#but I will appreciate any and all that are sent

[les4elliewilliams]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫.

⭑.ᐟ｡𖦹°‧ warnings . . . approximately 7k words, smut with plot, cheating, older!ellie (reader is 23), chef!ellie, body hair, fingering/oral (e!receiving), no use of y/n, food play, ellie drinks coffee in this one :p 𐔌.author's note.ᐟ ֹ₊꒱ first post of the year!!! muahahaha (totally not proofread :p) HAPPY NEW YEARRR!!! i just wanted to take a moment to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you who reads and interacts with my writings/posts in general. it truly means the world to me. :3 i also wanted to let my moots know that i love you all, y'all are so funny and cool, and i appreciate you more than you know. even if we haven’t interacted much, just know i’m lowkey stalking your blogs (in admiration, ofc… i’m definitely not hiding in your basement as you’re reading this)

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. You’d never planned to walk this road, never imagined the day you’d become someone like this. A homewrecker, or whatever the fuck people called it. This wasn’t you, not really. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

But as you kneeled before the Ellie fucking Williams, none of that mattered. Your soft hands held on to her hips with a fervent grip, almost as if your life depended on it, tongue dragging up her dripping heat, collecting every bit of that sweet, sticky honey from the slit of her soaked pussy to the carved ridges of her toned abs. She was a masterpiece, sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and you were hungry for her essence, desperate to savor every inch she had to offer. No matter how many times you have done this before, it never gets old—she never gets old.

Golden syrup trickled from the curve of her perky breasts, pooling in the valley between them before rolling down to her hardened nipples. You couldn’t just ignore them, couldn’t leave them standing there neglected. Slowly, deliberately, you made your way up, tongue swirling, teeth grazing, your mouth worshiping her as she deserved. She whimpered—soft, breathy, almost vulnerable.

You’d done that. You made her sound like that.

But Ellie wasn’t one for patience, not in the kitchen, nor in a different context. That was her thing—impatience, control—making things happen whenever she wanted it. Her calloused hand gripped your shoulder, pushing you back down with the kind of force that sent a jolt straight through you.

“Get me off, like you always do, will ya?” her voice rasp and lazy, dripping with authority. 

You looked up at her, smirking despite your knees throbbing from the cold tile beneath you, bruises blooming on your skin like pretty violets, a dark reminder of how many times you’d been down here like this lately. “Yes, chef.” 

You didn’t break eye contact as you sank lower, lashes fluttering, bambi-eyed and eager. Ellie always had this power over you, this hold that went deeper than lust. You admired her. You wanted her job, her life, her. You wanted to be her, and fuck, you wanted to be with her, too. But that was a dream too big for the likes of you, and you knew it.

So for now, you gave her what she wanted, what she demanded, losing yourself in her, the scent of her, the taste of her. Your tongue laid flat and ready, exposed for her, and she didn’t waste a second. Instinct took over as her hips bucked against your pretty face, her throbbing, greedy clit grinding against the wet muscle of your tongue. Her desperation only fueled you, and as her heat consumed you, your breath hitched. Your free hand slid down, pressing against your own aching core, rubbing yourself through your soaked panties while you devoured her.

In minutes, you were a wreck. Hair tangled and wild, her hands yanking at it with no care for gentleness. She didn’t give a single fuck if she was hurting you—not now, not ever. That’s just how she was, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The pain only made you hungrier, needier, leaving you gasping for more.

“God,” she gasped, her voice breathless, “She doesn’t do it like you do.”

Your heart skipped, your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from humming proudly against her. The vibrations made her hips jerk, her clit twitching against your warm tongue as you worked on her with even more determination. Your fingers moved faster, circling your swollen bud through the drenched fabric of your panties. The soft moans that escaped your throat only made her rougher, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling you closer as she chased her release.

“Fuck…” she cursed, her voice breaking as her head tilted back, her eyes fluttering shut. She was gone, completely lost in what you were giving her. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

The words hit like a shot of adrenaline, causing a fluttery, erratic sensation to erupt in your stomach. You sucked harder, more hungrily, her juices dripping down your chin and mixing with your spit, your tongue lapping it all up like you couldn’t get enough.

A low moan rumbled from your chest as you got more of her taste, vibrating against her clit and making her cry out in return. Her toned thigh tightened around your head, pulling you impossibly closer. You could barely breathe, your nose buried in her trimmed, reddish bush, but you didn’t care. Her other hand released its grip on the steel counter behind her, letting her back fully press against it to seek steady support while she trapped her stiff nipple between her fongers. Each calculated motion you made left her gasping, her shallow breaths hitching as if she were on the verge of losing control.

Your fingers slipped past the waistband of your white panties, eagerly teasing your slit before pushing them into your pulsating walls without wasting a second more. You were too wet, too sensitive, and way too horny to be patient, couldn’t wait until she came to feel good. You winced slightly, stifling a soft mewl as you sank them deeper and deeper.

She noticed, of course, she did. “What a fucking slut you are,” she chuckled, her voice a breathless mix of amusement and disbelief. Her hips ground impatiently against your mouth, her grip on your damaged hair tightening to the point of pain. “Just like that,” she gasped, her head tilting back again as her body tensed. “I’m close already.”

You couldn’t stop a giddy chuckle to slip past your lips. The sound was soft, playful, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Her head snapped downward, her brows furrowing in confusion as her gaze locked onto yours.

“Something funny?” she asked, her voice sharp despite the breathlessness.

“What, your wife doesn’t touch you at all?” you taunted, your voice laced with mock innocence as you pulled back just enough to meet her hooded gaze.

“She does,” Ellie shot back almost instantly, her voice sharp and defensive. But her actions betrayed her words as her hand gripped the back of your head, forcing you down again with the kind of need that spoke volumes. She was selfish about it, pressing herself against you without hesitation, demanding more of you like she always did.

You gave in, plunging two fingers deep inside her, curling them just right, finding that sweet spot that made her body restless and her moans grow louder. Your mouth stayed busy, lips and tongue working on her rose nub in tandem, sucking and flicking in rhythm with the movement of your hand. Her body was tight, trembling under your touch, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride knowing you were the one making her feel like this—pulling sounds from her that her wife hadn’t in years. It was wrong, but Ellie couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not with the way your fingers worked inside her, not with the way your tongue seemed to know exactly what she needed. 

You looked up at her briefly, catching the flicker of something in her eyes—guilt, maybe, or shame—but it was quickly replaced by hunger as her fingers tightened in your once-soft hair. “Don’t stop,” she rasped, her voice growing desperate. And you didn’t.

How could you sleep with another woman’s wife? The thought lingered in the corners of your mind like a restless echo of a whisper, making you feel guilty and disgusting, until your gaze landed on her again, and suddenly, the guilt felt distant, almost irrelevant, like it was never there to begin with.

Even a blind person would succumb to her allure, you told yourself, as if that excused anything. That charisma of hers—it wasn’t just a pull. It was a wicked spell that left you weak in the knees. The world around you always seemed to fade into a hazy blur as she walked into the room, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating. Self respect? It vanished the moment her soft lips crashed against yours, leaving you drowning in the pounding of your heart and your feelings for her.

Maybe it was her beauty, effortless and unassuming, the kind that seemed to defy time itself. She wore it effortlessly, as if time itself had conspired in her favor. She looked fresh, radiant even, no matter her age. Thirty-six. Was that too old for you? Surely not. There were worse gaps out there, you reasoned, though even the thought of reasoning felt ridiculous when it came to her. She made rationality crumble, made you question things you never had before.

Ellie hadn’t always been this person, this version of herself that took and took without restraint. She hated it, hated the way she’d sunk so low, but she couldn’t stop. Not when it came to you. She’d had plenty of pretty girls come and go in her kitchen, of every age, bright-eyed and eager to prove themselves. But none of them had caught her attention the way you did. There was something about you that made her stomach twist and her chest flutter in ways she didn’t want to admit.

 It made her feel disgusting.

The guilt clung to her like a parasite, heavy and suffocating, consuming her at night as she lay next to Dina. Sweet, devoted Dina, who didn’t deserve any of this. Dina, who kissed Ellie goodnight with the same tenderness she had ever since high school, who still looked at her with love in her eyes, even though Ellie knew she didn’t deserve it.

But the truth was undeniable. Dina didn’t make her happy anymore. Maybe it wasn’t even Dina’s fault, maybe the problem was Ellie herself. Years of love, years of marriage, and yet something had changed. Dina was steady, reliable, safe. But safe had grown boring. Too domestic, too… predictable.

Then you walked into her restaurant.

Ellie remembered that day like it had been etched into her memory with a hot iron. You had this nervous energy about you, your manicured hands trembling slightly even as you tried to project confidence. It was endearing the way you squared your shoulders and forced a smile despite how jittery you clearly felt. Ellie couldn’t take her eyes off you.

Your nerves were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of excitement and dread swirling in your chest. Meeting someone you had admired for years was thrilling, yes, but it was also overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected. Your love for cooking had always been an anchor in your life, a passion ignited by your dad—a man whose laughter echoed in every inch of the house on cozy Sunday afternoons, whose hands expertly kneaded dough or seasoned a sauce with precision and care. Those moments were your happiest memories, fragments of a simpler time.

When he passed, it felt like a part of you went with him. Alongside the grief came a determination that burned quietly within you. You owed it to him, you told yourself. You had to carry on his passion, keep alive all the little tricks and lessons he had passed down. He never got the chance to go to a culinary school, never had the means to chase the dream he so clearly deserved. You’d been luckier. You had opportunities he could only ever dream of, and for that, you couldn’t complain.

However, somewhere along the way, doubt began to creep in.

It was subtle at first—a quiet voice in the chambers of your mind that questioned if you were truly good enough. That voice grew louder with time, eating away your confidence. Even after you graduated from a prestigious culinary school—one that rarely opened its doors to just anyone—you couldn’t shake the feeling that others were better. 

More talented. More deserving.

Still, you pushed forward. Giving up wasn’t an option, not after everything you’d invested: all your savings, grueling hours of study, sleepless nights, sacrifices you had made, and the moments you had teetered on the edge of failure, only to claw your way back. Quitting now would mean throwing all of that away. Worse, it would mean letting down the one person whose opinion mattered most to you.

How would your dad react if he were still here? Would he understand your struggles, or would he shake his head in disappointment? Those unanswered questions haunted you late at night, swirling endlessly in your mind as you tossed and turned in your bed. Would he be proud of the path you had taken? Or would he see your insecurities as a weakness?

You didn’t know. You might never know. Yet that was part of what kept you going, clinging to the hope that, somehow, all of this would be worth it.

When your culinary school recommended Ellie Williams’ restaurant for an apprenticeship, your heart nearly stopped. You couldn’t afford not to say yes, but that didn’t stop the nerves from turning your stomach inside out. She was a legend, known for her perfectionism, innate talent, and the kind of reputation that inspired both awe and fear. She wasn’t just a great chef. She was the chef, and to top it all off, she’d walked the same halls at your school. Knowing she had started where you were now gave you hope, but it also set the bar impossibly high.

Ellie was why you chose that school in the first place, and now you were walking into her domain, hoping you wouldn’t screw it all up.The interview wasn’t something you could avoid, no matter how much you wanted to. Everything about her was intimidating—the stories of her strictness, her infamous zero-tolerance policy for mistakes, and her disdain for laziness in any form. All of it left you shitting your pants in anticipation.

The moment she stepped into the office a waitress had told you to wait in, the air felt like it had shifted, and the chatter of the bustling restaurant beyond the door suddenly muted. She carried herself with confidence, the intimidating kind. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few rebellious strands framing her freckled face. The years had carved faint lines into the corners of her olive eyes, but they only added to her beauty. Her gaze was piercing, the type that made you feel stripped bare with just one glance.

She wore her chef’s jacket open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms adorned with faint scars and a faded tattoo. Her stance was casual but strong, her crossed arms flexing toned muscles beneath the freckled skin. She looked like someone who had worked for everything she had and who wasn’t afraid to call you out if you hadn’t done the same.

The interview itself was mercilessly brief. Ellie didn’t waste time, her words were stern and straight to the point. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable except for the slight downturn of her lips. It wasn’t just that she looked unimpressed, it was as if she had already decided you had something to prove.

Her voice cut through the silence with a rasp that spoke of too many late nights and maybe one too many cigarettes in her youth. “I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand,” she began, “And I don’t give out praise for showing up. I want to know why you think you can keep up here when most fresh-out-of-school types run for the door the second they realize what I expect.”

You stumbled over your words at first, her intensity throwing you off balance. Her stormy green eyes stayed locked on you the entire time, dissecting every word that left your mouth. You couldn’t help but notice the faint quirk of her brow, a hidden challenge laying in its arch, daring you to falter.

When you finished answering, her expression didn’t change, her arms still crossed in that stance that screamed impatience, like she had better things to do. She let the silence stretch, as if weighing your every word. Finally, she nodded, just once, curt and decisive, before standing.

Your posture straightened awkwardly, every muscle stiff as you tried to hold her gaze. You didn’t want to look nervous, not to her. Ellie Williams wasn’t the kind of person who tolerated insecurity, and the last thing you wanted was to give her the impression that you didn’t know what you were doing.

“I’ll give you a week,” The older woman conceded, “A trial. During that time, you’ll work every shift I tell you to—no complaints. If I think you’re slacking even once, you’re out. Understood?”

Anxiety coursing through you at her words, the pressure settling on your shoulders like a lead apron. You nodded, swallowing your nerves and summoning every ounce of determination you had left. “Understood, Chef.”

“Good.”

Ellie pushed herself off the desk, her hand extended toward you, and for a second, you froze. When you finally reached out, your fingers met hers—rough, calloused, worn down by years of relentless labor in kitchens like this one. Her grip was firm and commanding, her knuckles marked with tiny cracks and the faded scars of burns long since healed. You couldn’t help but notice how her hand lingered just a second too long, enough for you to feel the weight of her scrutiny.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Don’t disappoint me.” 

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice cracking slightly, betraying how much you wanted to sound confident.

Easier said than done.

The week passed in a blur. Each day felt like a battle that tested you to your limits. The kitchen wasn't just hectic; it was hell. A scorching inferno of non-stop work. Pans clattered, oil sizzled, and the air seemed perpetually thick with heat and the aroma of garlic and herbs. Voices shouted over the din, and orders barked with urgency. The counters gleamed under the lights, every inch of the space immaculately polished, ready for Ellie’s scrutinizing eyes to find fault in it.

And find fault she did.

It was like suddenly, you couldn’t hold a knife to save your life. Ellie would swoop in, catching you mid-slice with a firm, “Stop—just stop for a second.” Her voice cut through the noise, causing the chattering to quiet down. Suddenly, all eyes were on you. It felt so humiliating. “Are you a chef, or are you a five-year-old holding a knife for the first time?” She’d stand there, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, watching you squirm. You tried to steady your hands, gripping the knife tighter, and all you got was a scoff, a look that made your stomach twist.

Then it was the mess. “Look at this mess! You think I’m running a playground here?” The older woman would gesture around your station, eyebrows pinched, lips in a tight, judgmental line. “Clean as you go, or you’re out of my kitchen.” There was no leniency. Her gaze was like a hawk’s, sharp and all-seeing. The second you moved a dish or reached for a towel, her eyes were back on you, always expecting you to fail.

And food presentation? Forget it. “Did I ask for a food explosion?” She’d glance at the plate you’d put together, her mouth twitching in that grimace that made you feel about three inches tall. “Plates come out looking perfect, not like someone took a bite out of them before they left the kitchen. This isn’t cafeteria food; it’s a reflection of our work—my work. Start over.”

Every mistake felt magnified, like each misstep was some personal insult to her craft. One evening, she caught you hesitating by the stove, trying to balance the pan with a little too much caution. 

“What are you afraid of, a little fire?” She stepped up, snatching the pan from your hand and demonstrating with quick, fluid movements, flames licking up as she seared the dish. “If you can’t handle a hot pan, you’re not going to last five minutes here. Heat means flavor—no hesitation. Either own it, or let someone else do it who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Each critique came hard and fast, like she was testing just how much you could take before breaking. But you’d see that flash in her eyes, just for a second, when you corrected yourself or caught her rhythm without her saying a word—a glint of approval, almost pride, though she’d never admit it. That kitchen was hell, and Ellie was the one lighting the fire.

Gradually, you grew on her in ways Ellie refused to acknowledge. At first, it was your dedication that caught her attention. You were so damn passionate, throwing yourself into every task with a fire she hadn’t seen in years, not even in herself anymore. It reminded her of how she used to feel about cooking, back when it wasn’t just a job, back when she wasn’t doing it for anyone but for herself. A sparkle that had been her whole world until the sparkle began to fade.

That same drive she once held was mirrored in you, and it hooked her in a way she didn’t let you see.

At first, it was harmless, or at least, she told herself it was. Viridescent eyes would wander absentmindedly while you worked over the stoves, catching the way you moved, the confidence in your hands, and the soft furrow in your brow when you were deep in concentration. It wasn’t even intentional at first, just a passing glance, a stray thought. Then she noticed the way her gaze lingered longer each time, how her mind wandered just a little too far. And once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.

She made sure you never noticed. Ellie was good at that—at control, at holding the reins so tight they left marks in her palms. Whenever you turned her way, she’d tear her eyes away before you could catch her looking, busying herself with anything else. But there was no denying the way her focus shifted, no longer just assessing your technique or critiquing your timing. Her gaze followed you for other reasons now. The curve of your body in those faded denim jeans seemed to pull at her attention no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, and every time she brushed past you, the accidental touch of her hand against yours sent a spark up her arm that she couldn’t shake.

Still, she kept herself professional. She corrected you like she corrected everyone else, keeping her harsh tone and her words blunt. You weren’t special, she told herself. You couldn’t be. And yet, when her fingers lingered a second too long while adjusting your grip on a knife or guiding your hand to the perfect spot on the cutting board, she felt the edges of her resolve begin to fray.

Then came the night that changed everything.

The last customer had left, the dining area was quiet except for the faint buzz of the lights. The rest of the crew had clocked out and gone home, leaving you alone in the kitchen, scrubbing at a caramel spill that had hardened into the countertop like cement—a clumsy incident of yours. Your movements were hurried, and your brows knit together in frustration as you scraped at the sticky mess.

Ellie stayed behind, like she often did, overseeing the final cleanup before heading home to Dina. The thought was always there, hovering at the back of her mind like a shadow, but tonight, it felt distant, blurred. She stood at the far end of the counter, arms crossed, her gaze glued on you without even realizing it.

Something about the way you moved hypnotized her. The way your lower lip caught between your teeth, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead from the heat of the kitchen, the fluid way your body bent and shifted—it all made her stomach twist in ways she hadn’t felt in years. You were stunning, achingly so, and the red-brown-haired woman couldn’t stop herself from noticing every little detail about you.

Her chest tightened as she battled the strange, unwelcome flutter deep in her gut. It wasn’t just attraction—it was something more insidious, something that made her feel both exhilarated and ashamed. She didn’t feel this way when she went home to Dina anymore. She hadn’t for a long time.

Ellie furrowed her brow, her thoughts an unsteady swirl as she watched you wipe at the counter, your features etched with determination. She told herself to leave, to walk out and go home, but her boots stayed rooted to the floor. 

When you finally finished and prepared to leave, you took a deep breath, the familiar wave of intrusive, overthinking thoughts gnawing at your self-esteem all over again. You steeled yourself, fighting the inner tension, before turning toward Ellie. She was focused, double-checking a few final things, but your stomach twisted with nerves. You couldn’t let her walk out without asking, without knowing. It might have seemed pathetic, but you needed the truth, needed to know if you’d wasted your time, if you should’ve just walked away and taken a job at McDonald’s instead. Because if that was all you were capable of, then why bother aiming higher?

“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, stopping the older woman in her tracks. Your voice carried a note of hesitation, the vulnerability in it impossible to miss.

Ellie paused, glancing over her shoulder before turning fully toward you. She wiped her hands on the apron snug around her waist, her expression shifting from its usual intensity to something softer. “Sure,” she uttered, curiosity flashing in those green eyes.

You hesitated for a beat, your fingers nervously brushing over the edge of the counter. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Am I completely helpless? Like… am I trash?”

The insecurity in your voice hung in her ears, and for a moment, Ellie just stared at you, her mouth tightening as the question sank in. Something about the way you stood there—your shoulders slightly hunched, your gaze fixed somewhere below hers, bracing yourself for the worst—tugged at her chest.

She recalled that feeling all too vividly. The nights spent doubting herself, the pit in her stomach as she questioned if she was good enough to stand in a kitchen like this. It was a memory she thought she’d buried, but now it resurfaced in the form of you—young, insecure, and so painfully earnest.

“No,” Ellie reassured, her voice was firm but not unkind. She stepped closer, her apron swaying slightly as she moved, and her eyes softened into something warmer, a nuance you had never seen before in those irises. “You’re not trash. You just… need time to find your footing. Everyone starts somewhere, and I’ve seen enough to know you’ve got more potential than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t helpless. You were just trying to figure it all out, and she couldn’t help but see herself in you, more than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t then that things started between you two. Not that night. But exactly a week later, it began.

It happened during a chaotic morning when you accidentally nicked your finger while chopping vegetables. The cut wasn’t deep, but the sight of blood had you panicking. Ellie had swept in with a surprising amount of care, guiding you to her office to patch you up and calm you down.

She hadn’t pictured you as the panicking type—self-assured was more the image you projected—but that moment revealed something else entirely. You were sweeter than you let on, a little naive, even, but there was a warmth to you, a vibrancy she hadn’t realized was there.

At first, it was innocent enough. A lingering touch as she wrapped the bandage around your finger. Then came the late nights in the kitchen, staying behind to help her with something small or lingering because she had promised to teach you a few of her tricks, always claiming you were the only one worth teaching. 

Initially, it felt special, as if you were being singled out for something significant. You didn’t realize that those excuses were designed to keep you there longer than anyone else. You had no reason to suspect otherwise. Ellie was subtle and calculated in her approach, so it never occurred to you that she might be making a move—especially with a whole wife waiting for her at home.

Ellie knew what she was doing, she always did. Once you had let her see the cracks in your confidence, the way you second guessed yourself, she used it to her advantage. Whenever you vented about your insecurities or the weight of expectations, she was there, whispering reassurances in that husky voice of hers. Her praise was addictive, and you found yourself craving it more than you’d ever admit.

Before long, the lines began to blur. Innocent late-night conversations with a married woman gradually evolved into deep discussions over shitty after-hours coffee as you sat on cracked stools in the empty kitchen of her restaurant, the smell of grease still lingering in the air. She’d vent about her wife, about how distant things had gotten, how they barely spoke unless it was to fight. All you’d do was nod, offering words of comfort because that’s all it was supposed to be. Comfort. But then her hand brushed yours one night, and everything started spiraling.

Those comforting touches soon escalated into stolen kisses in her office, the kind that left you breathless. Her hands explored you sinfully, and she couldn’t get enough. Then you’d find yourself waiting for everyone to pack up and leave, your heart thrumming in your chest like never before. For the lights to dim, and the sound of keys to jingle when Ellie locked the front door, making sure to keep any potential intruders out. When the coast was finally clear, she’d be on you, no hesitation, no second-guessing. Her lips, as soft as petals of a blooming rose, would crash into yours like she’d been starving for it, her hands rough and desperate, would shamelessly yank at your shirt, your pants, anything that was in the way.

It was always messy. Messy and quick, like you didn’t have time to think about what the hell you were doing—perhaps because she didn’t want to think about it, not before, not during, and certainly not after. She’d leave the moment it was over as if it had never happened, leaving you with only the echoes of what had happened. She’d shove you up against the cold steel of the prep table, and it’d be so fucking wrong but so fucking good all at once. Her lips, her hands, her voice—it was addictive. The way she whispered filthy things in your ear completely contrasted the sweet nothings she used to talk her way into your bed.

The only other sounds were the occasional car passing by outside and your obscene whimpers, loud and unrestrained as she shoved her fingers deep inside your cunt. She liked it that way, liked seeing you lose control while she stayed so composed. Her wedding band glistened under the low kitchen light, covered in your juices, the gold stained with the sin of what you both knew shouldn’t be doing.

It wasn’t love, not really. Or maybe it was, in some twisted, fucked up way. Whatever it was, it kept you coming back.

Maybe it was because of the way she looked at you as if you were a risk worth taking—it made you feel invincible. Special. Because she had chosen you, of all the girls that worked for her. She hadn’t even chosen her wife, Dina, who waited at home every night as she fucked you roughly on the kitchen counters, bending you over the surface as your hard nipples pressed against the cold metal and her fingers plunged deeper into you. That was enough to make you dumbly believe she couldn’t live without you, that she’d be willing to leave Dina for you.

It was in those moments that you felt like you were her everything.

After six long, agonizing months, the truth hit you in the back of the head like a ton of bricks—you weren’t special.

You weren’t the one she picked. You were just another victim of her lies. She was just that—a cheater. And just like every other cheater, she promised you love and loyalty only to pull the rug from beneath you when you least expected it. 

Your heart dropped when you saw Dina walk into the restaurant, bouquet in hand, her son clutching her hand like a lifeline. It felt like the world spun too fast, and all you could do was stare as she sauntered into the kitchen, greeting everyone with that perfect, beaming smile of hers.

And then Ellie—your Ellie, the one who made you believe in something real—just kissed her. Not a quick peck, but a real kiss. One that felt too familiar. A kiss that made you sick, made your stomach churn like you had swallowed rusty nails. You could hear their voices, muffled through the noise of the restaurant, but the words were clear as day. Trivial shit. Talking about their son. Pet names. Casual chatter, the kind that could’ve been any couple. But it wasn’t supposed to be them. Not when Ellie had kissed you like you were the fucking air she needed to breathe, like her wife had failed her in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand. Ellie kissed you with that desperate hunger, like she was starved for something real, and you naively fell for it.

When the auburn haired woman looked back at you, for a split second, everything froze. She saw the pain hiding behind your strained, faint smile, the hurt you were barely managing to mask. Her face went pale, and then, like a fucking coward, she ditched her wife, brushing her off with some lame excuse about being too busy. You saw the fear of being caught. The guilt. The shame. All of it etched in her face, and you hated her for it.

You confronted her, demanded answers, tried to make sense of the lies she’d spun to you for months. But she stuck to her story, every word coming out of her mouth an excuse to protect herself. “It’s not like that, it’s all a facade. She’s not like this at home.” Fucking bullshit. Dina was the perfect wife. The kind of woman anyone would kill to have by their side. Ellie was the fucking problem. She couldn’t stay away from things she shouldn’t want—you. She never could.

She convinced you, promised you she would leave Dina, that one day, it would be just the two of you. But when that night came—the night you spent together, tangled up in sweat and passion—it was the end, one you never knew was coming. You were still panting, your heart pounding, when she rolled off of you.

“Babe, where’re you going?” You croaked, your voice strained and filled with disappointment. Your arm reached out slowly, but she was quicker, already perched on the edge of the bed, ready to up and leave. You could hardly keep yourself together as she pulled on her clothes.

“Home. To Dina.” The words fell from her lips so casually, as if they didn’t tear you apart to hear them, as if the aftermath of your activities wasn’t still gripping your chest, stealing your breath. You propped yourself up, your hair a tangled mess clinging to your sweaty forehead, forcing a playful expression, masking the pain inside you with a fake pout.

“Five more minutes? Where’s my aftercare?” You hoped your teasing would soften the moment, maybe make her cave the way she always did. It was a little game you’d played, and it usually worked. 

In return, she dropped a whole bomb on you that made your chest tighten painfully and your stomach sink, “Look, we can’t keep doing this.” Her back was to you, her muscles flexing as she reached down for the rest of her clothes, the soft moonlight casting a faint glow over her freckled skin, leaving you drowning in the silence that followed.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes trailed over her back, over the red scratches you’d left there in the heat of it all, unable to comprehend how things had turned upside down so fucking fast.

“You heard me.” Her voice grew colder all of the sudden. “I have a wife, and I’m not gonna divorce her, no matter how bad things are.” She sounded so final, like her decision was set in stone and nothing would sway her.

You tried everything. You begged her, your voice breaking as you told her to stay, to not walk out of your life just like that. You yelled, you cried, you threw every last ounce of yourself into making her see what you two had, what she was throwing away. Nothing worked. She still left. 

It didn’t just end there. She had one more kick to land. A week later, she fired you.

Fired you.

She called you into her office, and just when you thought she was about to offer even a shred of compassion, there was another cold punch to the gut. She handed you a card with a number on it, and you stared at it, bile rising in your throat. As if everything you two had could be wrapped up in a neat little package with a goodbye card like you were nothing more than some evidence she needed to get rid of in order to clean her conscience and carry on with her life like you never happened.

“What’s this?” You had questioned, confused, pissed off by the lack of any emotion in the exchange.

“Another restaurant that would much appreciate your devotion. She’s my friend and—” she kept going, but you couldn’t hear it anymore. The more she spoke, the more you felt the anger boil inside, hot and suffocating. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Are you firing me?” you snapped as the realization hit you harder than it should’ve. You’d fucking hated this job, she made you hate it, but it had been the best thing that ever happened to you. And Ellie knew that, she knew how much it meant to you. She simply couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. Guilt had started eating away at her—after six months of sleeping with you, no less. 

Ridiculous.

“No, my friend Abby told me she needs more—” She tried to bullshit her way out, but you saw right through it. She sighed, frustration in her voice as she planted her hands on her hips, looking down at the floor, avoiding your gaze like the coward she was. “Yes. I’m firing you,” she finally admitted, cutting through her own bullshit.

“Is it because of—”

“Yes.” She confirmed, not even letting you finish the question.

“Wow.” You blinked at her, the words heavy in your mouth, disbelief written all over your face. You barely managed a faint frown, feeling your insides twist. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stomped out of her office, ripping your apron off like you were shedding the last bit of dignity you had left.

That’s what led you here. Sitting in your car, parked in front of Ellie’s house—this massive, gaudy mansion that felt like a fucking slap in the face. Too perfect, too shiny, too fucking out of reach for someone like you. Your fingers dug into the steering wheel, gripping it as if you wanted to rip it apart, your eyes locked on Dina’s silhouette as she paced back and forth behind the windows. Meanwhile, Ellie was still at work, living her life as if nothing had happened, while you were left drowning in your stupid, fucking choices. Only because you fell for her words, her kisses, her promises.

She couldn’t just ruin your life and walk away without consequences. No, you wouldn’t let her get away with this shit. You felt like a goddamn homewrecker, not only because you had slept with a married woman, but because of what you were about to do now. 

Your hand hovered over the doorbell, your fingers shaking as you tried to convince yourself this wasn’t a mistake. 

It was too late to back out.

The seconds dragged on like hours before she appeared. Dina, standing there at the door with that look on her face—confused, curious, like she was trying to place you before she realized she had never seen you before.

“Sorry? Do I know you?” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if it was meant for someone who had slept with her wife. Those warm, brown eyes staring back at you made you feel like the lowest piece of scum, causing your words to catch in your throat, tangled and desperate. It was as though they were trying to strangle you from the inside.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything, sweetie?” Her tone shifted, softening as she noticed the panic clouding your eyes, the tremble that gripped your body. But no amount of softness could quell the scorching anger inside you. You wanted to throw it all out—the truth. The ugly truth.

Before you could even utter a word, her son appeared from behind her, his small hands holding up a drawing, pride beaming from his small face. “Mommy, look!” His innocent, excited tone cut through you, “Can’t wait to show mama, too.”

Dina gently hushed him, running her fingers through his brown hair, and your eyes locked on the ring glinting on her finger. Your gaze lingered on Dina for a moment before drifting to the family photos adorning the wall behind the woman. Some captured small trips, others moments on the beach, while a few were wedding and baby pictures. Then, your eyes returned to the child’s innocent face, his tiny hand clutching the drawing—it made something inside you crack, without a warning.

You swallowed hard as you blinked, fighting to compose yourself.

“Sorry, I was looking for... Jake. I must’ve gotten the wrong address.”

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 4)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Blood, Angst, Kidnapping, Seperation Anxiety?, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: okay, so by popular vote, i delivered :) this was supposed to be posted long time ago, but moms turkish drama kept distracting me and had some relationship issues >:(

part 1 part 2 part 3

--

So you were officially Ni-ki’s girlfriend. And things were... surprisingly good. After that heist, he seemed to tone things down. Gone were the days of reckless, dangerous heists; now, he was the boyfriend you never expected—someone who picked you up from work or school, bought you your favorite flowers, and took you out on regular dates, always paying for the bill without a second thought.

He was thoughtful, attentive, but still had that intensity about him that kept you on your toes. But it wasn’t all just normal date nights and sweet moments. Ni-ki had an eye for luxury, and he wasted no time in decking you out in designer clothes and diamonds. Most of it you didn’t really use—you only wore the pieces that you truly loved—but you had to admit, his taste was impeccable. He knew exactly what suited you.

And like him, you found yourself matching with him often. He’d buy you clothes from the same brands he adored—mainly Chrome Hearts—and soon enough, you both became a walking, matching advertisement for the brand, with your outfits perfectly coordinated. Every time you looked in the mirror, you couldn’t help but appreciate how well everything fit. The diamonds glittered just as much as the smile Ni-ki gave you when he saw you in them.

But you always took a moment to remind him that you weren’t with him for the money. It wasn’t the luxury or the endless pampering that had won your heart, although you couldn’t deny you enjoyed it. No, you loved Ni-ki for who he was.

“Ni-ki,” you would say, catching his gaze as you adjusted the diamond necklace he had given you, “I don’t need all this.” You gestured to the designer clothes and the jewelry. “I love everything you get me, even if its something simple.”

He would smile, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and pull you into a gentle embrace. “I know,” he’d reply, his voice soft and warm. “But I still want to spoil you.”

And he did. Ni-ki was everything you could have wanted in a man and more. He was protective, attentive, and incredibly loving in his own way. He listened when you talked about your day, made sure you had everything you needed, and never hesitated to show you just how much you meant to him. His love was sometimes overwhelming, but always real.

So you were quite surprised when, out of nowhere, Ni-ki disappeared. It wasn’t even gradual—it was like he just had been erased from existence overnight.

Your calls didn’t go through. Every message you sent was met with silence. The usual places where you’d expect to find him were void of any sign of him.

It was as though he had vanished off the face of the earth.

At first, you tried not to panic. Maybe he was laying low, being cautious because of something related to his “work.” It wasn’t uncommon for him to disappear for a day or two without much explanation. But this… this was different. Days stretched into weeks, and there was no trace of him.

The house plants he bought you started to wilt. The flowers he’d shower you with dried out in their vases. Even the expensive gifts that once felt like tokens of his love now felt like hollow remnants of someone who wasn’t there.

You told yourself to stop worrying, to trust that Ni-ki would show up like he always did. But there was this gnawing feeling in your chest that something was wrong. The man who never let a single detail slip, who checked in even during the middle of a heist, wouldn’t just leave without a word.

It wasn’t just his absence that hurt—it was the questions it left behind.

Had something gone wrong? Was he in danger? Did he leave to protect you? Or… had he chosen to leave you behind?

You couldn’t decide which thought was worse.

And so, you found yourself in limbo, walking through your days like a shadow of yourself. Every time you heard a car engine roar or the faint buzz of your phone, your heart jumped, hoping it was him. But it never was. It was like living in a constant state of waiting, with no end in sight.

Because no matter how dangerous or reckless Ni-ki was, he had never made you feel like this before—like you were completely and utterly alone.

You didn’t know what to do. Who could you even ask? Ni-ki didn’t exactly have a list of friends you could call up, and even if he did, would they tell you the truth? Would they even know?

You couldn’t go anywhere either, since over time, Ni-ki had subtly embedded himself into your life. His toothbrush sat next to yours in the bathroom, his favorite snacks were still in the kitchen cupboards, and his scent still lingered on the hoodie he’d left draped over the back of your couch. Everything around you was a reminder of him, of how present he used to be—and now, of how completely absent he was.

You felt helpless. All you could do was wait. Wait for a sign, for any kind of clue that Ni-ki was okay. That your boyfriend would return. That he hadn’t just dropped everything, ghosted you, and fled to another country or something, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a life you’d built together.

And it wasn’t just his disappearance in your life that hit—it was the absence of him everywhere else, too.

There were no robberies, no heists, no headlines about criminals pulling off impossible jobs. Nothing.

Ni-ki’s world, the one you’d been reluctantly dragged into, seemed to vanish along with him. It was like he’d flipped a switch and erased himself completely, leaving no trace that he or his crew had ever existed.

And that terrified you.

Because if there were no heists, no rumors, and no movement in the underground world he thrived in… then what had happened to him?

You tried to keep yourself busy to stop your mind from spiraling. You went to work, cleaned the apartment, and even started wearing some of the designer clothes he’d bought for you—just so you wouldn’t see them lying untouched and feel that pang of loss all over again. But no matter how much you distracted yourself, the questions never left.

Where was he? Why had he disappeared? And most importantly—was he even still alive?

Each night, you’d sit on the edge of the bed you used to share, staring at your phone, willing it to buzz with a message from him. Just one word, one sign that he was out there, that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

But it never came.

And the silence, day after day, was slowly eating away at you.

Where could he have possibly gone?

You wondered that every single day. The question circled endlessly in your mind, eating away at you, consuming you whole. It kept you awake at night, staring at the ceiling as you tried to piece together a puzzle you didn’t have all the pieces for.

Had something gone wrong? Maybe the cops had finally caught up to him. Or worse, maybe a rival crew had taken him out.

Or—your heart clenched painfully at the thought—what if he had left on purpose?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the idea, but you couldn’t help it. Had all the promises, the whispered words, the moments he’d held you close meant nothing? You couldn’t shake the memory of how he used to look at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in his world. It didn’t make sense for him to just walk away from that.

But then again, Ni-ki wasn’t exactly a predictable man.

You found yourself retracing your memories of him over and over, looking for signs you might have missed. Had he said something that hinted he might leave? Had there been a change in his behavior that you hadn’t noticed at the time?

But nothing came up.

You thought about the last night you’d spent together, how normal it had been. He’d kissed you goodnight, murmured something about taking care of “a few things,” and promised he’d see you the next day.

But that day never came.

And now you were left with a hollow ache in your chest and a million unanswered questions.

You tried searching for him. You went to places you knew he frequented, even places he’d warned you never to go. You lingered near shady alleys, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone who might recognize you, who might know where Ni-ki was.

But every lead you tried came up empty. And no matter how much you told yourself to stop, to move on, you couldn’t. Because deep down, no matter how angry or hurt you were, you still loved him. And the thought of never seeing him again? That was something you couldn’t accept.

So since you couldn’t accept it, you decided to live with it.

He would return—eventually. He had to.

You clung to that belief, repeating it to yourself like a mantra. Ni-ki always had a way of showing up when you least expected it. He wasn’t the kind of man who just disappeared forever, not without a reason.

But until then, you had to keep going. Life didn’t pause for your heartbreak, no matter how much it felt like it should.

You went back to work, dragging yourself through each day. You tried to focus on the mundane things. It was easier to keep your mind occupied than to let yourself fall into the black hole of wondering why.

The apartment felt emptier than ever, though. His things were still there, little reminders of him scattered everywhere. His clothes in the closet, his jacket still hung by the door, and the scent of his cologne lingered faintly on the sheets.

You told yourself not to touch any of it, like leaving it all the way it was would somehow bring him back faster.

But the days kept going, and the silence became unbearable.

At night, you found yourself sitting by the window, staring out at the city lights, hoping that maybe you’d see him walking up the street. Or hear the familiar sound of his key turning in the lock.

But it never happened.

Instead, the city moved on without him, and you were left standing still, caught in the limbo of waiting.

And then, just when you started to think you might have to let go of the hope that had been keeping you afloat, something changed.

You were just outside, taking the trash out. It was ordinary, mundane, and the last thing you expected was for your life to take a sharp, terrifying turn.

As you tied up the trash bag and made your way toward the dumpster, you felt a presence behind you. Before you could turn around, something cold and hard pressed against the back of your head—a gun.

"Don't scream," a low voice ordered, calm but menacing.

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as fear overtook your body. You barely had a chance to process the situation before rough hands grabbed you, shoving a bag over your head.

“Hey!” you yelled, but your voice was cut off as you were manhandled, your arms pinned to your sides. You thrashed as much as you could, but whoever had you was strong—too strong.

"Keep still," the voice snapped as you were dragged across the pavement.

The sound of a car door opening made your stomach drop.

You screamed again, the sound muffled by the bag over your head, but it didn’t matter. You were shoved into the car with enough force to knock the wind out of you.

The door slammed shut, and you felt the vehicle lurch forward as it sped off.

“Where are you taking me!?” you demanded.

No one answered.

You could hear a few voices around you, low murmurs you couldn’t make out, and the hum of the engine. Your mind raced. Who were these people? What did they want? And why did this feel so… targeted?

You thought of Ni-ki.

Was this connected to him? Had his criminal past caught up to him, and now you were caught in the crossfire?

The car continued to speed through the streets, the sound of the city growing distant. You struggled against your restraints, trying to think of a way out, but the hands that had grabbed you earlier kept you pinned down.

Eventually, the car slowed, and you felt it come to a stop.

The door opened, and you were pulled out, still blindfolded and disoriented.

“Walk,” the voice commanded, pushing you forward.

Your legs wobbled, but you forced yourself to move, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. You were led into a building—at least, you assumed so by the sound of a door creaking open and the change in the air.

“Sit,” the voice ordered, and you were shoved into a chair, the force making it scrape against the floor as you landed with a jolt.

Before you could even catch your breath, rough hands grabbed your arms and began tying them down to the chair.

“Wait, what are you doing? Let me go!” you shouted, panic flaring in your chest as you struggled against the bindings.

They ignored you, the rope burning against your wrists as they secured it tightly. You twisted and thrashed, managing to elbow one of them in the ribs. The man stumbled back with a grunt, and you seized the moment to push yourself off the chair.

The ropes weren’t fully secure yet, and with an adrenaline-fueled burst of strength, you ripped free and yanked the bag off your head.

The sight before you made your blood run cold.

They weren’t Ni-ki’s people.

No, these were strangers, all wearing clown masks—grotesque, painted grins leering at you as they stood in a loose circle, armed with weapons.

Your breathing hitched as you stumbled back, trying to put as much distance between yourself and them as possible.

One of them stepped forward, clearly the leader, his mask more elaborate than the others with smeared red paint around the mouth and black streaks over the eyes. He held a knife in one hand, the blade catching the dim light.

He tilted his head, gesturing for you to come closer.

You froze, your mind racing. Did he really think you would just… walk to him voluntarily?

Disgust churned in your stomach at the audacity, and your body stiffened as the reality of your situation fully sank in.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant.

The man tilted his head further, almost amused, and took another step forward. The other masked figures began to shift, closing in around you like vultures circling prey.

Your pulse roared in your ears, but you clenched your fists, refusing to show fear.

“I said no,” you repeated, louder this time, your voice steady even as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

The leader stopped, his head tilting back slightly as if to examine you. Then, without warning, he lunged.

Instinct took over, and you dodged to the side just in time, the blade narrowly missing you. Your shoulder hit the wall hard, but you didn’t stop moving. You darted for the door, desperate to escape, but two of the masked figures stepped in front of it, blocking your path.

A sharp laugh came from the leader as he straightened, pointing the knife at you.

"Feisty," he said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. He tilted his head, almost as if studying you. Then, with a low chuckle, he added, “Now I see why Wolf likes you.”

You froze, your blood running cold at the mention of Ni-ki’s alias. Not many people knew of his real name—unless they were part of his trusted circle.

The leader noticed your reaction and laughed again, clearly pleased by your response. “Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it?” he mocked, twirling the knife between his fingers. “Yeah, I know all about your little boyfriend. Wolf this, Wolf that. Always so damn secretive, isn’t he?”

“What do you want?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

He ignored your question, taking another step closer. “You wanna know where your precious Wolf went?” he asked, his tone teasing, dripping with condescension.

Your brows furrowed despite yourself, and you hated how you hesitated. Did he know? Did they have something to do with Ni-ki disappearing?

He noticed the flicker of curiosity in your eyes and smirked beneath the mask. “Ah, there it is,” he said. “You do want to know. But then again… should you? I mean, if he really cared about you, don’t you think he would’ve told you himself? Instead of just up and vanishing like that?”

“That’s not—” you began to argue, but he cut you off.

“No, no,” he said, wagging the knife at you like you were some misbehaving child. “Let’s be real here. Do you honestly think he told you everything? Do you really think you’re anything more than a little toy to him? Something pretty to keep around, just for fun?”

“That’s not true,” you said through gritted teeth, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to stay calm.

“Isn’t it?” he pressed, his tone taunting. “Think about it. You’re sitting here, clueless, while we know where he is. Why didn’t he trust you enough to tell you, huh? Maybe you’re not as important to him as you think.”

Your chest tightened, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You knew Ni-ki cared for you—you felt it in the way he looked at you, touched you, protected you. But the nagging doubt his words planted began to twist in your mind.

“Shut up,” you muttered, your voice trembling with barely contained anger.

“Oh, hit a nerve, did I?” the man said, his laughter echoing around the room. “Poor little thing, left in the dark by the guy who’s supposed to love you. Face it—he’s been playing you from the start.”

“I said shut up!” you shouted, your voice cracking as frustration and fear boiled over.

The man took another step toward you. “Aw, don’t get mad at me. I’m just telling you the truth. If Wolf really loved you, he wouldn’t have left you like this. He’s probably already moved on, you know. That’s what guys like him do—they don’t stick around. You’re just—”

Before he could finish, the sound of a loud crash came from outside the room, followed by shouts. The leader’s head snapped toward the door, his body tensing.

You felt a flicker of hope spark in your chest, though you had no idea what was happening.

The man turned back to you, narrowing his eyes behind the mask. “Stay put,” he ordered, pointing the knife at you, then pointed sharply at two of his men. “You two, stay here. Don’t let her move,” he barked, his voice sharp. Then, without another glance at you, he disappeared through the door, followed by the rest of the masked figures.

The room fell silent, save for the faint, muffled sound of shouting and movement outside. You froze, your breath shallow, as tension wrapped around you.

The two men left behind didn’t seem particularly thrilled about their assignment. One leaned against the wall, lazily spinning a pistol in his hand, while the other paced back and forth, gripping a shotgun tightly.

“What the hell’s going on out there?” the pacing man muttered under his breath, his steps growing quicker as his nerves got the better of him.

“Probably just a distraction,” the other said casually, though his tone didn’t match the unease in his body language. “Nothing to worry about.”

But then the sound of gunfire ripped through the air, loud and unmistakable. Both men snapped to attention, their heads whipping toward the door.

The pacing man cursed under his breath, his hands tightening around the shotgun. “That didn’t sound like nothing,” he hissed.

The other man straightened, his casual demeanor evaporating in an instant. “Stay sharp,” he muttered, raising his pistol and taking a defensive stance.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched them, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was it the police? Another rival group? Or—could it possibly be Ni-ki?

The thought made your stomach twist. You didn’t dare hope, but the timing was too coincidental to ignore.

Another round of gunfire erupted, this time closer. The shouts outside grew louder, more frantic, and you saw the pacing man glance at the door nervously.

“What if—” he started, but before he could finish, the door burst open with a deafening crash.

A masked figure stormed in, moving too quickly for you to process, and before the two men could react, shots rang out. The man with the shotgun dropped first, crumpling to the ground, followed by the other, who barely managed to fire a shot before falling.

You screamed, your body instinctively curling in on itself at the scene that unfolded in front of you.

The masked figure turned to you, their weapon still raised. But then, as if realizing who you were, they slowly, they lowered the gun and reached up to pull off their mask.

Your breath caught in your throat as familiar dark eyes met yours.

Ni-ki.

He was breathing hard, his face splattered with blood—none of it his, from what you could tell. His expression was sharp, focused, but the second he saw you, it softened.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to speak.

Ni-ki moved toward you quickly and grabbed your hand, pulling you with him.

“We need to go,” he said, his grip firm but gentle as he led you toward the door and out.

“What—how did you—” you stammered, your mind racing with questions, but Ni-ki cut you off.

“Not now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

You barely had time to nod before Ni-ki’s hand tightened around yours, his grip both protective and urgent. He moved with precision, his steps calculated, as though he had memorized every corner.

The hallway was dimly lit and reeked of sweat and blood. Bodies lay scattered along the floor, some moving in pain, others motionless. You stumbled over one of them, but Ni-ki was quick to steady you, pulling you closer to him as though shielding you from the reality of what you were walking through.

“Stay close to me,” he muttered, his voice low but firm.

The sound of gunfire echoed down the hall, making you flinch. Ni-ki cursed under his breath and pulled you into a side room, pressing you against the wall as he peeked out into the corridor.

You could hear muffled voices shouting orders in the distance, along with the unmistakable clang of boots against the floor.

“They’re regrouping,” Ni-ki muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Who are they?” you whispered, your voice shaking as you gestured vaguely toward the chaos outside. “And why—why did they take me?”

Ni-ki glanced back at you, his dark eyes intense. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to tell you everything, but instead, he shook his head.

“Later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Right now, we just need to get out of here alive.”

He leaned back out into the hallway, checking the coast again before grabbing your hand and pulling you back into motion.

The two of you moved quickly, Ni-ki guiding you through a maze of hallways and rooms. You didn’t know where you were going, but you trusted him. You had to.

Eventually, you came to a set of metal doors. Ni-ki pushed one open slightly, peeking out before motioning for you to follow.

The outside air hit you like a shock, cold and biting against your skin. You were in an alleyway, the narrow space lit only by a flickering streetlamp. A black car idled a few feet away, its engine running.

“Get in,” Ni-ki ordered, opening the passenger door for you.

You hesitated for a moment, your legs frozen as your mind tried to catch up with everything that had happened.

“Now,” Ni-ki snapped, his voice sharp but not unkind.

The urgency in his tone jolted you into action. You climbed into the car, and Ni-ki quickly shut the door before jogging around to the driver’s side. He slid in, slamming the door behind him, and immediately hit the gas.

The tires screeched as the car sped out of the alley, merging into the flow of late-night traffic.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You stared out the window, your heart still racing, as the city lights blurred past.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Ni-ki… what’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were focused on the road ahead.

“Those men,” he finally said, his voice low and controlled, “were enemies. Rivals. They’ve been trying to get to me for months, and when they couldn’t, they went after you instead.”

You felt a chill run down your spine. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me this could happen?”

Ni-ki’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. “I thought I had it under control. I didn’t want to drag you into this mess.”

“But they did drag me into it,” you said, your voice rising slightly. “And you disappeared, Ni-ki! I thought—” Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing hard.

“I know,” he said, his voice softer now. He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “I had to disappear. They were closing in, and I needed to make sure they couldn’t find you. But I didn’t think they’d figure out where you were so fast.”

You stared at him, your emotions a whirlwind of anger, fear, and relief. “So what now? Are they going to keep coming after us?”

Ni-ki was silent for a moment before answering. “Not if I finish this.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. You didn’t know exactly what “finishing this” entailed, but you knew it wasn’t going to be anything simple—or safe.

For now, though, you were too exhausted to push for answers. You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes as you tried to process everything.

--

You were angry. Angry and hurt. But mostly angry.

The more you tried to push it down, the harder it fought to rise. You didn’t want to admit it, but that guys’ words had gotten to you. They’d planted a seed of doubt that wouldn’t stop growing, no matter how much you wanted to tear it out.

Because the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Ni-ki had always been secretive, careful with his words, deflecting questions he didn’t want to answer. He’d always told you it was to keep you safe, to protect you from the world he was a part of—but was that all it was?

You hated the doubt clawing at you. It felt like a betrayal to even consider it, but how could you not? He hadn’t told you where he was going or what he was doing. He’d disappeared for a month without a word, leaving you to question everything. And now, after swooping in to save you, he dropped you off at this fancy, unfamiliar hotel like you were some burden and vanished again.

It had been three hours since he left. Three hours of silence, alone in this room, alone with your spiraling thoughts.

You paced the room, the plush carpet soft under your feet as you walked back and forth. The anger bubbled under the surface, growing hotter and heavier with each passing second. You felt like you were going to explode.

How could he do this to you? How could he keep so much from you—things that mattered, things that directly involved you?

You looked around the room, the expensive décor and luxurious furniture mocking you. The place was beautiful, no doubt, but it felt cold and empty. It wasn’t home. It wasn’t comforting. It was just another thing Ni-ki had decided for you without asking.

You tried calling him again, for what felt like the hundredth time, but it went straight to voicemail. No message. No update. Nothing.

The anger surged again, and you threw your phone onto the bed with a frustrated groan. You felt like you were going in circles, your mind chasing answers that weren’t there.

All you wanted was the truth. Was that so much to ask?

You sat down on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. The doubt crept back in, the voices whispering in your head.

He doesn’t trust you. You’re just someone to keep him entertained. If he really cared, he wouldn’t leave you like this.

You hated that those thoughts felt so convincing.

Because deep down, you knew they weren’t entirely wrong. Ni-ki never told you the full truth about his life, and no matter how much you loved him, no matter how much he said he loved you, there was always a wall between you.

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You didn’t want to cry. You wanted to be mad. Mad was better than hurt. Mad was easier to deal with.

The sound of your phone buzzing snapped you out of your thoughts. You grabbed it quickly, hoping it was him, but it wasn’t. Just another notification you didn’t care about.

You sighed and leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

You didn’t know how long you’d be stuck here, waiting for him, waiting for answers. All you knew was that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

If Ni-ki wanted you to trust him, he had to start trusting you too. Because if he didn’t… you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep doing this.

When he eventually did return, it was late at night. You had already gone to bed, the room dark and quiet, when the sound of the door unlocking and opening made you sit up abruptly. You fumbled for the light switch, turning on the bedside lamp, and your eyes widened as you saw Ni-ki standing there.

His clothes were smeared with blood, dark streaks painting his shirt and jacket. His face looked tired, a faint cut across his cheekbone, and his knuckles were raw and bruised.

He looked surprised to see you awake, his usual calm demeanor faltering for just a moment. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice soft but laced with exhaustion. He stepped further into the room, quickly scanning you from head to toe. “Are you okay? Did anything happen?”

You pushed his hands away when he reached for you. “Don’t,” you said sharply, your voice trembling with anger and worry.

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, your voice rising as you threw the blankets off and stood from the bed. “Ni-ki, look at you! You’re covered in blood! You’ve been gone for hours, and you come back like this and expect me to just—what? Pretend everything’s fine?”

“It’s not my blood,” he said simply, as if that was supposed to make you feel better.

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. His words rendered you speechless for a moment, the weight of them sinking in.

“Not your blood?” you finally managed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “That’s not the point, Ni-ki! You disappear without a word, leave me alone in some random hotel, and then show up like this? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

“It was business,” he said flatly, his tone calm but guarded.

That made your anger boil over. “It’s always business with you!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Every time! It’s like you think I don’t deserve to know what’s going on. You vanish, come back covered in blood, and all you can say is business?”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as his bruised knuckles brushed against his scalp. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly.

“Then make me understand!” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I’m tired of this, Ni-ki. Tired of wondering if you’re okay, tired of sitting here not knowing if you’re going to come back. It’s like you don’t trust me, like you don’t think I’m worth the truth!”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that simple,” you repeated bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Of course, it’s not. Nothing with you ever is.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension between you palpable. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever he’d been carrying. But that didn’t erase the fact that you were tired too—tired of being left in the dark, tired of feeling like you were fighting for a place in his life.

“I’m going to clean up,” he finally said, his voice low. He turned toward the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to glance back at you. “We’ll talk after.”

But you didn’t respond. You just turned away, sitting back on the bed with your back to him.

You heard the sound of running water a moment later, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he cared as much as he said he did, but how could you when he brushed you off like that?

When Ni-ki returned, his steps were lighter, freshly showered, dressed in clean clothes, and with damp hair dripping slightly onto the collar of his shirt. He looked at you, expecting to find you asleep, but instead, you sat upright in bed, the glow of your phone casting shadows over your face.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice low with a mix of surprise and guilt.

You didn’t look up from your phone, your fingers idly scrolling. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His brows furrowed, but he said nothing more as he climbed into bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and after a moment, he scooted closer, slipping an arm around your waist in an attempt to pull you against him.

You immediately shuffled away, putting space between the two of you.

He froze, his arm hovering in the empty space where you’d just been. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with worry.

You finally set your phone down and turned to face him, your expression heavy with emotion. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Ni-ki.”

His eyes widened slightly, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What do you mean?”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of your thoughts crashing down all at once. “You’ve been gone for a month, Ni-ki. A whole month. No calls, no messages, nothing. I didn’t know if you were alive, if you were ever coming back. And then, out of nowhere, you swoop in when I’m in trouble like it’s just another day, like none of it matters.”

“It does matter,” he said quickly, his voice firm as he sat up straighter.

“Does it?” you shot back, your tone sharp. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. You disappear without a word, you keep me in the dark about everything important, and then you show up expecting me to just go along with it, like none of this is supposed to bother me. Do you even…” You paused, your voice breaking slightly as the words caught in your throat. “Do you even love me?”

He stared at you, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out at first. Instead, he reached for you, pulling you into his arms despite your protests and attempts to squirm away.

“Let me go,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest.

“No,” he said softly, his arms tightening around you as he rested his chin on top of your head. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Ni-ki—”

“Listen to me,” he interrupted gently, his voice low but steady. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re the only thing in my life that feels real, the only thing I come back to when everything else is chaos. You’re the reason I keep going.”

You shook your head, your hands weakly pressing against his chest as you tried to push him away. “You can’t just say that—”

“I love the way you fight me on everything,” he continued, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “I love the way you look at me like you can see right through me, like you see the parts of me no one else does. I love the way you don’t care about the money, or the things I do—you just care about me.”

“Stop,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly as he buried his face in your hair. “And I’m sorry for everything. For leaving you alone, for making you feel like you don’t matter. You do, okay? You matter more than anything.”

Despite yourself, despite the anger and hurt you still felt, his words broke through the walls you’d tried so hard to put up. The weight of your emotions came crashing down, and you finally gave in, collapsing against him as the tears spilled over.

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly, your body shaking with quiet sobs as he held you close, his arms strong and steady around you. “I hate you,” you mumbled weakly, though there was no real malice behind the words.

He chuckled softly, kissing the top of your head. “I know. I know, I would hate me too.”

You didn’t respond, too exhausted and overwhelmed to say anything more. And as he continued to hold you, whispering quiet reassurances and pressing soft kisses to your hair, you realized something.

You had missed him so much.

You woke up the next morning to the weight of Ni-ki draped over you, clinging to you like a koala. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, and his head was squished against your chest, his messy hair tickling your chin. You blinked groggily, taking in the sight of him, so peaceful in his sleep.

For a moment, you just stared, letting yourself savor the quiet moment. There was something in the way he held you, like you were the one thing in his life he couldn’t let go of.

Unable to resist, you slowly brought your hand up to his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands. He responded immediately, leaning into your touch and groaning sleepily, his grip on you tightening as if to say, don’t stop.

You smiled faintly, your fingers continuing to glide through his hair. It was moments like these that made it so hard to stay mad at him, to even consider walking away. But the thoughts you’d had the night before still lingered in the back of your mind, refusing to let you rest.

After a while, you decided you needed to get up. Slowly and carefully, you began the long and arduous task of peeling Ni-ki off you. It was no easy feat—he grumbled in protest, his arms tightening around you whenever you tried to wiggle free. He buried his face further into your chest, muttering something incoherent, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes affectionately.

“Ni-ki,” you whispered softly, brushing his hair back. “Let go.”

He groaned but didn’t budge, his grip still firm. It took several more minutes of gently prying his arms away and untangling yourself from his hold, but eventually, you managed to slip out from under him.

As you stood, you glanced back at him. He had turned onto his side, still deep in sleep, his hair a mess and his lips slightly parted. He looked so carefree, so unlike the Ni-ki you usually saw—guarded, calculating, always one step ahead.

You sighed quietly and turned away, grabbing your clothes and getting dressed before quietly slipping out of the room. You needed some time to think, to process everything.

Your feelings for Ni-ki weren’t the issue. You loved him—of that, you were certain. But loving him wasn’t the same as being able to handle the life that came with him. The secrecy, the danger, the constant wondering if he was okay or if you’d ever see him again. It was exhausting, and it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

And so, you left the room, leaving Ni-ki behind in his slumber. You needed to figure out what you really wanted, what this relationship meant for you both.

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on you. Ni-ki had spent so long running, leaving you behind to think and worry in his absence. Now, it was your turn to take the space you needed—even if only for a little while.

And so, you took the space you needed. After everything, it was your turn to vanish—not completely, of course. You still had responsibilities to attend to, places to be, and tasks to complete. But for Ni-ki, you became a ghost.

You didn’t answer his calls. Each time your phone buzzed with his name on the screen, you ignored it, staring at the device until it fell silent. The texts he sent—long, short, questioning, apologetic—went unanswered. Even when he rang your doorbell, you couldn’t bring yourself to open it. You’d sit silently inside, barely breathing, until you heard the sound of him leaving.

At work, you made sure to disappear when he showed up, ducking into the breakroom or slipping out the back. At school, you avoided the places you thought he might look for you. When you did catch glimpses of him—standing at a distance, scanning the crowd, his expression filled with frustration and concern—you’d slip away before he could see you.

You told yourself it wasn’t forever. That this was what you needed, a chance to clear your head and sort through the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But each time you saw his name pop up on your phone or caught sight of him searching for you, a pang of guilt struck you deep.

Still, you couldn’t bear to face him right now. You couldn’t look into those eyes, so full of emotion, and risk falling apart all over again. You needed this time. Time to figure out if you could handle everything that came with loving someone like Ni-ki.

And so, you stayed hidden, even as part of you ached to open the door, to pick up the phone, to let him explain everything. Because, despite the distance you’d created, you couldn’t stop missing him.

Ni-ki wasn’t the kind of person to give up easily, though. And you knew, deep down, that this wouldn’t be the end. Not for him, not for you.

But what could you really do when someone like Ni-ki was your boyfriend? It was only a matter of time before he got to you again.

It happened when you least expected it—again. You were outside, tossing a bag of trash into the dumpster, then, like a shadow slipping out of nowhere, Ni-ki appeared behind you.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he asked.

You froze, your hand still gripping the edge of the dumpster. Slowly, you turned to face him. He looked the same as always, but his eyes were different. They weren’t filled with their usual confidence or amusement. Instead, they looked tired. Frustrated.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you muttered, though the words felt weak even to your own ears.

Ni-ki scoffed softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sure, you weren’t.”

You glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but you knew there wasn’t one. Not from him. "What do you want, Ni-ki?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He took a step closer, and you instinctively took one back. "I want you to stop avoiding me," he said. His tone wasn’t angry, but there was an edge to it, a quiet insistence. "You’ve been ignoring me for days. Do you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"Maybe I wanted you to notice," you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Ni-ki tilted his head, studying you with those dark, piercing eyes. "So, what? You wanted me to chase you?"

"I wanted space!" you snapped, your voice louder now. "I needed time to think, Ni-ki. About us. About this." You gestured vaguely between the two of you, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "You can’t just keep vanishing and showing up whenever you feel like it. That’s not fair to me."

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence hung heavy between you, broken only by the distant sound of a car passing by. Then he stepped closer again, and this time, you didn’t move away.

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice softer now. “I messed up. I should’ve told you what was going on. I just... I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, your anger still simmering but mingled now with disbelief. “You didn’t know how to tell your girlfriend where you were going or why you disappeared for a month?”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I thought... if I kept you out of it, you’d be safe.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Safe? Do you know how scared I was when you disappeared? How much worse it made everything when those guys showed up and—” Your voice cracked, and you quickly stopped, swallowing hard.

Ni-ki’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “I know. And I hate that you had to go through that. But I came back, didn’t I?”

"That’s not the point, Ni-ki," you said, your voice quieter now. “It’s not just about coming back. It’s about not leaving me in the dark in the first place.”

He took another step forward, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of him in the cold night air. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t... I don’t know how to do this. The whole relationship thing. But I’m trying.”

You stared at him, your anger still lingering but softening slightly at the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not making it easy,” you muttered.

He smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “When have I ever made anything easy?”

Despite yourself, you almost smiled at that. But you weren’t ready to let him off the hook just yet. “This is serious, Ni-ki,” you said, your tone firm. “If you want this to work, you have to stop shutting me out. I can’t do this if you’re just going to disappear every time things get messy.”

He nodded slowly, his expression more serious now. “I know. And I promise, I’ll do better. Just... don’t give up on me. On us.”

You hesitated, studying him closely. He looked sincere, but you couldn’t help wondering if that would be enough. Still, as much as you wanted to stay mad, a part of you wanted to believe him. To give him another chance.

“I’m not promising anything,” you said finally, your voice softer now. “But... I’ll think about it.”

Ni-ki smiled faintly, and for the first time, it felt genuine. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

You took the time you needed, allowing the days to pass slowly as you sorted through your thoughts. It wasn’t easy, and there were moments when you doubted whether anything would change.

After a week of space, you decided it was time. You texted Ni-ki, asking him to come over to talk. You weren’t sure what the conversation would look like, but you knew you couldn’t keep pushing him away, and you couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

When the doorbell rang later that evening, your heart was pounding in your chest. You hadn’t seen him in days, and the anticipation was nerve-wracking. You took a deep breath before walking over and opening the door.

There he was, standing on your doorstep with that familiar hoodie, his hands shoved into his pockets, and his expression unreadable. But there was something different in the way he stood—more uncertain, almost... nervous.

You studied him for a moment, unsure of where to begin. But then, his eyes met yours, and he spoke first.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. “Yeah. We need to.”

The air between you felt thick with everything that had been left unsaid, but neither of you moved until you both sat down in the living room. Ni-ki took a seat across from you, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze focused on the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

“I know I messed up,” he began, his voice low. “I hurt you. I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, and I... I’m sorry for that. I never meant to make you feel abandoned or like you didn’t matter.”

You looked at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice, but the sting of his absence still lingered. “I just don’t understand why you thought it was okay to just disappear. To leave me without any explanation. I’ve been asking myself that over and over,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I know you think you were protecting me, but... it felt like you were shutting me out. Like I wasn’t even part of your world.”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the way he sighed. “I get that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should’ve communicated with you, let you know what was going on. But I didn’t. I kept everything to myself because I thought I was doing the right thing... keeping you safe.”

You shook your head. “But that’s not how a relationship works, Ni-ki. You don’t just keep secrets. You don’t disappear without saying anything. And you can’t keep making decisions without me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I messed up, and I’m not proud of it. But I’m here now. I’m here because I want to fix this. I want to make things right with you. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t take that back, but I’ll do anything to prove that I care. That I’m not just using you.”

His words hit you hard, and for a moment, you looked down at your hands, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to keep holding on to the anger and the hurt, but it was hard to shake off the feeling of betrayal.

“I don’t know, Ni-ki,” you said quietly. “I’m not sure if I can just forget what happened. It’s not just about you disappearing—it’s everything that came with it. The way you treated me like I was some kind of afterthought.”

Ni-ki moved closer to you, his hand gently reaching out for yours. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forget. But I need you to know that I want to be here. I want to make things right. I love you. And I’ll prove it every day.”

You hesitated, still holding on to the doubts and the pain. But his hand in yours felt like a lifeline, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe things could be different. Maybe he could change.

“I don’t know if it will be easy,” you said softly, “but I’ll try. I’ll try if you promise me that you’ll be honest with me. That you won’t keep things from me anymore.”

Ni-ki nodded, his grip tightening on your hand. “I promise. No more secrets.”

--

It felt surreal, the way things shifted after Ni-ki made that promise. He wasn’t just physically present—he was emotionally there too, in ways you hadn’t expected. The first thing you’d see when you woke up was him, his face relaxed in sleep, a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as if he were content just being there with you. And the last thing you saw before sleep was him, his warm arms around you, ensuring that you were safe and cared for.

You noticed how he didn’t leave your side much. Whether it was at home, walking you to work, or even just sitting on the couch together, he made sure to be near you, always close enough to reassure you that he was there for good. There were no more of those long, unexplained absences. No more shadows lurking over the relationship. He was there. He was committed.

One evening, as you were sitting together on the couch, your curiosity got the better of you. It had been weeks since you’d noticed any signs of the heists he’d been involved in—no more late-night disappearances, no more mysterious meetings. You decided to ask him outright.

“Ni-ki... I’ve been meaning to ask,” you said, your voice tentative, “What happened to all those heists? All that... the stuff you used to do?”

He tensed slightly, his eyes flicking to yours before he took a slow breath. “I quit,” he said simply, the words carrying weight that took you by surprise.

“Wait, what?” You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “You quit? Like, for real?”

Ni-ki nodded, a serious look in his eyes. “Yeah. I realized it wasn’t the life I wanted anymore. I don’t want to be that person who hides behind masks and lies. I don’t want to drag you into that world. I’ve done enough to screw things up already.”

You felt a rush of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a strange sense of relief. He had quit? For you?

“You... you quit for me?” You whispered, almost unable to believe it.

He nodded again, reaching out to take your hand in his. “For both of us. I’m serious about us, about you. I don’t want to lose you. So I’m going to get a real job, a legitimate one. I want a future with you, and that’s not going to happen if I’m still out there, risking everything.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth in every word. Ni-ki had always been unpredictable, but in this moment, he seemed more grounded, more determined than you had ever seen him.

You took a deep breath, the weight of it all sinking in. “I... I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ni-ki said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I just wanted you to know. I want to build something real with you. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Ni-ki had been reckless and wild in the past, but now, here he was—showing up for you in ways that were more meaningful than any flashy gesture or promise could convey.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Okay. I believe you.”

And that was all you needed to hear from him.

You leaned into him, letting yourself relax into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders.

You were both living in the moment, together.

a/n: this is the last chapter of this fic :) hope you all enjoyed it and stayed for the journey <3

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Minds 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Summary: You start a new job after being fired as a programmer and it's more than you could have anticipated. (maid AU)

Note: I should stop.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Yeah, mom, I got the job,” you huff. “On my way right now. You really think Auntie would say no?” 

“I know my sister,” your mother harrumphs from the other end. “She doesn’t do favours.” 

“I mean, couldn’t she just give me some money instead of making me scrub floors,” you joke to the deathly silent speaker. “Alright, cool, well, guess I should go. I’m here.” 

“Good luck,” your mom sighs. “Please don’t mess this up. Your father and I already postponed our vacation once.” 

“I won’t,” you croak, deflated by the reminder. “Love ya.” 

She hangs up without returning the sentiment. Yep, she’s still mad about that. You didn’t ask to be fired. Actually, you worked overtime and bent over backwards just to avoid the fate. It happened anyways. Every company in the state culled their numbers. Looks like your programming degree is now as coveted as English Lit. 

You look up at the Upper East Side townhouse and suck your teeth. It’s just another reminder of everything you don’t have. Of everything you lost. Your order-in pad thai and sushi have given way to peanut butter on stale bread and canned soups. You can go without, it just stinks. 

This should help. Aunt Jan says the job pays well if you do a good job. The more clients you can pick up, the better. For now, you’re starting out with one. Probation, she calls it. Even if your mom hates her sister, they’re more alike than she cares to admit. 

You grunt as you swing the bucket of cleaning supplies with your steps up the concrete steps. The compact vacuum strapped to your back doesn’t aid in your struggle to maintain your balance. You couldn’t afford the rental fee for the company car so you schlupped everything here on the subway. Not ideal. 

You put the kit down and tap the buzzer, struggling to catch your breath. There’s no answer. Jan said that might happen. Try again and if there’s no answer, let yourself in. 

It’s not that complex, is it? You got through coding and calculus. You can figure out all those attachments for the vacuum. You hit the button again. 

“Ah, welcome lady maid, you’ve come at last,” the booming lilted voice crackles from the speaker. You flinch. There’s a lens there too. You try to smile. 

“Uh, hi,” you reply. “I was sent by the Agency.” 

“Yes, yes, as Stark recommended. Please, come in. Ehhhh, which button....” 

The door clicks and beeps as it unlocks. Wonderful. The blind leading the blind. That might be better. You definitely don’t need a stickler pointing out the streaks on the windows. 

You push the door open and heave the bucket over the threshold. You take off your shoes and unhook the vacuum from your back. Should you start with the instructions in the app or go find your new boss? 

You wander further in, sheepish as you look around the interior. There’s red satin strewn over the back of the French-style sofa and clunky boots beside it. And there’s a few takeout containers piled across from the large television. Oh, right, it definitely is a man. 

“Lady maid? Is that you?” The voice calls through the doorway to your right. 

You slowly follow it as you hear clinking from within. You peek into the kitchen and cry out at the scene. You don’t mean to stare at the naked ass but it’s the first thing that you see. The large man, with blond hair spilling past his shoulders, is nonchalant as he loads the coffee maker. Entirely naked! 

“Uhhhhh.” Your voice unfurls dumbly and you bring your hand up to block your view. “Um. You—you're...” 

“Oh my, yes, I do forget myself,” he chortles and searches around. He grabs an apron and ties it around his waist. “In Asgard, the natural form is not stigmatized. Rather, we do much unfettered. Cook, clean, wrestle.” 

You reluctantly drop your hand as you’re face by the man and his immense chest. He’s huge. And familiar. He isn’t a man at all. He’s... 

“Thor?” You utter dumbly. 

“You know me? Did I perhaps save your cat?” He asks. 

“No, I saw you... on TV.” 

“Oh yes, how amusing. It was I!” He grins triumphantly. “They don’t always tell me when there are cameras.” 

“Hm,” you nod awkwardly. “I... should I just start.” 

“Ah, diligent maid, how admirable. To work so earnestly,” he praises and turns to grab his cup as the machine quits grinding. His ass is still out as the apron only conceals his front. You’re not going to get hung up on it. He’s probably hung too. 

Wow. Wow. Keep your head above board. 

“I’ll start out there,” you point over your shoulder. 

“Whatever you like, lady maid.” 

You retreat and try not to picture his muscular ass or statuesque shoulders or bright blue eyes. It must be a godly trick. You’re not one of those fan girls. You’re not pathetic like that. 

You start in the living room. You open a bin bag and start to gather the containers. A fan of burritos, you see. You make your way around the surfaces. You should be methodic. Clutter first, then floors. 

You continue back into the entryway and organize the shoe rack. You hang the cloak left on the sofa and take the boots over to the mat. There’s several cloaks and many shoes and boots. The green satin holds your curiosity. You didn’t think that was his colour. 

You carry on through each room, avoiding the kitchen as long as you can. You go into the bathroom, bracing yourself. You wipe off an errant glop of toothpaste and some darker hair strands near the drain. Those are black, not blond. 

A groan tickles your ear and you glance over as a shadow steps into the doorway. The lithe figure stretches his arms above him as he tilts his head back, arching so his chest puffs out and his... bits dangle freely. You squeal and cover your eyes. 

“Oh god!” You cry out. 

“So I am,” the other Asgardian sweeps in without bother, brushing by you as he approaches the toilet. 

“Uhhhh, oh, oh,” you squeak as he flips up the lid. “Jeez!” 

You hurry out of the bathroom and swing the door shut behind you as his stream hits the water loudly. You stand on the other side, breathless in shock. That was him. Loki!

You don’t know what’s more off putting. The shameless nudity or that you’ve been assigned to clean up after two gods. Not just gods, avengers. Well, at least Thor. 

It doesn’t matter. You’re here to clean, so keep your eyes and your brain under control. You don’t need Aunt Jan getting a complaint, even if this is the last job you wanted. 

[ziorre]

✨Commission info✨

New year, new art pieces! I'm ready, I'm rested, I'm refreshed! And I'm completely charged to take care of your new ideas and characters!! I truly believe that every character is awesome and original and deserves to be shown with their own story! And I'll try to help you with this in a way that is more convenient for you! You just pick one below ;)

✨ PRICES:

- SEMI-REALISTIC STYLE (for the cases, when you want it looks more real without much stylizing)

- USUAL STYLE (for the cases, when you don’t mind it looks more stylized and a lil sketchy)

- CONCEPT SHEET (for the cases, when you want to present your character, their outfit and props)

* you can find more examples on my page by the commission tag ** a helpful post describing a right order for your refs

✨ DEADLINES: After you DM me with a brief description of your idea, I’ll tell you the approximate date when I’ll be able to proceed with your commission

!!!!Always warn me in advance if I need to draw art by a certain deadline!!!

✨ PAYMENT:  What: USD or RUB When: full pre-payment (when you sent me the email and we approved the art idea) Where: Hypolink/Lava.top (russian platforms, support payment via PayPal)

✨ PROCESS: You write to me in private messages on Tumblr, briefly tell me your idea of our future art, what style and what slot you want (full body / half body / bust). Then I give you my email address and you send me an email (with your Tumblr name as the topic please) with all necessary references (your character's face claim, their pose, clothes, background etc.). You describe the idea of the art in details, where it takes place, and other things that I need to know so that I can base the sketch on all that info, because after you approve the sketch, I don’t change art much in the further stages of the work, just some details. I send you the payment link on my Boosty page. Send you the sketch. After you confirm that you like the sketch, I finish the work and send it on your email😊

✨ OTHER: - I don’t correct the art after you approved the finished version. - I don’t copy other artist’s work. - I publish every commission on my social media, if you don’t want it to be published, just let me know. - If you’re not sure about the art idea, I can suggest you 4 sketches with different poses/concepts/angles for extra $20 and you pick the one you like the most. - For significant corrections or a lot of small ones at any stage of work, an additional fee may be charged (this doesn’t apply to some small adjustments or details witch I missed). There are 3 free changes at the each stages of the work (sketch, finished version), further - $2-$5.

___________________________________

And of course I can't skip to say a huge thank you to those who commissioned and continue commissioning art from me! It means a lot! For real! This is not only material support, but also moral one, saying that I’m not wasting my time and energy in vain, that I’m moving in the right direction, that people like what I do! I can't tell how inspiring it is!! 350 commissions! I’ve never imagined that one day I would draw so many art for others! Just.. wow!! Thank you again so much for trusting me bringing to life your ideas! I truly appreciate it!😌

____________________________________

I think this is it, right? If you have any questions, feel free to DM me ;)  

I’ll be VERY grateful for your reblogs!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤ (and thank you very much for this in advance, it helps me A LOOOOOOOOOT, you are the ones who keep me alive literally! I see each and every one of you doing that! You’re the best!!!) Thanks for your attention! Have a good day =)

[bitchslapblastoids]

This might make me a fake fan but what is the lore / significance of the orange heart?

orange heart my beloved!! when dan released WAD on youtube, phil retweeted it with a lovely message, and dan responded to phil's tweet with just a simple orange heart emoji:

THEN in case that wasn't enough of a dagger through the chest, dan screenshotted the interaction and posted it to his youtube community tab (????) with just the caption "gay" (it's still the most recent post on there lol) (also to quote @bassband: “The chaos of using the world’s worst social media function for their gayest moment yet” — so real)

everyone imploded, some people shouted hard launch. mostly i just think the heart tweet was such a painfully sweet, vulnerable move on dan's part. he is historically sardonic and blasé towards phil on his socials, he historically can't take a compliment, and he historically hedges any earnestness with lots and lots of words and overtalking. so to respond to phil's very earnest message with such an equally earnest, simple heart that can only be interpreted as a message of love, appreciation, gratitude.... idk, it felt really big and really loud, partly because it is so unlike him. they hadn't publicly sent a heart or anything so straightforwardly affectionate to one another since '09, really.

it still gets to me... their mutual undying support and straightforward love for one another captured in a simple, brave emoji. and then dan making sure everyone saw it. and yeah the 'gay' caption added a bit of the typical sarcasm/self-awareness we're more used to from him and softened the blow of it all a little, but mostly it was just like, oh. he categorically wants to make sure his whole following sees this exchange. okay.

when I made this blog, i knew immediately it was what I wanted to use for my icon, and I was just so relieved that no one else had claimed it. It makes me feel so warm and just feels perfect for the ethos of this blog. #notthatdeep i know I know but I feel a weird amount of like…. Humble gratitude for getting to have an association with it? And I’m weirdly picky about when I use the emoji myself because it feels…special. idk lol.

(There was also the weird subliminal messaging moment in one of Phil’s vids where the orange heart flashed for like a millisecond which did feel like some weird psychological warfare on his part)

[adamarks]

HAPPY NEW YEAR. Here’s some fic recs.

Just An Excellent Fucking Fella by Shearwater - Everyone and their brother has seen Constellationism. But have you read innkeeper Jeff role play by the same author? Hop to it.

Stolen by the Gentleman Thief by @elapsed-spiral - suggested if you’ve ever earnestly enjoyed or gotten a cackle at dime romance novels. They meet because Stede is plastic-wrapped to a light pole. I fucking love this fic.

West Ham Is For Lovers by @elapsed-spiral - Also love this one. Lucius is like trying to get Ed and Stede to meet. Idk how to sell it without giving away The Twist as the summary says. Just trust me

Roach vs. Rabbit by @xoxoemynn - shocked and appalled that this doesn’t have more hits. It’s bunnicula. C’mon it’s bunnicula.

The Crew Dines Out by wellwhisky - this one is incomplete but works on its own. Based on The Gang Dines Out from iasip. This shit is soooooooo funny it’s sooooooooo funny. Oh my god it’s funny as balls

soup by @margaritaville - it’s just so sweet. Ed and Stede sound so Ed and Stedey here. It’s so sweet. ITS SO SWEET

that same look in your eyes series by @margaritaville - I usually hate time travel fics but Sam changed my mind. Did you all know Ed and Stede are madly in love? Were u aware???

Even in the Dark, I'm Glowing by @petrichorca @veeagainsttheday and ThatJadeykinns - monsterfucking 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ what more do you need??? Click the damn link

Mile High Club by @veeagainsttheday - I’m sure everyone seeing this has read this but I don’t care I don’t CARE rAAAGGHHH [blows up a building bc this fic is so good]

Anyway happy new year go leave these people comments. Tell them u appreciate their art and time. Leave a series of emojis. I’m so serious if u read any of these n like em you better tell these ppl. Tell em Jay sent u. (You don’t have to do that last bit)

[slippinninque]

🏡A Little Neighborly Favor 📻

Terry Richmond x blackfemreader

In which Terry answers a call.

warnings: spicy-fluff, sensual moments, neighbor!terryrichmond, just a little something, long fic

No matter what Terry did, he couldn’t keep you off his mind. Terry ran 10 more miles than he normally would and decided then decided that it would be a good idea to figure out the soft clicking he thought he could hear in his motor.

After that, he just decided to take a good look inside of his car just to feel productive. 

Yet–his mind always wandered back to you. His next door neighbor. In all the time that the two of you kept to yourselves, it was you hopping his fence to capture another neighbor’s escaped cat that initiated your relationship. 

The next few seasons the two of you danced around each other, not yet finding a reason to cross that final line. All the while he felt his weakness for you growing, his need to have more of you becoming harder to ignore. 

If you invited him on a late night run to the ice cream shop, he would be going. A call for him to come over the fence to enjoy early morning barbeque–Terry is crossing over the fence and reaching for a plate. Whatever it was, Terry couldn’t think of any reason to not accompany you. When you challenged him to provide you with a playlist after sharing an earbud, he hopped to it that evening.

He didn’t expect to be given one in return. A good one, at that. In the way that Terry understood that his earlier fears of being too heavy-handed with his song selection we're unfounded.  

In the background, the next song played from his phone–the opening notes making him pause to check the name. Intergalactic Janet by Ley Soul, what would be the fifth or so song on the playlist that you sent to him the other night.

Terry was in the middle of checking his dipstick when his phone rang out. A quick glance at the name made him scramble to grab the device. He took a deep breath to calm himself and answered with a smooth greeting. 

“Hey, I hope it’s not too late…I saw the light on, so–

“No–it’s more than fine. What can I do for you, little lady?”

A laugh floated through the receiver, he imagined you switching your phone from one shoulder to the other.

“It’s so strange, I think you cursed my speaker.”

“Me?”

“Mhm. ‘Cause I was listening to the playlist you gave me and the last song, it stopped playing!”

Terry’s heart stomped in excitement but he hummed questingly into the phone. 

“I know. Since it’s been cursed–by your hand specifically…I would much appreciate it if you help me in finishing your playlist.”

Terry had to put hand over his heart, looking up at the ceiling of his garage to call upon all of the charisma in his bloodline. Your tone betrayed no broken speaker, no hardship at all–in fact, he might have heard music. 

“Of course–it’s only right that I take care of it. Hm?

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah. So, how about this? Give me 15 minutes to get this work off of me and I’ll come to help you finish listening.”

“Thank you, Terry, I’d really appreciate it.”

Terry shivered at the tones of your voice, all coy and agave, “Of course. See you in 15.”

Once he was sure the phone call ended properly, Terry whooped and clapped his hands before taking off for the shower. He smelled like car grease and sweat, Terry wouldn’t dare offend you with his stench. He scrubbed himself and tried to keep calm but could only imagine what was waiting for him.

Terry exited through his side door. For a moment, he took in the cool silence of the block. There were cars going a few blocks over, nearer the main street. He could hear conversation a few doors over, the elderly couple wine on their back porc most likely. Terry walked your shared fence line, peeking through just to see the strings of lights you’ve draped over your bushes. 

He easily hopped the fence into your yard, behind your garage. Terry was careful of your planted flowers and little trees as he followed after the glow of  the strongest light,  coming from above your back door. Terry saw the muted light coming from the curtains in the room above, he believed it to be your bedroom.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention to the darkened back porch. Terry didn’t even hesitate to come into your space, closing the door behind him gently and locking up.

“Terry? That you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Anyone else would be buried in his backyard come dawn. Terry knew his way around your first floor by now and soon arrived in your living room. Terry took in the sight of you waiting for him in the recliner nearest he troubled speaker. It was charming, retro fashioned but equipped with modern capabilities.

“I just can’t figure it out.” 

“That so? And you said it played through until the last song?”

“That’s right–darndest thing. I think I heard a little bit of it before it went out–

He grinned as he watched your eyes ran up his form, “And then you called me.”

“Exactly. Then I called you.” 

“Let’s see if I can find your problem, then…”

Terry could smell vanilla when he approached the stereo–your brown skin glistening, your dark hair shining. He touched the top of the radio as he couldn’t take his eyes off you, off the spread of your thighs in the recliner or the incline of your head as you looked up at him. 

You stood to watch Terry as he tried to figure out what you did to the poor radio. The shadow of your body was at the center of the caftan you wore, the sight too much for him to linger on.

“I think I found your problem,” Terry cleared his throat as he bent down to plug in the stereo. The bluetooth’s light flashed for only a moment until going into a victorious chime. Terry turned the knob, the smooth melody filling the living room.

You put a hand to your cheek, “Oh, goodness! I feel so silly now…”

“No need for that. Glad to be neighborly, as always.”

/ I've been looking at you all night

Oh, baby, I've been thinking 'bout you (thinkin' 'bout you)

And all of the things I want to do

Once the day becomes the night /

Space lessened and Terry was offering his hand. When your hand slid into his, you were pulled into a tender sway. The two of you tucked closer together, your hand to his chest and his lips near your ear. The ache that the tension between you finally eased. Being ‘neighborly’ was good and all, but it was clear that the two of you couldn’t just stop there. Terry, for one, could see himself knocking down that fence that separated your two properties.

October’s bridge filled the room and Terry’s other hand spanned across your lower back. You took your hand away to put your arms around his neck. Terry’s hands wandered lower, caressing and rubbing as you grinned into the skin at your lips.

“You know how to make a mean playlist, Mr. Richmond.” You said softly, “I can safely say it has no skips for me.”

“Hmm, that’s good. Especially after I tried my hardest to impress you.”

/ Oh, I've been waiting, baby

Waiting for a long time (waiting on you)

For your heart to be mine /

“You wanted to impress little ol’ me?”

/ Oh, before someone else comes to mind

But when you (ooh-ooh)

Oh, when you told me /

“I’ve never wanted nothing more.”

/ That I was the one, girl (oh, baby)

I took every hour and minute, babe

Just to make sure that everything is right (ooh) /

“What will you do now, then?”

Terry licked his lips as he watched yours sweeten into a smile. Oh, he couldn’t go too long without that now that he’s seen it so close. Back lit by the lamp’s glow, complimented by your eager gaze. He reached out to put a thumb to your plush bottom lip. Your eyes 

“Now? Now I keep up the streak.” Terry paused to shut his eyes as you ran your nails lightly along the back of his neck, “Is there anything else you’d like for me to help you finish? Before we get…sidetracked?”

“Oh no, the side track is what I’m trying to finish next…”

Emboldened by your wink, Terry purred out a laugh and lifted you into his arms. Following your directions between kisses,  he navigated the two of you upstairs. 

/ Take me, oh, take me, baby (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Oh, baby

Take me back to your place" (your place)

Ooh, your place of residence (oh, your place, baby) (ooh)

So, she said (ooh)

"Take me, oh, take me, baby (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Oh, baby

Take me back to your place / 

---------

✨ending notes✨: this song pulled out a couple of fics out of me 🤣 this was the one finished the fastest lol! Tell me what you think! I'm still getting a feel for Mr. Richmond but I think we're getting to know each other now 😌 please comment and reblog! Thank you so much for reading!!! 💜💕✨💜💕💜💜💕

💕taglist💕: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @blackerthings @notapradagurl7 @theereina

@brattyfics @chaithetics @kindofaintrovert @educatorsareslutstoo @miyuhpapayuh

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 50

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,615ish

Summary: A Logan variant makes an appearance and shakes you to your core.

Notes: Welp, here we go! Please share your reactions. I'm worried that this was over hyped and will be a disappointment... Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Laura’s nerves grew as she drove the Honda Odyssey back to the makeshift home. She had seen your grief first hand, even as you tried to shield the worst of it from her. She knew that you still cried in the shower. Laura heard you call out for ‘James’ at night in your sleep. She saw the bags under your eyes during the bad days and the way you would absentmindedly play with your ring when you were thinking about Logan. Laura knew that you had gotten better as the years went on, though there were still hard days. She also knew that seeing this Logan may through you back into the worst of it. But he could also be the way out of the Void. 

When she parked the van, Laura took a deep breath. She headed inside, trying to prepare herself for the turmoil that she may have just brought into your life. 

“Is my mom back yet?” She asked the others, unable to see you inside immediately.

“Not yet,” Blade responded.

Laura felt some relief. “Good. Can I get your help bringing some people inside? I found some newbies.”

Once Elektra, Blade, and Gambit helped Laura get the two unconscious men inside, Laura gathered the others outside.

“Looks like we got ourselves another Deadpool,” Blade noted.

“That—That man in the yellow and blue, he’s a variant of my father,” Laura explained. “A Wolverine.”

“Well, that’s good, ain’t it?” Gambit questioned.

Laura shook her head. “Not for my mom. It could… set her back. The two loved each other for fifty-seven years. It was a love for the ages… She’s still not over it and I don’t blame her.”

“What do you want us to do?” Elektra asked.

“I want us to find out what they are doing here and if they can help us return to our universes.”

“Can do,” Blade responded.

Elektra stepped up to Laura and placed her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just… give me a second. I’ll be in after you.”

��Alright. Let’s go.”

Laura watched as Blade, then Elektra, and then Gambit entered the makeshift house. She clenched and unclenched her fists as she began to pace a little. This was hard for her too, seeing her father’s face but knowing it’s not him. There was a lot of unsolved issues between the two of them. You had stepped in and mended a lot of those, but sometimes they still affected her. 

Then there was the worry about how you would react to seeing a variant of your dead husband. Did that Wolverine have an X-23 or an Ember? If so, would he be trying to rush back to them? Laura gave the surrounding area a glance, just to check if you were near, before heading inside to regroup with the others. 

“We’re not totally fucked at all,” Laura could tell that was the voice of the Deadpool. “So who brought us here?”

“That would be me,” Laura stated, coming down into the large room. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Holy shit. Logan. That’s her. That’s X-23.” Laura glanced over to where Logan was standing in the back room, a bottle of alcohol in hand. “She’s the one I told you about.” Logan met the young woman’s gaze as he lifted the bottle back up to his mouth. “Hey, how did you all get stuck in The Void?”

“There was a knock at the door,” Blade explained. “The TVA sent me here.”

“Me, too,” Elektra said.

“Well, maybe I was born here,” said Gambit. “It’s… It’s hard to know for sure.

“The TVA decided our universes were dying,” Blade added. “And I never even got a chance to fight for it.”

Laura moved towards the back room, her and Logan keeping each other in their sights. Logan continued to drink. Wade had told him of X-23 and an Ember, whom the version of himself in Wade’s universe had saved. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but he did know that he wasn’t like that version of him.

“People like us don’t go quietly,” Elektra continued. “The TVA knows that, so they took us out.”

Deadpool made a smooching sound beneath his mask. “This answer is yes,” he said. “I’m in.”

~~~

You sighed as you arrived back to your makeshift home. Johnny had been no where to be find, leaving you to fear the worst. As you headed inside, you noticed the destroyed Honda Odyssey. You knew that couldn’t be a good thing. The further you entered the house, you heard a familiar voice. But it couldn’t be. Wade died more than fifty years ago when you lost Logan the first time. 

“—answer is yes,” Wade’s voice said. “I’m in.”

“In what?” You asked, making it to the bottom of the stairs.

“Holy fucking shit!” Deadpool gasped. “You—You’re Ember! Like the Ember! From my universe!”

“Uh, what?”

“I am your biggest fan!” He rushed forward and pulled you into an embrace. Laura stepped closer, but you put a hand out to stop her. Deadpool pulled back but kept his hands on your arms. “I seriously can’t believe I’m in front of you right now. No one back on all the fan sites are going to believe I even got close to you! Peanut, look who it is!”

Deadpool pulled you around him and pushed you forward. You stumbled to a stop as your eyes caught sight of the familiar face in front of you. A strangled breath got caught in your throat. Uncontrollable flames weaved through your fingers as you were frozen in place. It was a younger—bit beefier— version of your Logan and his eyes… there was a different story to tell there. But it was Logan.

Logan was frozen too. Your face was one that he didn’t ever think he’d see again. Especially after the last time… when it was cold and lifeless. Here you were. Alive and well, standing in front of him. It was everything he had ever wanted. Yet he knew that you weren’t his Ember… his Y/N. He had let her down.

“I sense something intense happening here,” Deadpool whispered. “Maybe we should let you two fuck it out—“

“Shut the fuck up, Wilson, for one damn second!” Logan roared. 

The sudden anger had you tripping backwards. Laura stepped forward to steady you but you flinched away, feeling your skin growing hotter.

“Mom,” Laura called calmly.

“I— I need a— a second,” you stammered.

“I can—“

“Alone.” 

Then you rushed back up the stairs. Your heart was hammering against your chest and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had become uneven. Your shaky legs took you into the woods until you collapsed against one of the large trees. Tears began sizzling down your cheeks as a variety of emotions swirled inside. Grief. Longing. Confusion. Love. Anger. Every emotion that you had tried to push down or work through was suddenly right there, taking over your every being.

The ring that sat on your finger suddenly felt too heavy. You tore it off and held it against your chest as you sobbed. Curling in on yourself, you failed to notice that the dry ground around you began to catch fire.

~~~

Logan watched with regret filled eyes as you rushed out of the building. As soon as you were out of sight, he downed the rest of the bottle in his hand before tossing it aside and grabbing another one.

“Wow,” Deadpool exaggerated. “Hey, Peanut, are you not going to chase after the love of your life there?”

“Fuck off,” Logan muttered, before taking another swig of drink.

Laura’s eyes moved from the doorway over to Logan with a sigh. “Let’s just continue with a plan,” she said. “I’ll give my mom a few minutes to cool down.”

~~~

Everything hurt. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. The flames around you had died down with your sobs. Leaving behind a whimpering, smoky mess.

“Mom! Mom!” You could hear Laura’s voice in the distance, or so your mind made it seem. “Mom!”

“Kick ass fire woman!” Wade’s voice joined. “Greatest mother of all time!”

“Shut up, Wade! This is serious. Mom—“ Laura cut herself off as you came into view. “Mom!” She raced over to you. “Mom…”

“Laura,” you rasped, looking at her through half closed eyes. 

Laura could tell that you were in pain, in every which way you could be. Wade suddenly appeared next to her, mask off. 

“Oh shit, fire starter,” he exclaimed, “you don’t look so hot.”

Laura growled and plunged her claws into Wade’s leg. He shouted out in pain before gripping his leg and hopping backwards.

“Fuck, little wolf! Just like your old man!” He complained. “I’m outta here. Need a moment to daydream for my next Emberine fic. My readers are gonna have a field day!” Then Wade skipped off.

Laura’s focus went back onto you. “Can you walk?” She wondered.

“No,” you whispered.

“I got it,” a rough voice sounded from behind. 

No one had noticed that Logan had followed. He hadn’t planned to but seeing you rush off and then Laura’s concern when you hadn’t returned after an hour, Logan felt the need to see what was up. Without truly looking at you, he crouched down beside you and slipped his arms underneath you. Your breath caught as your eyes closed and your body was moved up and against Logan’s. 

“Where to?” Logan’s voice was low and rough.

“This way,” Laura said, beginning to lead the way back to the building.

Logan kept his eyes forward despite the growing urge to look down at you. Especially as you began to tremble more with each step he took. You kept your eyes closed as Logan carried you, though tears slipped through and down your cheeks. Laura led Logan into one of the back rooms, where there was a bed.

“Here,” Laura motioned to the bed. “Lay her down.”

Logan tried to lay you down as carefully as he could. You immediately curled in on yourself further as he pulled away.

“Thanks,” Laura said as she sat down beside you.

Logan grunted in response before grabbing a few bottles of alcohol and heading back outside. Laura took her backpack off and dug inside of it for the cooling blanket she had in there. She placed it over you, making sure that everything was covered except your head. Your eyes were still clamped shut and tears were slipping through.

“Tell me this is a dream,” you begged quietly. 

“I’m sorry, mom,” Laura said, placing a hand on you, over the blanket.

“Not your fault.”

Laura sighed. “We came up with a plan though. A plan to defeat Cassandra. We leave in the morning.”

“I should be okay by then.”

“I don’t think you should come.”

“Laura—“

“No. You are not okay mentally or physically.”

“You’re crazy to think that I would let you go fight without me.”

“Mom—“

“No. I’ll be fine with some rest… Is… Is that Logan fighting too?”

Laura shook her head. “Says we’re all dead.”

You sighed. “Sounds about right… Thanks for taking care of me, kiddo.”

~~~

Night had fallen and Logan found himself in front of a fire with another bottle of alcohol. His eyes watched the flames as they flickered in front of him. It provided him no peace of mind: the silence, the fire, or the alcohol. All his thoughts drifted to you and how he had failed you, or well, his version of you.

Logan exhaled deeply as Laura came over. “Hey, hey,” he quickly said. “I’m not lookin’ for company. Get out of here.”

Laura didn’t deter, sitting down near him. “You remind me of him,” Laura stated with a found smile. “Angry. Drunk. Mean.”

“Sounds like a great guy—“

“Wasn’t finished…” Logan glanced over, an eyebrow raised curiously. “Showed up when it mattered the most. Couldn’t help it.” Logan sighed, staring at the fire. “You might not know it, but… you’re a good man, Logan.”

Logan chuckled. “You might not know it, but apparently I’m the worst Logan.”

“I got to have a life because of you… I got to grow up because of you… A lot of kids did… I have a mom because of you… Y/N survived because of you.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of kids didn’t grow up because of me… Y/N didn’t survive because of me… Trust me, kid, I’m no hero.”

“That suit says different.”

Logan grunted, glancing down at it. “Yeah. Do you like it?”

“Mhm.”

“Y/N used to beg me to wear it… So did Scott, Jean, Storm, Beast… All of them… They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t. Told ‘em they all look fucking ridiculous. I mean… I couldn’t have ‘em thinkin’ I wanted to be there…” Logan shook his head, eyes staring at the flames in front of him as they grew glossy. “And then one day, while I was off on my own, the humans came… and went mutant hunting.”

“I can guess the rest.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “let me… Let me say it.” He nodded, growing more emotional. “I… I need to say it… By the time I stumbled in shitfaced from the bar, it was too late… Her smoke and flames were everywhere. Like she had tried to protect everyone… They were dead. Every—“ Logan swallowed down the sob threatening to push its way of his throat. His bottom lip trembled as his mind replayed the horror. “She was dead… Beast had clearly tried to protect her… but they were all dead… This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.” Logan sniffled before lifting up the bottom and taking another drink. “How’s… How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine. Resting.”

“Good. Uh, I’m sorry if I triggered anything.”

“I knew bringing you here was a risk. She’s tried so hard to heal and be strong for me… I’d never known that two people could love each other so unconditionally like the way you and her did.”

Logan scoffed. “Ain’t me, kid. I screwed up with my Y/N… was never enough for her.”

“Never enough for her, or never enough for you?” Logan’s eyes snapped to Laura. “My mom says that you were perfectly enough, you just got in your own way.” He looked back at the fire. “We’re headed to Cassandra’s at sunup.”

“Have fun. Not my fight.”

“We won’t pull this off without you.”

Logan glanced at Laura briefly before returning his focus to the fire. Laura clenched her jaw as she stood up and began walking away.

“Hey,” Logan called after her. “Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy.”

Laura paused and turned back to face him. “You were always the wrong guy,” she responded. “But never to her.”

Laura walked off, leaving Logan drinking by the fire. He took another swig of his drink, his mind reeling. You were not the same Y/N that he had lost in his universe. He had yet to let you down. So by not fighting, he couldn’t. Or was he letting another one of you down? Could he live with himself knowing that he could have saved another one of you, or at least tried? Logan sighed, tossing the bottle into the fire. Maybe this was a chance to save you in a way that he couldn’t before. Maybe this was a chance to change his Worst Wolverine status. Or maybe, this was all a cruel joke and Logan would never be able to redeem himself.

next chapter >

[antiadvil]

hi i don't normally like to do giant appreciation posts because i'm always scared i'll accidentally leave someone out. but it's the end of the year and i appreciate a lot of people so i'll make an exception. this is all off the top of my head so there is probably a heavy recency bias and if you're not included it's not because i don't appreciate you but probably because i can't think of anything specific to thank you for :( i appreciate all of you this year has been so fun and you're all so funny and have been so kind to me and i hope we can have lots of fun together next year too. anyways. it's still december 31st here so i did NOT miss the new year's eve meetup thank you very much.

@manchestereyes thank you for seeing tit with me and returning to phanfic writing this year. the world is truly better for it

@bewareofthenewphannie for helping me with the photosensitivity document for tit even though i got a migraine anyway, that part was probably inevitable

@eveningsausage for encouraging me to recreate the october 19th selfie with my best friend (even though there was an event near the chicago apple store and there were ten million people in there so we got scared and did not do it) (the event was very loud and there were a lot of lights we were very brave about it) and also betaing the one fic i wrote this year that actually had a beta. also haircut advice which i have yet to apply in practice

@emojackolantern for liking all of my twitter posts

@jonsaremembers because i am eating a quesadilla recipe that she sent me right now (god please help me I need that cookbook nowhere near as badly as dan and phil but I do need it) (i am eating a quesadilla made with the recipe. i did not print out the actual recipe and eat the recipe)

@thighguys for leaving like ten comments on my fics in one night, which kept me fed for most of the year

@dnpbeats for writing a hoodie bow incident explainer that i linked to in a fic. i can tell when people read my fic when they like my reblog of that post and now i guess you can too

@danandfuckingjonlmao for all of the accessibility stuff!

@toomanystairs for the bracelet at tit and the offer of a bracelet at mcr next year! i'm really excited :)

@wdapteo for my header! and not my icon anymore because i changed that but they did also make me an icon!

@notsosaucystuff for being the first person i ever did matching icons with (and only person and also we are still matching) (i literally went to go check because i was like omg it would be so awkward if i said we were matching but they changed their pfp like yesterday)

@catboydan for hanging out with me look idk including this on an appreciation list kind of makes it sound like hanging out with me was just a favor and it wasn't but it was a lot of fun and i can't think of a different way to word it lmao

@shiwisins because i reread decaf coffee again today and also for a lot of their other fics but decaf coffee is the one i reread today so it's the one i am most appreciative of

@lessthanpog for also having migraines and commiserating about them, this has been a very bad year for my health (rip) and i needed all of the comisery i could get

honestly so many fic writers i have read so much good fic this year. and so many other people like even if my memory worked well it would be too many to feasibly list before midnight. if you commented on any of my fics i love you. if you left kudos i love you. if you reblogged my jokes and said they were funny i love you. if you did lots of other things i probably love you. etc.

[angeldracul444]

LOGAN HOWLETTE X HOUSEWIFE!READER ^_^

You wait for Logan to return home, but when he finally does, he's hours late without any communication.

cw - smut with plot, drunk!reader, logan eats you out, housewife

a/n- HIIII this is my first loganfic and also my first smut so I apologise if the smut isn't as good :(

a like is appreciated

As the sun began to set, you prepared for your evening of dimming the lights, having playing softly in the back whilst cleaning the kitchen, but you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. The thought of Logan coming home, and you two cuddling up in bed was the thought that couldn’t leave your head. Even though he’d only left a few hours ago, you missed him already. You missed the trail of soft kisses he left on your collarbone before leaving for work and the way his rough hand would linger on your waist, making me giddy with excitement. Every day, I found yourself watching the clock, waiting for the exact moment he walks through the door each day—9:22.

You truly am a fool for him. A fool who, for him, became a housewife—a life I would have never imagined for yourself. Yet here you was, dedicating yourself to preparing meals and looking beautiful for him. It was something you would have opposed just a few years ago, but now, it felt natural, even more fulfilling than climbing any corporate ladder. As much as you valued my independence, there was something about waiting for Logan to come home that you adored. It became your quiet pleasure, a ritual you looked forward to every single day. 

And he loved it, too. 

His constant praises of—“You take care of me so well” and “You look so gorgeous”—only fuelled your desire to give him more. It made me want to cook the most perfect meals for him and buy even more beautiful, daring nightgowns, ones that were just a little shorter, just for him. 

You stood in front of the mirror, applying the sparkly gloss Logan always said reminded him of a certain shade of pink and spritzing the perfume that always made Logan hold me for extra long just to smell.  Your gaze shifted back to the mirror, catching your reflection. The pink silk nightgown draped over you elegantly, hugging your figure in all the right ways. Its soft shimmer caught the dim light, adding a subtle glow to the fabric. It was delicate, beautiful, and undeniably pretty—something you knew Logan would love. The thought of his eyes lingering on you, the way his lips would curve into that familiar smile, sent a rush of warmth through you.

Lost in your thoughts, you glanced at the clock—9:21. Any minute now, you thought to myself, my heart fluttering with anticipation. 

You brought out two wine glasses, one for you and one for Logan. You poured myself a glass to keep your thirst ahold until he comes home.  Minutes turned into hours of sitting on our bed waiting for him. You glanced at your phone again — nothing. No phone calls, no messages?

You were sad, disappointed, and irritated. The more minutes that went by without Logan walking through the door, the heavier those emotions became. As those feelings grew, the only thing you could think to do was pour more wine into your glass.

By the third or fourth glass, you stopped checking the clock. It was only then you realised just how much you’d had to drink. Your vision blurry, the room tilting slightly as you flopped into bed trying to keep yourself stable. You blinked trying to clear your vision but the wine took ahold. The bedroom lights loomed down on you making your head pound. Just then a familiar noise echoed in the house. Keys. Logan was home. The sound of his footsteps which was shortly followed by the sound of his keys being tossed on the kitchen counter confirmed my questions. Your head shot toward the door of our room that swung open and large figure stepped in. His eyes met mine. His hair was disheveled, his tie hung loose around his neck. He looked a mess but the thing i 

“Sweetheart” he gently said pulling me out of my thoughts.

You huff and rolled your eyes directing your eyes off him, the bitterness flared up again.

“I’m so sorry.” he added, stepping towards me. 

You pushed yourself off the bed and started to walk to your mirror. Logan following closely behind trying to grovel his way into forgiveness. 

“please understand me baby I got held back” Logan said softly

“For 2 hours?” You questioned, clearly not buying it

“I know it sounds ridiculous but-“

You turned to face him, cutting him off, “The least you could’ve done was call me”. You whispered with a noticeable slur following your words.

“I know, I know” he said guiltily. “i’ve been all over the place recently” He paused mid sentence and he started to studying you. 

“are u drunk?”  His tone laced in amusement 

His question took me off guard. 

“What does that have to do with anything” You snap back sharper than intended.

You glared at him. “Don’t try to brush over you leaving me alone.”

“I’m not,” he replied, his tone gentle now. “I just… I didn’t expect to come home to this.” He looked at you noticing the unstableness of your movements.

“Well, what did you expect?” You shot back “You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You left me here, waiting.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and I hated myself for it, for letting the sadness creep into the edges of my anger. You turned back to the mirror to avoid letting him seeing your eyes becoming glossier.

Logan’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of guilt.

“I know,” he said lowly. “I should’ve called”. I stared at him. I wanted to stay mad at him but his tone 

His hands wrapped around your waist pulling my back close to his chest, both of your bodies swaying side to side. He started to kiss a trail from your temples to your collarbone “I know i messed up baby”. He said in between kisses. 

“Let me make it up to you.” He hummed after as if it was a question or a plea.

You tried to stay upset but you couldn’t his tone made it impossible.

Both of your eyes met in the mirror and you slowly nodded your head. 

once he sees this, he turns you around gently to face him and took your hand directing you to the bed.

As he sat down, my eyes fixated on the fabric of his trousers revealing bulge that started to grow between his legs. Your breath hitched, heat creeping up your body as his gaze met mine. This sparked something deep within you, a realisation of just how much you wanted him in this moment. It may’ve been the wine making you extra needy but when I stared down at him, I craved his touch and the way he would comfort me —more than anything, I needed him entirely.  He stared up at you as if he was trying to tell you to come closer to him or on top of him. You followed his silent demands and shifted onto his lap, settling yourself so that one of your legs was draped over his thigh. His hand made it to your cheek turning your face to look at him. 

You went into kiss him, this time it was desperate. His hands slipped down to your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Logan, I wan’ you” Your lips still pressed against his.

He pulled away and slightly chuckled “You’re drunk. Lets get you to bed”

“No” You insisted

Although Logan wanted to have you just as much, he thought that it was wrong to take advantage of you in this state.

Your hands slithered down his body to the touch the bulge that was under the fabric. It was hard and did not try to hide it.

“Stop. We can’t.” Logan said as his tone dancing somewhere between restraint and desire. His words contradicted the way he held me and looked at me in this moment. 

“Why not?” You whispered looking at him. “I thought you wanted to make it up to me” 

His jaw clenched and his eyes roved from your lips, to where your hand was then back to up to your eyes.  

A playful smile crept onto his face, “Have you always been this needy?”.

His leaned in for another kiss. Your lips crashed, his kiss hungry and unrelenting, as if he’d been holding back for too long. His hands roamed down your sides, pressing you closer to him, and you felt the tension was replaced by unrestrained needs. Still palming his cock in one hand Logan let out groans making the damp patch in your panties grow. 

With your lips still in-tacked, he picked you up and laid you on the bed with his frame towering over you. His hand quickly roamed underneath your nightgown reaching the fabric of your panties pulling it down. 

My nightgown now bunched at your waist and my wet cunt exposed to him. He used his middle and ring finger to move up and down the slit.

“Missed me much?” he said teasingly.

Your breathing slightly quickened as his fingers ran over my sensitive bud. My breath hitched which caused Logan to say “So sensitive”.

Your arousal created a clear coat around his fingers that he brought up to his lips and licked them clean.

“Such a slut” You say as a whisper but loud enough for him to hear and smile at your words.

Logans head started to lower going in-between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy” Logan says. The warmth of his breath fanned against your cunt.

He pinned your thighs down with his hands gripping your thighs to restrict your movements. 

“Stay still for me, I don’t want to hurt you”

You nod your head.

His tongue licked up and down your slit.

Your breathing started to quicken followed by huffs.

Spreading your folds, he started to circle your clit with his tongue, quickening his pace.

The building of pleasure raised in your stomach only making you focus on chasing your release.

“Logan, mmmh, you always know how to make me feel s’good….fuck” you say as breathy moans followed closely with your words.

The wine mixed with pleasure made you mumbled out random words.

You could briefly hear Logan’s muffled laugh making me shy.

“Lo-Logan please” My words slurred with each other

“Tastes sooo goodd” His words dragged out 

He pulled away kissing from your abdomen to your neck.

Logan stood up on the side of the bed to start removing his belt. His belt made a dull thud when hitting the floor making you more excited. You sat on your knees reaching for the waist of his jeans pulling them down revealing the band of his underwear. You pulled the fabric down and his cock bounced up to meet his abdomen. “Take it off” He eyed at your gown. No hesitation, you crossed your arms to pull the gown over your head leaving you fully naked in-front of him. He crawled on top of you pushing your legs in apart. 

“Please lo’ I-i want you” you begged for him 

“want me to fill this pretty cunt up?” He fists his cock slapping the tip on your cunt

He says as his voice is laced in amusement making you bite your lip as your lips carve into a daring smile.

“Mhm” you hum in response, “please lo’ I wan’ you now” you begged for him

“So needy aren’t you” he says rubbing his tip in between your folds.

He pulled your body up, positioning you to straddle his hips.

He slips his cock in, making your walls tighten around him. 

You gasp at his size making your back arch. He groaned as your hole swallowed his size tightening around his cock.

Holding his shoulders you started to roll your hips into his cock. Lifting your head up from the pleasure, Logan started to kiss your neck, making small marks on your neck.

His cock rubbed against your spot as he moved faster causing your whines turn into loud moans.

“Look at you, going dumb on my cock”

His words played in your ears like a sweet hum.

The familiar feeling grew in your stomach each time his tip rubbed against your spot

“I missed yo-u so much, baby,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need as your hands touched his chest. “I know you did,” he murmured, their lips curving into a grin. His hands slid slowly up your waist, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch.

Holding your waist, he grunted each time your bodied collided. 

Chasing your release, you leaned back onto the bed letting his take control

“Lo’, im so close…go faster”

Following your orders, he thrusted deeper and harder into you making your legs tremble.

Your breathing started to hitch as you came close to your release.

His thrusts becoming faster each thrust

The knot in your stomach finally released causing you to whine

Logan rode out your orgasm by slowly moving in and out of you to make sure you let go of all of your cum.

The sound of the slow panting of Logan and your breathing filled the hot air. He fell by your side as a thick off-white colour oozed out of your cunt.

“You did well baby” He hushed in your ear whilst kissing your forehead slowly yet intimately howls you tried to steady your breathing.

Your eyes grew heavy as you felt sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness. 

“Let’s go to bed now” He laid by you turning you on your side to lay on his chest. His chest falling up and down  in a steady rhythm made you fall into a sleep quicker than expected. 

Falling asleep next to him and in his arms made you feel safe, that’s why you loved being with him.

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: A year has passed since Imani and Jameson's painful breakup. Once again, fate draws the two together again...but it's not as joyful reunion as either thought they'd have.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, mentions of therapy, out of control drinking, and emotional breakdowns, sex (p in v, creampie, dirty talk) -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 8k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

Anaïs Lucas sat at her writing desk, the faint scent of her signature jasmine lingering in the air. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall. She flipped through the pile of papers in front of her, gaze landing on the embossed invitations for Jameson’s album release party.

Pride made her smile. Her son had an advantage when he got into the industry, yes. He had her name and his good looks but nobody could ever pretend her baby couldn’t sing or that he didn’t work his ass to keep what he got. After he announced he was pushing back his album last winter, Anaïs watched people doubt him. Come January 2026 – a few short weeks from then – they would know that he was worth the wait.

She picked one up, running her fingers over the gold lettering.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of Midnight & Dawn A celebration of James Lucas’ third album

It was elegant, timeless—everything she’d expect from her son’s team. Yet, as perfect as it seemed, something was missing.

Or rather, someone.

The party was in a matter of days and she knew for a fact that Imani wasn’t on the guest list. It made sense. The two had broken up and hadn’t so much as whispered each other’s name in public. Imani had moved on. Jameson had moved on. The cute little girl she’d seen him out with – but had yet to meet – seemed to be distracting him just enough.

But she knew her son. She knew what he wanted. She tried not to be that kind of mother but she couldn't help herself. He was her only child and she wanted him to be happy. She just wouldn't be mentioning any of this to Toni, Imani's aunt and her closest friend.

Anaïs reached for her phone, dialing a number she knew by heart. “Anderson? It’s Anaïs.” Her voice was warm but commanding, the kind that left little room for argument.

Anderson Allen was the head of public relations at Jameson’s label. He had insisted on signing a deal with a label that didn’t feature his mother but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have connections. “Ms. Lucas! What a surprise. How can I help you?”

“I was getting ready for Jamie’s party,” she began, her tone casual but deliberate. "But I heard that the guest list wasn’t complete. You all work so hard over there. I would hate for an omission to ruin the party."

Anderson hesitated. “Omission?”

“Yes. Imani St. Cirie,” Anaïs said smoothly.

The pause on the other end of the line was longer this time. “I—I wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate, given their history. Jameson hasn’t mentioned—”

Anaïs cut him off with a light laugh. “Oh, Andy, let’s not overthink this. Imani is an important part of Jameson’s life, personally and professionally. Inviting her would be…a gesture of goodwill. Besides, I’m sure she’d appreciate the opportunity to celebrate his success.”

Anderson’s voice was cautious. “I suppose we could add her to the list…”

“Wonderful,” Anaïs said, her smile bright. “I’d like to personally handle delivering her invitation. Consider it my little project.”

“Of course, Ms. Lucas. I’ll have one prepared and sent to your house immediately.”

“You’re a gem, Anderson. Thank you.”

Anaïs ended the call and leaned back in her chair, a satisfied expression on her face. She didn’t need anyone’s permission to do what she believed was right for her baby.

When the invitation arrived later that afternoon, Anaïs carefully wrote Imani’s name on the envelope in her graceful script. She slipped it into a sleek courier envelope and sealed it with a flourish.

“Deliver this directly to Ms. St. Cirie,” she instructed the courier who arrived at her door less than an hour later. “Make sure it’s in her hands before the day is over.”

As the courier left, Anaïs poured herself a celebratory glass of champagne. She wasn’t blind to the complications of Jameson and Imani’s past, but sometimes, fate needed a little help—and Anaïs Lucas was more than happy to provide it. 

The studio was alive with energy, even though it was just the two of them. EJ asked for them to run through the albums again. They'd been previewed for the label, accepted, turned in, and there was release party planned for the next night...but still. He wanted to hear the album one more time. Jameson didn't hesitate to go. As the final song climaxed, EJ poured whiskey into two glasses. He slid one across the console to Jameson, who sat slouched in his chair.

“To the masterpiece,” EJ said, raising his glass. “A double-disk album. That’s some legendary-level ambition from my boy.”

Jameson laughed, shaking his head as he reached for the glass. "Very glad I could surprise you all."

EJ snorted. "Hey! I believed in you always. It was touch and go there for a while for everybody else. When you pushed the album back, them niggas started getting nervous. But I knew...my boy was gone get into his bag. I just ain't expect two damn albums at once."

Jameson smirked, tapping his glass against EJ’s before taking a sip. “Here’s hoping they don't flop.”

“Flop?” EJ scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re about to shut the whole industry down. Tomorrow night’s party is gonna be the start of something huge. We need to celebrate. Let’s go grab a drink. Celebrate properly.”

Jameson shook his head, setting the glass down as he finished off the amber liquid. “Un-uh. I’m good, man. I’m tired as fuck. You kept me chained to the recording booth most of the year. I'm going home. Getting in the bed.”

EJ smiled at his friend. “You sure? A little fun won’t kill you.” “Yeah, I’m sure,” Jameson said.

With nothing left to do, EJ finished his drink and threw his hands up. "Alright. I did my best. Aye...I'm proud of you."

Jameson wrinkled his nose, standing from his seat and grabbing his jacket. "Don't get soft on me and shit."

EJ followed his movements, a serious expression on his face. "I'm for real. I was worried about you. Not because of the album. Just because you're my friend. You came out the other side of that shit and I'm proud. I was glad when you stopped drinking every day and started getting fresh air but...therapy? Channeling your shit into music? Camille? You’re looking ahead. I'm happy for you, man." 

Even without him saying her name, she lingered between them. Imani was the unspoken, untouched aspect of his life that he still couldn't face. Still, he knew EJ meant well so Jameson smiled. “Thank you. For everything. You been solid while I got myself together. I owe you, E.”

It was a rare moment when the two stopped teasing each other enough to express what they felt. If Genie was his sister, EJ was his brother. He didn’t know who he’d be without either of them. Before he could change his mind, Jameson leaned in and gave EJ a tight hug. It only lasted a second but he could feel the other man hug him back.

“Alright. Enough of that.” EJ muttered, breaking away and shoving Jameson’s shoulder playfully. “Go home. Go be boring. I’m going to kiss my girlfriend until she blushes.”

He still couldn't wrap his head around EJ and Genie. When Genie had shyly told him she was dating EJ, his first reaction had been disbelief. He never felt a vibe between them but over the next few months, EJ had proved he was crazy about Genie. So Jameson stepped back. He didn't kick up a fuss or cause a problem. When he found time to get out of his own head, he was happy for them.

It was an innocent statement but Jameson recoiled, holding his hand over his ears. “Ew. Don’t tell me nothing you and Genie got going on.” He quickly picked up his jacket, shrugging it on while EJ laughed, calling out to him.

“You better lock Camille down so you can learn from us!”

Jameson walked through his front door and immediately noticed something was off. The lights in the dining room were dimmed, candles flickering on the table, and soft jazz played from the speakers. He’d left the house silent and dark before going to meet EJ. Only three people had a key beside him. His mother, who was not going to set a scene. Genie, who never used it. And EJ, who he just left. Jameson rounded the corner of his living room, entering the kitchen. There stood a woman, at his sink, with her back to him. He recognized her immediately. The messy way she piled her dark brown hair on the top of her head gave it away. 

Camille.

There was something about the way she carried herself—an effortless elegance like she owned the space around her. As one of the most famous young models in the industry, Camille was a striking woman. She held her head high no matter what, her posture perfect. She moved around his kitchen as if this was her home. It was the same way she had approached him – like he was already hers. He admired it, even if it reminded him of someone else, someone he couldn’t quite shake.

“Camille?” he called, dropping his keys on the counter.

She jumped, whirling around with wide eyes. She was wearing an apron with splashes of water on it over her sleek black dress. “You’re…You’re home early.” There were plates on his table, a romantic dinner for two was the obvious aim and he softened. They were casual. Beyond casual but she always took care of him.

Jameson raised an eyebrow, slipping back into the moment. “Am I not supposed to be here?” He asked her, shrugging out of his jacket as he moved further into the kitchen. “How’d you get in?”

“EJ came to let me in before he met you.” She said softly, her gaze following his movements – lingering on his forearms before she turned back to turn the running water off. “H-He was supposed to keep you out for another hour.”

And then it all made sense. The fact that he’d called him out at all to ‘listen’ to an album they’d been listening to for almost a year. Then to want to go out for drinks afterward? His best friend was trying his hand at matchmaking and Jameson couldn’t blame him. Camille was good to him. He’d be a liar to say she wasn’t.

“Ah,” Jameson said, nodding his head. “So, that’s why he was so insistent on hanging out tonight.” He stepped closer, tossing his jacket onto the counter before leaning against it, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry I ruined the surprise.”

Camille pouted but the second she got a good look at him, she brightened and the annoyance melted away. “I thought we could celebrate your album being finished. Just the two of us. I’m happy for you.”

Jameson smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Thank you for caring.” He reached out, tugging her closer using the apron. “What’s for dinner?”

“Caprese salad, seared scallops with risotto, and white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.” “Sounds very impressive.” “It is. I slaved over a stove for you.” “I’m flattered.” “You should be. Not all of my friends get this kind of treatment.” “No?” “Un-uh.” “Damn. I must be really good in bed.”

Camille burst out laughing, slapping her hand against his chest. “You’re aight.”

“That wasn’t a no so I don’t think I was wrong.” Jameson teased her, leaning in to kiss her cheek softly. He released the apron before wrapping his arm around her to untie it. When he brought the strap over her head, he tossed it onto the kitchen island 

“Jameson! We have dinner. I already prepared the–” “Put it in the oven. We’ll eat it later.”

He didn’t have to explain any further. She watched him pluck a fork from his kitchen drawer and then she went to do exactly as he told her to do. Jameson waited patiently, taking a seat on a bar stool and pulling the cheesecake toward him. Once she was done and the food was set aside, he patted the stool next to him. “C’mon. Get off your feet.”

In her Chanel dress and high heels, Camille made herself comfortable. 

They settled at the kitchen counter, side by side on barstools, sharing bites of the rich dessert. Jameson fed her from his fork, kissed her, and put aside the fact that he felt a twinge of guilt for bringing her into his house. This was good. He was moving forward as EJ said. There was nothing wrong with that.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jameson told her softly, offering her another bite of cheesecake. When she took it, he followed it with a kiss. Light and sweet. She leaned into him, silently asking for more. Instead, Jameson offered her more cheesecake. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”

She glared at him before his confession became clear. Cami gave him a bright smile, her tongue cleaning the whipped cream her mouth left behind on the fork before she spoke. “There is really nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Imani ran her hands over her dress as she looked over her appearance in the mirror. She did a small turn to the left and then the right to see. No flaws. She looked damn good as usual. She sported a new blonde hair color with hints of pink, a brown sheer dress that accented her curves and left little to the imagination, and her wrist and neck were dazzled in diamonds. It was perfect. Undoubtedly, a ten out of ten. Yet, she sighed and turned her body once more like something would change to make it even better. 

“Girl, if you don’t get out that mirror and go to that party, I’m a drag you there myself.” Her hairstylist said. Imani chuckled. “You look good. Now go get your man.”

She waved the woman off. “It ain’t even like that!” She hadn’t seen Jameson since their break-up last year. She only knew him through TV screens, magazines, and as a voice blaring through the club speakers. He was no longer the man that held her at night, told her she was beautiful or showered her with kisses. For the first time since they met, he was James Lucas. And she hated it. 

Imani said her goodbyes to her glam team as she sauntered to her door and then to the SUV. She slipped inside then the driver shut the door behind her. She pulled the ring on her ring finger on and off then on and off all over again.

It was the ring that Jameson gifted to her for Christmas last year. She pulled it out of her jewelry box when she was anxious, only wearing it at home to avoid speculation from the media and her fans. It was her stress reliever that no one knew about. But tonight, it served a different purpose. 

She wanted Jameson back. Bad. And Imani believed wearing his ring to his album release party would show him that she hadn’t forgotten about him. How could she? He was all she ever thought about. She thought she did the right thing when she ended things with him. They were just going to end in heartbreak like they always did. Imani thought breaking the cycle would solve everything. Yes, she was heartbroken when it happened but she always believed she would get over it and feel better. But she didn’t. She never felt more alone. 

For the first three months after their breakup, she distracted herself with work. She dove head first into Diary’s promotional rollout. Anything her label or management wanted her to do, she did it to avoid being with her deafening thoughts of regret and being alone. But her promo tour only lasted for so long. Then she tried partying. She tried drinking. She tried being with other people, but they never lasted long. All she did was compare them to Jameson. 

Despite all her efforts, nothing and no one could fill the void in her heart left by Jameson. His memory lingered in every corner of her mind. She wrestled with herself over the thought of reaching out to him, hesitant and afraid of what she might find. What if he had moved on? What if he wanted nothing to do with her anymore? She knew little about his current life, only catching glimpses through a few tabloids. According to them, he now resided in the bustling city of New York and was dating a woman named Camille, but they didn’t seem serious at all. Maybe she still had a chance. 

When she received a mysterious invite to his album release party, it felt like fate. A sign that she needed to make a move and get him back. She couldn’t let fear hold her back this time. So she booked a flight to New York with her trusted glam squad to help her and now her plan was underway. 

She was still fidgeting with her ring once they reached the club. The blinding lights of the paparazzi never phased her. She didn’t mind the attention. But tonight, their presence only added to the growing uneasiness and heat rising in her skin. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let them distract her from her goal — winning Jameson back. 

With a sigh, she stepped out of the SUV and was immediately swarmed by a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The familiar chaos only felt like an obstacle in her path. 

“Imani, you look stunning! Love the new hair.” “Are you here to see James?” “How do you feel about him and Camille? Do you know that they showed up here together?”

The last question nearly stopped her in her tracks. Her heart fell back into the abyss of despair that hope once saved it from. Jameson and Camille? She thought they weren’t serious, so why the fuck was she at the party with him? Fuck! Imani should have stayed home. Too many eyes were on her to turn back now. Instead, she simply smiled at the question and entered the club.

After she was inside, she made a beeline for the bathroom, ignoring all of the eyes and whispers. Imani needed to take his ring off before anyone noticed. She walked inside, thankful that no one was in there. Then she closed and locked the door so no one could see her lose it.

She felt like such a fool. There was a war raging inside of her. Of course, he moved on. It had been a year. Did she expect him to wait forever? But the other side screamed, how dare he move on? He told her they were soulmates. He said he would never give up on them. Was it all a lie? “Just twenty minutes.” She mumbled to herself. “I can do twenty then I’ll leave and go home.”

Imani exhaled deeply. She pulled the ring off of her finger and shoved it into her clutch. She unlocked the bathroom door, opening it, only to be met with Genie.

She stared at her like a prey making eye contact with its predator.  Her mind had been so clouded with thoughts of Jameson that she didn’t even think about their storm of friendship. She hadn’t seen Genie since last year. She ignored her texts and phone calls like her best friend was a scorned lover. One day, Imani was going to explain, she just didn’t imagine that day to be today. 

The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Imani finally parted her lips to speak. “Genie, I-” She couldn’t even get her sentence out before the woman moved past her and into the bathroom. Imani sighed, deciding that tonight wasn’t the best time to discuss their broken friendship. She walked back into the club and looked for Toni, the only one she talked to during the whole year. Her energy turned into a dark cloud and she needed someone to brighten it if she was going to make it to twenty minutes.

He heard the whispers before he saw her. Imani had shown up. 

And finally, he saw her.

For the first time in a fucking year, he laid eyes on her. Not a picture. Not an interview or a photoshoot. He saw her.

Relief hit him so hard that he exhaled sharply. She was okay. After Christmas last year, she had essentially disappeared from his life. He didn’t call, he didn’t text, he had even chosen to unfollow her on Instagram but Jameson quickly found out that he wasn’t the only one left behind. Genie had lost Imani as well. 

The two didn’t talk anymore. He had nothing to go by that she was okay. The blogs reported every lover and every move she made…but none had been able to tell him if she was genuinely doing okay. He could see for himself – in the flesh – that she was doing damn good.

She was standing alone in the quickly filling club, framed by the soft glow of lights. He could see her observing the crowd, looking for someone. Was it him? When their eyes met, she seemed frozen. Her eyes went wide and he knew immediately she wasn’t looking for him. 

He felt a hand against his stomach and immediately broke eye contact with her. Camille was gazing up at him, a question in her eyes. Jameson had to steady himself before he smiled at her. “I’ll be back.” He heard himself tell her but knew that he shouldn’t leave. He did it anyway, walking across the room as every thought in the world passed through his mind.

The relief that he felt ended, replaced by anxiety. Why did she come? Was she trying to support him? Was she curious about the music? Did she want to rub it in his face that he had lost her? Did she want him to see how fucking good she looked? All of the questions he asked himself set him on edge but he didn’t stop moving in her direction.

His eyes ran from her blonde hair down to her tan dress. And a wave of lust hit him. 

The fabric clung to her body. It was barely there. He could see her body, sculpted abs and thick thighs. Perfectly measured underwear that hid…Well, he knew what it hid. He was so intimately acquainted with her body that he could find her in the damn dark. He couldn’t think like this. Jameson shook his head to clear the thoughts but flashes of memories raced through his mind. Late nights with him sinking his teeth into her thighs as they trembled, the way her abdomen contracted when she was coming around his fingers. The way she called out for him, the word ‘Daddy’ fell from her lips. All of it came rushing back to him with stunning clarity. Shit! No. No!

He wasn’t doing this. Camille was watching him. He had to get right. So many fucking therapy sessions and he was backsliding into chaos already.

By the time he got to her, he had control of himself again. “Hi.” He said softly.

He watched as she slowly turned to look at him. There was no ignoring one another. Not right then. Her lips curved into a smile but he knew right then that something was wrong. It didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t light up the way she usually did when she was happy.

“Hi, Jameson.” “Thank you for coming. It’s nice to see you.” “I…It’s nice to see you too.”

A lull of silence hit them and awkwardness set in. Before, they could talk about anything and everything but now? He didn’t know what to say.

EJ found Camille standing near the edge of the room, sipping a glass of champagne with practiced ease. She looked every bit the supermodel she was, tall and poised, her sleek black gown clinging to her statuesque frame. But her eyes—dark, searching—betrayed her. She was watching Jameson, observing the way his gaze seemed to drift toward Imani no matter where she stood. Even when he excused himself from her side and greeted other partygoers, everybody in the room knew where he was going.

EJ stepped up beside her, his presence casual but deliberate. “You’re handling this well,” he said, his tone low enough to keep their conversation private from prying ears.

Camille turned her head slightly, offering him a polite smile. “Handling what?”

He gave her a knowing look, one that made her sigh and take another sip of her drink. She broke the pretense that nothing was happening. “You’re not blind, Camille. You see the way he looks at her. And the way she avoids looking at him. There’s history there—deep, messy history. You’ve got to know that.”

Camille’s expression didn’t waver, but she set her glass down on the nearby table, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “I know,” she said simply.

EJ raised an eyebrow. “And you good with that?”

She shrugged, the movement graceful but dismissive. “What am I supposed to do? Pretend it doesn’t exist? Jameson’s been honest with me about Imani. I know what she means to him.”

EJ leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “What she means to him and what she still means to him might not be the same thing. I’m not saying this to scare you off, but if you’re serious about Jameson, you need to be ready to fight for him. Because that connection they have? It’s not something that just disappears.”

Camille tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Do you think I’m not serious about him?”

EJ hesitated, then shook his head. “I think you care about him. I think you’re good for him, too. But I also think Jameson’s still figuring out what he wants. And if you’re not careful, you might end up hurt. She’s got this... gravitational pull on him, sure. But it’s not healthy. You’ve seen how far he’s come this past year. That’s because of you, Camille. Not her.”

Camille’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I appreciate the concern, EJ. Really, I do. But I’m not here to fight anyone for Jameson. If he wants to be with me, he knows where I am. And if he doesn’t?” She spread her hands, her tone light but firm. “Then I’ll let him go. I’m not the kind of woman who clings to someone who doesn’t want to stay.”

EJ studied her, a flicker of respect crossing his face. “You’re a lot calmer about this than I expected.”

Camille chuckled softly, her gaze drifting back toward Jameson, who had finally approached Imani. “I’ve spent my entire career competing—for jobs, for recognition, for respect. But love? That’s not something you should have to fight for. Either it’s there, or it’s not. And if Jameson’s heart is still with Imani, then there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

EJ nodded slowly, impressed by her composure. “Fair enough. Just... be careful. He’s a good guy, but if things get messy—”

“They won’t,” Camille interrupted gently. “Because I won’t let them. I care about Jameson, but I care about myself too. If he can’t give me what I deserve, I’ll walk away. Simple as that.”

EJ exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Camille smiled again, this time with a touch of warmth. “Thanks, EJ. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, no matter what happens.”

EJ glanced back toward Jameson, then back at Camille. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their conversation, and stepped away, leaving her to watch Jameson from afar, her expression unreadable.

“You look good.” He said softly, immediately regretting the words. “I mean, I like your dress.” Nope, that was fucked up too. 

“Thanks,” Imani looked at his outfit. It was already difficult for her to face him, but did he have to look handsome too? This may have been the second hardest thing she’s ever done. “You look uh—you look nice too.”

He peered down at his fit. All black, Gucci. Jameson lifted his hand, pressing it to his sleeve as if he just realized he was wearing clothes worth five grand. “Thank you. It’s just…something thrown together. I’m glad you came. Really.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I did too. Congrats on the album, Jameson. I’m—“ she paused, searching for the right words to say. “really happy for you.”

“Really?” He tilted his head, peering down at her. “Then why do you look upset?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Imani answered quickly. She wasn’t fine at all. She made the wrong decision to come to this party and now, she had to face a best friend who probably hated her and an ex she was still in love with. She was mentally kicking herself. But he didn’t need to know that.

He knew it wasn’t true but he couldn’t exactly call her on it. That wasn’t his place anymore. “Mhm.” He said softly, giving a nod. “I…I really do hope you’re okay, Imani. Things ended between us but I want you to be happy. Always.”

“I..I want you to be happy too,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m glad to see that you are. I really am.”

“Thank you. It…it took a while to get back to being happy.” The conversation between them was so fucking stiff and he hated it. He watched her fold her arms against her chest, knowing there was a wall between them. They talked to each other like strangers. Once upon a time, he could tell her anything. They could say everything to one another – except the shit that really mattered. And now they couldn’t say anything at all. “Finishing the album helped. Wouldn’t have been able to do that without a lot of people. You included.”

She nodded. “Well, I’m glad I could help. I can’t wait to hear it.” Imani smiled. “Uh, I’m going to go look for Toni now. I’ll see you around?”

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but instead, he felt a hand against his arm. Jameson turned to look down at her, surprised by her presence. “There you are.” She said softly.

Imani looked between the couple, still with a smile that he couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Hi, I’m Imani.” She reached her hand out. Her eyes glanced down at his wrist. She looked back at Jameson with narrowed eyes. The watch on his wrist looked like the one she had sent him a year. Why the fuck was he wearing that? While he was with another woman? 

His head turned so quickly that he almost sprained his damn neck. He watched as Imani introduced herself to Camille, in such a friendly way that he was almost offended. Damn. She could at least pretend to be jealous. Camille gave her a smile in return and reached out to grasp Imani’s hand and Jameson inhaled sharply. He did not see this coming and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

“Nice to meet you.” She said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Imani let go of Camille’s hand. “Nice to meet you as well. You’re very pretty.” She looked back at Jameson. Then at Camille. “Well, I’m going to leave you guys to it. Have a good night.” She said, turning around and walking away quickly before she could hear another word from either of them. 

It took a minute for Genie to pull herself together. When she passed Imani, it had broken her heart not to say anything but she couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe any of this shit. When Jameson and Imani broke up, her heart broke for them both. She didn’t know the details but knew it was bad. Jamie was drinking heavily and Imani was out of contact. But she kept trying. She would start by sending a message every week. Then it became every single day. She wanted to be there for Imani. She begged her to reach out if she needed anything…and she never did. 

It was like she lost her best friend. At first, Genie grieved. Every time something wonderful happened with EJ, she wanted to pick up the phone and call Imani…but she knew she wouldn’t answer. Then the grief turned into anger. She resented being so easy to forget.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she finally said, her voice shaky as she approached EJ. She could see his jovial attitude shift when he saw the look on her face. “I don’t know what I thought I’d feel seeing her again, but this wasn’t it.” She hadn’t even known Imani would be there but she knew that maybe there would be a good chance. Still, seeing her again had been a shock to the system.

EJ ushered her from the main floor, getting her comfortable in an isolated corner as he watched her with a steady, concerned gaze. “You wanted to see your best friend. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She’s not my best friend anymore,” Genie snapped, then immediately winced at her attitude. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I just…” She blinked back tears, pressed her hands against her temples. “I mean... she was. For so long. But now? I can barely look at her. She completely shut me out.”

EJ leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s probably not anything you did, baby. Maybe Imani needed space. It had to hurt ending things with Jay.”

Genie looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Of course she’s hurting. I know that. I just... I’ve tried, EJ. I’ve called, texted, even sent emails. Nothing. And now, after all this time, she shows up here, at Jameson’s party of all places, looking like she’s completely fine. Like she doesn’t even care that I miss her.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly turned away, pretending to adjust the strap of her dress. EJ sighed and crossed the room to her, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her space but offering his presence.

“She does care,” he said softly, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his tone. “You don’t just forget someone like you, Genie. Maybe she’s just... not ready to face everything yet.”

Genie let out a bitter laugh, swiping at her cheek. “It’s been a year. How much longer do I have to wait? How much longer do I have to pretend it doesn’t hurt that she’s just... gone?”

EJ placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You’re allowed to feel this. It’s okay to be angry, to be sad, to miss her. Just don’t let it eat you up inside.”

Genie turned to him, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t know how to let it go. She was my person, EJ. And now, it’s like I don’t even exist to her.”

EJ’s jaw tightened as he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He couldn’t help the frustration bubbling in his chest—not just for what Imani’s absence had done to Genie but for the pain she had caused Jameson too. He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him felt like Imani had been selfish, leaving behind the people who had loved her most.

“You exist,” he murmured against her hair, pushing aside his bitterness for Genie’s sake. “And you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, Genie let herself believe him. In the quiet of EJ’s arms, she let herself grieve, not just for the friendship she had lost but for the part of herself that felt like it had been left behind with Imani.

EJ held her tighter, his mind drifting back to Imani’s face at the party. He’d keep his thoughts to himself, but if she ever wanted back into their lives, she’d have to prove she deserved it.

Imani’s patience was wearing thin, and she couldn’t last another minute in this crowded club. What the hell was she thinking, flying thousands of miles to see a man she hadn’t spoken to in a year? She shoved her way through the throngs of people, not bothering to find her aunt in the chaos. All she wanted was to escape, to retreat to her hotel room and try to make sense of everything. 

As she burst through the club doors and into the cool night air, Imani finally exhaled the breath she had been holding since running into Genie. But it didn’t bring any relief. Everything felt like shit and it was all her fault. The weight of loneliness settled on her shoulders like a familiar burden, one that always found its way back to her despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. But this time it hit harder than ever before and threatened to swallow her whole.

Before she could fully immerse herself in the depths of her sadness, a familiar voice jolted Imani out of her thoughts. “Mani? Leaving so soon?” It was Jameson, accompanied by Camille, their arms entwined as they walked towards her. Imani’s heart dropped at the sight, knowing that she was once in Camille’s place. A pang of envy and longing washed over her, but she quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Oh, I’m not feeling well, so I’m a head out,” she lied, trying to sound nonchalant. Jameson’s eyes narrowed slightly as if he could sense something was off. But then Camille leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, distracting him. “I know y’all ain’t out here to bring me back.”

Camille’s laughter tinkled through the air, her eyes sparkled as she glanced at Jameson. “No, we decided to leave early.” she said with a grin playing on her lips. Imani squinted at Jameson, studying his facial features intently. There was something off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Why are you leaving your album release party so soon? Is everything alright?” Imani’s voice was gentle but curious, her gaze searching Jameson’s face for any clues. “I’m just tired,” he answered, but there was a slight quiver in his voice that betrayed his words. Imani could see the lie in his eyes, but she knew better than to press the issue. That was Camille’s job now.

“Jameson and I are going to go get some rest,” Camille said softly, doting on a 6’3 grown ass man like he was a baby. She wanted to hate it...but she knew she'd done the same when they were together. Imani’s eyes flicked back to Camille as she pat his chest and gazed at him. She tried to think of something to say next to the couple, but she was too focused on the way she said his name. It replayed over and over again in her mind. Her stomach was in knots at the sound of it. 

She was reminded of all of the times she used to call him that. Then she looked back at Camille. She was still looking at Jameson with the same look Imani used to have. Imani hated how he could invoke that look in another woman. She was the only one who should get to experience the look of love, lust, and admiration. She hated him for it. 

Where the fuck was her driver? She pulled her phone out of her clutch, opening it with her Face ID. She tapped over onto her call log, realizing that she never fucking called him. Imani was in such a rush to get away from the couple in the club that she forgot to do it. And yet, she still ended up face-to-face with them again. Fate wanted to torture her tonight. 

Imani quickly tapped the contact name and asked the driver to come get her. Luckily, he was just around the corner. There was silence between the three of them. Everything she planned on saying to him before her arrival was thrown out of the window when she first arrived. It all had fallen to shit. Now, her imagination filled those spaces of broken words. All she could see was Camille and Jameson, full of lust, in his house together doing what she would have done to him after his album release party.

Thankfully for her, Imani’s driver finally pulled up and disrupted her thoughts. He got out and opened the door for her. She walked over to the SUV, stepping inside of the car. “I’ll see you guys later…” She said, looking over her shoulder. She hoped her words never came to fruition. 

“Be safe and have a good night,” Jameson said lowly, watching her leave. She nodded, sitting down in the passenger seat of the vehicle. The driver closed the door. Once he pulled away from the curve, she pulled out the ring again. She toyed with it in her hands. Imani went into this party, hoping that the ring would spark a new meaning. She had no idea that meaning would be that it was her only connection to Jameson.

"You too quiet." Jameson muttered, pulling his hand from Camille's mouth. She gasped for breath when he did, immediately moaning out his name. "That's much better."

"Yes, baby. Right there. So good."

She was breathless as she clung to him. They were in the middle of his bed, she was on his lap -- long limbs wrapped around his neck and hips as she ground her hips against his.

Jameson groaned, feeling Camille's tightness stretch around him. Her enthusiasm was always a turn on and he let out a long, slow moan as he thrust deeper. Each powerful stroke, sending vibrations through her body that made her whimper in delight. Every time she moved on top of him, her breasts bounced enticingly against his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

"Ooh! D-Don't stop. Jamie! Just like that..."

The scent of sweat and sex filled the air as they moved together in perfect harmony. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and tender moans. Camille's nails raked down his neck and back, leaving small trails of pleasure and pain that only fueled his desire further. He gripped her hips tightly, holding her close as they lost themselves in each other's touches.

He lifted his head to capture her mouth, tongue brushing against her own as he plunged deeper into her mouth -- imitating their movements. Their tongues danced together sensually while their bodies moved in rhythm on the bed beneath them. As he felt himself nearing climax, Jameson pulled back from the kiss to look into Camille's eyes - filled with lust and desire - before letting out a long growl.

"You like that, baby?" She asked him softly and Jameson nodded, words escaping him as his grip tightened on her hips. They'd been sleeping together long enough that she knew what it meant. She pushed her hands against his shoulders, legs unwinding from around him as he went crash back onto the bed. "Go ahead. Give it to me, Jamie." she whimpered.

Camille's nails dug into Jameson's skin as she rode him, leaving small crescents that stung but only made him harder. He groaned deeply, his hands finding purchase in the sheets as he arched his hips and thrust into her. He felt every curve of her body against him, every undulation sending shockwaves through his dick.

"That's what you want?" He asked her through gritted teeth. "Yes!" She responded, nodding her head. "I deserve it. I'm your good girl."

He couldn't take it much more. His head fell back onto the bed, eyes closed, but his hands knew where to go. He lifted them from the sheets, grasping her hip with the left and relentlessly rubbing at her clit with his right thumb. Camille's legs tightened against his outer thighs as she crumbled forward and came on top of him with a shout.

With a final thrust, Jameson cried out as he came inside her, their bodies trembling together in unison. As they came down from their high, Camille cuddled against Jameson's chest, their hearts beating in sync. She nibbled on his earlobe softly before pulling away slowly with a satisfied smile on her lips.

He sat in the dark in his living room, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city through the curtains. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling. Jameson fiddled with the watch on his wrist, loosening the band and twisting it around, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it off.

Camille had gone to sleep hours ago, slipping into sleep with the ease of someone unburdened. For a couple of hours, he managed to forget…everything.

But when it was over, and Camille’s breathing had evened out beside him, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his thoughts returned with a vengeance, and they all centered on one person.

Imani.

The way she had looked at the party—poised but distant, like she was shielding herself from the room, from him—was burned into his memory. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment she left, her face unreadable as she slipped into the car. He had been overwhelmed by her presence, thrown off balance by the sight of her after so long.

When she had walked away, leaving him and Camille standing there, all he could do was grab a passing glass of champagne. Then another. He had swallowed down two before he realized what he was doing—regressing, using alcohol to dull the sharp edge of his emotions.

He had told Camille he wanted to leave. She didn’t hesitate, her concern for him evident as she agreed. But as they made their way out, they ran into Imani on the street.

The moment replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape. The brief, stilted conversation. The way she looked at him like she was holding back a storm of emotions. And then she was gone, slipping away into the night.

Her face was trapped in his mind now, every detail vivid and unrelenting. The way her lips pressed together as if holding back words. The flicker of something—pain? anger?—in her eyes. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

All he wanted to do was fix it.

But that wasn’t his job anymore.

He brushed a hand over his head, exhaling sharply as he tried to shake off the thoughts. The urge to call her was overwhelming, a near-physical pull, but he knew it would be a mistake. One glimpse, one rushed conversation, and he was right back where he’d been months ago—thinking of her, wanting her, needing to know if she was okay.

He needed to get a damn grip.

Jameson sat up, running his hands over his face. The watch shifted on his wrist, its weight a constant reminder of the past he couldn’t quite let go of. The room felt too quiet, too still, and his thoughts too loud.

He stood, padding softly out of the living room and into the kitchen, boxers slung low on his hips. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the city lights.

He had made progress this year, clawing his way out of the darkness that had consumed him after their breakup. He had rebuilt his life piece by piece, and Camille had been a steady presence through it all. But tonight had unraveled something in him, and he hated that it was Imani who had the power to do that.

He sighed, setting the glass down. He couldn’t keep letting her haunt him like this. He wouldn’t.

[forthevillains]

Merry Xmas!!!! xxx as a late Xmas present to us Wesker simps could we pretty please cuz some more obssessive /yandere type Wesker pleasssseee!!! Love your work xx

MERRY LATE XMAS!<3 and thank you so much I really appreciate it!

I’ve been ill so I’m late with this and I hope it’s not as bad (wrote it w a fever lol). This is a short scenario that spawned in my head and wouldn’t leave so I hope you enjoy<3 btw no spice in this one as it wasn’t specified if you want it there or not

You've worked for Umbrella for quite a while, spending perhaps too much time in the laboratory, wondering about the new possibilities of what you were creating in there. You've always been very keen on developing new things, researching whatever you lacked knowledge of. You were smart, oh definitely, such a young thing with such a curious brain. Even if you didn't know it, it brought you very much advantages among your colleagues. Especially since a special someone took a liking to you.

Wesker's been around you ever since you got promoted, moved forward to do things of higher importance, to spend time with more privileged people who have fallen so passionately deep with their job you could barely keep up a normal conversation. Not him though, never him. He's always been an observant man, thus he noticed even the slightest of discomfort in your expressions. He always knew exactly how you felt, what you were thinking and sometimes it has made you feel uneasy at how easily he could read you. It all began so innocently you would’ve thought you found your soulmate rather than a future stalker, rather a madman desiring nothing more than to own, possess.

"In need of any help, dearheart?" he'd ask whenever he noticed you carrying way too many envelopes that they almost slipped past your tensed forearms. Little did you know that they were mostly empty, that it was him who purposely put so many in there so that he could seem like a gentleman, trying to help you out. And it sure worked on you every damn time.

____________________________________

It was late, well past midnight. You were silently cursing yourself for making such a stupid decision to work during holidays. Everyone is with their family at the moment, having a great time, laughing together, telling each other stories from their wonderful lives and you? You were locked up in a lab, taking notes about the newest virus that Umbrella worked on.

The sterile silence of the underground laboratory enveloped the air, save for the soft hum of machinery in the background. You were just about to be done with it for today, your mind was going places, other places than where it should be at the moment and you could barely think straight when your mind was flooded with the images of your warm bed. You thought you could get distracted enough that maybe you wouldn't feel so terrible about having no family or friends to spend time with during Christmas, maybe feel a little more important, feel like you're being productive in a way... But it didn't work.

Suddenly, you could've sworn you heard footsteps. You turned to look down the corridor, but no one was there. Only the faint light from the lab panels illuminated the otherwise dark hallways.

You sighed, wondering just why did you think it was such a great idea to stay here during the night. What had your mind going places that were too far to get back from though, was the fact that Wesker himself decided to stay as well. You didn't talk to each other of course, you somehow ought to keep it professional and not intertwine with what he had to do... But the thought of being alone in here with him, even if he was in another room... The thought sent a strange mixture of frustration and... something else fluttering in your chest.

The quiet click of boots against tile echoed down the hall once more, and you turned just in time to see him approach. His tall frame, cold expression, and piercing sunglasses made him almost ethereal in the dim lighting, like a god descending from his private throne. Weren’t you a realist you would’ve definitely believed that he was indeed one.

"You're still here," he observed in his usual clipped tone. There was no question in his voice. It was simply a statement, one that you knew was far from casual curiosity.

"Where else would I be?" you questioned, immediately regretting that maybe that was a little too well played for him. That the right words would be all for you to vent to him, just like you’ve already done a few times. It made you anxious, eyes flicking away, trying not to meet his gaze. He could definitely notice, he surely knew…

You hated how he always knew when something was off. Of course he'd know that you were just avoiding how pathetic and lonely you felt outside these walls. Without anyone to talk to, anyone to ask for  advice... You didn't have him. That's what he kept telling himself. That you're just so miserable on your own that you willingly overwork yourself, only to be around him. And he wouldn't have it any other way. You belong with him, you can’t be happy on your own.

A slight smirk curled on his lips. "Well there could be loads of answers to that question, dearheart. What's more important is... Where do you wish to be?" It made you think for a second and you nearly blurted out that you'd only wish to be with him, working on whatever he was working on, feeling his presence, being close to him, simply breathing the same air while being able to steal small glances. But you didn't. You couldn't say it out loud.

His approach was slow, calculated. He never rushed, never had to. He was certain of everything—of you, of your thoughts, of your desires. The closer he got, the more you felt your heart begin to race, against all rational thought. What was he even doing? Has he lost his mind?

You had no idea of any of his desires, not how much he wished for an opportunity like this, to get you all alone, all to himself, with nowhere else to run to. It was like a dream come true and he felt exactly like a kid finally getting his favorite candy. He was willing to take a bite, oh definitely and not just one, but he has yet to savor such moment.

Wesker reached you, and without a word, his hand came up to rest against the side of your face, cold but firm. His thumb stroked your cheek, and you flinched, not from discomfort, but from the way his touch felt as though it had always been meant for you—like it had been planned. Every part of you screamed to step back, to pull away, to find a way to escape, but his gaze held you in place, like a trap you couldn't escape.

"You're trembling," he remarked, his voice low, darkly amused. "Why? Are you afraid of me?" His eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and something darker—something that felt like possession.

"I'm not afraid," you whispered, voice small and fragile. Even you knew the lie didn't hold weight. You were afraid, but there was something else too. Something that went far deeper. Mixture of that something with fear was weirdly addictive to you and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to run or play along whatever game he’s come up with this time.

He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. The intense heat in his eyes sent a shock through your body. He'd always been this way, relentless in his desire to break you down, piece by piece, until you were nothing but a part of him. You were never truly free. Not when he was around.

"Don't lie to me," he purred, the words a dangerous promise. "I can hear your heart racing. Your body betrays you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid down your neck, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin there. It was a delicate touch, one that made your stomach tighten in a way you couldn't deny. A part of you hated the way your body reacted to him, how your pulse quickened when he was near, but you couldn't stop it.

"You like me, don't you?" Wesker's voice dropped even lower, almost a growl now. There it was, reading you like a book, saying words that even you didn’t know were true before he said them out loud. His fingers brushed along the collar of your shirt, sending a shiver down your spine. His control over you was suffocating, but the worst part was... you didn't know if you wanted to break free.

"I... I don't like you. I mean I do - not like that - I mean-" You fell silent. There was nothing more you could do, you know that he knew now, you only assured him by your nervousness.

Wesker's smile widened, but it wasn't kind. It was something colder, something darker. "We both know that isn't true. Don't play these games with me, darling. No need to be shy now." His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I like you too, you know?"

Your eyes widened. Normally you would’ve loved to hear those words, but the tone of his voice… You couldn’t quite figure out his intentions and it made shivers run down your spine. His presence alone was overwhelming at this very moment. His fingers threaded through your hair, tugging your head back slightly to expose your neck. The intimacy was suffocating, and yet you couldn't look away, couldn't push him off. His dominance was intoxicating, all-consuming. "Don’t be scared now, my dear. Believe that I take good care of what’s mine,” he manages a disappointed frown. As if you fearing him was hurting him in a way when in reality - he liked it. He wouldn’t necessarily hurt you, but he liked to see you trembling underneath his touch, seeing the battle you were having with yourself over what you yourself truly want.

"I'm going to make you feel so good you won't be able to go on without me, my dear, I can promise you that." His hand came up to caress your cheek, his fingers gentle on your skin as he looked into your eyes through his dark shades. "You’ll learn that soon enough, very soon.” And after he let out those words, you knew that there was no way back from this…

[nosyp]

Under His Spell

Warning = captivity, kidnapping, controlling behaviour, isolation

Pairing = Malleus x reader

Summary = You somehow become entangled in Malleus Draconia's world. A world where love and possessiveness show no mercy.

Word count = 2.7k

A/N = kinda diff writing style... idk if i like it

It had all happened so quickly. One moment, you were walking back to your dorm, and the next, you were trapped in the clutches of Malleus Draconia. The world around you was a blur as he whisked you away into another world, far from the safety of your friends and the walls of NRC. You barely had time to react, the overwhelming pressure of his magic sealing any chance of escape.

The fabric clung to you in ways you despised. The gown, if you could even call it that, was more revealing than anything you’d ever worn. Every movement you made reminded you of how little it covered your skin, and every moment in it only fueled the indignation burning in your chest.

You didn’t want to wear it.

You never would have chosen this for yourself. But choice wasn’t something Malleus Draconia gave you the privilege of anymore.

He stood across the room, his imposing figure bathing in the eerie green glow of the enchanted light fixtures lining the walls. His gaze was heavy, deliberate, raking over you as though you were a masterpiece he’d created, a vision only he could fully appreciate.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, his deep voice sending a chill down your spine.

You crossed your arms over your chest in an attempt to shield yourself from his scrutinizing eyes. “I don’t care what you think,” you snapped, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the still air.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it wasn’t one of amusement. It was one of satisfaction, as though your defiance was something he enjoyed playing with. He stepped closer, each movement slow and calculated.

“You speak so boldly,” he said, his tone as smooth as silk. “But look at you now… draped in the finest of fabrics, adorned as you should be. You wear it well, even if you resist.”

“I didn’t choose this,” you hissed, stepping back, only to feel the cold stone wall press against your bare shoulders. “You forced me into it.”

“And yet, it suits you,” he replied, tilting his head slightly as though pondering a work of art. “I knew it would.”

You wanted to tear the dress off, to scream, to fight. But the magic woven into the room, into him, was suffocating. Every fiber of the garment seemed laced with his power, and removing it felt as impossible as escaping his grasp.

“I’m not your doll, Malleus,” you spat, your nails digging into your palms. “You can’t just... dress me up and pretend I’m okay with this.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but only for a moment until it was quickly replaced by the intensity you’d come to dread. “You misunderstand me,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “This is not about what you want. It’s about what you need. And you... need me.”

“I need you to let me go,” you countered, glaring up at him with all the fury you could muster.

He chuckled, low and almost fond, but it had a hidden subtext that made your stomach churn. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured, leaning in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You’ll come to understand. In time, you’ll see that everything I do... is for you.”

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze, but that only seemed to amuse him further. His fingers brushed against your cheek, and the touch sent a shiver through you, not of fear, but of the undeniable power he wielded over you.

The weight of his magic hung in the air, binding you in ways that no physical chains ever could. No matter how much you fought, how much you resisted, the reality was undeniable.

The silence between you both stretched on, thick with tension. You refused to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed firmly on the floor, but Malleus didn’t seem to mind. He seemed content enough with simply watching you, studying you, almost as if you were something to be dissected. Something to be admired.

“You’re still resisting,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost like a murmur. “How charming.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, like an invisible burden you couldn’t escape. You wanted to snap, to lash out, but every part of you screamed to hold onto your dignity, to not let him see how much his control rattled you.

But it was getting harder and harder to maintain that illusion. His presence was all-encompassing, overwhelming. His very being wrapped around you, suffocating you with his power.

"I don’t need this," you whispered, your voice shaking despite your attempts to sound firm.

Malleus took a step forward, and you felt your heart race. You couldn’t back away this time.  The wall had trapped you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that almost sent you to heaven.

“You do not understand,” he said softly, reaching for the hem of your ‘dress’. “I do this because I know what’s best for you. You are mine, and everything I do for you... it is because you need it.”

The words were strange, unsettling. As though you were just a thing to be molded. Just a thing to be controlled. He didn’t even see you as a person anymore, but as something to shape, to dress, to possess.

“I am not yours," you said again, but this time there was less conviction in your voice. The truth of the situation was pressing down on you, hard and unyielding. You were his, whether you liked it or not. And the realization burned in a way that felt worse than any physical pain.

Malleus smiled, a faint curve of his lips that was equal parts warmth and danger. "You are. And one day, you will accept it."

You clenched your fists at your sides, frustration starting to rise to the surface. "If I do," you spat, "it’ll be because you forced me to."

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” he mused. “But you see, my dear, it’s already begun.”

With that, his hand reached for you again, his fingers brushing over the fabric of the dress you were trapped in. His touch was almost tender, but the intent behind it was anything but. The way he traced the material, his fingers lingering on the edge of the neckline, sent a chill of discomfort through you.

"I’ll allow you to adjust," Malleus said, stepping back to give you space, but his eyes never left you. "But don’t mistake this for kindness. This is my mark on you, and you will wear it proudly. Everything I do is for you. And soon enough, you will realize that, in time.”

His words lingered in the air, like a spell, still present. You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious, or if he truly believed that. But either way, you didn’t have much choice now. The magic binding you to this place was stronger than your will to resist.

The realization was sinking in, and you hated it. Hated that you were so powerless in his presence.

With one final glance, Malleus turned and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. “Rest,” he called over his shoulder. “We have much more to discuss tomorrow.”

And with that, you were left in the cold, dim room, the dress still clinging to your skin, your mind swirling with the tormenting thoughts of what could come next. He could eliminate you in an instant, but he didn’t.

You had been left alone in the room for what felt like hours. Malleus’s departure had left a heavy silence in his wake, but the oppressive weight of his control lingered in the air. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had touched you, the way his eyes had gleamed with that unsettling mix of affection and possession. The way he’d claimed you… your body, mind and soul.

But you weren’t his, no matter what he thought. And you weren’t going to stay here forever.

Your mind raced, plotting every possible way to escape his clutches. You couldn’t just run. That would be predictable, and you knew Malleus would catch you quickly. His magic was too strong for that. But there had to be another way, something less obvious that he couldn’t see.

As you paced the room, your eyes scanned every inch of it. The walls were high and covered in eerie, ancient tapestries depicting dragons, castles, and landscapes. You had no idea how this room was even built or how you could get out, but your gaze shifted to something else: the balcony door. It was locked, naturally, but you had seen Malleus use magic before. Maybe you could use that to your advantage.

It wasn’t running. It wasn’t reckless. It was just… a calculated risk.

You waited until you were sure Malleus was far enough away, probably in the garden or some distant part of the castle, before you even decided to move an inch.

You tried to recall any spell you had learned, any incantation that could break through the magic that held the door closed. You weren’t a magician by nature, but there had to be something. You were resourceful, you can use what you have.

Your fingers brushed over the surface of the door, searching for something, anything, that might give. Then, faintly, you felt it. The magic on the door was delicate. It wasn’t solid, just a thin veil keeping you trapped inside. You could feel the faintest pulse of it, just enough to give you the idea you needed.

“Focus,” you told yourself, taking a deep breath. It was risky, and you had no idea if it would work, but you had to try. You reached into your pocket, your fingers brushing against the familiar cold of your small pendant. It was a trinket you had found years ago, neglected but oddly comforting.

It wasn’t enchanted, but the pendant had always brought you a sense of calm. Maybe, just maybe, it could help you focus enough to channel your own inner magic. You closed your eyes, focused all your energy into the pendant, and visualized the door unlocking, the magic dissipating, leaving a way out.

For a long, heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. The door remained locked, the magic still pressing against you.

But then, a subtle click echoed through the room.

You opened your eyes, your breath getting stuck in your throat. It worked.

Quickly, you slipped past the threshold of the door and onto the balcony, heart racing. The moon was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the landscape below. You could hear the distant sound of Malleus’s voice, low and steady, but you didn’t have time to waste.

The castle walls seemed to stretch infinitely upward, but below, there was only a series of interwoven wooden framework covered in vines. Maybe this was your escape route. You swallowed hard, the feeling of everything moving making your head spin in circles, but you didn’t have any other choice. You couldn’t afford to waste any time, and you knew Malleus wouldn’t be fooled for long.

Your fingers gripped the vines, your feet finding itself on the stones of the trellis. You were careful, precise, and as silent as you could manage, climbing down as carefully and gracefully you could.

And then, just as you reached the ground and took a step forward, the unmistakable sound of a door slamming open echoed through the courtyard. Your heart leaped into your throat.

“Malleus...” you muttered under your breath, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

You had no idea where you were going. You had no plan beyond getting away. But as the sound of his heavy footsteps grew nearer, you pushed yourself faster, deeper into the woods.

You forced deeper into the woods, branches and underbrush tugging at your clothes as you ran past the array of trees. The soft crunch of leaves from every step you took was drowned out by the loud sounds of your heartbeat, each thump against your chest reminding you of the danger you were in. The moonlight leaked past the trees leaves, but the shadows in the forest were thick and suffocating.

Behind you, Malleus’s presence loomed. You could feel it even if you couldn’t hear his footsteps. His magic was always near, an invisible thread pulling at you, and it made your skin crawl. The forest wasn’t safe, not with him so close, but it was your only chance.

You didn’t dare look back. Instead, you focused ahead, each step faster than the last. The more distance you put between you and the castle, the more you could breathe, the less his overwhelming presence could crush you. But the sense of being hunted never faded.

The air was cooler now, and the forest seemed to stretch on endlessly. You couldn’t hear Malleus anymore. Maybe you had gotten far enough… maybe you had outrun him.

You stumbled to a stop, gasping for air. Sweat trickled down your brow, your legs burning from the effort. The trees around you were silent, but something still felt off. Your gut told you he wasn’t far behind.

You moved cautiously, your instincts alert, eyes darting in every direction. The silence was too still. Too perfect. And then, in the distance, you heard it. The sound of footsteps. They were deliberate and slow, almost like they had all the time in the world.

Malleus. The man you oh so desperately loathe.

You froze. His voice, too, reached your ears, a deep, rumbling whisper that seemed to wrap itself around you even from a distance.

"You cannot escape me," he called softly. His voice was a low growl, but there was no anger in it. Only a cold, confident certainty.

You bit your lip, eyes darting desperately, searching for an escape route. There was no way you could outrun him. Not now. He had already closed the gap. And then, you felt it, the sharp prickling sensation of magic weaving its way through the air, binding you in place.

He was here.

Before you could move, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing. Malleus, as you had known he would be. His eyes glowed like two eerie embers in the darkness, and the corners of his lips curled into an almost amused smile. But his gaze was cold, calculating.

“You don’t think I would let you go that easily, do you?” His voice was soft but laced with something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky step back, every instinct screaming to run, to fight, to do anything to break free of his grasp. But his magic had already coiled around you, tight and unyielding.

With a flick of his wrist, the vines around you tightened, pulling you closer. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled against the pull, but it was useless. He had you now, and there was no escape.

"Why do you resist?" he asked, his tone almost pitiful, but there was no warmth in it. "I have given you everything. All you need is to accept me."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with defiance. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

He tilted his head, his sharp eyes studying you, intrigued. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips.

“I see,” he said, his voice dripping with something almost too sweet. "Then perhaps, you just need a little more...persuasion."

Before you could react, his magic gushed through, sending threads of energy through the air. The world around you suddenly dissipated, putting you through a whole new world. When the sensation faded, you were back at the castle, standing in the middle of a grand hall, surrounded by towering stone walls.

You were trapped again.

[call-me-copycat]

Hello! Hope you're well!!

Ahh, I'm sorry for the late answer! I saw this the day you sent it but I didn't have any energy left in me due to work (·︿· `)

Thank you thank you thank you! I look forward to enjoying MHA and Aizawa with you all next year too! And hopefully the year after that! And so on ( ˶>ᴗ<˶)

Thank you for being my friend! I adore every comment and tag I get to read from you, I appreciate you very much! (´∇｀)

As a thank you, I drew this for you!

Wishing you well! Happy 2025! ヽ(。ゝω・)ノ☆

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

Extras for those interested:

[eph3merall]

2024 sturniolo tumblr appreciation post <3

i joined tumblr this summer during august something i believe, starting off as finding authors i enjoyed reading and stayed anonymous in some writers' inboxes before finally starting to write. i recently reached 1k followers and it has been suchh a dream to find mutuals and talk to some of the people who enjoy my writing :)

ೀ — ೀ

@sturnioz ; cas !!!! we dont talk muchh, save for me appearing in your inbox a lot, but you are quite literally the sweetest ever. youre one of the people i was inspired by to create my own blog on here, and it was literally one of the best ideas ive ever made. i adore you soo much and you are one of the first blogs i was introduced to on this platform. immediately fell in love with your writing and personality, i know you are just the sweetest in real life. wish i could eat you out whenever you have a bad day or something idk but that isn't possible so i just wish for you to take it slow and not push yourself. i love you <3

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@cvnntagious ; rory i have soo much to say about you. you are so incredibly funny and i kinda fell in love with you the second we started talking. youre the cutest ever, and your writing is phenomenal. it never everr feels awkward to keep a conversation flowing with you, which is a very occurring problem i have with literally everyone i know !!! but its like i can kinda just not think whenever i talk to you and you have no idea how refreshing that is. sometimes i feel like things i say will get made fun of by who im speaking to, but it never feels like that with you. i feel like youre the most cunty (pun not intended) person ever in real life, truly. i wholeheartedly believe we would be great friends <3

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@55sturn ; my star babyy :( it always baffles me to look back to the ask you sent when i followed you back, because i was thoroughly obsessed with your works (and forgot to follow you) so i was kinda like huhh because you seemed so out of my league if that makes any sense. i want to kiss you because i know you dont always feel the best but i wish you take everyday slowly and care about yourself always. you are one of the first people i go to when i come up with something new to write about, because your opinion is genuinely so important to me honestly. the way your brain works is so fascinating to me (not in a weird way </3) and i hope we can have soo many more conversations in the future about whatever comes up. im incredibly awkward sometimes, but i hope u dont mind :)

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special shoutout to all of my mutuals whether we became moots more recently or not. i dont think i can tag everyone because i dont think i can check who im moots with </3 know if i didnt tag you, you are included and i love you !!! @darksturnz @phone4pills @clairomatt @ccxsturns @cupiidk1lls @mattslolita (im aware kiwi doesnt have access to tumblr rn)

i hope everyone has a good new years. i adore every single one of you !!!!

much love, vi 🤍

[galilea-naerie]

Galilea sat still for a moment, her dark eyes soft as she studied Rhys. His words were determined, unwavering in their willingness to sacrifice for his people, yet they also carried a weight that tugged at her. She knew his offer came not just from a place of duty but from something deeper, an innate need to protect those he cared about. Yet, her hesitance lingered. “I appreciate your willingness, Rhys,” she began, her voice measured but gentle, “but using your blood so soon may be risky. There are processes to ensure it is safe, and we cannot rush into something that might harm you or make the illness worse for others. If we are to use it, it will be a last resort.” Galilea wasn’t dismissing his sacrifice, and she knew it very well could be the key. “Your immunity could be key,” she continued, “but there’s much we don’t know yet. I want to exhaust other avenues first. October can question Aimon, and see if his lifestyle or diet differs in any way that might offer a clue. Immunity can come from the strangest places, a herb, a habit, heredity, or even something as simple as exposure to certain elements. If we find patterns, we might be able to replicate them without needing to use your blood so soon.” When he excused himself to take Carina to bed, Galilea watched him leave, the corners of her mouth softening in a way that even surprised her. It was far too endearing, she thought, the way he moved through the world with such steadiness. He was a rock for his family, a steady presence for Carina and his ailing sister. Her thoughts wandered as she sat alone, the quiet of the room pressing in around her. How different Rhys’s priorities were compared to the way she had been raised. Her parents had been devoted healers, always traveling, always working. Healing came before family, before love. It had been a noble life, but one that left little room for tenderness. Her parents’ union had been contractual, a bond forged from shared purpose rather than affection. They both came from lines of healing nymphs, their pairing more about continuing their heritage than any personal connection. And the result was that Galilea’s childhood had been a lonely one. She could count on one hand the number of times her mother had praised her, though she remembered each instance with painful clarity. Her fondest memory was of her mother commending her penmanship. She had been tasked with translating medical texts, carefully copying them to be sent to other kingdoms and doctors. Her mother’s approval had been rare but potent, a single beam of sunlight in an otherwise overcast sky. Yet even though those efforts were often dismissed, the knowledge of nymphs was seen as suspect or untrustworthy by many humans. Galilea sighed softly, the memory both bitter and sweet. Perhaps that was why she found Rhys so captivating, not just his strength, but the way he prioritized his family, the way he seemed to pour all of himself into their care. When Rhys returned, settling back into the chair beside her, their arms brushed again. She didn’t pull away, letting the contact linger for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re doing more than most would,” she said, her voice was quiet but sincere. “Your people are lucky to have you.” Her gaze met his, Galilea hesitated, then decided to share a small piece of herself with him. “I grew up differently,” she admitted. “My parents were healers, like me, but their work always came first. I rarely saw them. They were always traveling, helping others. Their bond was not one of love but obligation. Healing was their life, their purpose. And while it’s an honorable path, it left little room for anything else.” She paused, her fingers brushing the edge of her journal. “The fondest memory I have of my mother is her praising my handwriting. I spent years translating medical texts for her, copying them to send to other kingdoms. But most of the time, those efforts weren’t accepted. As you know, humans,” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Many don’t trust us, even when we are just trying to help.”

Before Galilea could continue, October’s voice rang out from the kitchen, sharp and triumphant. “Galilea! Come quick!” She stood immediately, her skirts brushing the floor as she hurried into the kitchen. October was bent over the table, a sprig of pale green leaves in his hand. His excitement was palpable, his grin wide as he turned to her. “I think I’ve found something,” he said, holding the plant out for her to see. “At first, I thought it was just a regular herb, but when I tested it on the worm, look.” Galilea leaned in, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied the plant. Recognition sparked almost instantly. “This is shivora,” she said, her tone filled with both relief and surprise. “It’s a rare herb that grows in the eastern regions. It’s safe for consumption and known to slow certain biological processes.” October’s grin widened. “Safe enough to use?” Galilea nodded, her mind racing. “Yes. And it could buy us time.” She turned to Rhys, who had followed her into the kitchen. Her expression softened as she addressed him. “Your sister could be the perfect candidate. We could monitor her closely and see how her body responds. But it’s hers and your choice, Rhys. If you would rather not risk her being the first, we can find someone else. Either way, I’d combine it with a blend of other herbs to strengthen the immune system and provide additional support.” Galilea placed a hand gently on his forearm, her touch light but grounding. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said softly. October, ever the optimist, chimed in. “If this works, we might finally have a way to fight this thing. We’re getting closer, Galilea, I can feel it. Perhaps I can finally have an illness named after me!” October spoke proudly. She offered him a small smile, her hope cautious but genuine. “One step at a time,” she said, turning back to Rhys. “October and I will get the vitals started tonight.” She assured Rhys.

Rhys was sure that whenever the day came that all this was said and done, the plague gone and his people hopefully not removed from existence, that Galilea would be a being that remained in his mind. Her eyes dark and full of wisdom beyond the years her appearance bore. The delicate touch of her hand in his was a pleasant distraction for the fleeting moment that it lasted. And something that also would not leave his mind. The thought occurred again that under different circumstances maybe things could have been different for them. Though there was no basis for thinking such thoughts. She gave no indication that she felt anything about him. She was there to heal. And he hated that he seemed to need to continue reminding himself of that. But her beauty was so captivating, her voice as delicate as her touch yet confident, her bedside manner gentle and kind. It was difficult to not find himself taken with a being like her. But the timing and place were not right for them. He sat at the table with her as she instructed him to, their shoulders nearly touching, their arms brushing against one another every now and again as they spoke. It was far too distracting for the topic at hand, but he attempted to focus himself, looking at her and forcing himself to listen to her. He needed to know what they were dealing with and what they might do to address it. It would fall on his shoulders to explain it to his people. He was the one they trusted. He looked to Galilea, his gaze falling trailing down along the length of her neck as she turned slightly to reach for her journal. Their arms brushed again and for a moment he thought he heard her inhale sharply and her breath caught, but as quickly as it happened it was over and he was left wondering if it was only his wishful thinking that lead him to that idea. He would never swear it aloud, but damn the gods for leading him to such an exquisite creature that time and circumstance would seemly prevent him from ever exploring the depths of what may lay there. Eventually one day he would be forced to settle for a human woman, but he would be left with the question what could have happened with the nymph he once knew. It frustrated him that in his peoples time of need he could not seem to help his blooming attraction and affection for Galilea. October stepped out of the room, leaving them alone aside from Carina playing quietly in the other corner. Galilea seemed to turn more towards him and his eyes met hers, grateful they weren’t alone or he felt he would have only caused a distraction for them both. He nodded, “I have wondered as much myself.” No matter how often he found himself Around the disease he never seemed to get it himself which always struck him as more than odd. He didn’t understand the way such things worked, but his remaining healthy was, in part, what prompted him to be the one checking in with all his neighbors. As long as he was healthy then he may as well be the one to do so. “So what do you need me to do?” His question was confident, unwavering in his willingness to help this cause in whatever way he needed to. If she needed his blood to study or use then she could have it. Rhys was dedicated to helping his people, to ridding them of this disease. Even when the easier thought of running away occurred to him, he simply couldn’t do it. The guilt would be too much. The fact he even had the thought of running away felt selfish to him as did his constant thoughts of wanting to kiss Galilea, of wanting to touch her, to know her. It felt selfish when he was surrounded by suffering. He felt guilt for his health when so few had it. The only thing he could do to correct those feelings and to do right was to stay and fight for those that remained. He could not forget that the king had seemingly turned his back on them. Rhys could not do that as well. “If you need my blood I will give it to you. Whatever it is to make this better, whatever we can do.” He said softly to her. He did not wish to scare Carina by loudly going into detail.

He glanced out the window, seeing the sun had gone down now and looked over to Carina, “time to get ready for bed.” He told her. The girl looked over at him and crossed her arms, “I don’t wanna.” She complained, “I’m staying over again tonight, don’t you want me to read to you? Go tell your mother goodnight and get changed.” He told her and the girl reluctantly rose to her feet and went to her room to change into her pajamas. “Give me just a moment.” He told Galilea. He rose to his feet as Carina came out of her room and went to her mom’s room. Rhys leaned in the doorway as the girl kissed her ailing mother on the cheek and then took Rhys’ hand as they went back to her small room. He read the child a story which she fell asleep before the end of. While she seemed almost recovered it was obvious her flu had still exhausted her. Rhys blew out the candle in her room and rejoined Galilea, sitting beside her once again, their arms brushing as he made himself comfortable. “She doesn’t need to hear everything.” He said and met Galilea’s gaze, “i will give you whatever you may need from me, but I know others who have not gotten sick as well who I’m certain would be willing to help us as well. Aimon is burying the bodies of the dead all day every day and he has never taken ill either. He will help us as well.” Rhys had taken to volunteering his friend for a great deal, but he knew Aimon was of the same mind as him about this entire situation.