill me.

Love Song From A Dog and The Heart Is A Muscle by @swifty-fox. I've only just started THIAM but I'm so hyped for their take on the tattoo shop/flower shop au.

Hit Me Where The Heart Is by @london-cowboy makes me legitimately insane. I jump for joy whenever there is a new update, these versions of the characters and their stories are, as Paris Hilton would say, beyond. I do not have the words to say how much I am loving this fic. The characters and setting feel so real and it's just so creative. AMAZING.

I need to get around to starting let us not desert one another; we are an injured body and also the time skip fic whose name escapes me by @irregularcollapse and also catching up with @weimarweekly's rodeo fic, Looking For Eight

Writing this was very fun and I encourage anyone reading to give it a go if they fancy it!!

[sunburstsoldier]

Some modern codywan fics that I just love

I have an EXTREMELY LONG fanfic recs document and I've been meaning to make a bunch of posts for ages so here's the first one!! non-explicit Modern AU Codywans in no particular order:

HOT2GO by Saerus2665 for dontbelasagnax | 32k | Mature |

Nurse Ben & firefighter Cody. Ben is a disaster in this and i love it. also bonus Bant is there!

“Hey,” Ben calls from the back. He holds up the forms, “You missed one.” Cody latches another one of the cabinets closed then turns to him. He doesn’t seem surprised to see him. “My bad,” he says simply. He comes to the back of the wagon and takes a seat, legs hanging over the side. He glances up as Ben hands over the forms and pen. “You’d think running down signatures would be a little below your list of duties” he says, in that annoyingly pointed way of his. That’s fine. Ben’s decided he’s done walking on eggshells around him. “You’d think a Fire Captain would be better at remembering to fill out forms he’s done a hundred times,” he returns, just as pointed. Cody smiles at him, a sharp glint in his eye. Or: Nurse Ben and the bad bitch firefighter he pulls by being a complete disaster

Turn it on to a new kind of bright by rolo_rulu, Saerus2665 |41k |

Cody is a hot surfer & Ben is a biologist and also a banana stand dude. Absolutely hysterically funny.

Someone rolls him over onto his back. “Hnnngh…” Ben blinks his eyes open. There’s a man looking down at him, haloed in the bright light of the sun. He has dark eyes, and handsome features, including an interesting scar on the right side of his face. A stray dark curl hangs down in the middle of his forehead. He’s beautiful, with the sunlight behind him. Ethereal. “Are—are you an angel?” Ben finds himself saying. He doesn't know if it's the heat or his poor instinctive attempt at flirting that makes him say it. The man squints at him, brow furrowing, clearly caught off guard. “Uh—are you a banana?” The mention of it brings him back into the reality of the situation: he’s trapped in a banana suit, 10 feet from the banana stand, with the object of his recent fantasies—because yes, this is indeed Hot-Surfer-Cody— looking down at him.

Charmed On The Wayside by TapeMonkey21 | 39k Teen+ |

Lawyer Cody, farmer Obi-Wan, aka Hallmark AU! So good I read it twice in two days, it is EXACTLY like the hallmark movie I never knew I wanted.

Cody Fett's perfect big-city life falls apart when his boyfriend breaks up with him, leaving him heartbroken. A visit to the small Vermont town where his brother Rex lives has him crossing paths repeatedly with Ben, the strange, charming, handsome, flannel-wearing owner of the local cider mill and orchard. Can Cody find love again amidst the fall leaves? Or, the fall Codywan Hallmark Movie we all deserve. Written for the Codywan Comfort flash event.

*The truth that once was spoken by Jimmytiberius | 40k | Mature  | Les Mis Theater AU.

Now with several sequel mini fics, a gorgeous love letter to theater and to our favorite boys. Really cool then-and-now structure.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a well-known actor in London's West End who's just signed a contract to make his long-awaited Broadway debut as Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. There's just one small wrinkle. Broadway star Cody Fett will be playing Inspector Javert. Obi-Wan hasn't seen Cody since the summer he was nineteen, when they were in summer stock together... also in a production of Les Miserables. Their relationship ended badly. What will happen when they see each other again for the first time in nineteen years? Will they ever find a way to tell each other the truth about what happened at the end of that summer?

sourdough: flour, water, and starting over by Shortcuts_make_long_delays |19k | Teen+ | BAKERY AU. This one is very sweet!!

Did Cody need to be up at 3:50am? No, not technically. But he had graciously offered to take Fox’s Sunday morning shifts at their Uncle’s bakery. Donning Fox's red apron as part of a decade long joke, he works at the bakery as he attempts to figure out what he wants from life. The first time Obi-wan shows up to dinner at Anakin's after moving back to Coruscant, he arrives twenty minutes late with the bag of rolls in hand, and unable to stop thinking about the baker in the red apron. Fox, he's pretty sure the name tag said.

bury me beneath the tree i climbed when i was a child by stormwarnings | 33k | Teen + |

Cody is an EMT; Obi-Wan's house keeps catching fire. Absolutely hysterical setting, I love the way they raise the twins communally in this fic so much.

Obi-Wan meets Cody for the first time when his niece and nephew almost light his house on fire.  (Obi-Wan Kenobi and Cody Fett find their way into love slowly but steadily. There's broken bones, too much sooty turnout gear, late hours spent at EMT class, three kids, ten brothers and two adopted siblings, two weddings, and all number of laughs and inside jokes along the way. It's worth it, in the end. Family's always worth it.)

It's Raining, Dear by cafffine |10k | Modern AU 

This one feels like you're just catching pieces of their lives together and i love it. Leia loves rocks. Obi-Wan has anxiety. I love it.

Cody and Obi-Wan fall in love. They live together, Rex calls when he can, Anakin is just out of reach until he isn't, Luke and Leia grow up too fast, Ahsoka lives far away, the back deck needs to be fixed, life happens and it happens and it happens.

More to come !! enjoy!!

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy and Lucy meet a man dangerous enough to frighten them both, and Lizzie reaches a breaking point.

Word Count: 6,543

Warnings: Smut, polyamory, chronic pain, references to violence, past torture, and past sexual assault.

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Chapter 2: Selfish

“Lizzie is going to be mad about that for a good long while,” Lucy commented, one hand stuffed into her trousers pocket while the other flicked ash from her cigarette down onto the cobblestones. Her eyes swiveled around, taking in the ash, flames, and glowing embers being emitted into the air by the nearby factories. All around them was the bustle of men and women going about their business, children with dirtied faces and knees marked up with scrapes and soot racing through the streets together. She dropped a few shillings into the cup of a young girl who wandered past them. 

The train station that they were headed to wasn’t particularly far, and it was good for the people to see Tommy out amongst them, walking to work and taking the train like any other ordinary working man. So when they could, they made the trek to the train on foot. 

She didn’t mind. It was nice to get out into the familiar smoky air, settled like a black cloud over most of Birmingham. Despite everything, it still felt like it was where she most belonged. In the dirt and flames of hell. 

Though it did mean that they had to keep a professional distance from each other. No hand holding or letting their sides brush and bump. They couldn’t risk looking suspiciously close. Not even in Tommy’s own kingdom of Small Heath.

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed heavily. “But what else is fucking new?”

She cast him a regretful look. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? You didn’t even do anything.”

“It always feels like I’m the root cause of most of her anger towards you.”

“No; you’re not.” She felt him casting her a worried look. “It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t tell him that she didn’t believe that. It would only upset him. And he didn’t need to be worrying about her feelings on top of everything else already on his plate.  

“She’s mad because you tell me things that you don’t tell her.”

“Which isn’t fucking new. That’s always how things have been. If she’s only realizing that now…”

“I think she’s more upset about it being thrown in her face than anything else.”

He shook his head, teeth grinding together. “I’m going to cuff Finn the next time I see him. Jesus Christ.”

“Arthur’s right about him needing educating. The kid can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.” As she spoke, she rolled her right shoulder back and forth, trying to ease the twinge that had settled in it. Tommy huffed. 

“Yeah. I’ll put him in charge of running the football betting at the shop. Give him something productive to do.”

“Have Isiah keep an eye on him. They’re friends, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Tommy nodded. They caught the train just before it left the station, slipping into an empty compartment and closing the door, drawing down the blind that covered the window on the door, hiding them from any curious eyes that may have tried to peek in from the narrow hallway.

“May called earlier. She said that she was at a party that a couple other MPs were attending recently. One of them was asking about you,” Lucy settled into her seat, the train whistling shrilly before starting to move, steadily picking up speed as it pulled out from the station. 

“Oh?”

“Oswald Mosley. He’s the MP for Smethwick. Also the Minister of the Duchy of Lancaster,” she fiddled with her rings, twisting them anxiously around her fingers. “May had…a lot of bad things to say about him.” Another throb of pain rocketed from the bottom of her shoulder blades up to the base of her neck, and she had to fight back a flinch. Fucking Luca. Dead and long gone, and yet still haunting her through the aches and pains that the torture he had put through had left. 

Just like Matthew, her former fiancé and the man who instigated the gang rape that left her nearly dead and fleeing to Small Heath to escape marrying him. He too lingered with her still–despite his deceased status–through the scars he and his friends had left all over her body.

I’m part of you forever, now, his and Luca’s voices, mingled into one, whispered inside her head where they now lived. 

“Lucy?” Tommy’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, his hand lightly touching her arm. She jumped a little, jerking back to life, eyes wide when they met his. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. What did you say?”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and she was pretty sure that he sensed the slight waver in her voice that she attempted to cover up. But he must have decided not to comment on it if he did. 

“What does Mosley want with me?” He instead repeated patiently. 

“He didn’t exactly say. But May said that he was asking an awful lot about your moral standings on things. She thought that he might’ve been trying to feel out if you would be amiable to joining the new party he’s rumored to be building.”

“The fascists, you mean?”

“Yeah.” They had been sprouting up everywhere it seemed, lately. Germany. Italy. Even in England. It was spooky. “I could do some more research into him, if you think that it would be worth it.”

Tommy considered for a moment, blue eyes glancing out the window to observe the countryside they were whizzing by. “Yes, you do that. He’s gathering information about me, it would only be fair to return the favor.”

She nodded, a hand unconsciously going up to grasp at her still aching shoulder, trying to rub away some of the pain. But she never could seem to get the right angle…

“Are your shoulders bothering you?”

She looked up to find Tommy still watching her, observant eyes zoned in on where her fingers were subtly kneading. With a sigh, she dropped her hand, rolling the aching bone and muscle back and forth with a wince. There was no use trying to lie to him. 

“A little.” 

His head cocked, pushing up with his hands off the seat he was slumped in across from her to instead settle in the space next to her. “Here.”

“Tommy…!” she immediately started to protest, eyes going panickedly to the blinds covering the window of the door leading into their compartment. 

“Don’t worry. No one will see with the blinds closed. And we’re just passing country right now,” he nodded towards the window, which sure enough was only displaying green fields and farmland. “Let me help. If you don’t do anything for them, they’ll be killing you by this evening.”

Spoken from true experience. He’d seen her when the pain got really bad, leaving her unable to sleep or do anything other than cry and writhe, as if trying to get away from the pains wracking through nearly her entire upper back. 

Slumping in defeat, she nodded, turning to angle herself with her back facing him. His large hands found her shoulders, so big they nearly swallowed the entire expanse of each one in his palms–or maybe she was just that tiny. A small sigh of relief left her lips when he began rubbing gentle but firm circles into her skin, just like how the doctor had instructed him to when explaining ways to help reduce her pain. Slowly, he started to urge the tensed up muscles to relax enough to give her some relief. 

“Did you not do your stretches yesterday?” he asked. Lucy shook her head. 

“Forgot.”

She was supposed to do them everyday, to avoid things like this happening so frequently. But in all the chaos yesterday, they’d completely slipped her mind. And sleeping on the hard earth with nothing but Tommy to use as a pillow probably hadn’t helped things.  

“Hm. Sorry; I should’ve reminded you.”

“Not your fault.”

He pressed his fingers a little harder into her skin. “How’s that feeling?”

“Better.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just try to relax.”

“Pot meet kettle.”

“You want me to stop?”

“...No.”

He chuckled, the first real laugh she’d heard from him since before yesterday, and rested his cheek against her hair while his hands continued to work. Lucy allowed herself to melt a little under his touch, for a moment not worrying about them getting caught together, or about Lizzie, or Michael, or the company. She was able to just rest. Even if only for a moment. All the while Tommy gently rubbed the pain from her body.

∗ ∗ ∗  

She so did love to watch Tommy speak in the house. 

He stood there, amidst the smoke emitting from cigarettes and pipes, glasses perched on his nose, notes held in his hand, his voice ringing out, deep and rumbling. Pretty, eloquent words. He had them all in the palm of his hand and he knew it, the men seated in the benches around him, and those in the observation area with her all clinging to his every word. And when he was finished, those on his side of the room cheered and rapped their hands approvingly against the wood of their benches, the entire room thundering with the sound. 

Lucy couldn’t help but think that the room looked like a theater. 

Who were they performing for? Themselves? Each other? The people in the observation booths? All of them at once? It was hard to say. 

She spotted him seated to Tommy’s right–her left. In the row below Tommy’s, the third man in from the aisle. His dark hair was slicked back, the mustache that decorated his upper lip meticulously groomed. One side of his lips pulled up at something Tommy said, his eyes gleaming. Lucy felt a shiver go down her spine. Humor may have been what was intended to cross his face, but those eyes of his were dead. No emotion to be found in them at all. They remained focused straight ahead as Tommy spoke, except for one specific, notable moment, when they flickered towards the observational benches where she, along with some secretaries, journalists, and other observers, sat to watch the men speak. Lucy swore that for a second their eyes met, before she hastily looked away from him and back to Tommy. Her skin crawled, the fine, fair hairs on the back of her arms standing up straight. Her very insides seemed to recoil, every instinct within her screaming to get up and run as far away from that man as she could possibly get. 

She kept her eyes glued firmly at Tommy for the reminder of the time spent in the house, despite originally going there specifically to observe Mosley.

She felt that she’d gotten all the information that she needed to about what kind of person he was from just that quick glance alone. 

Soon as they were done, she stood, gathering up her notes, tucking them securely in the crook of her arm and making for the exit where she would meet Tommy out in the hall. 

“How did I do?” he asked, once he found her standing at the usual spot where she always waited for him. Lucy caught herself wishing desperately that she could have pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Splendid as always, love.”

He looked away, lips twitching up slightly, clearing his throat bashfully. “Come on.”

Lucy smiled a little to herself at the reaction, falling into step beside him, heading in the direction of their office.  

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked, as they walked.

“Sort of.”

His brow raised. “Sort of?” he quoted back to her.

“I don’t like looking at him,” she explained in a lowered voice. “He makes my skin crawl.”

“Mm.” Tommy hummed in agreement. 

“Lord Suckerby’s secretary said you’re welcome to come by anytime between now and the end of the day to see him,” she told him just as they were interrupted by a voice calling his name from one of the open doors they passed.

They stopped, turned, and were met face to face with Oswald Mosley, a barbed smile sliding into place across his features as those empty eyes bored into Tommy. Lucy’s skin roiled in response to his posh, clipped voice when he spoke, introducing himself and holding out a hand for Tommy to shake. His sly smile never once ceased, eyes never leaving Tommy’s as he took his hand and shook it firmly. 

“Let me just say, you’ve come to my attention,” the words were spoken in a croon, with the smallest of head tilts. Lucy couldn’t fully decide if the intended effect was supposed to be predatory, or seductive. 

Before Tommy could reply. Mosley’s eyes had snapped, sharp and quick, like a snake striking, to fix on Lucy. She had to fight back the urge to hide behind her lover’s back. The expression on Mosley’s face turned wolfish. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” She felt Tommy tense beside her at Mosley’s words. “Oswald Mosley,” he extended his hand towards her. Lucy felt ill at the thought of touching him, but forced herself to reach out and take his hand. It was cold as ice and dry as a bone.

“Lucy Winters,” she introduced herself, shaking Mosley’s hand once before letting it go, pushing away the urge to wipe her palm on her trousers. “I’m Mr. Shelby’s assistant.” 

Mosley’s eyes darted between them, one eyebrow quirking upwards, a smirk settling on his lips. “Hm. Lucky you, Mr. Shelby.” 

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Mosley, we have to get going.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But if you aren’t too busy, I would love the opportunity to speak with you more. Perhaps over drinks?”

Tommy considered. “You can call my office,” was all he ultimately said, hastily turning on his heel and starting down the hall again. Lucy hurried after him, not wanting to be left alone with Mosley. 

“You’re really going to meet with him?” she asked, once they were far enough away to be out of ear shot. 

“Just to hear what he has to say.” He looked over at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not sympathetic to his cause. But keep your enemies closer, eh?”

“Yeah.” She looked over her shoulder, half expecting Mosley to appear spontaneously behind them. “He scares me a little, Tommy.” Her voice was a rough whisper, half ashamed at the omission. 

“Me too.”

That got her attention, and when she looked at Tommy, she noticed something almost unsteady under the guarded armor he kept carefully in place across his eyes. Fear squeezed at her throat. 

A man who was bad enough to make Tommy so frightened was something she hadn’t even thought existed.

“You head on back to the office,” he said, changing the subject with a small clearing of his throat. “I think I’ll go see Lord Suckerby now.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” He shook his head. “I think it’ll make a stronger impression if I go see him alone.”

“You think he’ll give you any trouble?”

“Maybe. Depends on how hard he was hit by the crash.”

She frowned. She hadn’t really thought about that. Though she probably should have. “Everyone was hit by the crash.”

“Yeah.”

“If Suckerby can’t pay us…”

“He will. I’m not giving him any other choice.”

She pressed her lips together in a small smile. “I’d like first crack at him, if it comes to it.”

Tommy shot her an amused look. “Oh, is that so?”

“After seeing those photos that he wanted us to get for him, there are a couple of things I’d very much like to do to him.”

During the train ride to London she had flipped through the small package of photographs, letters, and cheques that Isiah had handed off to her while they were in Birmingham. Everything he and Aberama had collected from the man they killed in Chinatown who had been using the contents of that package to blackmail Suckerby. Her stomach had roiled at the contents of some of them, bile rising.

Lord Suckerby was one disgusting man. Maybe after he paid them, an unfortunate accident could befall him. Like falling out a window or getting run over by a bus.  

Based on the thunderous, repulsed look that had crossed Tommy’s features when she showed him the photographs, Lucy thought he may very well be open to the idea. The envelope was now stashed safely in the inner pocket of her suit jacket, snug against her side. It would remain there until Suckerby paid what he owed them for their services.

“Alright,” Tommy said, eyes still dancing with fond, quiet mirth. “He doesn’t corporate, he’s all yours.”

She beamed, only just managing to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck, stretching up on toes, and planting a firm kiss to his temple that would have left his fair skin stained with red smudges from her lipstick. “Thank you, Tommy,” she said instead, adding what she hoped came across as a playful, affectionate lilt to her voice. He glanced over at her, one edge of his lips nudging upwards, eyes softening. 

They came to a hallway splitting off into two separate directions. This was where they parted ways. Her, turning left to head to their office, him, heading right, towards where Lord Suckerby’s offices were located. 

“I’ll see you soon?”

He nodded. “This won’t take long.”

“I’ll phone his office when I get in and let them know you’re coming. So they’ll be expecting you.”

“Right.”

“And then you have a few more meetings this afternoon.”

“Mm.” He lowered his voice. “I thought that we’d stay at the apartment for the night, rather than go back to Arrow House.”

“That probably would be a good idea. It’d give Lizzie some time to cool down.”

“Exactly.” 

She nodded, moving to head in the direction leading to their office. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She walked backwards a few paces, fondly watching his broad back disappear around the corner before turning and making her way the rest of the short walk back to the little corner of Parliament that they presided over. 

∗ ∗ ∗

She had not been back in the office long when Tommy returned, heavy footed steps booming against the floor and swiping his fringe from his eyes. 

“How did it go?” Lucy asked, looking up from her desk.

“By the time I left the room, he was screaming my name,” he thumbed a cigarette from his silver case. Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a euphemism?”

Tommy snorted, plucking out a second cigarette to hand to her. “He only had twenty thousand to give to us.”

“Really?” That wasn’t even half of the fifty thousand pounds they’d agreed upon. She placed her cigarette between her lips and leaned forward towards the flame of his lighter when he held it up for her. “Does that mean I get to play with him now?”

Tommy chuckled, raising the lighter to his own cigarette before closing it with a click. “Easy, girl. I gave him until Monday to get us the full amount.”  

She pouted a little, leaning back into her chair. “You’re going soft, Shelby.”  

“No,” Tommy’s eyes danced amusedly. He reached out, brushing his thumb down her cheek. It was a risky move, since anyone could walk through the door at any moment, but she didn’t pull her face away from the tender touch. “I just want my fifty thousand pounds.”

“Mm. Whatever you say, love.”

His thumb inched into dangerous territory, ghosting over her bottom lip. She aimed a playful nip at it, and he drew his hand back with a grin. 

“Cheeky mare.”

Lucy smiled at him, batting her eyelashes innocently in an ‘I’m-very-sure-I-don’t-know-what-you-mean’ kind of way. Though remnants of his smile lingered on his face and his eyes remained softened fondly, Tommy’s expression turned serious again.  

“Hey, make that research into Mosley top priority, yeah? I wanna be ready when I next see him.”

“Yes, boss.” She gave him a little two finger salute. The corner of his lips kicked up again.

“Thank you.” 

She watched him head through the double doors into his office, leaving them open behind him, a silent invitation for her to come keep him company if she wanted. Gathering up some of her papers, she rose from her chair to follow him. 

It was, after all, an invitation that she never passed up. 

∗ ∗ ∗  

It was dark by the time they started to pack up to leave for the day. Tommy had one final appointment, but Lucy figured she would get a head start on closing the office up while he spoke with the journalist from the London Times. She eyed Michael Levitt as Adam–Tommy’s other secretary at Westminster–led him into Tommy’s office, noting the nervous way that the journalist  kept fidgeting with his hat while he waited. A moment later, Adam came back out, casting an anxious look over his shoulder to where Levitt had taken a seat in front of Tommy’s desk. 

“Mr. Shelby said I was to go home,” he came over to her desk, keeping his voice lowered. She nodded.

“Then go home. I’ll take care of locking everything up.”

“Right.” 

She watched him gather up his things and head for the door, one ear focused on trying to overhear the mumbled voices of Tommy and Levitt. “See you tomorrow,” she told Adam.

“Goodnight,” he nodded. Soon as he was gone, she stood smoothly, snatching up the little journal perched on the corner of her desk and going to Tommy’s office. He had left the doors open, so she was able to slip in without so much as a sound, footsteps muffled against the rugs lining the floor. 

Levitt was visibly sweating, stuttering over his words. Lucy raised an eyebrow, going to where Tommy’s coat was hung up to his right behind his desk. She slipped the journal into the pocket, giving it a tap twice, watching out of the corner of her eye how Tommy’s gaze followed her. He gave a barely indiscernible nod in acknowledgement, and she spun on her heel and left the room, letting her eyes meet the timid Levitt’s for a second before turning her head away. 

She flitted around her and Adam’s office, putting things away and locking them up for safe keeping, even doing some tidying. The whole time, she listened closely to the words being murmured between Tommy and the journalist. At one point, not long before Levitt rushed from the room, she heard Tommy quoting directly from some of the notes she had written in the little journal during her time spent researching Levitt and his activities. 

Soon as he was gone, she locked the door behind him and went back to Tommy’s office. 

“I take it that could have gone better?” she moved to stand on his side of the desk, arms folded over her chest and back leaning against the hard wooden edge. Her head cocked as she watched him rub at his eyes. 

“He was asking about Campbell and Polly.”

“I heard. You want him to be taken care of?”

Tommy wetted his lips, considering. “Yes,” he decided. “Last thing we need is a reporter sniffing around.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem like the type that we could just pay off. I’ll have some of our boys handle it at his apartment in Maida Vale. Quick and clean.” 

“Have them do it with enough flourish that it’ll make other journalists nervous. To dissuade anyone else from trying anything for a while.”

“But not easily linked to us, right?”

“Right. And let’s just keep it between you and me. Last thing I need is more temper tantrums over my not sharing information.”

“Okay.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, reaching out to smooth his hand up and down her thigh. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

His arms looped around her, and she laughed quietly when he pulled her closer, his head tipping back to stare up at her, blue eyes wide and mischievous. 

“Adam went home?”

“Yes.”

“Hm…so it’s just us, then?”

Her fingers smoothed through his dark hair, fighting back a smirk. “Yes, it’s just us.”

With a purring sound from low in the back of his throat, he took hold of her hips and pulled her closer. 

“Tommy!” She laughed as he maneuvered her into his lap, as if this was not something they had done dozens of times before. As if she had not let him fuck her on top of his big desk the very first day they spent in the new office, her face burying in his shoulder with her teeth sinking into the thick fabric of his suit jacket to try to keep herself quiet while his cock pounded into her. 

He pushed open her suit jacket, popping free the first two buttons on her shirt and dipping his head to press his lips to the newly exposed skin. Wriggling in his lap, Lucy hissed at the feeling of his cock already hardening in his trousers, the material bulging against her. 

Tangling her hands in his hair, she tipped his head back enough to kiss him, moaning softly as his hands smoothed up her thighs, urging her to rock against him and fumbling with her belt. It was late, most people working in the building would have already gone home for the evening. But they still needed to be quiet. 

“Mm, did you lock the door?” Tommy asked in a low, rough murmur that went straight to her cunt, walls fluttering around nothing. The things he could do to her with just his voice alone were downright sinful. 

“Yes.”

He made a noise of approval that turned her legs to jelly. “Good,” he lifted her from his lap for a microsecond to slip her loosened trousers and knickers down, hand burning hot where it slid up her exposed thigh. “Always such a good girl for me.”

“A-ah…” her head lolled back, eyes rolling both at the praise and the first brush of his thick fingers across her entrance, circling lazily around her clit. 

“Gotta keep quiet, now,” he continued to mumble in her ear, breath warm where it fanned against her cheek. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded vigorously. That was all she wanted; to be good for him. To make him happy. 

Turning his head, Tommy pressed a kiss to her temple and gingerly slipped one finger into her while his thumb occupied itself with rolling over her clit. He kept his movements careful and slow until he got her more warmed up, waiting until slickness coated his hand generously before adding a second finger and increasing the pace of his pumps. 

“There you go,” he hummed when he felt her start to flutter around him. “There you go, that’s a good girl…”

“Tom…” she whimpered, biting her lip to try to keep herself quiet, not wanting to disappoint him by letting any sounds slip out to be heard beyond this room.

“I know,” he soothed. “That’s my girl. Bite down on my shoulder if you need to.”

She did just that, nosing the material of his clothing aside to taste his bare skin between her lips. Tommy groaned, low and quiet but impossibly deep, at the first sting of her teeth against him. Her walls tightened, moments away from bursting. His fingers curled within her, pressing right into the spot that made her see stars.  

“Let go,” he ordered in a sweet whisper aimed directly into her ear, and she bit down hard to try to hinder what would have been an incredibly loud moan as her orgasm wrecked through her like a firecracker, bright lights exploding behind her eyes, entire body shuddering with it, pressing close to him instinctively.  

Tommy guided her through it, slowly coaxing her down from her high until she slumped against him.

“Good. Very good, sweetheart.”

She made a happy little noise at the praise, snuggling closer to his neck, nuzzling at the bitemark she’d left on him. Tommy stroked the back of her head, kissing her hair. Sneakily, she snaked a hand down between their bodies to palm the bulge in his trousers, and it was his turn to try to stifle his noises of pleasure, teeth locking down tight around the groan rising from his throat. 

Arms wrapping around her, he lifted her seemingly effortlessly off of his lap, setting her down on the edge of his desk while he stood, hands dropping down to fumble with his trousers. Lucy felt her mouth water at the sight of his long, impossibly thick erection bobbing against his stomach after being released from its confines. Tommy gave himself a few good, languid strokes, jaw dropping open as his eyelashes fluttered, face inches from hers. Lucy spread her legs wider, encouraging him in between them. Her hands grabbed at handfuls of his suit jacket while he lined himself up, sliding in with one deep thrust. 

“Oh,” Tommy rested his cheek against hers, hands flexing where they landed on her hip and thigh. 

“Quiet, remember?” she teased slightly, trailing her fingertips through his hair. He shivered, letting out a breathless chuckle followed by a kiss to her cheek. Burying his face in her neck, hands bracing on her body, he started to move. She could tell that he was trying to start out slow and give her time to adjust to his considerable size, but all it took was her purposefully squeezing around his cock and wrapping her legs around his waist, and his efforts went up in smoke. 

He bucked into her like a man possessed, low grunts muffled against her throat, a few trinkets rattling on the desk from the force of his thrusts. Lucy tucked her face back in against his shoulder, biting down hard on her bottom lip to try to contain her whimpers and moans as his swollen tip rubbed right up against her g-spot with each roll of his hips. 

“Shit. Squeezing me so tight, love,” Tommy rasped out, hand slipping between their bodies to rub at her clit. “Give me another one, yeah? I know you can, sweetheart.”

“Mm…” Her back arched, pressing her clothed breasts into his chest. Her legs tightened around him, and her jaw clenched with the effort it was taking for her not to let the volume of her noises get too high. His cock twitched and throbbed inside her, in the way that she knew meant his orgasm was imminent. The pleasure built like steam rising in a kettle, tension mounting until she felt moments away from bursting. Her walls spasmed uncontrollably around him, as if wanting to keep him locked in place within her for all eternity. Tommy hitched her thigh up a little higher on his hip, allowing his cock to get just that much deeper into her, and applied more pressure to her clit with his thumb. 

She came at the same moment that she managed to grab his face and bring his mouth crashing down onto hers, each of them swallowing what would have been massive moans as they both came fantastically. Her walls clamped down around him, insides fluttering with the force with which she came. Tommy’s chest vibrated under her palms with his growl as he finished, grinding his tip in as deep as he could go while spurting jets of seed into her. 

Lucy released a blissful sigh, closing her eyes and riding out the waves of her climax while basking in the feeling of him spilling his load into her. 

Tommy slumped forwards against her, face nestling in the crook of her shoulder, lips pressing to her neck delicately whilst he relaxed. His arms wound around her in a warm embrace, a quiet purr leaving his chest when she stroked the back of his head. 

“We should go,” Lucy finally broke the silence that had stretched on between them. Tommy nodded, shifting to carefully pull out of her, tucking himself back into his trousers and straightening out his clothes. He plucked a handkerchief from his pocket for her to use to clean the mix of their releases from her thighs, then let her hold onto his shoulders when she hopped off the edge of the desk and regained her balance. 

“Have you got everything locked up?” he asked as she pulled her slacks back up.

“Yeah, just gotta grab a few things from my desk to take with us.”

“Good. I wanna get out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Tommy Shelby eager to leave work? Is there a special occasion I’m not aware of?”

He rolled his eyes, giving her hip a light pinch. “No occasion.” He swiped a few locks of hair off of her forehead and cradled the back of her neck, a smile tugging on the edges of his lips while his eyes looked her up and down. There was something heated in them that made her thighs squeeze together. “Except that I’m not even close to done with you yet.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“You know, Frances, if there were to be a snap election in this house today, I wouldn’t win it. Even if I were running against the devil himself,” Tommy remarked to their housekeeper once they’d gotten home. Frances shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I’d still vote for you,” Lucy offered. Tommy gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, love.”

He went off to go talk to Charlie where he was sulking in the stables while Lucy ventured upstairs, wandering through the winding hallways until she heard the hum of Lizzie and Ruby’s voices. Coming to a halt in the doorway of Ruby’s room, she watched them where they were seated together in the rocking chair by the window, Ruby in Lizzie’s lap, head resting on her mother’s chest while Lizzie read to her from a book. 

“Hi, Lucy!” Ruby said when she spotted her. Lucy smiled.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Is Daddy with you?”

“He’s down at the stables.”

She let out an excited squeal, jumping off Lizzie’s lap and racing for the door.

“Ruby, what have I told you about running in the house!?” Lizzie shouted after her, but the little girl was already long gone. Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly, shaking her head and closing the book. As Lucy watched her stand to put it away on a shelf, she noticed Ruby’s suitcase laid out on the bed, half filled with clothes. 

“Going somewhere?”

Lizzie sighed, glancing over at the suitcase, then back at Lucy. “I’m taking Ruby to Arthur’s.”

Lucy stared at her. “Why?”

Lizzie’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “Because, I realized this afternoon that I’d rather swallow horse shit than sit down and eat dinner with you and him.” She began to zip up Ruby’s luggage. “I need to get away. From both of you. At least for a while.”

“You could have phoned and we would’ve stayed at the apartment in London like we did last night if you really don’t want us here this weekend.”

“I don’t know if it’s going to be for just one weekend.”

Lucy straightened. “What do you mean?”

Lizzie didn't reply. 

“You cannot be serious. Now, Lizzie? You want to toy around with the idea of splitting up with your husband now? Of all fucking times?”

“He made me look like an idiot at the family meeting!” Lizzie burst out, head lifting and tears in her eyes. “Everyone else knew about the bloody hit in Chinatown except for me! I am his wife! I should be informed of these things first! Especially before you!” The way that she spat out that last word, so full of hate and disgust, made Lucy flinch.  

“For fuck’s sake, Lizzie! There’s a lot of shit here that you are more than justified in being unhappy about, but this? Really? This is where you draw the line?” A humorless laugh left her lips. “I hate to break it to you, but him not telling you things is a normal occurrence. Ada didn’t know about what was happening in Chinatown either.” 

Lizzie looked away, irritably picking up a stuffed animal off of Ruby’s bed. Lucy took a deep breath, and when she spoke again her voice was much calmer. 

“This is not worth throwing a bloody temper tantrum over, Lizzie.”

“I’m tired of being disrespected,” she lifted her head. “I’m his wife, and he needs to start treating him as such.”

Lucy groaned, raising her palms to her face, fighting back the urge to scream into them. “Just once, could you knock it off with the attitude?”

“Easy for you to say, when you always get everything that you want–”

“Oh, do I, now?” Lucy rounded on her. “You think that this,” she gestured vaguely, “is what I want? To have to share him with a woman who openly hates me?”

“I don’t hate you–”

But Lucy talked right over her. “To have to live with the constant worry that you might push me out or he might change his mind and throw me out on the street? That it could happen like that,” she snapped her fingers. “And I could lose everything? Do you think that I wanted to live with that dangling over my head at all hours of the day, Lizzie?” She met the taller woman’s stormy eyes levelly. “We’re all getting a shit deal out of this, so stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself, and make the best of it,” she moved to the door. 

“You are so fucking selfish, you know that!?” Lizzie shrieked after her, finally fully exploding. “You sap up all his love for yourself and leave nothing for the rest of us! You don’t care that him spending time with you means he’s not here with his family! Those children,” she pointed towards the window that looked out to the stables, “deserve a father who prioritizes them over running after his fucking mistress.”

“Don’t you dare try to use the kids–”

“Well, somebody in this household has to advocate for them!”

“Don’t act like you aren’t just using them as a way to try to get what you want.”

Lizzie’s lips slammed into a thin line. “I’m going. And I’m taking Ruby with me.”

“But not Charlie?” Lucy challenged. 

“If I thought that I could take him without Tommy tearing me apart over it, I would,” Lizzie’s voice had suddenly grown very quiet. “I’d take the two of them far away from you both and never look back.”

Lucy shook her head, exhausted. “He’s not that bad, Lizzie. Compared to what he could be? He’s not that bad at all. He doesn’t hit you. He loves those kids…” she could see from the expression of stone on Lizzie’s face that none of her words would be able to reach her, and yet she tried anyway. “He’s got so much to deal with right now. Please don’t make it worse for him.”

Lizzie continued to just stare at her with a look of both extreme sorrow and loathing, and then she picked up Ruby’s suitcase and shouldered past her without another word.

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