#breaks his heart so he’s treasuring the time they have left

[piperslovebot]

Even as a huge Jeia shipper, their scenes in the beginning of Kids In America have me sour feelings knowing what I knew from the end of of Dirty Double Booker. But looking at them now, I see them differently. Like Jay is worried that he and Leia wouldn’t make it after what happened at the picnic, so he’s treasuring the time they have left at the beginning of Kids In America. He loves Leia and doesn’t want to hurt her, but knows there’s a chance they won’t make it. So he just enjoys those last few moments they have left as a couple.

[chuluoyi]

Baby gojo and daddy gojo not wanting to share mama gojo😭✋i-

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 06:20 P.M 」

aww this is so cute of course this is the first i worked on after getting back from my weekend break <3 and actually i have this one similar ask too so i combined yours with theirs! here's some cute blinking gojo in phantom parade and okay now let us have some crack and make gojo suffer

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“bwah!” a nudge.

“myah!” a shove.

and then—

“waaa!” a… slap (?) on the cheek.

“huh?” satoru winced, touching where the baby’s palm just connected with his face, blinking rapidly. so he wasn’t imagining things. this really was happening in front of his eyes.

and it was the baby—his baby.

your giggles filled the air in response.

“hey, you,” satoru took on a very stern look and an exaggerated frown, glaring at his own son. the baby merely babbled at him innocently, blinking his wide crystal blue eyes that mirrored his. “bad, bad minion. this is a very serious issue. you shouldn’t do that, you hear?”

the serious issue being each time he tried to lean closer to steal a kiss from you, your son always found a way to repel him away with his tiny hands.

you snorted at his righteous tone. “he’s just protecting me. even your kid knows you’re a danger.”

a gasp left your husband’s shiny lips, mockingly in disbelief. “me? a danger? i make your life a heaven on earth!”

“heav—pfft—”

“i give you love, food, my body—” he emphasized, pointing at himself for a dramatic effect, and you threw your head back, dissolving into a fit of laughter even more, “—heck, i even give you this naughty baby!”

“wha—no! that’s team effort!”

“still! and now he is staging an uprising against me?” satoru cheekily eyed his child, who was now clutching the fabric of your blouse, tiny fingers playing with the shiny diamonds of your necklace—a gift from satoru too, actually.

“look at him go,” he grumbled, his eyes following each little movement his son made, then dramatically yelped when the boy pawed at your breasts. “hey! no touching! those are mine!”

“please.” you almost choked on your laugh. your silly husband always had a way to make things sound funnier than they actually were, and that was what made you fall in love with him more each day, really. “the milk is his!”

“he can have the cow’s! and more importantly, it’s thanks to me that you’re so milky—”

“satoru! you’re so uncouth i can’t—!”

“see? you’re laughing so much! this proves enough that i make you happy every day!”

later that night, after you put your baby to sleep in his crib, satoru gently poked his cheek, his expression tender despite his pursed lips. “he is out like a light…”

satoru might whine a lot, but ultimately, you couldn’t miss the look of adoration and fondness that made him the father of your child. even without saying it out loud, you knew that he would willingly put everything aside and sacrifice anything—first of all, himself—if it was meant for his dearest, most precious treasure.

knowing he'd do the same for you only served to melt your heart even more. and you felt full—so full, in fact, with warmth and love and anything that was soft.

you really do love him, don’t you?

“look at him, he’s like a shrimp,” your husband pointed out, still gazing at his baby in wonder as he kept poking and prodding at the chonky rolls of his little arms, and you thought, nothing could have been more precious than this.

“satoru.”

“yeah?” he turned instantly at the sound of his name, but before he could react further—

you stood on your tiptoes and planted a swift smooch on his cheek, putting the overflowing love you held for him in it. “mwah!”

“…?!”

for the next three seconds, satoru malfunctioned. the brush of your sweet lips on his cheek was so innocent that he was rendered speechless. heat steadily gathered on his face, turning him pink despite himself.

“you…” he groaned, collecting himself, a dopey smile was quickly plastered on his face to cover up his setback as you burst into hearty laughter. “now you’ve started it…” and then he latched on you with a glint of a joker, launching a full-blown tickle attack.

“a—ah! why?! satoru! ahahahaha!”

. . .

safe to say, your wheezes effectively awoke your son from his slumber, and as a bit of payback, you left satoru in the dust to deal with the crying baby, both of them whimpering in unison since he had absolutely no clue how to comfort the little one.

[emmcfrxst]

I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.

Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…

(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut

You don’t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.

“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.

“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.

“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.

“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.

“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.

You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.

“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.

“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.

You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.

“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.

“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.

“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.

“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.

“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.

“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.

“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.

“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.

You were going to be okay.

[suiana]

yandere hero x gn reader x yandere villain

"I love you."

"More than this country?"

"...I'm sorry."

You had expected this. Really. I mean, it would only be right for one person to die if it meant the lives of everyone else! Thus it would only make sense for a hero to sacrifice that one person, even if it was his lover. He couldn't be selfish, no. He had to place priority on everyone else. After all, that was the way of the hero.

Besides, there was a saying that a hero would sacrifice you for the rest of the world. You should've known better.

Yet you couldn't help but wish he would forget about his title of a hero just for a second.

You know how much being a hero was to him, you really do! Why else would you patiently wait for him to come home everyday to patch up his wounds? Why would you encourage him whenever he felt like a shitty hero? Why would you do what you did if you didn't understand? You loved him wholeheartedly, even if he didn't reciprocate it much.

However, it felt like you had made a mistake by choosing him as your lover. You should've left him when you had the chance. Caring more about the lives of civilians, he had stood you up on multiple occasions just for the sake of justice. You get it, you do! He's a hero, he's meant to help others. You can't be selfish and get mad at him when he's doing his job and not wasting time on a date with you! You tried to be accomodating. Tried to be understanding.

But he was still your lover.

He should've at least tried to make an effort. Not everything was meant to be about saving others when your relationship was on the verge of breaking. Yet you had never once gotten mad at him for his lack of attention and love, for you loved him with all your heart.

You tried to be delusional, that he would at least treasure you enough to not give you away to anyone else. If he didn't spend much time with you, so what? At least he wouldn't give you away! I mean, he did say that he would never allow anyone else to have you. He would at least honour that promise, right?

Wrong. He gave you up only after a minute of pondering. Oh... Your poor heart. Your poor, poor heart... You couldn't fathom what he had did, not in the slightest. Maybe it was a mistake? A slip of his tongue? You looked at him for comfort only to realise that he had meant what he had said. His guilty and crestfallen look was more than enough to tell you he had truly meant it. That he meant to gave you away.

You were absolutely heartbroken, devastated at the revelation. Clawing at his chest, screaming at him to take back his words, yet to no avail as he avoided your gaze. You felt more than betrayed by him.

You tried to understand his thoughts, his point of view. It was a rational decision. The world known villain had just threatened to blow up the country if he didn't hand his lover over. It was the right decision. But you just wished he had done anything to fight against the villain's demand. He was a hero after all and you were a civilian! He was supposed to protect you!

So why did he give you up so easily?

That, you could not understand. So all you could do was beg for him to reconsider. To hear him tell you that it was just a joke and that he would beat up the villain. Just like what he used to do. But nothing came from him. Only the quiet silence of someone who had already made up their mind.

"Well I guess I'll be taking you now darling~"

The villain suddenly chimed in as he tried to pull you away from the hero. His cold fingers gently tracing your bare shoulders sent shivers up your spine. You shook your head, still clinging onto your beloved hero's shirt as you wept and screamed at him to do something.

But nothing came.

"Please-?! Don't give me away! Don't you love me?!"

"I do... I really do love you."

"Then why are you giving me away so easily?! Is... Is this country more important than me?!"

No response.

You wept harder as you hit his chest, screaming at him to try and protect you against the villain who was amused at the sight before him. He retracted his cold hands from your shoulders, instead putting them in his pants pockets as he hummed softly.

"I'm sorry."

Your breath hitched as your lover softly pried your hands off his shirt. His shaky hands gently holding yours as his lower lip trembled. You could only stare in shock and hurt as he slowly handed you over, looking up at the villain in shame.

You wanted to laugh, you really did. But all you could muster was soft weeping as the villain gently cradled you in his embrace. You wanted to push him away, to curse at him and run back to the arms of your lover. But was it all worth it? The hero had already showed no intention of resisting the villain's demand.

You stared up at the villain with teary eyes, flinching at his touch as he stroked your face tenderly. Yet you couldn't help but lean into his oddly comforting touch that soothed you.

"What a shitty lover he is. Hah! Don't worry baby, I'll never do something like that to you~"

He cooed, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. This... You had never seen such a look from the hero. Even when he claimed to love you, that you were the only person in his heart.

Your heart skipped a beat, face turning slightly red as the villain them scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

This was nice... It made you feel wanted, feel loved. Something that the hero you loved could never give you. Maybe you should just give in already. At least you knew he would never give you up.

For there was a saying that a villain would sacrifice the world for you.

part 2

[joelsrose]

Good Neighbours: Chapter 5

previous chapter Warnings: again SMUT 18+ !!!!!! Hey cuties - this is my fave chapter so far enjoyyyy

You hadn’t properly seen Joel in a week.

Not since that near-disastrous moment on his couch, where you lay bare, your skin warm against his, and Uncle Ray almost caught you two in the act. The memory lingered like a spark refusing to die out, igniting every time you thought about him.

Joel had been swamped with work—construction jobs piling up—and you’d recently started at a cozy little coffee shop in town. The job suited you more than you expected. Your boss was kind, the tips were decent, and you got free iced lattes, which was reason enough to stick around.

The café itself was charming, all bathed in golden sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Dogs were welcome, often lounging at their owners’ feet or wagging tails at the smell of pastries. The constant aroma of freshly brewed coffee felt like a warm hug, soothing enough to make the hours slip by.

Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts had a pesky habit of wandering to Joel—what he was doing, if he was thinking about you, too.

A silly notion, you told yourself, but it clung to you nonetheless.

You’d catch fleeting glimpses of him here and there, as neighbors inevitably do.

Each moment was like a stolen treasure, a tiny lifeline. Lingering gazes across the lawn as he unloaded groceries from his truck, the flex of his strong arms as he lifted heavy bags. The way his lips curved into a soft, crooked smile when he caught your eye, making your chest tighten in a way you’d never admit out loud.

He was right next door, but somehow, it didn’t feel close enough.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

Joel found himself constantly wondering about you.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself—but you’d snuck into his thoughts and set up camp there. It started innocently enough with a few texts, a casual way of checking in. But soon, it became a nightly ritual, one he couldn’t seem to let go of. Not that you wanted him to.

During meetings with Tommy, he’d find his attention slipping, his gaze drifting toward his phone, willing it to light up with your reply. Tommy would joke about Joel zoning out, but Joel couldn’t bring himself to care.

At night, when he was supposed to be winding down, he’d break his own rules about screen time—something about the blue light messing with sleep, a lecture he’d once given Sarah. But with you, he’d stay up later than he should, typing out messages he hoped would make you smile, waiting for the little dots that meant you were typing back.

On your end, it wasn’t much different. You’d catch yourself glancing at your phone during your shift, sneaking peeks whenever you thought no one was looking.

Every buzz, every time his name lit up your screen, sent a thrill through you, the corners of your mouth betraying you with a twitch upward.

It was funny, almost disarming, how Joel could shift so effortlessly between the quintessential dad—practical, steady, and full of quiet concern—and the man who made your heart race with just a few words.

Didn’t you say your iron was low? Eat something with spinach, alright?

How’s work? Hope they’re not runnin’ you ragged.

My back is killing me today. Feels like I’m older than I am. Gonna have to start using one of those canes soon.

And then, completely out of the blue:

Can’t stop thinking about you.

Those five words sent your stomach flipping in a way that left you grinning like a fool, coworkers sneaking curious glances your way. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like he couldn’t help but check in on you.

Even in the middle of a hectic day or when his back ached from hours on-site, you’d managed to stake a claim on his thoughts. Somehow, you’d become his favorite distraction.

You thought back to your ex, and the stark difference hit you like a wave. You two had hardly texted—just the occasional logistics or a dry, obligatory reply. What time are you coming over? Don’t forget to grab milk. It was functional, transactional, like checking off items on a to-do list rather than nurturing something deeper.

He would go hours, sometimes days, without a word, and you’d told yourself it was normal, that he was just busy. But now, with Joel, you realized how much you had craved this—someone who cared enough to reach out, to ask how you were, to share the little things.

Joel didn’t need an excuse to text you. It had become second nature, these little windows into his life that he shared with you. Sometimes it was the simple stuff—a snapshot of his day, random musings, or just checking in to make sure you were okay.

Saw a dog today that looked like it wanted to fight me for my sandwich, he’d written once, and you’d laughed out loud, imagining his bemused expression, the corners of his mouth twitching in that way you’d come to love.

And then there was the way every day ended the same. You’d curl up in bed, your phone resting on the pillow beside you, waiting for that final message.

Goodnight, pretty girl.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

It was Halloween, and you couldn’t quite believe it—how had it already been nearly two months since you’d moved here? Your life in Chicago felt like a distant memory, like a bad dream you’d finally woken up from. You thought back to Halloween in the city: your ex’s bougie friends hosting over-the-top parties where everyone tried too hard, and you’d always felt out of place, like a last-minute addition to a world you didn’t quite fit into.

Now, you stood outside Sarah’s door, the faint hum of music and laughter spilling out into the warm Texas evening. A case of drinks rested in your arms, its weight grounding you as Uncle Ray fussed with his costume beside you.

As usual, he’d gone all out, making you feel underdressed in comparison. This time, he was Beetlejuice, the black-and-white striped suit as loud and chaotic as his personality. His face was powdered ghostly pale, with exaggerated dark circles around his eyes, and the wild green-tinted wig sat slightly crooked on his head, no matter how much he fussed with it.

You couldn’t help but smile, remembering another Halloween from years ago when he’d gone just as over the top. That time, he’d been Edward Scissorhands—his shirt a perfect patchwork of leather straps and buckles, his face painted pale with dark shadows under his eyes that made him look both haunting and oddly endearing. He’d worn ridiculously oversized scissor gloves that clanked every time he moved, and he kept accidentally knocking into things, muttering under his breath about the impracticality of the costume.

He muttered under his breath now, adjusting his latest wig for the hundredth time, the same way he had back then. “It’s the wig that makes it, you know,” he grumbled, shooting you a mock-serious look.

You were dressed as predictably as every other girl on Halloween: an angel. A fitted corset hugged your torso, while the soft white skirt flowed delicately to your mid-thigh, catching the faint glow of the porch light. Glitter dusted your cheeks, shimmering faintly every time you moved, and the matching wings on your back fluttered slightly as you shifted the drinks in your arms. A delicate silver halo rested above your head, perched perfectly.

It was simple, classic—maybe even cliché—but it felt right.

Joel had texted you the night before, curious as ever.

Hey sweet girl, what're you dressing up as tomorrow?

Sweet girl. The words made your cheeks heat instantly, and you had to bite back a smile as your heart fluttered in your chest.

Nuh-uh, you’re gonna have to wait and find out, you typed back, already grinning at the thought of him sitting there, his brows furrowed in frustration in that way that always made your stomach flip.

You’re impossible, he replied, and you could practically hear the exasperation in his voice.

You can guess... you offered, biting your lip as you hit send, your anticipation growing.

There was a pause—a long one—and you could just picture him on the other end, thinking it over, his mind running through possibilities. Then, finally, his response appeared: Something sweet. You’re not the scary type. Bunny? Fairy?

You couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt, shaking your head as you typed back: You’ll just have to wait and see.

You can be a real tease, he sent, followed by a 👎, which only made you laugh harder.

The door flung open pulling you back from your daydream, and there was Sarah, leaning heavily against the frame with a wide, tipsy grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, her voice rising with excitement as her eyes flicked between the two of you. “You guys look amazing!”

She was dressed as a pirate, of course—a cheeky, haphazardly sexy one at that. Her loose white blouse was cinched at the waist with a wide belt, her tattered black skirt swishing just above her knees. A red bandana was tied around her head, matching the sash draped over one shoulder. She had smudged dark eyeliner around her eyes, giving her the perfect roguish look, and a plastic sword dangled from her hip.

“Ray, that is insane! Beetlejuice? You look like you walked straight off the set!” Sarah exclaimed, swatting at his striped sleeve as she doubled over laughing.

Ray, never one to miss an opportunity to perform, gave an exaggerated bow. “Why, thank ya, thank ya!” he said, his voice gravelly as he mimicked Beetlejuice’s signature tone. “Show’s just gettin’ started, folks!”

Sarah laughed harder, wiping at her eyes before turning her attention to you. Her grin widened as she took in your costume, her eyes sparkling. “And you—” she said dramatically, grabbing your wrist to pull you closer, “are the sexiest angel I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” you replied, your cheeks heating despite yourself as her enthusiasm bubbled over.

She tugged you inside without hesitation, her laughter spilling into the warm glow of the party. Ray followed close behind, still in character, muttering something Beetlejuice-esque under his breath that had Sarah clutching her stomach, dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Your heart skipped a beat as Sarah handed you a drink, her pirate hat slipping askew as she leaned in to shout over the music. “Alright, let’s get this party started!” she yelled, raising her glass with a wide grin.

You laughed, raising yours in response, though your mind wasn’t quite on the celebration. Your eyes flickered around the room, scanning faces, colors, and costumes, searching for one thing in particular—or rather, one person.

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You stood by the kitchen, chatting idly with a few of Sarah’s friends. The conversation ebbed and flowed, laughter bubbling up every now and then, but your focus wasn’t entirely on the people around you. You couldn’t help but steal glances across the room as you took a sip of your drink, and it wasn’t long before your heart jolted at the sight of him.

Joel.

He stood by Uncle Ray, half-listening to something your uncle was saying, his hand resting on his belt as he laughed softly, another one wrapped around a beer.

He’d dressed as a cowboy. A sexy one at that.

A fitted plaid shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal tanned, corded forearms. A dark leather belt with a silver buckle sat low on his hips, the fabric of his jeans snug in a way that made your thoughts feel indecent.

And, of course, the finishing touch: a weathered cowboy hat tilted just enough to shadow his eyes, making him look like he’d just stepped out of an old western porno.

The dim lighting caught the stubble along his jaw, giving him an air of ruggedness that made your stomach tighten. He looked good—too good—and it wasn’t fair.

Then, as if he felt you watching him, he turned. His dark eyes found yours across the room, catching you so off-guard you nearly spilled your drink.

For a moment, he just stared, his gaze dragging over you in a slow, deliberate once-over.

His lips parted slightly, and he shook his head, almost like he was trying to clear his mind of whatever had just crossed it. Then he dipped his hat at you, a silent greeting that sent your pulse skittering.

You managed a small nod in return, your fingers tightening around your glass as if that could keep you tethered to the ground.

The person you’d been talking to excused themselves, mumbling something about the bathroom before slipping away. You were left alone in the kitchen, the dim amber light casting a soft glow over the countertops. The quiet hum of the party buzzed in the background as you picked at a bowl of chips, trying to distract yourself from how strong your drink was—or how your thoughts kept straying back to Joel.

Joel stepped closer, his familiar warmth and smell wrapping around you. The way he said “Howdy” sent a shiver down your spine, his voice warm and smooth, like a drawl dipped in honey. He was too close now, close enough that you were glad the kitchen was dim, hiding the flush creeping up your neck.

“Cowboy,” you said, your voice low and teasing. “Bit predictable, isn’t it?”

His lips curved into a smirk as he laughed softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and settling somewhere in yours. “And you,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long, “think a devil would’ve suited you better.” He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was studying you, savoring every little reaction you gave him.

Your brows arched, playing along. “Why’s that?”

He leaned in, tapping the side of your temple lightly with his index finger. “These thoughts,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “ain’t exactly heavenly, are they?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe not,” you admitted, your words barely above a whisper.

Joel chuckled again, his hand dropping back to rest on the kitchen counter, but the sound lingered in the space between you, filling the air with a warmth you wished you could memorize.

“Your uncle went all out,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting Ray to come barreling through the door in full Beetlejuice regalia.

“I know,” you replied, laughing softly. “He’s actually scaring me a little.”

Joel laughed again, his head tilting back just enough for you to catch the faintest glimpse of his throat. The sound was intoxicating, deep and rich, and you found yourself wishing you could hear it on repeat.

He looked around the kitchen, his beer in one hand. The way his fingers curved around the neck of the bottle, the strength in them apparent even in this simple gesture.

Sarah and Ray were nowhere to be seen. The distant murmur of the party seemed to fade into the background as Joel turned back to you. His eyes darkened as they traveled down your body, lingering just a beat too long on the corset that cinched your waist.

The soft, white fabric hugged your curves perfectly, the delicate lace trim dipping low enough to tease, revealing just a tantalizing hint of cleavage in the dim light. His gaze roamed lower, catching on the sheer white stockings that clung to your thighs, held up by delicate lace garters that framed the bare expanse of skin just above them. The way his eyes lingered made your breath catch, the tension in the air crackling as you saw the faintest flicker of something dangerous in his expression—like he was trying, and failing, not to let his thoughts run wild.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word rough and barely audible.

“What’s wrong, cowboy?” you asked, tilting your head as you stepped just a fraction closer, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Whose thoughts are impure now?”

He huffed, his jaw tightening as he set his beer down on the counter, the sound of glass meeting it sharp and deliberate. His fingers brushed against the surface with an almost irritated carelessness, his usual steadiness faltering under the weight of whatever storm was brewing in his mind.

Joel’s eyes flicked around the room once more, but when his gaze landed back on you, his resolve seemed to snap, quicker and sharper than you expected.

“Go upstairs,” he said, his voice low, commanding, each word dripping with a tension that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “My room. I’ll meet you there in five.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but the heat pooling low in your stomach made it impossible to question him. You’d never seen Joel this assertive before, his calm, controlled demeanor giving way to something raw, something primal—and God, it did something to you.

Your heart skipped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He didn’t wait for a reply, his eyes locked on yours for a moment longer before he stepped back, the space between you suddenly too vast and too charged all at once.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you wove through the crowd, barely noticing the laughter and music around you. The way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself together, sent your pulse into a frenzy as you turned on shaky legs and headed for the stairs.

The heat of anticipation spread through your body, making it hard to breathe. Every step toward Joel’s room felt heavier, charged with the weight of what might happen.

When you finally reached it, you pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind you.

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It was the first time you had been in his room.

The room was simple, masculine, and undeniably him. The faint scent of cedarwood and something earthier—something distinctly Joel—lingered in the air. A neatly made bed dominated the space, the dark, plain sheets looking as if they’d been freshly smoothed that morning. A well-worn jacket hung over the back of a chair near the window, and a pair of scuffed boots rested by the corner, their placement almost methodical.

The light was soft, the dim glow of a single bedside lamp casting golden hues across the room. It illuminated the dresser, where your gaze landed on a photo—a younger Joel with Sarah, both of them smiling, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The sight tugged at something deep in your chest, a quiet reminder of the man who’d let you in here, both in his space and maybe, just maybe, his life.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you felt the cool sheets beneath your hands, grounding you for a moment. Your nerves churned in your stomach, and you wished desperately that you’d finished your drink downstairs. Anything to take the edge off the racing thoughts in your mind.

Your halo felt awkward now, too on-the-nose. You reached up, pulling it off and setting it down on the bed beside you. For a moment, you considered taking off the wings too, but before you could decide, you heard the sound of footsteps.

As promised, exactly five minutes later, the door creaked open, and Joel stepped in. The sound of the lock clicking into place behind him sent a jolt through you. He stood there for a moment, the soft light catching the sharp line of his jaw, the brim of his cowboy hat throwing shadows over his dark, unreadable eyes. His presence filled the room, and all the air seemed to vanish at once.

“Angel,” he said softly, his voice low and heavy, as he turned to face you fully. "Up," he commanded, his voice firm yet impossibly soft, and before you could even process it, your body obeyed. You stood, heart racing, your knees feeling shaky under the weight of his gaze.

He sank down onto the edge of the bed where you had been sitting, his legs slightly parted as he leaned back, his movements unhurried but deliberate. His eyes raked over you, dark and smoldering, as he patted his lap. “C’mere.”

You moved toward him, stepping between his knees before settling on his lap. His hands immediately found your hips, guiding you to straddle him, the hem of your dress creeping up with the motion. The cool air kissed your exposed thighs, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him. The stockings that hooked onto your garters were now entirely visible, and his gaze dropped, lingering for a moment before meeting yours again.

That was all it took for Joel to tilt his head and capture your mouth with his. The kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as though the tension between you had finally snapped, spilling over in waves of raw, unrestrained need. His lips moved feverishly against yours, claiming you in a way that made your knees weak. His hands, strong and sure, slid from your back to cup your ass, squeezing hungrily as he pulled you against him.

“You’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice thick and low, as his large hands splayed against your lower back, pressing you flush against him. His words sent a thrill through you, the heat pooling low in your belly as you instinctively rolled your hips down against him. The pressure sent sparks skittering through your body, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

He tasted faintly of beer, a heady mix that made your head spin. The faint scruff on his jaw scraped deliciously against your skin, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound muffled but not unnoticed. His grip on you tightened in response, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands threaded through his hair, curling at the base of his neck where it was soft and slightly damp with sweat. His response was immediate—a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your lips. His hands fumbled with the wings on your back, his movements impatient as he tried to rid himself of the obstacle. They were nothing more than an afterthought now, discarded with a few rough tugs onto the floor.

The space between you dissolved completely as he pulled you closer still, your bodies flush. His kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that made your head tilt back, giving him the perfect angle to devour you further. Every touch, every movement, felt like fire, consuming you both in the quiet heat of the moment, leaving nothing untouched by its flame.

Your mind clouded with the heat of it all, and before you even realized what you were doing, you began to shift off his lap, your knees brushing the floor as you intended to sink down. But Joel’s hands caught your wrists, stopping you.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his voice rough but teasing. “Wanna try somethin first’.”

Your breath hitched as you stood, his hands steadying you as he knelt slightly to unhook your underwear. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost reverent, but purposeful enough to make your head spin. The soft white lace slipped down your legs, pooling at your feet before you stepped out of them. You were so lost in the moment, in the heat of his touch, that you didn’t notice the way he curled the delicate fabric in his hand and tucked it under the edge of the bed, as if he were keeping it for later.

Then, with surprising ease, he adjusted you, positioning you so that your legs straddled one of his thighs. Your bare skin hovered just above the rough, worn denim of his jeans, and your hands instinctively found their place against his chest to steady yourself. His warmth seeped into you, even through the fabric, and the closeness made it impossible to think straight.

“Joel?” you questioned, your voice breathless and unsure, but his name on your lips felt electric.

“Trust me,” he said softly, his hands resting on your hips. His thumbs brushed against your skin in slow, soothing circles. “Take what you need.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice a mix of confusion and disbelief, your cheeks already burning.

“Come on,” Joel murmured, his hands firm on your hips as he lifted his thigh slightly. The motion pressed the rough fabric of his jeans against your swollen clit, the sudden pressure making you gasp. Your body jerked forward, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance, and you were suddenly, achingly aware of just how close you were to him.

“I’ve never…” you started, your voice trembling, but the words trailed off.

Joel tilted his head, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “Never ridden a man’s thigh before?” he murmured, his voice warm and patient, laced with just enough affection to make your cheeks flush.

You shook your head slightly, your breath catching as his words settled over you.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, soothing motion, his thumbs brushing over your ribs before settling firmly on your hips.

His touch was steady, grounding, as if to remind you he wasn’t going anywhere. “I got ya,” he added, his voice soft but commanding, the promise in his tone wrapping around you like a tether.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears. But the way he looked at you—steady, reassuring, full of something that felt like trust—made you nod, eager to please him.

His voice was low, a rumble that seemed to vibrate in your chest. “Go ahead, baby,” he urged, his eyes locked on yours, dark and heavy with intent.

Slowly, you began to move your hips, rocking back and forth against his thigh. The friction was unlike anything you’d ever felt, the roughness of his jeans against your bare cunt, igniting sparks that spread through your body with every motion.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as you found a rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. Joel’s hands guided you, his grip firm but gentle, encouraging as you moved.

“There ya go,” he cooed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and molten, making your skin prickle. “Feel good?” he asked, his breath warm and teasing.

You nodded quickly, your movements becoming more confident as you chased the building heat inside you. “Y-yeah,” you managed to say, your voice shaky but sincere.

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, dark and full of something primal. “That’s my girl.”

You kept moving your hips, faster now, the desperation building with every roll of your body against Joel’s thigh. The friction was maddening, deliciously unbearable, sending sparks shooting through your body with every movement.

Your breath came faster, harder, the small room filling with the sound of your panting, the creak of the bed beneath you, and the faint rustle of denim against your skin. The bass of the party thumped faintly in the background, a distant reminder of the world outside this charged, intimate moment.

Joel caught the change in your rhythm, the way your body trembled as you edged closer to the peak. His hands tightened on your hips, grounding you as he began lifting his thigh to meet your movements. The added pressure made you whimper, your head falling forward as your hands clutched at his shoulders.

“Is my sweet girl getting close?” he cooed, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Look so desperate for me.”

His words hit you like a spark to dry tinder, igniting the heat already pooling low in your belly. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as your rhythm faltered for just a moment. You nodded quickly, unable to form words, the intensity of his attention making your chest tighten.

You glanced down, unable to help yourself, and gasped at what you saw. The dark denim beneath you was damp, a growing wetness marking the spot where your body met his jeans. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but before you could say anything, Joel’s deep voice cut through your haze.

“Making a fuckin’ mess,” he murmured, his words rough and laced with desire as he watched you. His eyes flicked back to yours, dark and heavy-lidded, and the sight of his gaze alone sent you spiraling.

His thigh bounced slightly beneath you, the movement sending a wave of sensation that pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, every nerve alight as you grabbed at his hair, clutching desperately as your release crashed through you. “Take it, darlin’,” he said again, his tone softer now, almost reverent. “It’s all yours.”

“Joel!” you yelled, his name tearing from your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, raw and unrelenting.

He held you through it, his hands steadying your trembling form, his thigh still pressed against you as your body shuddered with aftershocks. The low hum of his voice reached your ears, soft and soothing as he murmured something you couldn’t quite make out, lost in the haze of your bliss.

"Good girl," Joel murmured, his voice rough and full of praise as his fingers dipped into your heat, drawing a gasp from your lips. He lifted them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you. His tongue swept over his fingers slowly, deliberately, and he hummed low in his throat.

“So sweet,” he said, his voice husky, the words making your already trembling legs feel like jelly.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice still hazy and breathless, the sound of his name barely more than a plea.

He smiled, a slow, crooked grin that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. But this time, when you shifted, sliding off his lap and onto your knees, he didn’t stop you. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he realized your intent.

You knelt before him, your hands sliding up his thighs as you looked up, meeting his heated gaze. You wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made you feel, to see him come undone the way you just had.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice low and strained as his hands came to rest on your shoulders, his fingers brushing over your skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted, your voice steady now despite the trembling in your hands. Your eyes stayed locked on his as your fingers went to work, determined to show him just how much you wanted to please him.

You worked quickly, your hands moving to undo the buckle of his belt. Joel lifted his hips without a word, giving you the space to pull the rough material down his legs until it pooled around his ankles. The sound of the zipper, the rustle of denim—it was all so raw, so intimate, and it sent a thrill through you.

Settling between his thighs, you shifted, finding a position that gave you enough room. The hard wood beneath your knees burned slightly, the sensation grounding you amidst the haze of arousal.

Your hands rested on his thighs for a moment, feeling the heat of his skin through the faint shadow of his boxers. Joel watched you intently, his chest rising and falling as his breath grew heavier, his hands twitching at his sides as though he were fighting the urge to reach out and touch you.

You hesitated only briefly before curling your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, your eyes flicking up to meet his for silent confirmation. His nod was small, but the intensity in his gaze said everything you needed to know. Slowly, you eased the fabric down, freeing him completely, and the sight of him made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped your lips, your eyes widening slightly as you took him in. He was bigger than you’d imagined, and for a moment, a flicker of nervousness passed through you. You’d never been with someone so big before, and the thought sent a rush of anticipation mixed with a twinge of doubt through your veins.

But it was delicious, the way his length stood, proud and imposing, the sight of the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. The rawness of it, the sheer intimacy of seeing him like this, sent a shiver through you. It was overwhelming, yes, but also intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated, stirring a deep, primal need you couldn’t ignore.

“My angel,” he murmured, his tone soft yet filled with something that made your chest ache. He lifted one hand, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek, grounding you in the moment. The contrast of his touch—so gentle despite the intensity of his presence—sent a warm shiver through you.

You wrapped your hand around him, the warmth of him in your palm making your breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, you began to move, your strokes measured as you pumped him in your hand.

You wanted to savor this moment, to memorize the way he looked—the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted into a soft, breathless "O" as his head tipped back.

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, his jaw tightening as your movements continued. The muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your touch, and you felt a surge of pride at the way he was already unraveling for you.

Encouraged, you worked faster, your grip tightening just enough to pull a low, guttural sound from his throat. “Shit, darlin’,” he stuttered, his voice hoarse and heavy, the drawl thickened by the haze of pleasure. His hands gripped the bed, knuckles white as he fought to keep himself steady.

The sound of his voice, the raw need in it, sent a rush of heat through you and you grew yourself growing wetter, if that were even possible. You leaned closer, your lips ghosting over the sensitive skin just above where your hands worked. You wanted to drive him to the edge, to see him lose himself completely under your touch.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his tip, your lips grazing his heated skin. Your tongue darted out, painting slow, deliberate stripes up and down his side, tasting him, teasing him, while your hands continued their steady rhythm. Joel let out a sharp breath, a low growl escaping him that made your stomach tighten.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers through you. His eyes opened briefly, dark and hooded as they fixed on you. “So fuckin’ pretty on your knees for me,” he panted, his voice ragged and uneven, each word laced with desire.

The words made you hum against him, the sound vibrating softly against his skin. His reaction was immediate—a curse slipping from his lips as his head tilted back again, exposing the strong line of his throat.

The sight made your movements bolder, more confident, as you worked him with your hands and tongue, coaxing more of those delicious sounds from him.

Joel reached up with one hand, his fingers gripping the brim of his hat. He pulled it off and, with deliberate care, placed it on your head, the action so intimate it sent a flush of heat spreading through your chest.

“Keep goin’,” he muttered, his voice rough, his free hand sliding to the back of your head. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, holding you in place, not forceful, but guiding, like he couldn’t bear the thought of you stopping.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his as you continued, your lips and hands working in perfect tandem. His gaze burned into yours, his chest heaving with every shaky breath. “That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Just like that.”

You could tell he was close—the way his hips began to stutter, thrusting upwards into your mouth in shallow, needy motions. His breathing turned ragged, and his grip on your hair tightened, not painfully, but enough to let you know he was barely holding on.

The sounds he made, low groans and curses, were a symphony of pleasure that sent heat pooling in your belly.

It was almost too much—the fullness, the way he moved, the way he tasted. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t stop, determined to see him through. You hollowed your cheeks, working him deeper, and his response was immediate.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that made your heart race. His head tipped back, and his thighs tensed beneath your hands as he asked, his words almost slurred, “Where does my pretty girl want me?”

You managed to speak around him, your answer muffled but clear enough, “My mouth.”

The way it came out, slightly garbled but eager, made him laugh, a breathless, strained sound that sent a thrill through you. “My dirty girl,” he murmured, his tone almost affectionate.

With one final thrust, he tipped over the edge, his body going taut as he finished, his hips pressing upwards one last time. You took him as best as you could, the salty sensation overwhelming but not unwelcome. His hand stayed in your hair, steadying you as he groaned your name, his voice filled with raw pleasure.

You pulled away slowly, swallowing as you did, the warmth of him still lingering on your tongue. A thin string of saliva connected you to him, glistening in the dim light, lewd and intimate. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your knees aching from the unforgiving floor, but the satisfaction in Joel’s eyes made it all worth it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable, before he reached down to pull his jeans back up, fastening them with practiced ease. The sight of him—still slightly undone but regaining his composure—sent a flush of heat through you all over again.

Joel adjusted his belt, the faint clink of the buckle breaking the quiet as he glanced down at you. His eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth quirked into something that carried a warmth that made your heart stutter.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, his voice lower now, touched with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His gaze lingered on you, affectionate and unguarded, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you in this moment.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you sat back on your heels, the weight of the moment settling over you. “Yeah,” you managed, your voice hoarse but steady.

Joel reached down, offering you his hand, and the warmth of his touch as he helped you to your feet sent a fresh wave of tingles up your spine.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but they landed with the weight of something profound. His voice was warm, filled with a quiet affection that made your chest ache in the best way.

You didn’t know how much truth those words held—how much you could dare to believe in them—but you needed them. You needed him. You loved the way they sounded coming from his mouth, the way he claimed you with such easy confidence, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You loved being his, even if you didn’t quite know what being his meant.

Joel helped you to your feet, his strong hands steadying you as you wobbled slightly, your knees still shaky. You found yourself standing between his thighs, his hands settling instinctively on your hips. His gaze traveled up to meet yours, soft and searching, and the warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.

“Was that alright?” you asked, your voice quiet, almost unsure.

He looked at you like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “You’re jokin’, right?” His lips curved into a lazy grin as his fingers traced small, comforting circles over your hips.

“Got the most perfect mouth on ya, darlin’,” Joel murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with lingering satisfaction. His words made your cheeks flush, a warm, pink hue spreading across your skin as you looked away for a moment, embarrassed by the compliment.

Joel’s gaze softened, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched you. He couldn’t help but marvel at how someone who had just undone him so completely—so filthily—could still look so innocent, so sweetly flustered. It was a contradiction that sent a deep, simmering warmth through him, making him feel both protective and utterly captivated.

He reached out, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek, his touch light and almost reverent. His eyes flicked up, catching sight of the cowboy hat still perched on your head, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“What?” you asked, frowning slightly at his sudden amusement.

“Mixin’ costumes now,” he teased, gesturing at the angelic white of your outfit beneath his hat.

You laughed, reaching up to take it off, but his hand shot out, stopping you. “Wait,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Wanna remember this.”

“Joel,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing all over again.

“Smile,” he said, ignoring your protest as he angled the phone at you. The flash went off, capturing the moment in an intimate snapshot.

You could only imagine what you looked like—wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, your lips still red and slightly swollen, with his cowboy hat askew on your head.

Somehow, despite everything, you looked angelic. Maybe even innocent.

You sighed but smiled softly as he lowered the phone. “Show me,” you murmured, stepping closer to him. You eased onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck as you leaned in to peek at the screen.

He tilted the phone so you could see, his voice low and filled with quiet reverence as he said, “You’re perfect.”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his tone, your heart stumbling over the weight of his words. “I’m not,” you huffed softly, your cheeks burning as you burrowed your face into the crook of his neck, seeking solace in the warmth of him.

His scent surrounded you—earthy, faintly musky —and you couldn’t help but think about how you’d stay there forever if you could.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute as you felt him shake his head. His hand rested against your back, steady and reassuring. “Not fightin’ you on this, honey. You’re perfect.”

Before you could argue, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and tender, sending a shiver through you. The warmth of it lingered long after his lips left your skin, a quiet promise that echoed in the quiet room, wrapping around you like a blanket.

Joel didn’t need to say anything else—his touch, his tone, the way he held you—it all said enough.

“Take a selfie,” you said suddenly, grinning as the idea popped into your head.

“A what?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly.

“How old are you?” you teased, laughing softly.

Realization dawned on his face, and he chuckled. “Oh, the one where it’s of us.”

“Yes,” you replied, rolling your eyes playfully.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he turned the camera toward the two of you. “Alright, alright” he murmured, his tone playful but warm. You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek just as he snapped the photo.

The photo was simple but intimate: your lips pressed softly against his cheek, your smile warm and genuine, while his own smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. But it was his eyes that stood out most—softened in a way he didn’t even know he was capable of, like you’d reached some part of him he hadn’t let anyone else touch in years.

For a moment, Joel stared at the image on the screen, his thumb brushing over the edge of his phone as though it could capture more than just the pixels on display.

He thought about how, in another lifetime, he’d make it his wallpaper. How he’d keep this version of you—happy, radiant, his—on his phone, a constant reminder of a moment he never wanted to forget.

But that was a thought he’d keep to himself, tucked away somewhere deep and quiet, too fragile to speak aloud - yet.

“Cute,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

“Very,” he replied, his voice low and warm.

Before either of you could say anything more, a notification popped up on his screen: a text from Sarah.

DAD WHERE ARE YOUUUU? NEED MORE DRINKS?!?!? HELLOOOO.

Joel groaned, letting his head fall back for a moment before sighing. “We better get goin’,” he said reluctantly.

Neither of you moved right away, though, both wishing you could stay in the quiet sanctuary of his room forever, wrapped in the intimacy that had settled between you.

Eventually, Joel shifted, his hands brushing against your hips as he helped you stand, the spell breaking just slightly as the sounds of the party filtered back into your awareness.

“C’mon,” Joel said, his voice softer now, a reluctant sigh slipping from his lips. “Let’s not keep her waitin’.”

You started to follow him, but a sudden thought froze you in place, the sensation of feeling bare dawning on you all at once. “Wait,” you said quickly, your voice a hushed whisper. “My underwear.”

Joel paused mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk so devilish it sent heat rushing to your cheeks. “What about it?” he asked, his tone far too casual for your liking.

“You know what,” you hissed, your eyes narrowing at him.

He shrugged, his smirk deepening as he leaned slightly on the banister, unbothered by your flustered expression. “Consider it… a keepsake,” he drawled, his voice laced with teasing amusement.

“Joel,” you whispered harshly, your tone a mix of disbelief and embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said with a wink, turning to head down the stairs. “It’s in safe hands.”

“You asshole,” you muttered under your breath, glaring after him as he disappeared into the noise of the party below. But despite your annoyance, you couldn’t stop the way your lips twitched into a small, begrudging smile.

He had that effect on you, damn him.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

“Where’d you go?” Sarah asked, her words slurred as she swayed slightly, her pirate hat tilting precariously. She blinked up at you, a lopsided grin on her face.

“I, uh, had to use the bathroom,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual as you held onto your drink like a lifeline.

“Oh, okay,” she said, nodding as if that explained everything. Then her brow furrowed slightly, her gaze sharpening—well, as much as it could in her drunken state. “You’re having fun, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “A lot of fun.”

She grinned again, satisfied, but then her eyes roved over you, her face twisting in confusion. “Wait... where’s your halo?”

Your heart stopped. For a moment, your hand flew up to your head, panicked, expecting to feel the brim of Joel’s cowboy hat still sitting there. If it was, what would you even say? But when your fingers brushed through your hair and found nothing, relief washed over you like a wave.

Joel had taken it back—thank God. He’d slipped it off your head before the two of you came back downstairs, a quiet, subtle move that now felt like a lifesaver. The thought of Sarah seeing you walk into the party with his hat still perched on your head was mortifying.

“Oh,” you said, exhaling shakily as you quickly composed yourself. “Must’ve lost it somewhere. It’s probably around here.”

Sarah tilted her head, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she considered something before breaking into a giggle. “Guess you’re not so angelic anymore, huh?”

You forced a smile, but her words landed heavier than she could’ve known. If only she knew. The guilt gnawed at you, sharp and undeniable. What you were doing was wrong, and there was no point in sugarcoating it. Sarah was a damn good friend, one of the best, and you had no right…

Your thoughts were cut short when Sarah’s gaze shifted, her expression brightening as Joel reappeared from the garage fridge, a couple of extra drinks in hand. Your eyes followed hers instinctively, heart doing that familiar, traitorous flutter at the sight of him.

“Hey!” Sarah called out to you, her voice a little too loud, her words slightly slurred from the margaritas she’d been nursing all night. She nudged your arm for emphasis, her grin wide as she turned back to you. “I think Dad is seeing someone!”

Your heart stopped. Completely froze in your chest as her words hung in the air.

“What? What do you mean?” you stammered, your voice uneven, betraying your attempt to sound casual.

Sarah waved a hand dramatically, leaning closer with the loose confidence of someone who’d had a few drinks too many. “I mean,” she said, dragging the words out, “I haven’t seen that man this happy in SO long. He’s like… humming in the shower.” She giggled at the absurdity of it, shaking her head in disbelief. “Like, who does that?”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks already burning. “Oh,” you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper, trying desperately to will away the blush creeping up your face.

“And!” Sarah continued, clearly on a roll now, completely unaware of the panic clawing at you. “I’ll come downstairs at night, and he’s on the couch smiling at his phone. Like, full-on grinning. Who is this man? And who is he texting?!”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh lightly, brushing it off even as your chest tightened. “Weird,” you murmured, hoping she couldn’t hear the breathlessness in your voice. But the way Sarah grinned at you, so blissfully unaware, only made the guilt dig deeper.

You made a mental note to text Joel the second you got a moment alone: Hide the halo. The last thing you needed was for Sarah—or anyone else—to stumble into his room and find it.

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

When you got home and finished showering, the warmth of the water washing away the lingering scents of the night, you slipped into bed feeling both exhausted and electric. The room was quiet, the hum of the party now a distant memory, but your mind refused to settle.

You replayed the events of the evening in vivid detail. Each time you thought of Joel, your cheeks flushed, your stomach fluttered with that warm, dizzying sensation you couldn’t shake.

It was impossible not to wonder if he felt the same—if the way he looked at you, touched you, spoke to you, was as real for him as it was for you.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow, willing the thoughts to quiet enough to let you sleep. But just as you began to drift, your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. The sound startled you, and your heart pounded as you reached for it, the faint glow of the screen illuminating the dark room.

It was a text from Joel.

You unlocked it with shaky fingers, and there it was—the selfie you’d taken together. Your lips were pressed to his cheek, his smirk lazy and crooked, his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache. Beneath the photo was a simple caption:

“Sleep well angel.”

🕸️───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────🕸️

Tag list: @bbyanarchist @spoonflix @pedritospunk @ickearmn @nrreads @76bookworm76 @pastelpinkflowerlife @shantellorraine @spooky-sculder @merm4id5lut @brittmb115 @rosebuds-and-moonlight @joelscowgirl @spacemamax @locked-ness @bensonispunk @pal3rmo @mystickittytaco @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @rh1nestonecowg1rl @littlenicpascal @jsudsgf @addictedtothisyoungman @denisanoemi @l3zx1v @justsarahbella

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in the Bottle - Chapter 10 (The End)

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Elain Bashing, Azriel is trying...meddling shadows

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

She’s crying, the shadows hissed. 

Again, went unsaid. 

Eira had been crying…pretty much since she had woken up for the first time and had panicked. 

Even Rhys had not been able to reach her then, calm her down, stop the panic…even when Azriel had begged him, his own heart breaking at the utter terror that Eira poured down the bond. Her panic had been enough to break his fucking heart.

As had been the repeat of these three words. Again and again. She should have needed to kill them. That shouldn’t have ever been anything that she worried about. he should have been right there…but he hadn’t been. 

And so she had panicked and sobbed…and they had needed to drug her…The only thing they could do, hoping that maybe a little bit more time…giving her a moment longer… when Rhys didn’t need to drag her out of a nightmare, she would wake on her own. 

And then she had. 

And at first, it had been fine…

He had nervously wrung his hands, forcing himself not to listen to that conversation, forcing himself not to ask the shadows what they were hearing…not to spy on her…

Eira had a right to her privacy. Especially now, when most of it had been stripped away from her. She should at least have some of it left.

Rhys didn’t seem to have these scruples…probably a good thing.  His clenched jaw told Azriel that that conversation between the three sisters was not going in a direction that would help anything. Finally, Rhys had enough…had interrupted before any more damage could be done. 

Azriel didn’t know what had been said there either, but… Rhys’ slumped shoulders when he left her bedroom had been…

“She’ll need time,” Rhys had told him quietly. “Give her time, Az. We did a lot of damage with careless words and actions… She’s…We fucked up and she’s the one paying the price for it.”

With her tears, went unsaid. 

The shadows complained to him, about how she was crying, how Nesta and Feyre were holding her and that didn’t stop Eira from weeping like somebody had died. 

And he supposed in a way… somebody had died. 

Eira’s twin sister…the sister she had loved…she had died. Died the moment Elain decided to keep the vision a secret…when she had tried to make sure that it wouldn’t come true. 

“Did…” he couldn’t bring out the words as he stared at Rhys. 

“I told her,” Rhys assured him with a sigh. 

And? What had she said? What did Eira think about the mating bond? What did she want to do with it? What did… “She thought it was a joke.”

What?

“A joke?” Cassian repeated unbelieving. “A joke? What kind of joke?” he demanded and Rhys just raised one eyebrow. 

“A joke at her expense,” Rhys clarified evenly. “That Azriel couldn’t possibly be her mate.”

Somebody ripping out his heart with their bare hands probably would have hurt less. What was he supposed to say to this? What was he supposed to do about it? 

How was he supposed to assure Eira that…that he wanted her? That he was glad about the mating bond because, without it, he would have walked through his life deaf and blind to the treasure right in front of him.

He would have…he wouldn’t have known...He wouldn’t ever having seen that vision, wouldn’t ever have seen the children they would be able to create, the happiness on his own face, the happiness on Eira’s face…

How was he supposed to beg on his knees for her forgiveness when she was sobbing at just…

Azriel went back to pacing. 

He had no idea what to say to that. He had no idea what to do to make this right. 

He had…

There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all. 

And Azriel hated it. 

Maybe that’s what brought him back to the hallway in front of the room…back to sitting there and staring at the closed door…back to cradling that golden bond in his mind and waiting for Eira to wake up from her crying fit induced nap…

Cassian kept him company, clearly still expecting him to go off and do something really stupid. Like murdering Elain in cold blood. 

Which he wasn’t going to do, for the record. Oh, he wanted to. Eira wouldn’t forgive him for that though. And that was the only fucking reason why he didn’t do it. 

He had killed people for less than Elain trying to make sure that his children would never be born. 

Still, he tried to push down that anger that was embering in his gut. If he didn’t do that, he would just get even more angry and he didn’t think that his anger was his biggest problem right now…it was…

She’s awake, Master. The shadows. Of course. Aren’t you going to talk to her, Master? They pushed him. Always pushy. 

I don’t think she wants to see me, he gave back quietly.

She’s our mate!

And don’t forget we hurt her, he responded tightly.

You hurt her, the shadows sniped at him. We kept her company. She likes us. 

He was pretty sure that if the shadows had eyes, they would be rolling them at him at the moment. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” he couldn’t help but flinch as he heard Feyre’s voice through that closed door. 

“Do I have a choice?” Eira’s voice sounded…broken. He had no other words for it. Nothing but that. Broken. Completely and utterly splintered apart. 

“You’ll always have a choice,” Nesta assured her, her voice hard. “You don’t want to see him now? Then’ll wait until you feel ready for that.”

It was quiet for a moment, and he could hear her breathing…uneven…and then a quiet sniffle. 

“I’ll talk to him.”

It was both the most beautiful and the scariest words he had ever heard in his life. Azriel had half a mind to take off running, but the shadows tightened around his wrist like a manacle. 

Don’t even think about it, they hissed at him. You’ll go in there and you are going to apologise. 

“Are you sure?” Nesta made sure. 

“Yeah.” Her voice was shaking and sounding just as unsure as he was feeling. Neither of them had a clue what exactly to even say…what to…

Nesta was the one opening the door, fixing him with steely eyes. He already knew that there would be hell to pay if he upset Eira. 

But he didn’t even get to think about that closer because the shadows outright dragged him into the room, nearly making him stumble as he entered. 

Eira was sitting up in her bed…wearing a silky dressing gown pulled over her nightgown, hair pulled back into a braid…he had no idea where to stand or sit, but the shadows didn’t have that problem, coming to swarm to her, like…she was their favourite thing in the whole wide world.

They came to curl themselves over her shoulder and then around her hands and she reached out to pet one of them like one would maybe do to a cat. 

“Eira,” he finally breathed out, staring at her. 

The blue of her dressing gown brought out her eyes…somehow making her skin seem even paler…a blush high on her cheeks…dark circles under her eyes…she looked exhausted. Of course, she did. She had been stabbed by a fucking poisoned knife, he berated himself mentally. 

“May…May I sit?” he blurted out, and she nodded, looking everywhere but at him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. 

It was…

He managed to cross the room to the chair at her bedside and sit down on it…his shoulders so tight that it hurt. 

She hasn’t thrown you out of the room yet, great job, the shadows sniped at him. 

“I…”

“I…”

They both started at the same time, and she started at him, grey eyes wide. 

“Let me…please,” he blurted out, his heart hammering in his chest. “I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Eira whispered, staring back down on her hands, tightly clenched into her bedding. She waved him off, even when her voice was thick with tears, even when…

“Yes, I did,” he disagreed. “I did a lot of things that weren’t right. And I’ll probably spend the rest of my life regretting them, Eira. I am sorry that I treated you like you didn’t matter…that you felt like you were worthless because of something I did…I am sorry that I never tried to really talk to you or…I am sorry that I let it go this far…and I am sorry because I knew better,” he apologised. It wasn’t enough. 

Nothing that he could say, would be enough. But she still stared at him, wide-eyed, like she couldn’t believe the words that left his mouth. Her surprise poured all over their fledgling little bond. 

“I should have questioned Elain about the earrings, but I didn’t,” he continued. “And I am sorry about the pain that that caused you.”  

“The earrings?” Eira asked, her voice hoarse. 

“Elain told me to buy them. I knew that your ears weren’t pierced but…I listened to her. She told me that you were thinking about getting them pierced and that you wanted them and…I am sorry,” he explained and she swallowed, her delicate throat wobbling. 

“They are beautiful. I always thought so,” Eira whispered. Oh. 

“Rhys showed you…” he stumbled over the words. 

The babies? The shadows whispered excitedly. They were excited about that vision. After their screaming fury had subsided they had danced around him in pure delight at the prospect of babies. 

“Elain’s vision? Yes,” Eira whispered quietly. “I…I understand if you don’t…” her voice shook as she trailed off and he stared at her. 

“If I don’t?” he repeated dumbly. If he didn’t what? What had…

“Want me? I won’t keep you leashed to this bond. You don’t owe me anything,” Eira pressed thickly, a hand coming up to wipe away her tears and he could just stare at her. 

“How can you say that?” he breathed. How could she just wipe away what she had seen and think he wouldn’t…He wouldn’t want his…Wouldn’t…fight hell itself for this? “I saw the future, Eira. I saw our children,” he asked her desperately. “How can you say…How can you say that when you saw that vision? I want that life. I want that garden and I want our daughter and… I want you!”

“You want me because of that mating bond,” Eira whispered. “You…You wouldn’t want me otherwise. How is this fair to you?”

“That’s…” It was preposterous. It was…

“It’s the truth,” Eira whispered. “I am not going to shackle you to me.”

She said that like it was a fate worse than death to be mated to her. And not a gift from the mother herself. 

Like he was going to regret it…and not thank the cauldron for the gift it had given him. 

“Firstly, you wouldn’t be forcing me into anything,” Azriel started his voice even. “Secondly, being mated to you would be my privilege. It would not be a duty, it would be a gift. Thirdly, I was a fucking idiot, Eira. That’s what I was. I let myself be blinded by a pretty face. That’s what happened. Elain may think she is the beautiful one, but you are the kind one. She’s a monster,” he spat out. “I know she is your sister but she… She wanted to keep our children from us,” he whispered helplessly. 

“I know that you are a good person. I know that you were willing to put your life on the line for your nephew… I know that you would protect our children ferociously.”

And that was more important to him than anything else. 

“The mating bond is forcing you to...” She choked out, the tears finally brimming in her eyes and starting to fall. 

Fix this, the shadows demanded sharply.  You hurt her. Fix this now!

“The mating bond works two ways,” he finally brought out. “Is it forcing you?”

“What?” she stared at him, tears still falling and he reached out, with one horrible scarred hand and took her much smaller one in his. 

“I swear to you, Eira…it’s not forcing me,” he promised her. “That’s not how a mating bond works. You could always refuse me,” he promised her. 

The last thing he had expected was for her to snort. 

“If I refuse the mating bond you could go mad, or worse,” she whispered. “You want me to believe that the Night Court would be alright with losing its spymaster and shadowsinger because I refused him his cauldron-given right?” 

He could just stare at her in outright horror. 

“Yes, of course,” he promised her hoarsely. “Eira, that’s not even a question. I would never force you.”

His father had done that to his mother. 

“I was born and raised to be sold off to a man, any man that would be willing to take me because I wasn’t smart enough to find a Prince and I wasn’t pretty enough to marry for love and beauty like Elain. My mother liked to say that I would make a good farmer’s wife,” Eira said, her voice nearly emotionless. “Somewhere along the way, I started hoping that maybe he would actually want me for me. I should have known that that was ridiculous.”

No, it wasn’t ridiculous. It was…

He could understand that. 

“It’s not ridiculous he said quietly. “And the mating bond is not forcing you on me, or doing anything that I do not want…If anything…it only opened my eyes to something I should have seen earlier.” 

He watched his shadows twine around her hands again, obviously trying to comfort her. 

“They were always much smarter than me,” he said quietly. 

We are, they preened aloud so that Eira would hear them too. Master will not force you, and you didn’t force Master into anything. We still exist, too…we wouldn’t let either happen.  They promised her brightly. 

It was…something. 

“Of course, you do,” Eira whispered with a wet little laugh, the sound so beautiful.  “They kept me company sometimes. When I was alone in the evenings,” she said softly…a peace offering of sorts. 

“They do tend to be smarter than me,” he reiterated and she gave him another little laugh. 

And he watched her play with them for just a moment, thinking about what she had just told him. 

Eira had never truly expected to have a choice in the man she was going to marry. Not as a human…and not known as a fae with a snapped mating bond. 

So how…

Still…her humanity had been ripped from her. Taken away. Never to be returned. 

So how…

“If I were human…how would this work?” he asked her, as a plan began to take shape for him. 

She looked at him, startled, the shadows forgotten twirled around her fingertips. 

“What?”

“If I were human and wanted to declare my intentions…if I wanted to court you… what would I do? If I wanted you to give me a chance? To let me grovel on my knees for your forgiveness,” he asked her. 

Her eyes widened. 

“You would ask my father’s permission to court me,” she explained quietly. “But…”

“He’s dead,” he ended the thought and she nodded. 

“Yes,” she whispered.  He was dead. But Nesta wasn’t. 

“So if I were to ask you…would you give me a chance?” he said softly, lifting her hand to his mouth, ghosting a kiss across her knuckles. “We’ll do this your way. However, you want. So you are sure that you are not forcing me into anything and I am not forcing you. Everything at your pace,” he promised and she gave him a shaky smile. 

And then she nodded, nearly shily. 

But that little nod…that little nod…promised him a chance. 

A chance to win her hand…a chance to earn that vision. 

There was a knock at the door, and then Feyre and Nesta returned, a tray filled with food in Feyre’s hands. 

“We brought you breakfast,” Feyre said, her voice filled with forced cheer. “I thought you may be hungry. Did you…two…clear the air?”

Eira nodded, a blush rising on her cheeks and he stood, letting go of her hand with a squeeze. 

“Nesta, I would like to formally ask for your permission to court your sister,” he said, crossing his hands behind his back. 

Surprise registered in Nesta’s eyes as she leaned her head to the side, mustering him. 

“So that’s how you’ll go along with it?” she asked him, something like grudging respect and amusement in her voice. 

He inclined his head. 

“Granted,” Nesta said calmly. “Let’s have a talk about human courting customs. And how I’ll rip you into a thousands little pieces if you break her heart.”

[lewisvinga]

the best trophy | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; as much as lewis loved his and y/n’s fwb , he couldn’t help but want more. all it took was one grand moment for him to finally reveal his feelings

warnings; mentions of sex, cursing

word count; 1.12k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minkyungseokie @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri

notes; requested ! manifesting the ending of this fr, tbh not proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes 😭😭

masterlist !

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the race?”

Lewis's voice filled the once quiet room as he watched Y/n shuffle around his hotel room to put back on the sweatpants she came in.

“If you promise me that Mercedes Hospitality has oat milk for my coffee.” She joked, still somewhat out of breath from their previous activities.

“You know I always make sure.” His tone was soft, watching as she slipped on her fuzzy slippers and fixed her messy hair. He ignored how his heart hurt when she walked towards his hotel room door. “Can’t have your stomach ruining your mood, can we?”

“You’re the best, Lew.” She said with a smile, wiping away the bits of mascara from under her eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Of course, tomorrow.”

They exchanged smiles before she left, leaving the Mercedes driver alone to his thoughts. A disappointed sigh escaped from his lips once the door shut. The bed seemed emptier than usual. It was like she was never there. The only trace of her was the scent of sex that remained in the room.

Lewis liked his friends-with-benefits situation with Y/n. They were friends who fucked whenever one wanted to. Sure the sex was great, amazing even in his opinion, but after a few months, he realized how he wanted something else. He wanted something more.

He hated that his heart longed for her after they finished their deed. He hated how he wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her soft lips. He hated how he wanted to wake up with her in his arms and prepare breakfast for the both of them. He hated how he wanted to take her out on extravagant dates and gift her jewelry so expensive that you’d only ever gift them to your partner, not a friend.

And Lewis hated that he felt this way. He knew having any romantic feelings in a friends-with-benefits relationship would really ruin the friendship. He already treasured his friendship with Y/n and doubted she liked him romantically. The best choice was to just keep his feelings hidden out of fear of ruining the friendship.

He laid back and rested his head against his pillow. The same pillow that she was just laying her head against. His heart was heavy as his eyes fluttered shut with only Y/n on his mind.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Y/n felt like she was about to faint as she watched Lewis start the very last lap of the race. Max was close behind him with George behind the Red Bull driver.

Her heart began to race as Lewis got closer and closer to the checkered flag. After losing the chance of his 8th world championship and Mercedes having a poor car while not listening to his suggestions, he had begun to lose faith. 2 years without a win and it was slowly killing him.

Thanks to a mistake from Red Bull during a pit stop, Lewis quickly gained the lead with around 15 laps to go and defended exceptionally from Max. He was seconds away from winning potentially one last time with Mercedes.

Time seemed to pass by slowly as Lewis passed the checkered flag.

“He has done it again! He breaks his own record and is now a 104x race winner! Lewis Hamilton wins the 2024 British Grand Prix! That’s a double podium for Mercedes!”

The Mercedes garage turned into a blur from everyone screaming and cheering at the race results. Y/n couldn’t hold back her tears and cheers as Bono shook her from excitement.

“C’mon, Y/n!” The engineer exclaims, grabbing her by the arm as they rush to the Parc Fermé. She ran after him, clutching her bag as she let out a laugh. She could see the 7-time world champion park his car into the 1st place spot from a distance.

Lewis was as emotional as ever. He finally got over a rough and dark patch. After Abu Dhabi 2021, after 2 years without a win, after having to deal with a poor car, he finally achieved the 104th win of his career. However, there was still something or someone he wanted to win.

He could see Y/n standing off to the side of the crowd of Mercedes workers. She wore a wide smile, wiping away her tears as she waited for him to get out of his car.

He knew he couldn’t hold his feelings anymore. He knew there was a time and place and tried to hold himself back as he ran over to his team. They all knock on his helmet, pat his back, and shout all due to being filled with happiness from his win.

He quickly took off his helmet and balaclava and was about to head over to her when he was stopped for his post-race interview. He glanced at her but she waved her hand, signaling him to go do the interview.

However, the moment it was over, Lewis ran over to Y/n instead of into the cooldown room. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he grabbed onto her waist, holding her close.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lewis, you’re something else-“

“Y/n, I can’t hold myself back any longer”. He quickly said, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. She furrowed up her eyebrows in confusion however a glint in his eyes told her enough.

“And I’m scared as fuck that you won’t like what I’m about to say. But I’ve been feeling like this for ages and I-“

Y/n couldn’t help but smile at his nervousness. She knew Lewis was about to go on a rant. She loosely runs her fingers through his braids causing him to stop speaking. “Lew?”

“Yeah?”

She pulled him closer, their lips just centimeters away from each other. “I’ve been feeling the same.” She whispers, glancing up at him through her lashes. His deep brown eyes widened in shock and joy.

Instead of saying anything, Lewis gently cups her cheeks before finally closing the small space between their lips. Their lips fit perfectly together as if they were made just for each other. Even if they’ve kissed during their late-night sessions, this kiss was different. It was sensual or lust-filled, it was filled with passion and love.

They both pulled away breathlessly, ignoring how the Mercedes team cheered at their kiss especially George who had to deal with all of their longing looks.

“So does this mean you’ll officially be mine?” He says, resting his forehead against hers.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Lewis lets out a breathy chuckle, tucking a strand of Y/n’s hair behind her ear. Before leaning in to kiss her again, he whispered, “You’re better than any win. You’re the best trophy I could get.”

[ladyoftheblades]

calm after the storm

jaycetalis x reader

summary: the arcane horrors are enough to send a mortal man into the depths of depravity, jayce, having just ascaped the hexcore know this a little too well. he knows there is only one thing that may keep his sanity from snapping: the girl he knows is waiting for him back home.

a/n: this is not cannon compliant, imagine mel is a lesbian in this universe, i just finished this at 1.30 am i have 8 am classes tomorrow but i cant break a promise, enjoy !!!

+

the vast emptiness of light wad oddly a welcome sight. white with specles of pastel color stretched toward all four directions further than his tired eyes could see.

jace took a moment of reprieve, setting his hammer down but not letting go of the handle, far too scared, far too aware of the horrors that could be awaiting him the next second.

he had no trust in the calm but he accepted it anyway, he had no choise but, if he stayed on his feet another second he may collapse, and janna knows what would aait him in his unconscious state...

one by one, cautiously, tentattively, his feet fell to the ground, of the ceiling, or... he could hardly tell. in any case, the weariness became a little easier to bear with his body sitting.

jayce took a deep breath. the sound reverbrated through the abyss of the arcane, travelling, mixing with its surroundings untill it ceased to exist, only to be followed by another deep breath and the course continued this queer melody, monotone, a strange calm.

jayce had been trapped in the hexcore... he knew not how long. the only thing he knew was the strain in his muscles, the ache in his bones, the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and the pain in bones from the hits he took.

through this odyssey of violence and strangeness, his sole anchor was his hammer. symbol of his family and a familiar tool, one that had accompanied him since first he could walk. though that too had been corrupted, its form changed, resembling somewhat the vastness surounding him.

but that was not entirely true... he had one more weapon in his arsenal, ensuring he does not lose himself in the horrors, one entirely uncorrupted, one nothing could take away from him: her.

his biggest treasure, his shinning light, his beacon of hope, his prayar when times get hard.

he sat and pondered, that is all he did when he was alone, replaying the memories again and again, afraid the darkness may erase them from his mind.

they had met years ago, in the academy. she had been hired to fill the void left by victor as professor heimerdingers assistand. he will never forget the first time he locked eyes with her.

the professor had made no attempt to formally introduce them, too preocupied with whatever else in his mind. therefore, when he walked into his lab one morning, only to be met with her back snooping around and taking notes, he was surprised to say the least. at first his instinct was to yell at her but once she turned around to look at him all anger dissipated from his body.

her eyes seemed like stars twinkling in the morning light as they looked at him, her features painting a perfect picture, face surprised ever so slightly. she explained herself but even after she did he remained dumbfounded, stumbling over his words, bringing a smile to her face, and a small chuckle escaping her lips. she took a step forward, leaning into him when she said the words etched into his heart. "i will be seeing you soon, mr progress" and with that she left, leaving him frozen on the spot to be found by viktor.

her words were true. since them they saw more and more of eachother, at first in the lab, then in the lad and after, untill eventually they were essentially inseperable. as his carrer proceeded and he fell deeper and deeper into the intricacies, the guile and the treachery of politics, she was always there, waiting for him in his house, in his lab, backstage from his stage to remind him of his goal, of his self. his pillar his beacon, his hope.

now she was... gone. or rather he was gone, ripped away from her arms and thrust into this labirinth of magic and malice, not knowing when or if he would ever escape.

his mind was running back to that first meeting, a moment of peace at last, when again his surroundings changed.

jace shot up, assuming a battle stance he had become all too familiar with, ready to take on whatever the arcane threw at him, with the hope to return to her, when the landscape changed again, and again, as if glitching, once twice thrice untill he was thrust in the white void once again, only this time, he had company...

councilor salo, his former coleague, standing right in front of him. he thought it was magic playing tricks on him. the councilor was... changed. he was walking, despite the damage taken by jinxs boms and his face had weird marks, reminiscent of the hexcores essance, he was not there to bring good news. "salo ? what are you doing here, how are you walking ?"

salo replied, but his voice was changed aswell, warped unto something unhuman. salo relayed his message from victor, the entire conversation almost too surreal for him to comprehend but the things he had seen had turned hi sstomach into steel, and despite salos words he knew what he had to do...

the councilor or victor or whatever this thing wearing the facade of his former friend concluded its little speech, but jayce knew his destiny "i cant let you leave" spoke jayce.

with a smug but calm confidence, salo turned to leave "im sorry you feel that way" he said as he made his exit.

but jayce had a duty, a goal, a purpose, more importanly he had a promise had had to fulfill, one he was too blind to see before but all to aware of now, "im sorry too" and with a simple swing of his hammer, salo was gone.

jayces vision went hazy, all the exhaustion catching up to him, mixing with the weight of salos words, making his feel queezy, fell all the things he had not allowed himself to all this while.

he knew what he had to dy, call it duty or fate of want, he had to rid the world of the hexcore, using any means necessary.

the tragedy of salos death, rather his muder brought atleast one blessing, he was back at the hexgates. he dragged with the last remainants of strength left in his body his feet forward, his mind replaying all of the things he had seem, nightmares come to life, threatening to consume his mind, to drag him the their abyss now and forever, all the way through the exit, to the elevator to the outside of the hexgates they fought to erase his sanity, but as he stepped outside the gates, feeling the fresh air hit his face, fill his lungs and the morning light hitting his eyes, from the dephts of his soul a light occure: a vision of her, his saviour his saint, his guiding star.

he could see from up here the entire city and for a secont the romantic view, the vision of her, they softened his worries, cleared his head, and a new need emerged, the need to get to her, finally.

the night was young, sun still dousing the sky in twilight, few stars were visible from her window and below the upset city of piltover. tonight was a quiet night, military had pulled from the streets, atleast a little, and there were no conflicts at hand.

her window had a view of almost the whole city, something she used to find much pelasure in but now was indifferent to. the window might as well have been facing a brick wall. it was all irrelevant, the voilence, the conflict, the war... nothing mattered.

she sat on her bed and stared out the window with a lazy gaze. it was a wonder she even had sat up, usually only having enery to turn side to side.

weeks had passed since she had last seen jayce. they had been in this very room when he said "i need to head to the lab, i will propably be late but not too late, wait for me ?"

liar. fucking liar. "not too late" my ass. he was gone for weeks, disappeared off the face of the earth.

his absence had been felt by her immeietly. she had tried to saty up that fateful night, but sleep tugged on her eyelids thus she had gone to bed, excpecting to find him in her bed by the time she woke up. when morning came and he was not sharing her bed, she still did not worry. but morning was followed by noon was followed by night, and jayce had yet to come back to her.

since then, she had fully gone through the stages of grief. the first ?denial.

on the first night she had gone to his lab but jayce was nowhere to be found, she had then gone to his house only to be met with absence once again. she figured he was held up somewhere with work, so, she went to work a usual, taught her classes, returned home, made them both dinner, ironed the clothes he left behind and washed his pyjamas to wear when he came back. still, there was no knock on her door. no sight of jayce

anger. his multy day absence led her to a clear conslusion; he was cheating. she paced around her house, blasting loud music from her record player, cursing his very existance. she gathered his clothes, his clean clothes she had washed herself by hand, fully intending to burn them, but as she saw the pile infront of her, a painting of their life together, she could not bring herself to. besides, she knew her jace, he would never do such a thing, would never hurt her in such a way, which led her to the next stage:

bargaining. something bad had to happen to jayce to keep him away this long, he was obviously in danger and no one was doing anything about it. she attempted to speak with enforcers but they dismised her as if she were a child. she went to everyone she could think of for help, to no avail, everyone either had their own problems or simply did not take her seriously. the acolade of her desperation came when she knocked on the kirammans door, or at least attempled to. the noxian guard posted outside threw her out before she could even approach the door. did truly everyone so easily accept martial law and forget about one of their very own counsilors ?

finally, she reahced the final stage: depression. her jayce was gone, either from her life or from piltover but it mattered little. he was gone and the void he left behind in her heart was to never be filled again. she stopped going to work, not that she had much work, classes having almost completely ceased in the academy in sight of the conflicts, she stopped going out, stopped cleaning, she would have stopped cooking if it was not her sole source of sustinence. all she did was sit around the house, waiting or crying, listening to her vinyls and crying some more untill even that became too much and she was reduced to only her bed.

her friends had noticed, knocking on the door a few days ago. they noted her catatonic state but could do nothing to help her, only offering words of reassurance "you will get though this Y/N. you are strong with or without him, and you will get better".

their words were nice but to her, void. jace had been the axis around which her life rotated for 5 years now, he was her past present and future but now he was gone. ripped from her so violently and without explaination. was he dead ? had he been entangled in a fight which proved fatal ? or had he abandoned her ? the questions swirled her head constanly, creating a buzz, a fog, in her head as well as behind her eyes, rendering her hopeless.

she could not even pinpoint the exact time jayce had been gone, hours had melted into days had melted into weeks, into a jumbled mess as unclear in her head as her questions. it did not matter how long he was gone anyway, he had left her.

as she sat up in her bed, observing the window she cursed herself for having washed their sheets and jayces clothes, his scent she so loved and oh so longed for was erased, tabula raza. everything sucks. nothing is the way it was supposed to. nothing would ever be the way it was meant to again, not without her guiding star, she found his title as "man of tomorrow" quite apt, for she could thing of no tomorrow without him.

and as she sat there wallowing, surrounded by sadness and self loathing, the doorbell rang.

if it had been another time she would have jumped to open it, holding onto the hope,a small ember if it,that maybe it would be her jayce. now all of it had been snuffed out. jayce was never coming back. she took her time, only moving her head slightly, pondering the identity of the intruder. could it be the neighbours ? a student ? noxian soldiers ? she landed on it being her friends, with cleaning supplies propably, ready for round two of 'cheer up the professor".

the bell sounded again. anoying her friends were, but she blamed them not, their insistance was born of concern. thus, she took her feet of the bed, taking a second to find balance before she dragged herself to the door. the bell rang one final time before her hand reached the doorknob, leading her to grow slightly irritated, the little bit her depressed state allowed atleast.

so sure she was of the visitors identity, she did not look through the peephole, oppening the door immedietly to find...

jayce.

jayce, her jayce.

her jayce who had been missing for janna knows how long.

the professors jaw dropped, and she thought of rubbing her eyes to ensure it was not a cruel dream, but was given no chance, jayce stepping into her appartment and falling into her arms immedietly.

her mind could hardly comprehend what was going on, taking a second to react to his sudden affection, to his sudden presance. his familiar frame in her arms finally registered, leading her to instinctively react, placing her arms around him, holding him close, oh so close, sqeezing his frame, as if at any second he would be stolen away from her again.

they stood there, door ajar, frozen in time, holding eachother, not wanting to let go in fear of returning to the nightmare of their time apart. they stood embracing, drinking in eachothother, hearts beating in tandem, finally full now that they reunited. at peace, at last.

the fog of questions in her mind cleared out, they mattered no more, he was back, he came back to her, to hell with what he had been doing in the meantime.

jayce felt his exhaustion melt from his body, muscles relaxing finally. he moved his head to burry his nose in her hair, taking a deep breath, his lungs filling with her scent calming his nerves. the horrors of the arcane mattered little now. the trials he had passed, the tribulations he endured, the eldritch terrors he faced all with the image of her in his mind, with the memories he replayed in his head like film, holding close to his heart to get through that nightmare had paid off.

he would never be the same again, scarred far too deep, the rune etched in his wrist evidence of that but his love had not faltered a second, and he knew she would still love him no matter what.

they stood there awhile, untill it wasnt enough. she was the first to move, pulling her head from jayces chest to look up at him, to meet his eyes she so loved. when he returned her gaze, she noticed the change in thm; the bit of darkness, the lack of liveliness, but still they were uniquely jayce. it was as if two pieces of a puzzle came together, two parts of one whole, two parts that did not make sense on their own but together created a most beautifull image.

a thousand thoughts ran through her head, so many things she wanted to say, wanted to express, so many emotions that she did not know where to start. but from the way he looked at her, deep brown eyes filled to the brim with adoration, eyes that had seen her whole and loved her whole, she knew he understood, words were unecessary.

"you look like shit" she landed on finally, earning from him a chuckle. her words rang true, he did look like shit. looked as if he had been dragged through hell. his clothes were ripped and tattered, modified with makeshift armour in aome places, and the parts intact were either dripping with sweat or dirty with blood and dirt. his face, his beautifull face was in no better state, painted even darker than his usual tan complexion, beard rowdy and uncempt, hair outgrown, with dired blood and aweat covering majority of it. dirty, rugh and dark.

still, as she looked up at him he looked like an angel, her angel, finally in her arms again.

his deep rich chuckle reverbrated in his chest, sending a jolt of joy through her own body. his voice, more hoarse than usual but just as pleasant and masculine as she remembered spoke "you look prefect"

a pang of guilt rang through her chest, there he went and filled her ears with sweet words when she had just insulted him.

he looked down to her, eyes dark, yet filled with the relief only a man who had all he ever wanted could hold, for that is exactly what she is to him: his dream, his religion and key to his happiness.

his head craned down to kiss her, foot simultaniously moving to shut the door behind him. their lips meeting was like an explosion of a thousand suns. they always had been very good at making love, two halves who knew eachother better than themselves, lips now slotting together like puzzle pieces. the kiss was soft but not chaste, deep with the emotions pouring between them, an equilibrium of love and lust, lips moving against eachother seeking the salvation only the other could bring.

that first kiss was everything, when jayce pulled back finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had been derived of oxygen and her kiss was his release. his hands moved on her back, shifting from her waist to her head, the other moving up and down, pulling her closer, even moreso, tracing lines which sent waves of warmth all through her.

he put their lips together again, just as passionate as the first but now there was something new. need. pure untainted need. he needed her to breathe, needed her to exist and the kiss comunicated just that.

the hand on her head burried itself in her hair, pulling just slightly, not to hurt but to hold onto something, to make sure she would not escape. as if she ever would, this, him, was all she ever wanted, all she ever needed.

wirhout breaking away she oppened her mouth, his tongue immedietly intruding, deepening the kiss further.

jayce was hungry, starved.

his hand behind her back moved again, wishing to rid them of the barrier named clothes, bringing itself beneath her shirt. his palm was cold causing the professor to flinch ever so slightly. jayce was not detered, pulling, tugging her shirt up hurriedly. eventually they had to break the kiss, much to both their dismay. swiftly he pulled the fabric off of her, tossing it to the side to land on the other piles of dirty clothes around the house.

he took a moment to admire her. she was as perfect as he remembered, soft and sweet. she waited patiently for him to finish drinking her in, chest rising up and down with deep anticipating breaths, the move causing him to grow even more infatuated.

he moved again to close the distance between them, rougher this time, so quick she had not the time to process, aware of his move only by the renewed presance of his lips on hers. jayces need had transfered onto her, feeling the heat in every inch of her body, stomach flipping in excitement. her hands flew to his chest, beggining to undo his vest but his armour got in the way.

her hands struggled to undo the clasps of it, soon growing frushtrated the longer she fiddled with the clasp to no avail. jayces hands moved slowly, tracing lines from shoulders to forearms to wrists, leaving goosebups in their wake. his hands cupped hers, rough and caloused, taking them fully in their grasp, begining to assist her in undoing the damned clasp.

one by one pieces dropped with thuds to the floor acompaniyng the sounds of their kissing in the otherwise silent appartment. once the last piece was off, her hands sprung once again to action, undoing his vest and shedding it from his shoulders.

her hands began to then roam his chest. she noted new scars had formed, rough under the pads of her fingers, foreign, maiming the man she had up to now known every trace of. the scars were not the only change though. his body had gotten more defined, muscles more pronounced. a welcome change, one which sent a storm of inapproptiate thoughts to her mind. having explored his body to satisfaction the professors hands moved again, lower and lower, slowly, teasingly, threatening to undo his belt but never daring get too close to doing so.

jayce was not having it. he needed her now, her teasing would not be tolerated. to accelerate the process of undressing his hands moved, loosening his belt and lowering his breeches with much haste, discarding them in the same unceremonious fashion he had her shirt.

he began to move forward with quick decisive steps still cautious not to ever break their kiss, tracing a path to her couch. she followed his lead with much reverance, utill she felt the couch behind her knees. jayce did not allow her to fall back just yet. his hands moved to remove her shorts, one movement bearing her of both pants and undergarments.

only then did her allow her to fall back, giving her a shove, harsher than intended, her smaller body landing on the pillows with a thud and a high-pitched yelp from her mouth, earning from him another chuckle.

he did not wait for her to accustom to the new position, moving immedietly to kiss her again, placing his knee between her legs, upper body caging her in, trapping her like a predator corners pray.

their kisses had grown hungry, need growing into an uncontrollable beast, morphing into desperation. jayce kissed her with an open mouth, all teeth and tongue, but it was welcomed, everything by him was welcomed, time appart had made her a husk of herself. now with jayce in her arms again her life was back in orbit and she wanted him in any way he would have her.

his hands moved, beggining from shoulders and lowering; caressing, toutching or groping whatever flesh he could find, promising to leave a few bruises here and there.

jayce had always been a strong man, something he was very aware of and made even moreso whenever they had sex. he was a strong guy and he knew it, leading him to be extra cautious with her, treating his girl like porcelain, like a doll to be revered and taken care of.

none of that was happening today.

whatever jayce had been through mustve shook him to his core. when he toutched her before it was with the reverance of a priest readiyng his altar, now his hands comunicated the hunger of a ravenous animal.

he needed to feel her close, needed to know she was with him. the arcane had put him through horrors beyond the mortal imaginations, forever in his lips her name, one ray of light in the endless abyss of his torture. he may very well have gone insane if it werent for her. even now, the images of all he had witnessed played in his mind, in some dark corner, threatening to take over and drag him in their madness. their attempt only made his need stronger, his hands rougher, his body more desperate, holding onto his light, pouring out onto her all the frustration, the fear and anger onto her skin. and she took it. she took all he would give, as he knew she would.

his hands had lowered to her hips, only to find them moving, ever so slightly, grinding on his knee in a desperate plea for friction, for something to aleviate the burning in her loins. his hands gripped them, halting all movement, causing her to whine in his mouth. "i know darling, i know" he said.

with hands on her hips were holding on for dear life, surely to leave large bruises come morning, jayces desperation reached its tipping point, unable to hold back anymore cock hard and dripping, begging for release.

any other day he would put himself aside to focus on her fully and only allow his own pleasure after she had had her fill. but now, whith his limbs burning in anticipation, he had not that option.

with a swift movement her flipped her around, manhandling his girl to bend over the couch. he placed the palm of one hand on her back, pressing her torso into the pillows, the other under her thighs keeping them in place, both creating a low arch in her back.

she had been his prayar when times got rough, her kiss his salvation and now her body his reward, his sin. oh and how sinfull she was indeed.

he could see through the dim light her cunt glistening in anticipation. his thumb moved, tracing a line betweed her folds, dragging down onto her clit and taking pause, pressing on her button. the caress, as slight as it was, sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, releasing in a moan, muffled somewhat by the couch. "jayce... please..." she said, tone a step before a whimper.

in response, jayce pulled his thumb from her folds, in favour of taking his cock in his palm. he lined himself with her entrance, and began to slowly enter her folds. he had only just entered his tip yet the professor already could feel her head fogging up in a lustfull haze, unable now to control the sounds escaping her mouth.

when he was about halfway in, anticipation took control, bottoming put in one quick thrust, his thighs hitting hers with force. the movement caused him to release a groan, low and masculine, synchronised with his girls own moan, a melody of pleasure filling the appartment that had for so long been empty of love.

and that first thrust proved the key that unlocked pandoras box for jayce did not waste any time, setting immedietly a brutal pace.

he was drunk on her, an addict that had been derived of his vice too long, only to now indulge again. the appartment filled with sounds of their coupling, lewd and crude but musical in their own way. her slight uncontrolled moans in direct contrast to his low groans, playing to the tempo of jayces pace.

his hipps slapped harshly against hers but his rough hands kept her somewhat grounded and in place. soon she felt his chest press against her back. skin hot and muscles firm, hard and controlling on her back, forcing her deeper into the couch. she could feel the rumble of his moans through his chest, another sense to add to the cocktail of sensations. she thought jayce could not possibly get more intoxicating when his head landed right next to her ear.

sharp contrast to the movement of his hips, jayces lips were soft, plastering kisses all over the side of her face. moving on toward her neck, nape and shoulderblades. each individual press of his lips a decleration of adoration, somewhat an apology for the rough way he was punding her into the pillows.

in this worship of her body, he found a particularly sweet spot, betwix neck and shoulder, one he knew from years of experience drove his girl crazy and began to roughly suck on the skin. the moan released from her throat was damn near pornographic, making heat rise to her cheeks in embarasment, burrying her head into the couch.

jayce made a cooing sound, mocking, he was fucking mocking her. jayce was causing her delirioum, thrusting into her with unparalleled frevor, lips working her neck like a violin, and now he mocked her for being affected by it.

he craned his head to place again his mouth on her ear. such a smug fuck he was today, but the moan he accidentally released with a hot breath matched her own in hue and desperation "i love you so, so much. i cannot bear to be away from you again, i hardly bore it this time. darling you have no idea what i have been through... but i would do it all over again, just to make it back to you, even if only to place one last kiss upon your brow."

jayces honeyed words sent tears into the professors eyes. hurriedly she twisted her head, lips desperately seeking his, needing to show him what he ment to her, for words would surely fail her at this time.

their lips met in a soft kiss, chaste, innocent, loving. oh so loving. and when they had savoured the moment to satisfacrion, jayce pulled back again. his back left hers, the loss of heat leaving her suseptible to the cold bite of the night air. already she could feel that tightness in her stomach, the sensory overload melting all thoughts away, leaving only pleasure and jayce.

his thrusts got rougher, something she had thought to be impossible. she could feel the tightness in her stomach building up from the movement of his hips, pairing with the swell of her heart from his words. her hands moved from her sides to her back, begging for him to hold onto her, jayce did not give in to his lights request, taking both her wrists in one palm and placing them firmly on her back. she whined loudly hoping it may sway his mind, but he was not so easily deterred, not today atleast.

his other palm grabbed again her hip, starved as he was, brutally pushing his way inside her. the professors entire body rutted, the front of her hips slamming against the couch- yet another bruise she would have to account for in the morning- her ass and back of her hips slammed on by jace, the entire movement an exchange of forcefullness, leaving her in the middle delirious from pleasure. the pressure in her stomach that had built up so long now was nearing an edge, nearing the orgasm she had so long been anticipating.

jayce threw his head back an array of groans and moans he could not hold back escaping his lips, he was close, so close. he kept his eyes away from her form for he knew one glance down at the soft body of the woman he so loved would shoot him straight across the edge.

he wanted to hold back, oh how he wished to, but the depravation had depleted his endurance somewhat, and with the knoledge just a day ago thought the day where he could have her in his arms again would never come, rendered him unable. "darling im...ugh, im close" he said inbetween moans. "i know, please jayce..." she replied in that sweet angelic voice of hers.

with one final thrust he bottomed out inside her, sealing as well her own release, both finnishing with final moans of pleasure.

everything was hazy, her mind swirling with pleasure, the sensations on her body leaving behind a soreness that would only get worse, and in her eyes with unshed tears she could not make out couch from wall. the places jayce had grabbed with particular frevor and her hips where the couch had slammed were more than sore, they hurt, but it was a pain she was glad to caary and one she would choose a thousand times over that of the heartache she had endured these past few weeks.

she felt jayce move behind her but was too tapped out to realise his exact movements, untill she felt hands wrapp around her body, lifting her up off of the couch and repositioning her to sit across the couch. a

jayce positioned himself to the other end of her head, taking in his lap her legs, regret no doubt sinking in as he began to lightly massage them. they both took a moment to breathe, surrounded by comfortable silence.

the professor took liberty of breaking the silence once again "that was the best sex weve ever had"

jayce laughed, no more shy chuchled, he laughed with his whole chest, and for a moment the carefree man she had come to love before the anomaly of the past few weeks returned, if even for a moment. he craned his head to look at her, a sweet sappy smile playing at his scared lips but in his eyes was something else, something she recognised as the brewing of an apology. the air settled in a more serious tone.

"im sorry for-" "its ok, jayce. i know." she replied, not allowing him to relay the little speech he had prepared for it was uneeeded. whatever had kept him away so long was clearly nothing pleasureable, if her trust in him was not enough his appearance proved it.

she had snuffed out the apology but jayce had a lot of things on his chest, clearly. he lowered his head into her lap, hands holding onto her waist for dear life but with clear caustion and tenderness as he began to speak "you do not know the half of it my love. i-... i was with professor heimerdinger and this kid ekko, they had a hextech related problem, they came to me. we went to the gates together to investigate, but the hexcore.... i may never be able to relay onto you the things that happened, the things i saw."

"i understand... i would never force you to do anything you do not wish to jayce" she replied as she began to lazily play with his hair. 'there is still a lot to be done, a lot i have to do. i may need to... i may need to leave again"

those words sent a pang to her chest, hand halting their movements. jayce noticed, taking her palm in his own and lazily playing with the professors fingers, a small comfort. "but i promise, i will be back, i will always come back here, i told you snd i will tell you a thousand times more. do you trust me ?"

he looked up to her as he said those last words, eyes begging for something he knew to be too much. he was asking for her to put her heart entirely in his hands, with close to no guarantee of ever getting it back. but as his brown eyes looked at her, so changed and yet the same, she knew he already had her everything, she would trust him always. "of course i do, i always will" she said.

to love is to trust, to love is to wait, to love is to fight, to love is to traverse the worst horrors of the world only with the prayar of your lovers name on your lips. and they loved eachother more than anything.

as if on que he placed a kiss into her palm, with the worries that plagued him so now lifted from his chest he felt a bit lighter, rising from her lap to stand. "but before anything, i need to bathe"

she laughed, the sound foreign even to her ears, "well i have clean clothes for you, and shampoo"

jayce looked around a bit, gathering his clothes -to throw away- making no comment on the horrid state of the appartment much to her relief, "do you have a razor too ?"

she thought for a moment "maybe keep the beard"

[russo-woso]

Hold you || Leah Williamson

Request | Masterlist | Prompt list

Warning miscarriage, still born, hospitals

Summary The aftermath from the miscarriage of yours and Leah’s baby.

The words hadn’t left your mind.

I can’t find a heartbeat

As soon as them words left the midwife’s mouth, your whole world collapsed.

Leah gripped your hand as her head fell.

You didn’t know how to feel.

You felt like you were crying but no tears came.

It was as if the whole world had fallen silent.

The midwife was talking to you both but you couldn’t hear anything, you didn’t need to hear anything.

All that was going through your head was the fact your baby boy was gone.

When you finally snapped out of the trance you were in, your mind still all over the place, you heard the midwife talking through the next steps.

“You can have a few days and then we’ll discuss you coming back in. It’s up to you wether we surgically remove the baby or if you give birth naturally..” She explained, a saddened look on her face. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

It was silent for a minute or two, you and Leah both letting the news sink in.

“I’m so sorry.” You said, your voice breaking as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Please don’t say sorry, it’s not your fault. Please don’t think it’s your fault.” Leah told you, tears streaming down her face too.

Leah enveloped you in a hug as the two of you sobbed.

The ride home was silent, apart from the odd sniff from you or Leah.

When you walked through the door, the realisation finally hit.

You walked out the door, thinking there was three of you and now you come back as just two.

Leah mumbled about you going upstairs to rest, pressing a kiss to your cheek before heading off to the kitchen.

Collapsing onto the bed, you let all your emotions free as you sobbed, holding your 30 week bump.

Leah came up minutes after you did with a warm tea.

Seeing the state you were in, Leah just held you tight, letting her emotions go too.

—

The day had come where you were being induced.

You were being induced and then would give birth to your son.

The past few days had been hard, very hard, but you and Leah treasured the time you had with your son.

You’d opted to give birth naturally, to experience what it would have felt like.

The day had gone quickly.

You’d been induced early in the morning, the cities hoping you’d have given birth by dusk.

Leah had been great.

From rubbing your back while you needed it to holding your hand as you bounced up and down on the yoga ball.

When the time came to finally push, Leah squeezed your hand like you’d die if she didn’t.

Whispering comforting words in your ear, Leah was nothing but supportive.

You let all your emotions out as you pushed; the anger and sadness you’d held in all being let out.

The world felt like it was rushing around you.

The nurses telling you to push was all you heard.

Tears were all you could see.

Leah’s lips on your head and her tears on your shoulders was all you could feel.

But they all disappeared when a small weight was placed on the chest, however, no cry followed it.

“He’s here, baby. He’s here.” Leah mumbled against your head, her tears rolling onto your cheeks, your tears mixing with hers.

Although she was saying he was here, you both knew he’d truly never be here.

After letting Leah cut the cord and delivering the placenta, the doctors left you and Leah alone to treasure the time.

You couldn’t help but let a small smile onto your face as you looked at your son.

He was gorgeous.

With blonde hair, the nose of Leah and eyebrows like Leah’s, it was safe to say he was Leah’s twin.

You handed him to Leah as you watched her let out a choked sobbed.

She cradled him to her chest, pressing soft kisses to his head.

“You’re so handsome, little man. I’ll hold you in my heart until I can hold you in heaven. Me and mummy love you so much, Noah Jacob Williamson.” Leah whispered, looking at Noah in her arms.

Leah then moved to sit on the side of your bed, as you wrapped your arm around Noah so you were both holding him.

“We love you so much, Noah.”

[akunya]

"somewhere only we know.”

pairings: dragon!sylus x m!reader

summary: thinking out loud, you begin to wonder how things would be under different circumstances.

tw: slight angst, sfw, fluff, MYTHIC SPOILERS.

notes: truthfully, the gender here isn't specified. however all of my fics are written with a male!reader in mind. do with that as you wish.

"Do you think, in another life.. We would still be together?"

Your voice cracked as you watched the petals whisk away. The soft grass swayed with the wind, a gentle comfort as you clutched it in your palm. The clouds swirled as you both sat in silence, staring at the sky in a comfortable quiet.

It was just the two of you together, in your secret little place that Sylus had brought you to that day. You found yourself asking to be flown back there often. There was something so calming about this side of Tarus, so serene, it nearly felt unreal every time you two sat here.

Sylus was the first to break the tension as he looked down at you with an amused smile. "Together?" His tone was teasing, but not enough to ruin the atmosphere the pair of you made for each other. The dragon was about to make another teasing remark until he caught a glimpse of your clenched fist.

"You know what I mean."

The slight tremble in your words struck his heart with guilt. He wished, for once, he didn't try to poke at you so often.

There was another long portion of silence between you two. Taking a flower into your palm, you fiddled with its petals, the delicate red smooth under your fingertips. Worried you made things awkward, you dug your feet into the ground to pick yourself up - almost, that is, until the man next to you began to speak.

Barely above a whisper, your eyes met for the first time that evening, looking at him with an emotion you couldn't quite describe. "I think so," Was it uncertainty? Fear? Relief? You didn't know what you expected from his answer, nor did you expect one in the first place. You felt as though he was staring into your soul, his red pupils shining in the warm tones of the sunset. A part of you wondered if bringing it up at all was foolish.

"..Yeah. We would be."

Blinking, you let out a heavy sigh you didn't know you were holding. A small chuckle left your lips. "I wonder what it would be like. Would we look the same?" You wondered aloud. It would be amusing if you were the taller one in the relationship in your next life, however, a part of you knew that was never going to happen. Your gaze went back to the sun as it set behind the mountains of Tarus city, the hues creating a cascade of orange and yellow across the sky.

"What does it matter? I wouldn't mind. Unless, you prefer if this fiend always has horns." Sylus nudged your side playfully, your laugh making butterflies swarm in his stomach. Sylus with his draconic features were like the cherry on top. Once scared, you grew to adore the rough scales of him the most, finding yourself caressing the smooth surface with your thumb on nights alone with him more than once. "The horns are a nice touch. I would miss them a bit." Looking back at him, you inched a bit closer, testing your luck to see if he would retract from your closeness.

He would not. He never did, not from you.

Taking his silence as a cue to continue, you started up your thoughts again. "We could have our own home together. It doesn't have to be big." You imagined a quaint little cottage in the middle of the forest. Small, but big enough for the both of you, adorned with treasures and trinkets from your past adventures. It was remote, but that's how you would want it: away from everyone else. Just you and Sylus in your own trove, shielded from the harsh outside world. After all that you have been through, you didn't really yearn for something lavish and grand.

"A small home isn't bad." Sylus found himself imagining too as he listened intently to your thoughts. He rarely let his mind wander and think about such trivial things, but this once he could make an exception. Thinking of a divergent future than what he was destined for always seemed futile. In the end, there was nothing he could do to break the curse he was born into. He was a monster, destined for his death by your hand, even if you didn't know it yet. And that was how the world saw him.

But, if it was for you, he could entertain your fantasy a bit.

"Is there something you want, Sylus? If we could be somewhere different."

You looked up at him again for answers. His throat tightened, looking down at how hopeful you were. So innocent, so pure.

For a moment, he had forgotten all of the crimes you had committed. Your hair flickered with the wind as the sunlight framed every part of your face beautifully. The outfit that matched his ever-so-cliche has never looked so right before. If he had no idea who you were, he would have thought you were an angel descended from the heavens, a blessing to bring some ease to his wretched timeline.

Maybe you weren't his arch-nemesis. Perhaps, his destiny wasn't as harsh as he thought it was growing up.

Maybe death wasn't so bad, if it were by your hands.

"So long as you're with me, I don't care about anything else." The dragon's words were taut. Fiddling with a flower in his claws, he twirled the stem mindlessly, letting it float away with the wind that brushed against you both of you.

Leaning against his shoulder, you didn't bother fighting them when your eyelids started to feel heavy. You didn't need to question or ask anymore. He was right, in the end. Sylus didn't care for moving either, watching the sun slowly set and cast the city in darkness once again.

If you two were together, that would be enough.

[amoeganism]

TEAM PLAYER isagi yoichi

You're fed up with the evil Blue Lock boys getting special treatment from your Evil best friend because your Evil best friend isn't Evil with you. You’ll do whatever it takes to satisfy your masochistic heart in whatever freakish ways you come up with because communicating and confessing is overrated.

i love my insane boyfriend

There's been something strange going on with you and Isagi can't quite place his finger on it. Yes, he had been away at Blue Lock for a number of weeks, but he thinks that it shouldn't impact your personality to change the way it did. You might be his closest friend and confidant, one of the most treasured people in his life, but you’re currently acting like a freak and frankly, it’s making him really uncomfortable.

As you place your foot on the park bench to retie your shoelaces, Isagi scans your body up and down. No new bruises, no broken bones, no visible injuries, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of some newly developed mental issues because why else would you suddenly be so rude? Yoichi had been hoping that you, his sweet best friend, would be a much needed break from the mental illness fandom that was Blue Lock but it seems like insanity is a disease and you somehow caught it from watching TV. Going to noisy arcades with flashing lights in a dimly lit space, trying overpriced and sickly sweet desserts at trendy cafes, and simply taking walks together under the dappled shade of cherry blossom petals were all things Yoichi had missed amidst the chaos and stress that came with the incredibly competitive atmosphere of Blue Lock.

Yet here you were, not fully meeting him face-to-face but rather side-eyeing him with a condescending stare beneath hooded eyes and raised brows. With a thud, you slumped onto the bench and crossed your arms.

“I thought you were kidnapped before you suddenly appeared on T.V. and not just any T.V., some fuckass display one at the department store. What’s up with that?” you inquired with a pathetic pout disguised into a sneer that Yoichi found slightly goofy. “You’re like a deadbeat cunt.”

“I didn’t know that they were gonna kidnap my phone and basically trap me in there while jeopardizing my athletic career!” Yoichi exclaimed, throwing his hands down onto his lap with a groan. “Also, why do you look like that? You look really stupid.”

With a slight twitch of your lip, the smallest of grins formed on your face, unfolding into a gleeful, creepy smile. “Heh. That was really hot, can you do that again?”

“Excuse me?”

You kick your feet back and forth a couple times, nodding your head side to side like a cheap bobble head toy. Continuing to smile at him with bright and expectant eyes, you explain, “Y’know, what you just said was like how you verbally abuse dudes in Blue Lock.”

With a choked cough and dry wheeze, vibrant red covered the tips of his ears and spread into his cheeks. Breaking eye contact, he turned his head away from you as all judgement left his system, leaving the remnants of pure embarrassment. A hand covering his face was the only thing serving himself a sense of comfort as he wallowed in the consequences of losing his shit during broadcasted soccer games.

“Listen,” Yoichi panicked, trying his best to save face. “Everything on Blue Lock was not real, it’s a scripted reality show. Everything you saw was Evil Isagi Yoichi. I am Real Isagi Yoichi. Evil Isagi Yoichi was created in a lab by Ego Jinpachi and is not a reflection of myself.”

“I’m in love with Evil Isagi Yoichi,” you wistfully sigh, clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth like a cringey cartoon character.

“I lied, I’m actually Evil Isagi Yoichi. That was just a test for you to prove your absolute devotion to me.”

The way you smiled at him was unnerving and the glimmer in your eyes should have unsettled him but Yoichi found himself and his heart melting at your insanity. His cheeks were no longer red out of embarrassment from his diabolical language but the soft kiss you placed on his cheek and teasing pats to the side of his face, making a grin of his own match yours.

“Call me ‘babe’ and I’ll kill you, I only accept derogatory language,” you whisper into his ear.

Like a dream come true, his freak has been (concerningly) matched.

[yappingwitch]

The art of winning her back

pairing - James Potter x fem!reader

summary - On his quest to capture the heart of his long-time crush, Lily Evans, James must first win her friend (Y/N) over despite their shared history.

warnings - angst, bullying, friends to enemies to lovers, child neglect and death of a parent (briefly), swearing, slowburn, use of (Y/N)

wordcount - 3k

disclaimer - english is my second language. Don't hesitate to correct me!

part 1

You and James had known each other your entire lives, a friendship somewhat foisted upon you by your parents, whose own friendship dates back to their Hogwarts days. That’s at least how James perceived your relationship: imposed upon him by the suffocating weight of your parents' past.

Sure, James was never outright mean to you. He was still your friend, after all. Though he couldn’t help but ridicule your overenthusiastic nature, with your ramblings and frantic waving of your hands whenever you spoke. Often throwing jabs at you, you none the wiser. He disliked you yet still felt some measure of sympathy for you. A charity case, yes - that was what you were to him, with no other friends to guide you and your parents perpetually away at work, leaving you yearning for connection and always acting as if you couldn't function without continually sticking by his side. So he'd accept his fate with a sigh and take your hand whenever you became frightened by the thunder during one of your countless sleepovers or pretended to battle dark wizards with you using sticks, indulging in whatever you devised next. Of course, you never truly noticed it for what it was. To you, he was the brightest spot in your life, the sweetest friend you could ever wish for.

As the years rolled by, you continued to treasure this friendship, even if it sometimes felt like James was dragging his feet. He was your best and only friend, and in your heart, that was more than enough.

Things first changed when he left for Hogwarts. He was off having extraordinary adventures while you were left behind, grappling with a new void in your life, yearning for his return. You clung to the habit of writing to him, pouring out every random thought that crossed your mind in long letters. His replies were always brief and generic, but you didn’t mind, simply grateful to hear from your best friend.

After probably the longest year of your life, only getting to see James during the holidays, summer break finally ended, marking your first year at Hogwarts and reuniting you with James all year aound. You stood on the train platform with his parents, eyes bright with anticipation. Euphemia pressed a kiss on both your cheeks and pulled you into a hug, his dad quickly joining in as well. The two of you departed on your journey to find an empty carriage, eagerly waving at James’s parents from your seats as soon as the train whistle sounded, announcing the train’s departure. You practically melted into his side during the train ride, linking your arm with his and chatting incessantly, only letting go when you dashed off for the trolley that held piles of candy, babbling to the lady as you did.

Just as you settled back down, your pockets now stuffed with all kinds of sweets, one already grasped in your hand, happily munching on it, the compartment door slid open once more. Three boys stood there, relief seemingly washing over their faces as they quickly greeted James, sitting down across from you both. It was then that their gazes shifted to you, immediately recognizing who you were - James must have complained about you at least once a week, and by your appearance, they may finally have understood why.

The trio couldn’t hold back their giggles at the sight: you, with chocolate smeared on your cheek, bouncing with joy, while James looked like he was stuck in a perpetual state of embarrassment, cheeks flushed. Oblivious to his discomfort (as you often were), you rambled on about how excited you were to begin Hogwarts, speaking at a hundred miles per hour, until all the sugar finally sent you into a deep state of sleep. All of them sighed in relief at the moment of peace, despite your continued grip on James’s poor arm. You only loosened it up once you entered Hogwarts castle, too stunned to speak for once or to notice James quietly slipping away. You just wordlessly joined the other first-years at the front of the school while the rest of the students sat down at their designated houses, chatter filling the room.

You'd sight dramatically whenever a name that wasn't yours was called up, growing more and more anxious by the second, already missing James by your side.

“(Y/N) (L/N)!” Professor McGonagall finally called out, her voice ringing through the hall. Finally. You skipped up to the stool, your heart thudding in your chest as McGonagall lowered the hat, blocking part of your vision with its size. You didn’t care, though, only trying to focus on the hat’s words.

“Gryffindor!” exclaimed its gruff voice, your face immediately breaking into the biggest grin - not only because you had made it into the house of bravery but because you were in the same house as James. The Gryffindor table erupted in a roar of applause, customary for new housemates, but one disgruntled figure groaned loudly instead, covering his face in exasperation.

As you approached the table, your voice rang out bright and cheerful. “James! I can’t believe you didn’t save me a seat!” You pouted, but then your expression brightened as you realized he had no clue you’d end up in Gryffindor either, immediately excusing him in your mind. “I can’t wait to tell Dad about this! He’ll be thrilled. Everyone thought I’d end up in Hufflepuff - way to prove them wrong! Not that there’s anything wrong with Hufflepuff, but I always wished for Gryffindor… hm… or maybe Ravenclaw! That'd really show—”

“You’re rambling again,” he interrupted your whirlwind of excitement.

“You’re right! You’re always right! You better save me a seat next time. Although I don't really mind too much; I passed this really nice group of girls on my way to you. I can't wait to make some new friends!” You began pointing somewhere. “Did you see the redheaded girl? I think she's from your year; she's so pretty—”

“Alright…” James said, interrupting your rambling once again, sending a small glare to the black haired boy sitting across from, hearing him cover up a choked laughter with a caugh.

You, none the wiser, flashed him a beaming smile before scampering off to join the girls at the very top of the table, blissfully unaware that this would mark the second real shift in your friendship with James.

It all began with pranks - silly, harmless little acts that felt like a natural progression of your friendship - joint efforts with his new friends. You never minded this side of him because it was how James expressed his affection, so you thought. Whether it was hexing your hair a wild shade of purple or causing you to trip on your way to class, there was always laughter shared between you, and you felt like you were starting to bond not just with James again, but with his friend group. Sometimes James would show remorse afterward a particular nasty prank, mainly when he got caught, and would often beg you to bail him out of detention with McGonagall, and you always obliged.

But as time went on, a growing irritation began to simmer within you. You would never dare admit it, feeling guilt whenever a mean thought flashed through your mind after another prank. After all, James was your best friend.

Once winter break rolled around, you felt nervous for the first time around him, having barely spent one-on-one time together since the day of the sorting. Yet, each day spent together melted away all your worries. James was finally all yours again, and after spending every day together, you remained blissfully unaware of the growing tension between you both. With renewed faith in your friendship, you allowed the Marauders to continue their taunts happily for years to come, quietly awaiting the holidays to begin anew, where everything was like before. You could deal with that.

Or so you thought, until a seemingly ordinary Saturday, your third year at the school almost over, excited to spend summer with James, a prank sent everything spiraling out of control. It was no worse than the others. In fact, it was quite the opposite - it was almost uncharacteristically harmless, but it triggered something deep within you, and your patience finally bubbled over. The anger towards James began to seep out of you, much like ink from a quill that has just exploded in your face. Staring back at you were hours of studying made redundant, your notes stained, ink splatters glaring back instead of your carefully constructed sentences. You looked around the abandoned library helplessly, your mind not registering what had just happened until you heard laughter - his laughter.

The other boys with him soom joining in too, echoing throughout the usually quiet room as they emerged from their hiding place. As their laughter continued, you let out a humorless giggle, still not comprehending the situation, which quickly made them stop theirs. They exchanged silent glances before breaking out in even louder laughter and walking off after being chastised by the librarian.

Oh.

Oh.

Your smile faded as the realisation settled in. They weren’t laughing with you.

They were laughing at you.

Without giving it a second thought, you marched back to the Gryffindor tower, stopping by the bathroom in hopes of salvaging some of your materials, not even attempting to save your notes, as they were a lost cause. Everything felt heavy, almost suffocating. The familiar laughter filled your ears once again as you entered the common room. Raising your gaze from the fixated stare you had on your shoes, you looked at the boys lounging without a care in the world. Their amusement was unmistakably still directed at you, especially when they saw your blouse - a massive wet spot adorning the white fabric along the ink, your pathetic attempt at scrubbing the stains away.

Ignoring the feelings threatening to bubble up, you bolted to the girls' dormitory, shutting the door with a thud. Your eyes burned and your cheeks flushed in humiliation. You angrily chucked your bag to the floor, your now-stained possessions scattering. Looking around, you saw the startled faces of the other girls, which made your face flush even more, and you quickly bent down, trembling hands trying to gather your things.

Then you felt gentle hands steady your own. Looking up, you met Lily Evans’ bright green eyes, filled with concern and her brows furrowed together, a frown gracing her lovely face.

After a moment of silence, seemingly contemplating how to approach what had just occurred, she settled on saying, “I was going to ask if everything’s okay, but I guess that’s redunda.” A gentle smile blossomed on her face.

Without a word, you threw your arms around Lily’s neck, your eyes glazing over. Dorcas and Marlene, who were the only ones with Lily currently in the room, also sprang to attention. As you struggled to hold back your emotions, your gaze met the other girls’ stares, and you felt everything spill over. Tears fell without warning - an unexpected release of pent-up frustration, sadness, and hurt.

You let go of Lily, wiping your eyes with fervor. Silence enveloped the room until you finally calmed down, regaining control of your emotions as swiftly as possible while Lily gently rubbed your back. Marlene also sitting down by your side, while dorcas sat up on her bed.

“Alright, who do I have to beat up?” Dorcas declared, her tone playful yet sincere, breaking through the heaviness that loomed in the room.

That pulled a watery laugh from you, especially seeing Marlene reprimand the girl for her violent tendencies, though a smile was evident on her face, secretly having similar thoughts. Lily quietly giggled at the scene alongside you.

So you shared everything about the pranks (or bullying, as Lily later dubbed it), James, and everything that had weighed down on you.

When you finally finished your rambling, all listening patiently, the room grew quiet once more. You dreaded their reactions - why, you didn’t know - but anxiety filled your body.

Then, without warning, they erupted into a burst of chatter, voices blending together in a comforting chorus until Marlene decided to take the lead, shushing the other two.

“Well… you know… that’s horrible of him… but… you know, we were all aware he’s kind of—”

“He’s a twat,” Dorcas chimed in.

“I’m not a fan of profanity, but for lack of a better term…” Lily added, grinning as she looked at you, easing your worries. Sudden realisation flashing in her eyes as she quickly got out her wand, pointing it at you, ridding you of the stains.

Your eyes glazed over once more, but this time not out of the anger you felt earlier, Marlene and Lily quickly engulfing you. Dorcas joined in aswell, after Marlene dragged her from her spot on the bed, laughter engulfing the room.

You always felt a shift would come after starting Hogwarts, a new stage of life, but nothing could have prepared you for the transformation that awaited you as summer rolled around - a summer without your best friend. Your room, once a cozy sanctuary, suddenly felt juvenile, each item reminding you of a bond that had frayed. You grew quieter, noticing the judgmental looks from your parents - expressions that mirrored James'.

Lily's letters provided solace, each note including snippets of her life - from the latest Muggle songs to inviting you over for movie nights. Her letters, and those from the others, brought vibrancy back into your world, replacing the dullness that had seeped into your days. You spent countless hours running around with Marlene and Dorcas in Diagon Alley, laughing at every trinket you discovered, scouring through every store you could find, and enjoying the thrill of new experiences. You were rediscovering joy that had long been absent, even without realizing it.

While you occasionally saw James, considering your parents and the close proximity of your homes, he didn’t seem to mind the shift in your dynamic - if he even noticed a change outside of your lack of clinginess, you weren't sure.

By the time fourth year arrived, the pranks that had once been a staple of your interactions faded entirely - nothing felt more potent than the harsh words Lily had directed at James, her words carrying a weight you didn't fully comprehend, yet appreciated nonetheless. He appeared to almost forget you existed, and you were okay with that.

At the end of fifth year, you suddenly vanished, even though school still continued for another month. A sorrow engulfed your life once more when your mother passed away unexpectedly during ministry business - classified. The loss struck deeply, leaving you grappling with emotions you weren’t sure how to manage. Your relationship with her had always felt strained, but her absence was a stark reminder that you'd never have the relationship with her you dreamed of.

Back home, you found comfort in the Potters’ company, excluding James, leaning on Euphemia and your Hogwarts friends to help you through your grief. Your father, overwhelmed by sorrow, struggled to connect with you, and not even your shared pain brought you closer. Instead, it pushed him further away, so when you received a letter from your grandmother from France inviting you to stay with her during the next two months, you eagerly accepted.

This was the first summer that you wouldn't see James at all, not that you minded. His lost friendship had become an afterthought at this point as you tried to navigate your new life.

James only got a proper look at you again at the start of his seventh year. Everything had shifted once more, but this time it felt different. James was now Quidditch Captain and Prefect, determined to make this year - his last - his best by finally asking Lily out, having realized his crush on her in year five, which she largely dismissed at first, considering his past behavior. But he could see (and he knew she could too) that her feelings toward him were starting to shift, recognizing his attempts at bettering himself. So he was confident in his plan to ask Lily to the upcoming Celestial Ball, believing he had finally won her over. Everything seemed perfectly set - that was until Soren Howell, a year six chaser on the team, sat down across from him with an uncharacteristic frown adorning his face.

“What’s got you all gloomy, pretty boy?” asked sirius, who sat beside James, with a smirk looking at Soren, ripping a piece of half-eaten bread from his plate and throwing it at him.

Soren’s frown only deepened. “I asked (Y/N) to the ball,” Soren announced, frustration clear in his voice. “But she said no - some other guy beat me to it."

Hold up. “(Y/N)?” James repeated. “(Y/N) (L/N)?” A puzzled look crossed his face.

Soren simply nodded, bitterness still evident as he continued to sulk.

A million questions raced through James's mind, but most importantly: When did you return? He had assumed you'd finish your studies at Beauxbatons, not seeing you at yesterdays sorting ceremony. Well, right after—

“Are you taking the piss?” Sirius chimed in, laughing loudly. “You need to raise your standards, mate.”

Soren looked up from his plate, disbelief washing over him. “I like her,”

This made James start to laugh as well. While he generally left much of the juvenile behavior behind, partly for Lily but also genuinely growing as a person, he couldn't believe you had not one, but two people pining after you on the very first day back - especially someone like Soren, who was, as much as it pained James to admit, quite the handsome fellow.

“You like her? What’s there to like? I mean - ow!”

A hand suddenly shoved James hard on the back of the head, pain radiating through his skull, and the tips of his unruly dark hair now tainted with the soup in front of him. He grunted angrily, turning awkwardly in his seat to glare at the perpetrator - Dorcas.

Before he could even utter “detention” - a privilege of his Prefect position - his gaze shifted to the girl beside her, her arm linked with Dorcas’s, an uninterested expression on her pretty face as she muttered something to Dorcas while tugging on the taller girl’s arm. James rendered speechless, not recognising the beautiful girl hanging onto Dorcas. Once his gaze shifted toward her Gryffindor tie, his confusion only grew - Was she new? He'd surely recognise someone like her, especially with Sirius by his side who probably tried to chat up every pretty girl, heck even pretty boy, in their school.

Dorcas raised an eyebrow at his prolonged pause, following his gaze and realizing the cause. She scoffed, tugging the girl closer to her.

This made him rip his gaze from her, turning it back to Dorcas, his anger returning.

“What’s it to you?” “Talk about her again, and I will castrate you,” Dorcas declared quickly.

“Her?”

Dorcas looked at him in confusion, then nodded her head in your direction; you, in turn, started to tug on her arm again, annoyance now evident on your face.

“(Y/N)?” he uttered dumbly, at the same time as another voice called out to you.

The beautiful redhead walked on your other side, linking her arm with yours as well.

“Why don’t you get goi-” she started, but then saw who Dorcas and you were talking to, frowning at James with clear disappointment and a look he hadn’t seen from her since he started his journey to woo her - that of genuine dislike. Lily quickly dragged you both away without a word, turning back to glare at James once more on the way to their seats at the dinner table.

It was then and there that James realized - if he wanted Lily, he needed to win you over once again. This new you who suddenly had the prettiest eyes and air of confidence around her. This new you who now looked at him with hatred.

[sur-i-ki]

Slipping through my fingers, all the time

13/20

The first time he saw you falter, it was the tremor in your hand that gave you away. You were always so steady, so sure. But that morning, as you reached for your coffee mug, there it was—a small, almost imperceptible shake. He didn’t say anything, only watched as you set the mug down a little too carefully. When he asked if you were feeling all right, you smiled, brushing it off with a laugh that sounded a touch too practiced.

“It’s nothing,” you said, waving him off. “Probably just the weather.”

He believed you, or maybe he let himself believe you because it was easier than facing the alternative.

The park was where he saw it again. It was autumn, the air crisp, the leaves crackling underfoot as the two of you walked side by side. You stumbled—not clumsily, but in a way that didn’t feel like you. When you reached for his arm, your grip was firm, desperate even, as if the earth had shifted beneath your feet.

“Careful,” he said lightly, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.

You laughed, but the sound was thin. “Guess I’m getting old.”

You held onto his arm for the rest of the walk. He didn’t mind. He told himself you just liked being close, but there was a shadow in his chest that refused to lift.

It wasn’t long before the shadow grew roots.

One night, he found you sitting on the bathroom floor, your head buried in your hands. The tremors were worse now, rattling through you like the aftershocks of a distant quake. When he knelt beside you, the look in your eyes hit him harder than any words could have.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though inside he felt like he was unraveling.

You didn’t answer at first, just stared at the tiled floor as if it held all the answers you couldn’t give.

Finally, you whispered, “It’s a condition. Degenerative. There’s no cure.”

The weight of those words crushed the air from the room. He felt his chest tighten, his lungs refusing to expand. “How long?”

“Years,” you said, your voice cracking. “But it’s getting worse now.”

It was the first time he truly understood what inevitable meant—not as a word, but as a sentence, as a suffocating truth that could crush bone and marrow alike.

What could he say?

He wrapped his arms around you as you broke down. He'd hold you together.

He learned quickly how to carry the pieces of you that were breaking.

There were schedules to memorize, pills to count, appointments to keep. Some days were harder than others, when the disease clawed at you with its invisible hands, leaving you too exhausted to move. Those days, he would sit by your side, feeding you soup and pretending not to notice how you flinched at the effort it took to swallow.

But there were good days too.

Days when you smiled at him like nothing had changed. You’d sit on the couch together, your head on his shoulder, laughing at something on the television. He memorized those moments, stored them like treasures in the back of his mind. On the bad days, he would dig them out and hold them close, desperate for warmth. These moments were his lifeline.

The first time you forgot his name, it nearly broke him.

He had been reading to you, his voice filling the quiet room, when you suddenly interrupted. “Who are you?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like a child asking a question they weren’t sure they were allowed to ask.

He froze, the words catching in his throat. For a moment, all he could do was stare at you, his heart a stone sinking in his chest.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice trembling. He told you his name, reminded you of the life you shared. Slowly, recognition returned to your eyes, but the crack it left in him never healed.

Later that night, when you were asleep, he cried in the living room.

The decline was relentless, each new symptom a thief stealing pieces of you. Your strength, your independence, your voice—one by one, they slipped through his fingers, leaving only memories behind.

One night, as he sat by your bedside, you reached out, your hand frail and trembling. He took it, feeling the coldness of your skin seep into his own.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his voice rough.

“For staying,” you said, your lips curling into the faintest smile.

He wanted to tell you that leaving had never been an option, that he would have stayed even if the world had been burning around him. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he pressed your hand to his lips, letting the silence speak for him.

One night, the both of you sat outside on the balcony, the night wrapping her arms around you, placing you in a cocoon.

"Do you ever think about what comes next?" You ask him softly, resting you head on his shoulder.

He didn't answer right away. He didn't want to.

Finally, he settled on "I try not to."

You smiled up at him, faintly, "Me too,"

The silence rang out in the night.

The day you died, the air felt too still.

He had known it was coming. He had sat with you through every agonizing step, watching as the disease stripped you down to nothing. But when he walked into the room and saw you lying there, so still, so quiet, it was as if the ground had been ripped out from under him.

He didn’t cry at first. He couldn’t. He sat beside you, holding your hand, staring at the empty shell that had once been you. It felt like the air had been stolen from the room, leaving him suffocating in a silence that pressed against his ears like a scream.

Now, he stands in front of your grave, the weight of the world pressing down on him. The headstone is simple, your name etched into the cold, unyielding stone. He traces the letters with his fingers, the roughness of the engraving biting into his skin.

The grief is a living thing, clawing at his chest, filling his throat with sand. The world around him is too bright, too loud, the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves feeling like an insult to your absence.

He kneels, the grass damp beneath his knees, and bows his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t save you. I… I should have done more. Said more.”

The words are a flood now, spilling from him in a torrent he can’t stop. “I miss you,” he chokes out, his breath hitching. “God, I miss you so much.”

The grief is suffocating, a black hole swallowing him whole. He clutches at the earth, the dampness seeping into his skin, grounding him in the only way he knows how.

For the first time since you left, he lets himself feel the full weight of it—the loss, the anger, the love. He breaks, the sobs wracking his body, shaking him to his core.

And as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the cemetery, he stays there, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like the weight of the sky.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter one

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): none, just angst

author's note: first chapter! i didn't expect it all to be in jj's pov lol. PLEASE read the author's note here, but i want to reiterate that this fic is canon-compliant up until season 4, ep. 5. for example, in this chapter we learn there are still a few days before the court hearing regarding the maybank property. this story will not be canon-compliant from this chapter onwards!

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JJ can feel the air in his lungs running out, and the pressure from the wind and rain around him only speeds up the process. He’ll have to stop running soon, his endurance can only last so long, but until then he needs to run. Run away from the lighthouse that Luke is maybe still shouting from. Run away from the lies. Run away from his remaining hope for the man who raised him — if you can call it that. 

JJ’s on autopilot, not having to think about where he’ll go. He’s always known where his feet take him in these moments of desperation. The place has changed, ironically from the Chateau to the place he used to run from, but the reason has stayed the same. The people have stayed the same. Still, he can’t think straight. The pinching feeling in his chest is growing and he knows what’s next. The pinch will get tighter until it feels like his weight has collapsed on itself, landing right on his weak heart. Usually, the pressure builds quickly. Right now, though, it’s a slow build. Those are always the worst. Sometimes, when the build is slow and sneaky, the pain doesn’t go away until the next day. 

He can’t let it stop him right now though. Not until he’s back at the shop with the other Pogues. It’s probably not much longer before he’ll reach the boat that will take him where he wants to be, needs to be. It doesn’t ease the pressure in his chest, but it clears his mind a bit. It lets him think just a little longer about what’s next. He’ll drive it as quickly as he can and head straight to the Pogues, then he’ll tell them what happened. They’ll help him. He knows they will. 

As he steps onto the boat and starts to undock, the rain still falling steadily, he thinks of what the Pogues are probably doing right now. Wait. Shit, Shit, Shit. 

They’re not home, not all of them at least. The Pogues had gone to follow the clues left behind regarding Blackbeard’s treasure, but Kiara was home. She was there alone, waiting just for him, to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble he couldn’t get out of. That should’ve been enough. Knowing Kiara would be there should’ve made his path clearer, like the break of dawn in the dark, rainy night surrounding him. Yet, it’s like his hands moved without his permission, turning him away from his intended path. JJ turns the boat around, buying himself time before he eventually makes it back to the surf shop. For now, he just needed to think. The solitude would do him some good, let him think about the lies Luke had just tried to sell him. JJ could handle this. 

He hadn’t expected to return the next day, but every time JJ thought he was closer to driving the boat home, he’d start reeling again. He didn’t want to go back to the Pogues at the height of his emotional turmoil, especially when what Luke said was no doubt bullshit. His friends didn’t have parents who were in the running for some Parent of the Year award — well, maybe Pope— but they also didn't have Luke Maybank as a parent. Their parents could be murderers and treasure hunt junkies, but they loved their children. The worst of them still took their last breaths for his daughter. Forget loving him, Luke’s only thoughts regarding JJ were about how he could get his next crash gab. He was willing to give away his title as JJ’s dad at the first opportunity of something better. It was embarrassing– humiliating to let them see just how unloved he was by his father. 

“JJ where have you been?” JJ’s eyes met Kiara’s as she stood up from where she was crouched in her garden. JJ looked away, training his gaze on the crops surrounding them. He could still remember how excited Kie had been when she had started the garden. She had spent an entire smoke sesh sprouting predictions about how far each crop would come within a three-year timeline. Now, he didn’t even know if she’d be able to see the results of her hard work or if some Kooks would bulldoze the whole thing in a few weeks. JJ cringes, looking back to Kie. It was easier to look at her than their withering dreams. 

“Long story,” He mumbled. “Where are the others?” 

“Almost here, why? What happened?” JJ suppressed his groan at her questioning. He knew his lies never got past her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try. 

“Nothing, Kie,” His insistence was met with a deadpan look. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“It…” JJ ran his hand through his hair, jaw clenching. This was the part of the conversation he was dreading most, admitting that Luke was back and he never even told him. Somehow the fact that Luke didn’t find it worth telling JJ he was back on the island was worse than the lies he had spun. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just my dad.” Dad. 

“Oh shit. He’s back?”

“Yep,” JJ did his best to hide how badly this was affecting him. Whether it was believable or not, he didn’t know. “He’s been holding up at Barracuda Mike’s, I guess.”

“JJ…” 

“Don’t,” JJ said, putting a hand up. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

JJ let the silence stretch between them, debating his next words. How could he say this without sounding like he’d gone too far off the rails this time?

“He…uh…” Kie moved closer, watching her step as she approached JJ.

“Yeah?”

“He… told me he wasn’t my real dad,” Kiara looks at JJ for a second which feels much too long before she smirks at him.

“You wish,” It does feel like a cruel joke, but even if it’s a lie, Luke wasn’t trying to be humorous. 

“Kie, it wasn’t a joke. Like, he was being…I don’t know what he was being, but,” JJ trailed off, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the crumpled letter, he’d been turning over in his hands every couple hours since he received it. 

“I got this,” JJ mumbled, waving the letter in his trembling hands. Unfolding the letter haphazardly, JJ extended it for Kiara to take. Kiara wiped her hands against her shorts one more time, before taking the letter.

The sound of grass crunching underfoot pulled both their gazes toward an approaching figure. Y/N stepped into view, her expression calm but with the slightest arch of her brow. She held an apple in one hand, idly passing it between her hands.

“What’s that?” Y/N asked, her gaze trained on the letter Kie had yet to read. JJ reached out and snatched the letter back from Kie’s hands, stuffing it in his pocket again.

“Nothin’,” JJ replied, his tone clipped. Y/N’s gaze lingered on JJ’s pocket as she took a bite of her apple. In response, she simply hummed and let her gaze trail back to JJ’s. Looking between the two girls,  JJ searched for a way to avoid any more discussion. “You two didn’t go with the others?” He directed the question to Kiara even though he knew she had stayed behind.

“Kie said she was gonna wait for you, so I decided to stay back with her. In case she needed backup,” Y/N shrugged. 

“Backup for sitting in a garden?” 

“Backup for whatever trouble you’d inevitably bring back. Guess I called that one.” Y/N nodded her head at JJ’s pocket, her tone sharp but not necessarily unkind. Still it was a sharp contrast to the usual warmth she showed the others. JJ felt that familiar itch of irritation crawl up his spine, igniting sometnhing raw within him. It always seemed to happen when Y/N was around him lately, like she merely existed to remind him of every single one of his shortcomings. 

 “You figure out whatever was more important than helping us?” she added. 

Two years ago, JJ couldn’t have imagined he’d feel this way about her. This tension hadn’t always existed between them, not until a few months ago. Y/N had been with Cleo and their ship captain, Terrance, since she was 14, which meant that she’d been with Cleo when helping John B and Sarah try to retreive the Royal Merchant gold in the Bahamas. When it came time to decide if their alliance would shift to something more, she’d turned to Cleo for guidance. It was Cleo who decided that they’d join the Pogues from that point onwards.  

When Y/N and Cleo had first joined them on Poguelandia, it had been a wonder how effortlessly they fit in with their unconventional family. They may not have had the same heartfelt bond that was cultivated over years of knowing one another, but he and Y/N had shared many laughs, just the two of them. They didn’t feel like they meant much at the time, but he would find himself clinging to those memories like a lifeline– a reminder that she didn’t always look at him with such disfavor. 

JJ always thought Y/N was funny in a way that went under the radar – a quiet, cutting kind of humor. She’d let out a sarcastic comment under her breath or give a look that had impeccable comedic timing. JJ was often the only person to catch these little moments and in return he’d get a small smirk. She was still funny, still fun, but it was like any time JJ was near her she lost the ability to even pretend she didn’t hate him. Her smile would disappear when he’d try to make a joke or suggest an activity for the group to do, albeit those suggestions were usually a little reckless.  He understood that he wasn’t anyone’s favorite person right now, but he didn’t understand why it seemed like Y/N had a personal grudge against him. Now, every look she gave him felt like judgement he couldn’t escape, and every word seemed calculated to remind him of how much he’d messed up. Can’t a man make a few mistakes without being chased with metaphorical pitchforks? Jesus. 

Since Terrance’s death, Y/N had been reeling. Her version of reeling at least. Turning in on herself, withdrawing form everyone else. She had seemed like a shell of the person he had come to know. At this moment, she seemed to be doing better and JJ was relieved to see it. It didn’t matter what was happening between them, if a Pogue was in pain JJ felt it. But he wasn’t relieved enough to be glad he was at the receiving end of the anger that had started to become far too familiar. 

“Yeah,” JJ rolled his eyes, turning away from Y/N. “Something like that.” If Y/N was going to say something, she never got the chance because just then the Pogues were pulling in with the Twinkie. JJ looked towards Kiara, widening his eyes as if to say ‘Keep this a secret, please?” Kiara furrowed her brows, clearly not receiving the message, and looked to Y/N to see if she understood. JJ groaned looking back at Y/N, as well. Seeming to get the message, Y/N snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Relax. I’m going,” She said before walking towards the other Pogues as they got out of the Twinkie. 

“Can we, uh…not tell them,” JJ sighed, looking back to see if the Pogues would be able to hear him from where they were gathered. “I mean I just don’t want them to know how far Luke would actually go. You know, to get some cash.” Kiara nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Another one of our little secrets?” JJ smirked, nodding in agreement. He took one more glance behind him, before stepping closer to whisper his next words.

“A secret for the streets and a secret for the sheets,” JJ winked, causing Kiara to groan at the cliche and JJ to burst out laughing. Suddenly, a blur of blonde hair sped past JJ and Kiara, knocking JJ’s shoulder as it went.

“What’s wrong with Sarah?” JJ asked turning to find Pope walking closer to him.

“Rat swarm,” Pope said, a dazed look in his eyes as he followed Sarah inside. 

Rat swarm?

“The weirdest part is other people were looking for the same thing we were looking for,” Pope’s movements are animated and his voice passionate as he recalls what he and Sarah saw in the catacomb. JJ’s trying his best to push the past twenty-four hours out of his thoughts and focus on his friends, but he keeps catching himself thinking ‘What next?’ on a never-ending loop. 

“I hate that I missed that,” He hears Kie say, but he’s not sure what she’s referring to exactly. His absentmindedness is why he takes a minute too long to respond when John B directs a question to him. 

“Where’d you ghost off to, big guy?” John B asks, his expression a mix between expectant and worried. JJ stands up from where he’s slumped against the railing, turning to look at Kiara to make sure she’s not about to give anything away. But as he turns to look at Kie, he catches Y/N staring at him. She’d been looking at him oddly for the past twenty minutes that they’d all been gathered on the patio, but he figured she was just at her witends with him again. Now, her expression has suddenly intensified and she’s looking at him like she knows something. But that’s impossible. 

Looking at Y/N, he replied. “Oh, I was, uh… just trying to help out the team. Quick cash grab. Yeah.” His voice seems a bit lost as he explains, but he shrugs and clears his throat. “But the plan fell through, ‘cause it was Barracuda Mike.” 

“As much as I’d hate to hear JJ tell us that story,” He hears Y/N cut in, not a trace of her previous insight left for anyone to see. “We need to talk about the zoning hearing. It’s in a few days.” Was her frustration real or was Y/N covering for him?

“Anyone got any ideas?” Cleo asks, walking to sit next to Pope. 

“Oh, yeah, let me just study up on real estate–” Pope’s quip is silenced by a single look shot at him by Cleo. “Sorry.” 

JJ hears Y/N chuckle at that and he smiles as he looks at her. Y/N is generous with her laughs, as long as JJ isn’t involved, but they’re always genuine when she’s watching Cleo and Pope interact. He remembers she’d once told him something was healing about watching Cleo and Pope together, but he’d never gotten the chance to ask her what she meant. 

“How about we call people,” John B suggests, ever the leader. “The whole island’s pissed about what they’ve been doing. We get everybody over there, pack the house, and rally the troops.” 

“More the merrier,” JJ nods. “I could get the surf squad out there. From the beach.” 

And just like that, the Pogues are all brainstorming how they can help and who they can call. JJ hears Kiara mention something about Rafe Cameron, but he still feels a swell of hope as he thinks about all the Pogues on the island showing up to fight for the shop. He’s mistrusting of hope, because of what it inevitably leads to, but he always falls for it. That low thrum seems to course through his veins and grows with each passing moment. That feeling is like the antithesis of when he feels his heart pinch. It’s better than any drugs or alcohol that he usually uses as a mask for his darkest thoughts. It also has  a worse crash down to reality than both combined. 

Unfortunately, it seems he won’t be experiencing the full high of hope, because as the group disperses to handle their individual tasks, the last person he’d expect to willingly talk to him is stood in front of him.

“Um, yes?” JJ tilts his head at Y/N, who’s bouncing slightly on her feet. That’s odd. Y/N’s a very collected person, more in control of her emotions than the average person. She’s so much like Cleo in that way and which makes sense considering the upbring they’ve had. So to see her in obvious distress about something is far from normal. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Y/N nods, but as JJ makes a move to side step her, she steps backwards blocking his exit. “JJ, I made a mistake.” Okay… but why is she coming to him?

“What happened?” Y/N lifts her hand, which he didn’t notice she was holding behind her back until now, and reveals a crumpled piece of paper. A very familiar crumpled piece of paper. JJ’s hand flies to his left pocket where he thought Wes Genrette’s letter was safely tucked away. 

“How…?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” Y/N’s eyebrow arches because everyone knows she’s neck in neck with Cleo for best pick pocket. It’s almost funny, but really it’s not. JJ clenches his jaw, snatching the letter from Y/N. He needs to leave. 

“JJ, wait,” Y/N blocks his exit again and JJ huffs, taking multiple steps away from her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was personal.”

“You didn’t know a letter I clearly did not want you to read was personal? Really?” JJ’s just grateful that no one else is at the shop right now and he can be as pissed as he wants. “How dare you take this from me?”

“I had to make sure.” JJ doesn’t have to ask her what she means by that. She had to make sure it wasn’t something else he’d drop on all their heads when they were already so far under the water. 

“Huh,” JJ gives a mirthless chuckles, shaking his head. “You had to make sure I didn’t fuck up.” Y/N looks away, but she doesn’t attempt to convince him otherwise. She takes a moment before straightening her posture and facing him head on. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read it and I should’ve trusted you enough to know what was worth sharing and what wasn’t.” He knows she means it, that she truly is sorry. 

“Whatever,” JJ never claimed to be a mature guy. 

“Okay…” 

“Alright.” JJ waits a minute and when he hopes the conversation is finally over, he starts to leave. But what’d he say about hope? You inevitably crash down.

“For what it’s worth,” JJ sighs, looking over his shoulder at Y/N. “I think you should talk to him.” When JJ doesn’t respond she clarifies, “To Groff.”

JJ turns towards her, a chill running down his spine. “You do?” JJ’s compass for good ideas is in dire need of calibration, but even he feels like this is very obviously not a good idea.

“Yeah. You deserve to know if he’s your… or if Genrette was off base.” 

“I think we both know that he’s way off base.” JJ’s arms cross with an air of nonchalance that doesn’t suit him. “Why bother asking?” 

Y/N purses her lips in thought, like she’s debating whether to say what she’s thinking. He’s not sure what she decides, because all she says before patting him on the shoulder and leaving is:

“Maybe. But whatever you decide, don’t do it alone.” 

[pokemon1oadvanced]

Thoughts on the live action one piece

Spoilers 😉

Yes, I binged all 8 episodes, and have work today and can’t see out my eyes but worth it.

I’ll try to keep it short.

Luffys character was immaculate. The way Inaki portrayed him and brought this man to life was so amazing to see. Oda really saw Luffy in him and he did not disappoint. The moves looked great, CGI was on point for a live action, and they really did break the curse.

Zoro’s character was beautiful. I love that he was more serious, and him throwing up the finger in his first scene?! I’m star struck. You can say what you want about the live action, but theres no denying this cast was perfect for these characters and the fight scenes were choreographed to the point where it looked so clean.

Nami 🥳 The emotion! The conflict! I absolutely love the way she had more action scenes and was more open with her care for the crew early on. Nami has always been my favourite character, and Emily did her justice.

I will be listening to her song on repeat.

Ussop! Ussop! Are you serious! Why do I love you in every reality! And Ussop and Kaya! The kiss! The scream I let out! I died😵‍💫 I wish he had more shooting scenes, but his true potential wasn’t seen until later in the anime so I can’t complain, cause season two Ussop is gonna pop off.

Sanji😳 First off, live action Sanji has a hold on me😮‍💨 Like what happened to the guy who couldn’t get any girls. Ngl, was keeping an eye out for the blonde at table 8, looking out for my competition👀 His kicks were so smooth and all, and I mean ALL, his fight scenes were perfect. Like how did they do this. You can see the care and effort he put into his character.

Buggy? I love our unhinged clown. His making a circus with trapped towns people. His CGI? Amazing. The little goof we were left with when they trapped his parts in the chest made me cackle!

The pacing of the show was done so well. I was worried that 8 episodes wouldn’t be enough (and I was right where’s season two I want Vivi), but the retelling was more then I hoped for. I will always love the anime more, as most of us know there’s not enough episodes in the series, but the live action did great in that respect. I did miss some of the characters they had to cut to make it flow better though. The ussop pirates live on in our hearts

Don’t get me wrong, there was some scenes I missed from the original show, like Zoro lifting Luffy’s cage, Nami burning her hands on Buggys cannon fuse, Nami stabbing Ussop. BUT, they wouldn’t have fit in this version of the show.

They did give us Zoro lifting the safe like he did Luffys cage which was cool. And Nami holding Ussops hand when Zoro was fighting, Nami showing up for the fight rather then leaving. I love her. Even though Nami didn’t get to show her care through the actions of saving Zoro or stabbing her own hand, she was still able to show those emtions through different actions. The hand holding with Ussop rather then the stabbing of her hand was so good to see. This version of Nami seemed more fragile in a way, so this suited her version well.

It was like watching One Piece for the first time all over again. I didn’t know what would happen. Getting more marines, and Garps relationship to Luffy being revealed so early in the series to cause tension within the crew *chef’s kiss* And Koby? ‘Be a good pirate.’? Like I love you? Not doing what Garp asked? Standing up for his beliefs? You are going to be a good Marine. You’ll be the greatest 💕

The relationships they explored?

First off Ussop and Kaya 😵 I love them so much. Them talking to the straw hats about their relationship was so cute, and Zoro saying it wasn’t his area of expertise 💅🏻✨ Jokes 👀

Nami being besties with Kaya😍 Her telling Kaya not to let someone tell her how to run her life, drawing connections to her own situation, telling Kaya not to be trapped. Her returning the treasure! I loved it so much. Ussop’s and Nami’s friendship has always been the one I cherished in the crew, and for Nami to support Kaya, and Ussop to see how Nami was good to his girl I feel will only strengthen their relationship.

Nami and Zoro besties? Didn’t know I could love them more.

Nami caring so much for Zoro after his fight with Mihawk showed her love for her new friends, and mirrored her care she had in the original series where she saved him from drowning at Arlong park. Even though we didn’t get the original scenes, they were supplemented with new scenes that held the same feelings.

Zosan- I mean Zoro and Sanji. The wings of the pirate king? I love their bickering in any universe it seems. The fish men fight was so good, them being unbothered with the guys trying to kill them as they fought with each other was so them. And Zoro licking his plate clean and saying Sanji’s food was okay? Not bad for a waiter huh?

And the most important pair. Captain and his first mate. I just loved how many times they reiterated that Zoro is Luffys right hand man 🥰 Luffy not stepping in the way of Zoros dream was beautiful, and his care afterwards reminded me of how he cared for Nami when she got sick in the original series. Asking Sanji to cook his favourite? So cute. He couldn’t decide if it was best for Zoro to eat or sleep or drink and him stressing for Zoro. All amazing. I’ve used amazing so many times but its just the word I need to explain it. Zoro waking up, Luffy engulfing him. I could go on and on.

Nami and Luffy? The amount of love I have for them. They were everything I wanted from them. The scene. THE scene. Beautiful.

I could go on and on about this show, but sadly I have work. Please show this version love, and don’t go into expecting the same series. It is different. It’s its own version and deserves its own category.

I love the cast! Thank you for making history with this adaptation! Xx

[xo-codbby]

in which price finds having his own lil family the best thing in the world

a/n: lmk if you'd like this with any of the others :) 🤍

it had been a lazy sunday, price didn't get very many of those if hardly ever. being the captain, the leader on a dangerous taskforce definitely had its con and limited free times to spend. but the moments he could have you to himself, alone and snuggled up with, he treasured the most

the rain thundering outside had been a lovely touch as he lay there on the couch, sprawled against the pillows with you pressed into his side. he doesn't think he could ever tire of watching you lazily relaxing, his hand on your hip rubbing soft circles

it's the perfect moment, watching your lashes flutter on your cheeks with every blink, the soft pulse of your heart against your skin to remind him that you were real and in his arms. the warmth from your body and the blankets had him melting, soaking up every moment and trying to treasure it at the same time

it was everything he had ever wanted and more, his arm trying to bring you in even closer. his lips skimming your cheek, finding a gentle pathway to your jaw and then your neck a soft kiss pressed right below your ear. the tv played in the background mindlessly with the light illuminating your figure, the only comfort he could ever want and need

you feel the soft scruff of his beard against your skin slightly ticklish as you hum a soft response, relishing in the affection your husband provided. his muscles caging you in, securing you right there as he nuzzled your neck

that was until a soft whine was heard between the two of you, demanding attention.

price could hardly keep his chuckle back, looking down at the small space between you both. his brow raised slightly as he poked his baby girl softly on the nose, her little body half perched on yours and his

"what's that look for, munchkin?" he spoke in amusement, tilting her little face up with his index. his thumb smoothing over her small chin hearing her broken babbles, small brows knitted in a pout. she looked exactly like you when she pulled this face and it melted his heart every timeand he knew the issue, of course he did. your soft laughter next to him only confirmed it

"you want a kiss, do you love?" he cooed softly, raising his brow amused at the little one snuggled between you both. her small hands grabbing at his top, most definitely wanting a kiss the way you had received one. it had been a habit she picked up now that she reached 7 months, whatever attention you had got she wanted the same. not wanting to be left out especially not on family time

and price was more than happy to indulge his baby, his lips are so gentle on her skin breathing in her scent tenderly. she was so small, so soft it was still a shock that someone like him could play a part in something so beautiful. he could never deny his baby any affection when she was like this, you were the keeper of his heart and she was the apple of his eye.

he couldn't believe that a few years ago he didn't have anyone so close to him, dedicating his life to his work instead to numb the pain that his years were passing by and he didn't have a soul. and now he had the most beautiful family, his people, the ones he vowed until his last breath to protect and honour and hold he bends his head a little to give her a little kiss to her chubby cheek causing her to break out in a big smile, patting his chest for more while her head tilts back in satisfaction.

his eyes crinkle with pure love, big hands scooping her under her arms to pull her on his chest. he spends the evening basking in the afterglow of his family, his heart full and burying with pure love and adoration. alternating between kissing you and your baby girl

though when she finally does settle and sleeps in her crib, he takes you into the bedroom and shows you just how much he really wanted to kiss you the right way