#but you look into their eyes and all you see is that younger you staring back at you!!!

[wileys-russo]

ingrid, “how long was i out?”, living room. thank you! 🫶🫶

squeamish II i.engen

you frowned hearing the commotion, trying to turn and push your way into the pack of players crowded around vicky, only a hand grabbed your bicep and tugged you away.

"ing what-" you looked on confused as your girlfriend practically dragged you off the pitch, the team dispersing slowly as two of the medical team arrived and seemed to shoo them all away, the session done for the afternoon.

"she has a nose bleed, pina kicked her in the face with the ball." the norweigan explained, letting you go and walk of your own accord once she'd deemed the two of you were far enough away.

"so?" you frowned, confused as to why she'd been so determined to pull you away, all you'd wanted to do was make sure the young spaniard was alright. "so?" ingrid mocked with a roll of her eyes.

"you faint at even a drop of blood kjæreste." your girlfriend reminded sternly, holding the door open for you as you wandered through with a scoff.

"i am not that bad ingrid, i can handle a nose bleed!" you argued, the two of you bickering back and forth until ingrid was too tired to continue, leaving you to pack up your belongings as she moved across the room to do the same.

"ay amiga!" you looked up from your bag with a raised eyebrow, cata slinking over with a grin that you should have known meant trouble. "want to see a funny video?" the goalkeeper asked as you shrugged and she darted closer, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

what you failed to see was ona and pina subtly recording from a few feet away, however your eagle eyed girlfriend clocked it straight away as frido nudged her, sensing something was about to happen.

you waited patiently while cata tapped around on her phone for a moment before turning the screen toward you, a tiktok of some sort of surgery shown but all you could focus on was the blood dripping from the open wound.

and then like clockwork, down you went.

the three younger girls roared laughing but this quickly ceased as frido and ingrid arrived, frido shooing them all away with a glare as your girlfriend carefully propped you up into a seated position, a few of the older girls hovering nearby as irene took off to go yell at the culprits.

"what happened?" you asked as you blinked slowly, it normally didn't take you very long to come to after you'd fainted which was something ingrid was grateful for, as well as the fact most of the time you seemed to have a knack for avoiding head knocks as you fell.

a water bottle placed in your hand you pushed away ingrids own which pressed against your forehead, mumbling you were fine in between small sips as the taller girl insisted on fussing over you as if you weren't.

"pide disculpas!" irene returned and ordered, marching cata, ona and pina with her who slouched over with crossed arms like scolded toddlers.

"lo siento." all three murmured in sync, sent to pack up their bags as alexia smacked pina over the head who whined and pointed to cata claiming it was her who was the ring leader in all this.

~

"ingrid. min kjære i am fine!" you chuckled as your girlfriend draped a blanket over you, tucking in the ends as if you were some sick elderly individual with the flu. "hey!" you protested as the can of coke you intended to crack was snatched out of your hand and replaced with a water.

"i don't have a concussion!" you groaned, though you'd been with the raven haired beauty long enough now to know there wasn't a point in arguing as any and all attempts would fall on deaf ears.

"can i have my phone at least? vær så snill?" you begged, knowing it was tucked away in your girlfriends bag where she'd put it a few hours ago, insisting it was bad for your head to stare at a screen after fainting, as always.

"you do not need a phone søtsaker, you have me!" the girl announced happily, gesturing for you to sit up as she slid herself behind you.

ignoring your over dramatic sigh you both wiggled around for a second to get comfortable, your body now wedged between ingrids long legs as your back rested against her front.

"no! since i am apparently the patient, i pick." you were quick to grab the remote out of her hand, flicking on the tv and browsing through a few different streaming services, ignoring ingrids complaining that you always took a million years to choose something.

"vi har sett dette!" your girlfriend groaned in both your native tongues, palm smacking against her forehead as you huffed and exited out of your initial choice.

"maybe you will choose something by kick off tomorrow, no?" the girl faked a yawn and checked an imaginary watch on her rest as you reached up and bonked her lightly on the head with the remote in response.

"not this." ingrid disagreed again as you picked something else and now you groaned. "why? we have not seen it." you argued as she firmly shook her head. "you do not do well with action movies kjæreste, blood?" ingrid prompted causing you to scoff.

"fake blood, is fine!" you insisted as once again your girlfriend was too tired to argue, gesturing for you to click play as you did so and settled down, stretching an arm up to tangle a hand in the taller girls hair, nails scratching against her scalp rhythmically.

bar the odd shared kiss or commentary you seemed fine for the first half hour of the movie, though a lot of that was just build up to the main fight scene which was about to happen.

"hva da?" your girlfriend questioned groggily as you pushed up off of her, readjusting the blanket to drape across her midsection as you stood. "popcorn, keep watching i can hear it." you insisted with a flick of your wrist as you hurried to the kitchen.

tossing the packet into the microwave and getting out a bowl you moved to stand behind the couch, not bothered to sit back down for a whole two and a half minutes while the kernels popped away and all the action kicked off.

ingrid didn't even realise you were there as she watched on, until someone took a chainsaw to someone elses face and blood splattered at the screen, she heard a loud thump.

shooting up and peering over the back of the lounge your girlfriend couldn't help but let out a small snort of laughter, quickly finding her own feet and rushing around to help you.

when you came to it was not in the same place you'd fainted, now laying on something much softer than your living room floor as you blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to your dimly lit bedroom.

"velkommen tilbake." you felt a pair of pillow soft lips press against your forehead with a chuckle as a ring clad hand sweeped a few loose strands of hair out of your face.

"how long was i out?" you questioned tiredly, blinking and rubbing at your eyes with a stretch and an exhale. "long enough for me to carry you to bed." ingrid grinned as you groaned, rolling over and hiding your face in her shoulder.

"i told you the movie was too much min kjære." ingrid hugged you tightly with a smile as you grumbled something inaudible into her jumper. "i have a medical condition don't bully me." you repeated at her request, rolling onto your face with a scowl.

"better it happen in our own home than on the pitch in a final!" ingrid teased as you whined and covered your face with your hands. "you promised to stop bringing that up!" you kicked your girlfriend who laughed and pulled your hands away, peppering a few apologetic kisses to your puckered lips.

"you know this is almost as good as the time you insisted on watching greys anatomy my love." "baby that was not my fault. fridolina told me it was a cooking show!"

[auraisereigh]

"For Her, Always"

oneshot

Garrick Tavis x Riorson reader Request: Garrick x riorson little sister (she is a 2 year with Bohdi they are bff) they fell in love when they were little and now she is a rider but they hide what they feel to not upset Xaden, but the some guy flirts with her and we get MAD JELOUS Garrick and he hurts the guy on challenges, Xaden notices and they have a talk so then reader and Garrick can be together (Love confession Bridgerton style) wc: 6.8 ☆ no specific spoilers. Uses pronouns: she/her.

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

If there was one thing about Garrick Travis then it was that he was attractive, always had been- even when he was younger. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel something for him. And maybe, just maybe, I would have said something by now if it wasn't for the fact that he's best friends with my brother.

Xaden.

He has enough on his mind. Adding to that is the last thing on my mind. Even if that means I'll have to keep my feelings to myself. Even if that means my heart will keep yearning for what I can't have. At least I can still stare at him. From a distance, in the practice room. It's better than nothing I suppose.

"You're staring." Bodhi muzes next to me. I shoot a small glare his way as I continue to wrap my hands for sparring. "Am not." I respond tense.

Second year is more difficult and stressfull than it seemed. RSC hanging over my head. Xaden has done his part in preparing me but that didn't make it less terrifying and seeing as it's unpredictable when leadership would come and get us, well, that just makes it worse.

Not that I have seen a lot of Xaden lately, he's been occupied with a certain Sorrengail.

That thought brings me back to where I am. Xaden is training the youngest Sorrengail on one of the mats in the corners, Garrick not far away from them as he practices with his sword.

And I'd hate to admit it but I am staring.

After I finish wrapping my hands I stand and pick up my daggers. They had always been my preferred weapon. Light but easy to use.

I go through my usual warm up routine. Swinging them around. It's all going smoothly until I hear a voice call out. "Looking good, beautiful."

I glance toward the voice, only to find Oren—the overconfident third-year with a cocky grin plastered on his face—walking toward me. He’s twirling his sword as if to show off, his steps relaxed.

“Your technique’s good, but I think you’re missing something,” he says, a smirk on his face.

I raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “And what would that be?” He shrugs, a look of mischief appears in his eyes. “A partner. You know, someone to make things more… interesting.” He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe someone who can keep up with you.”

I roll my eyes and focus back on my daggers, spinning one lazily between my fingers. “I’m perfectly fine. Thanks though.” I reply sarcastic, focusing back on my daggers. In the corner of my eye i catch Garrick's gaze.

But Oren doesn’t back down. “Come on, beautiful. You’ve got moves, but I bet I could teach you a thing or two. Maybe over a Meal?” His grin widens. I shake off the shiver that runs through my spine. An uncomfortable look on my face.

"Back off Oren." Bodhi's voice cuts through the tension. "She's already got someone to spar with." Bodhi's voice is on the cold side, almost as sharp as my brother Xaden's.

I give Bodhi a grateful smile as Oren retreats a step, his hands up in surrender. The smirk on his face is still present and I can tell he's not finished. For now maybe. But not forever.

♤

I stand by the surrounding crowd. All our eyes are on the mat, at the fight that is happening. It's a good match-- the matches before this one were a little meh but this one is actually good, we might be onto something.

The match ends after the second year taps out. From the corner of my eye I can see Garrick talking to Emmeterio. Why would he talk to him?

"Next match. Seifert and Travis." Emmeterio announces and my heart jumpes in my throat. That can't be a coincidence can it? Garrick against Oren not even a day after the small incident in the sparring room.

I can feel Xaden's eyes on me but I don't turn to face him. My eyes are solely on Garrick as he takes his place on the mat. His face holds the sole emotion of anger.

Oren charges first but Garrick side steps him, around his attack. Oren tries again but Garrick takes a hold of his arm, twisting it and Oren let's out a groan.

I can see Garrick say something to Oren but it's too quiet for me to hear. Garrick starts twisting his arm at an unnatural angle. He puts his leg between Oren's and he falls backwards on the mat. I knew Garrick was a good fighter but he's really good.

Garrick easily straddles Oren, a dagger at his throat and I wouldn't wish the look upon Garricks face to anyone. Not even my worst enemy.

He moves his dagger slightly, enough to draw blood but not enough to seriously injure him. I hold my breath at the sight. There is no way Garrick would actually kill him right?

He presses the blad harder against Oren's neck. I hear the familiar tap against the mat, he taps out. I let out the breath I'd been holding, Garrick slowly gets off him. He takes a step backwards, his dagger still in his hand.

I also take a step back, most people in this room night not know what this means but some do. I can feel bodhi's and Xaden's eyes in my back, burning holes.

I can see Xaden follow Garrick out of the sparring room and I don't hesitate to follow. I follow them quietly until they stop in a dark alley.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Xaden snaps at Garrick. His voice full of authority. I stay hidden behind the wall.

"He was flirting with her last night." I hear Garrick argue, frustration laced in his tone. "I'm aware of that. I saw it to but she can defend herself." Xaden voice grows bored.

"You're telling me you don't care that an asshole was flirting with your sister?" The frustration in his voice grows harsher.

“Of course I care,” Xaden snaps. “But I trust her to handle it. You, however, handled it as though you were issuing a challenge. That’s not protecting her��it’s claiming her.”

Garrick falls silent for a moment, his heavy breathing the only sound in the alley. “Maybe I am,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a weight I’ve never heard before. My breath catches in my throat.

“You don’t get to do that unless you’re willing to back it up,” Xaden warns, his tone razor-sharp. “You don’t get to make her your responsibility unless she’s choosing you. So tell me, Garrick, what exactly are your intentions?”

There’s a long pause before Garrick speaks, but when he does, his voice is steady. “My intentions are to love her. To protect her. To be the one she can turn to for the rest of her life. If that’s claiming her, so be it. I’ve loved her for longer than I care to admit, and I’m done hiding it.”

I press my hand to my mouth, trying to contain the gasp that threatens to escape. Did he just say…?

“And what about her?” Xaden challenges. “Have you even thought about what she wants? Or is this just about you?”

“It’s about her,” Garrick snaps back. “It’s always been about her.” “Then maybe you should say something to her instead of throwing daggers at every man who looks her way,” Xaden retorts. “Because this whole display? It’s not going to win her over. Talk to her. And for both your sakes, stop making me the middleman.”

I hear footsteps retreating, the sound of Xaden walking away. My heart pounds as I realize I’m now alone with Garrick, hidden just around the corner.

I take a shaky breath, stepping out of the shadows. “You could’ve just asked me,” I say softly.

Garrick whirls around, his eyes wide with shock. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” I admit, stepping closer. “Is it true? What you said?”

He looks away, running a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter—” “It does matter,” I cut him off, my voice trembling. “Because I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself that what I feel for you is one-sided. That you could never see me as anything more than Xaden’s little sister. And now you’re telling me that you… that you’ve felt the same way?”

His gaze snaps to mine, his expression a mix of hope and disbelief. “You… you feel the same?”

I nod, my chest tightening as the words spill out. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Garrick. But I thought you’d never… I thought it wasn’t possible.”

He takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. “You have no idea how hard it’s been, keeping my distance. Watching you with Oren last night, I just… I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And today?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “On the mat?” “I wanted him to know,” he admits, his thumb brushing against my skin. “That you’re not just some girl to flirt with. That you’re… everything to me.”

I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes as I lean into his touch. “Then stop keeping your distance,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His lips find mine in a kiss that’s both fierce and tender, years of longing and unspoken words pouring into that one moment. His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and for the first time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re my everything,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

I smile, my heart lighter than it’s ever been. “You’ve already done enough,” I whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing you try.”

♤

[enwoso]

Could you write something maybe about Lucy Bronze having a younger sister that plays for Arsenal and she’s been dating Katie McCabe for a while but hasn’t told Lucy because she’s very overprotective and because of Lucy and Katie’s unspoken “rivalry” . Then at lionesses camp Lucy finds out by accident and they are playing Ireland next so the match is all a bit of chaos but the it all turns out fine and Katie and Lucy both just tease reader together?

Your work is amazing by the way!!

GAME OF HEARTS | katie mccabe x bronze!reader

masterlist

"i'm really gonna miss ya" katie spoke softly as the two of you soaked up your last morning together before you both went off on international camp.

you wrapped up in the warmth of katie's arms as every so often she peppered kisses along your collarbone, your eyes still closed as you hummed along to her words every so often to show you were listening.

"babe, i'll see you in four days" you rasped out as you moved slightly to turning so that you were facing the irish women as you could feel her chest rise up and down as you lay on it.

the two of you due to play each other in the upcoming fixtures, england travelling to ireland for the game. you being a little upset having to play against your girlfriend but it was only for 90' and then you could go back to being in your little love bubble.

"still- am i not allowed to miss my gorgeous, funny, beautiful, sexy girlfriend?" katie said with a her signature grin on her face as you opened your eyes, staring right back at the girl.

"your such a sap-" you whispered as she placed a kiss to your cheek, playfully rolling her eyes at your comment.

"yeah but only for you, and plus you love it little bronze" katie teased as now it was your turn to roll your eyes as she knew how much the nickname wound you up, lucy of course being the one who so proudly began the trend of calling you by that it was now something majority called you at international camps as well as by some of the girls at club level.

"oh actually" you paused for a second to let out a yawn, as katie moved a strand of hair from the side of your face tucking it behind your ear.

"please can we knock it down a level when it comes to my sister when we play against each other on tuesday" you pleaded, as a small glint in your eyes as you tried to convince the girl knowing the chaos which occurs in the league when the two come face to face.

you know it's just what happens when two very passionate players bump heads but you heard both versions of the story and adding fuel to that fire by telling your older sister that you were dating her arch nemesis may not go very well with a tray of cakes and a nice chat to say the least.

a sigh left katie's lips she understood why you were asking cause at the end of the day lucy was your older sister — someone you looked up to dearly and someone who protected you at all costs and she herself would do anything for any one of her sisters but katie also had a goal and that was to win.

"baby, i love ya but that's like askin' me to wear a tottenham shirt" katie grimaced at the thought of that even happening, it sending a slight shiver down your own spine.

—

being lucy's younger sister definitely came with its perks, like when lucy was first making her debuts you got to meet all the cool footballing idols you watched growing up and to be totally honest you were still able to do it now.

but on the other hand, she was still your sister. fiercely protective, sometimes too protective, and of course you always had your disagreements as well as the fact lucy knew all the ways to get under your skin. she was the typical big sister.

but when it came to football? she always had an opinion. especially when it involved arsenal and a certain player from there too. which just of course happened to be your girlfriend — katie.

the two of you had been together for just over seven months. you were keeping things quiet, it was a secret by no means you just hadn't exactly admitted to being in a relationship with the irish girl.

and as for your excuse for not telling lucy, well it just had never came up in a conversation.

so as camp rolled around and the upcoming friendly against ireland loomed in the next few days, you knew you had to be careful. but keeping secrets while sharing the same pitch as your sister, that was proving to be harder than you thought.

as you sat with a few teammates in the lounge area, scrolling through your phone and trying to mind your own business as lucy strode in.

her arrival as always was impossible to ignore, her energy filling the space effortlessly and her voice carried above the casual chatter.

"oi, y/n" lucy called out, waving something on her phone in the air a slight mischievous glint in her eye, "what's this, then?"

you glanced up, already dreading whatever was coming, knowing she loved to find some thing to take the mick out of you for.

lucy flopped down next to you as she thrusted her phone into your hands. it was a video posted by katie, to her story captioned 'reminiscing🩷', reliving a moment from a festival she'd gone to in the summer, you recognising it immediately as you were there two.

"i.. what am i looking at?"

"just wait"

just as the words left lucy's lips, the video flipped as the camera had been turned to face katie and that when your eyes went a little wider and your cheeks definitely went a little redder.

there was you, your arms wrapped around her waist as you head rested on her shoulder a lovesick smile on your face as you sung along to the music as katie had a massive smile on her face.

lucy squinted at you as you lowered her phone keeping it still in your hands, as her brow furrowed. "care to explain why you're looking at katie mccabe like she's just won you the world cup?"

your stomach lurched, you were usually so careful but this was clear as day as you scrambled to downplay it. "come on luce, you know we're close at club level your just being dramatic. we're just teammates"

lucy tilted her head, clearly not convinced, "a teammate thing?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "that's not the ‘teammate' look. that's the 'i fancy you' look"

you opened your mouth to try and protest but nothing came out. your brain working overtime trying to figure out how to talk your way out of this when leah wandered into the room.

spotting lucy's phones in your hand, glancing at your panicked face and grinned knowingly. "oh has she found out then?" leah said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "took you long enough!"

lucy's eyes darted between you and leah, "found out what?"

"leah, shut up" you hissed shooting her a warning glare.

leah just completely ignoring you as she continued, "about katie, it's not exactly a secret anymore y/n. everyone with eyes can see there something going on between the two of you and i don't mean by just watching that small video on instagram-"

lucy's expression shifted from teasing to something more serious, as she leaned back slightly her arms crossed. "wait you and katie? that's.. actually a thing. i though they were just silly tiktok rumours?"

you hesitated, fiddling nervously with the hem of your hoodie. "yeah" you admitted not daring to look at your sisters gaze. "it's been a while, i didn't tell you because well — i didn't want to make thing weird. you and katie don't exactly.. get along"

lucy stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable before she let out a sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing. "weird? y/n i know i might be protective but i'm not a monster and that's just match banter. if she makes you happy then that's all that matters."

you blinked, slightly surprised at her sudden acceptance, "really, your okay with it?"

lucy smirked as she nodded, "yeah, but don't think i'm going easy on her when we play against ireland. she's still getting crunched in the tackles-"

you let out a small groan, "lucy!" as a chorus of laughter came from your sister, "i'm kidding.. well maybe." she whispered at the end but you still heard.

you laughed along, the weight suddenly lifting from your chest, as leah who had been watching the entire exchange with an amused grin, chimed in clapping her two hands together, "well that went better than expected!"

lucy raised an eyebrow at her, "don't think you're off the hook either williamson, if you knew and didn't tell me, your just as bad as her!"

leah held up her hands in mock surrender, "hey i figured it out myself, and plus it ain't my business and it was way more fun watchin' y/n squirm!"

you groaned as you buried your face in your hands as lucy and leah shared a laugh at your expense. but despite their teasing you couldn't help but feel relieved.

—

the match had ended in ireland, and the tensions from the ninety minute game between the players had melted away into the usual camaraderie of the post game routine.

players from both teams chatting, swapping shirts and taking photo as they celebrated another memorable clash as england had won, securing there space in the euros in switzerland.

katie and lucy were stood near the center circle, locking into a playful debate. from a distance you could see katie gesturing animatedly whilst lucy stood with her arms crossed, her signature smirk firmly on her lips.

curiosity and a little apprehension pulled you towards them, "what's going on here?" you as as you approached.

"oh just discussing which side of london is superior" katie said with a cheeky grin, titling her head slightly towards lucy. "you know london is better red, i'm sure you agree"

lucy scoffed, rolling her eyes, "please mccabe, london is blue on a whole different level."

"yeah yeah," katie said with a dramatic wave of her hand, "you guys are ok, i'll give you that but people who have a good sense of football know which is the better side of london"

lucy smirked, leaning forward slightly. "shame you picked the wrong side of it then."

katie gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror, "the wrong side? you mean the side which had trophies and the history to back it up?"

you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose knowing the two of them well enough to know neither of them were going to back down, "you two realise you're both ridiculous, right?"

ignoring you, katie pulled her phone out of her pocket. "we should document this moment, don't you think" she waved lucy closer, "cmon bronze, let's get a picture. and maybe one day you'll see the light and come to the proper side of london"

lucy rolled her eyes but stepped in next to katie, you stood awkwardly nearby as katie held out her phone for a selfie the pair throwing exaggerated smiles.

right as the photo snapped, katie nudged lucy with her elbow and said, "awe that's a cute photo to. shame you play for the wrong side of london."

lucy snorted, glancing at the photo, "your lucky i don't delete this right now."

katie grinned, "it's fine, just caption it: 'the day bronze met greatness!'"

lucy laughed, shaking her head, "greatness? that's rich coming from someone who can't even make it past the quarterfinals in the champions league-"

katie gasped, turning to you, "babe you better defend me and the club now or i'm tellin' everyone you still steal my hoodies!"

you threw your hands up in exasperation a small laugh coming from your lips, "oh no don't drag me into this. you both know where my loyalty's lie."

"your sisters impossible, you know that? she doesn't appreciate brilliance." katie leaned against you dramatically sighing.

lucy raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself, "brilliance? that's what they call it these days?"

katie tolled her eyes playfully as you just laughed, following the two of them as they both started to walk towards the tunnel. along with other players starting to make their way of the pitch.

katie had that familiar glint in her eye, the one that softened your heart no matter how chaotic the game had been.

"i'm goin' to go catch up the ma team," katie said as she reached out to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind you ear.

her touch was gentle and calm unlike her totally opposite persona on the field. a smile lingering on your face despite the lingering adrenaline from the match.

she leaned in, pressing a quick but soft kiss to your lips as she whispered, "i love you."

you heart swelled as you whispered it back, "i love you, too"

katie turned as she waved to your older sister as she star tee d to walk away, "see you soon bronze! don't miss me too much!"

lucy just shook her head muttering something under her breath as katie disappeared towards the irish team.

"what was that?" you asked an eyebrow raising as you turned to her.

lucy huffed, crossing her arms, "i said i don't think i’ll ever get used to that."

you laughed nudging your older sisters shoulder playfully, "you'll have to she's not going anywhere luce!"

katie fully disappearing in the tunnel as she turned a corner as lucy tuned to you with a grin, but it wasn't the usually teasing one.

"i like her." she said pausing for effect, "but she's still completely wrong about london."

you laughed shaking your head, "i don't think she's ever going to stop trying to convince you and it's two against one. london is red."

"your both wrong.." lucy said with a smirk, "but besides that i think she's good for you." you smiled softly "thanks, luce."

lucy clapped you on the shoulder, her usual teasing grin returning. "now come on. let's go find some post-match food before mccabe comes back and starts another argument."

you laughed, following her into the tunnel, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief. katie and lucy might still have their friendly battles, but they were your battles now, filled with teasing and love from the two most important people in your life.

[oldsoul007]

wicked game

older!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: A magnetic, off-limits fling between you and your rugged, older neighbor Joel turns into something deeper as you both struggle with unspoken feelings, stolen moments, and the weight of reality.

a/n: 20 year age gap, wholesome, fluff, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

I stepped out of the house into the crisp morning air, my purse slung over my shoulder and a mental checklist of errands already playing on repeat in my head. The sun was still low enough to cast a soft, golden light over the neighborhood, making everything feel calm and picturesque. I was halfway down my front steps when a familiar melody stopped me in my tracks.

“The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you…”

I froze, my fingers tightening on the strap of my bag. Wicked Game. That song always hit me in the chest, like a gentle nudge from the past, stirring emotions I didn’t even know I was still carrying. But it wasn’t just the music that caught my attention. Across the street, someone was working on a car, and it was hard not to notice him.

He had his back to me, bent over the open hood, his hands moving with practiced ease. He wore a faded flannel with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that were strong and dusted with just the right amount of hair. His salt-and-pepper hair looked perfectly unkempt, like it belonged to someone who didn’t care too much but somehow always pulled off the look.

I told myself not to stare. I really did. But the way the golden light caught the broad lines of his shoulders, the subtle flex of his muscles as he worked… it was impossible to look away.

The song drifted through the air like it was soundtracking the whole moment, making it feel too cinematic to be real. I shifted awkwardly, my steps faltering. Just then, as if he could sense my presence, he straightened, wiping his hands on a grease-smudged rag.

When he turned and his eyes met mine, my breath hitched. His gaze was dark and intense, cutting through the cool morning air like a warm breeze. He had a rugged, weathered face—handsome in the way only experience and age could make someone. His stubble was a little thicker than a five o’clock shadow, and his mouth curved into a crooked smile, like he knew exactly why I’d stopped.

“Morning,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, sending a flutter through my chest.

“Morning,” I replied, my voice higher than I intended, betraying just how off guard I felt.

He nodded toward the car, his smile widening slightly. “Sorry about the noise,” he said, his tone casual, like we’d done this a hundred times before. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly, hoping I didn’t sound too eager. “I like the song.”

He cocked his head slightly, like he was trying to gauge if I was just being polite or if I really meant it. “Chris Isaak, huh?” His smile deepened, a flicker of something playful crossing his face. “Not bad.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing myself to sound normal even though my pulse was anything but. “Classic.”

He stepped closer, just enough that I could see the grease on his hands and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more attractive. He held out a hand, grease and all. “I’m Joel,” he said, his voice warm and unhurried.

I hesitated for half a second before shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his skin rough, and somehow it felt more grounding than intimidating. “Y/n,” I said, trying not to notice the way my cheeks flushed under his gaze.

“Well, y/n,” he said, drawing back and tossing the rag onto the hood of the car, “nice to meet a neighbor who appreciates good music. I hope to see you around.”

I nodded, managing a small smile before turning away, though I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked down the sidewalk. The music faded into the background as I moved farther away, but the moment stayed with me, warm and lingering, like sunlight clinging to my skin.

As I reached the corner, I realized I hadn’t checked my list once. And suddenly, I wasn’t in such a rush to finish my errands after all.

It started out small, almost imperceptible. The first few times I saw Joel, it was nothing more than a casual glance—him working on his car, me watering my plants. He’d nod, give me a polite, “Morning,” or “Evenin’,” and I’d nod back, my stomach fluttering for no good reason.

At first, I chalked it up to curiosity. He was new to the neighborhood, and Joel wasn’t the kind of guy you didn’t notice. Broad-shouldered and quiet, with those deep brown eyes that always seemed to carry a weight he didn’t talk about, he exuded a ruggedness that felt out of place on our quiet little street.

But the more I saw him, the harder it became to ignore the way my eyes lingered. Whether he was fixing something in his garage, leaning over that damn car of his, or sitting on his porch with a beer in hand, I couldn’t help but watch him. And sometimes—more often than I expected—I’d catch him watching me too.

It wasn’t obvious, not at first. A glance held a second too long. A shift in his posture when I walked by. But over time, it became undeniable. The way his eyes would follow me when I stepped out to water the flowers, or the way I’d find excuses to linger outside just a little longer, hoping for a moment to cross paths with him.

One evening, as I was locking up my car, I felt his gaze on me. I turned, and sure enough, he was standing by his car, a rag in his hands, watching me. His expression wasn’t overtly flirty—if anything, it was unreadable—but the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

I gave him a small wave, trying to act casual, and he nodded, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

After that, it felt like every time I stepped outside, he was there. Fixing something, tinkering with his car, or just mowing the lawn. I’d try not to stare, but it was a losing battle. And every time I caught him looking back, it felt like a silent conversation was happening between us, one neither of us dared to speak aloud.

It was subtle, this dance we were doing, but it was there—undeniable, electric. And it was only a matter of time before one of us made a move.

It was a Friday night when everything shifted. I was sitting on my front steps with a beer, the summer air warm and heavy, when I noticed Joel crossing the street toward me. He had a toolbox in one hand and a look of determination on his face.

“Your porch light’s out,” he said as he stopped in front of me, nodding toward the darkened bulb above my door. “Figured I’d come fix it before you trip over somethin’ out here.”

I blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard, then glanced at the light. “Oh, I didn’t even notice. But you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his voice firm but kind. He set the toolbox down and looked at me, his lips curving into a small, easy smile. “Unless you’re gonna send me packin’.”

I shook my head, smiling back. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Want a drink while you play handyman?”

He chuckled, low and deep. “Sure, why not?”

Two cold beers were clutched in my hands, the bottles slick with condensation, and by the time I returned, he’d already swapped the old bulb for a new one. The soft glow illuminated his face as he turned to me, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

“All done,” he said, taking the bottle I offered. “You’re safe now.”

“Guess I owe you one,” I teased, sitting on the step.

“Nah,” he replied, settling next to me. “I like keepin’ busy.”

I didn’t know when it had started, this thing between us. It wasn’t outright flirting—not yet—but there was a magnetism to Joel that made it impossible not to feel drawn in. He was older, quieter, but there was something about the way he carried himself, steady and unshakable, that made me feel safe. And curious.

“So,” I started, swirling the wine in my glass, “you’ve been here, what, a few weeks now?”

“’Bout a month,” he replied, leaning back in the chair with that relaxed, effortless posture that always seemed to belong to him.

“And I still don’t know much about you,” I said, giving him a small smile.

He glanced over at me, his eyes catching the soft glow of the porch light. “What d’you wanna know?”

I hesitated, not wanting to pry too much, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I don’t know… why’d you move here? What’s your story?”

Joel’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took a sip of his beer, staring out at the darkened street before answering.

“Well, I’m divorced,” he said simply, his voice low and even, like he’d said it a hundred times before.

I blinked, caught off guard by how casually he said it. “Oh,” I said softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted gently, turning to look at me. “Trust me, best decision of my life and it was a long time ago. Been on my own for… hell, must be close to fifteen years now.”

Fifteen years. I tried to imagine what that would feel like—building a life with someone only for it to fall apart, then starting over again. Joel didn’t seem bitter about it, though. Just… resolved.

“Do you have kids?” I asked, leaning forward slightly, unable to hide my curiosity.

His face softened at that, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Two girls.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyebrows lifting.

He nodded, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pride in his expression. “Sarah’s the older one. She’s in med school. Ellie’s still in undergrad—astromony major. Both of ’em are smarter than I’ll ever be.”

The way he talked about them made my chest tighten, like he was letting me see a piece of himself he didn’t share often. There was so much warmth in his voice when he said their names, like they were the best parts of his life.

“You must be so proud,” I said softly.

“More than you could know,” he replied, his voice quiet.

I smiled, leaning back against the porch railing. “So, two daughters, huh? That explains a lot.”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just… you have that dad energy,” I teased, grinning at him.

“Dad energy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “The whole rugged, protective, slightly grumpy thing. It fits.”

He laughed at that, a low, rumbling sound that made my stomach flutter. “Grumpy, huh?”

I shrugged, my grin widening. “If the shoe fits.”

Joel shook his head, still chuckling as he took another sip of his beer. But there was something in his expression—something lighter, more open—that made me feel like I’d broken through a wall I hadn’t even known was there.

And as we sat there in the quiet of the night, our conversation drifting back to safer, lighter topics, I couldn’t help but wonder how someone like Joel, with all his layers and contradictions, had ended up here—just across the street from me.

And why I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

We talked for hours—about everything and nothing. He told me about his work, about his daughters, Sarah, and Ellie and the things he used to do before life got complicated. I told him about my job, my friends, and the reasons I’d moved here.

At some point, the conversation drifted into quieter territory. The night was still, the air thick with something unspoken. Joel leaned back against the railing, his arm brushing mine, and I felt my pulse quicken.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said softly, his voice low and rough.

I turned to look at him, my heart thudding in my chest. His eyes were on mine, dark and intense, the space between us feeling smaller than it should have.

“Joel…” I started, but before I could finish, he leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed or tentative—it was deliberate. His lips met mine, firm and warm, and I forgot how to breathe. My glass slipped from my hand, forgotten, as I leaned into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and I let myself sink into the kiss, into him. He tasted like beer and something darker, something that made my head spin. When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing heavily.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice husky and raw, “tell me to stop if this ain’t what you want.”

I shook my head, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all it took. He pulled me into his lap, his hands roaming up my back as our lips met again, hungrier this time. My mind was a blur of heat and sensation as his touch ignited something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Somehow, we ended up inside my house, the door clicking shut behind us. I barely had time to take in my surroundings before his lips were on mine again, his hands pulling at my shirt as I fumbled with the buttons on his.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muttered against my skin, his voice thick with want.

We stumbled into my bedroom, clothes disappearing in a flurry of hands and whispered words.

When we finally came together, it was everything—tender and passionate, slow and consuming. He held me like I was the only thing that mattered, his touch reverent but possessive.

Afterward, we lay tangled in my sheets, the room dark and quiet except for the sound of our breathing. His arm was draped over me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” he murmured, his voice soft and low.

I smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "It was worth the wait."

And as I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I couldn't help but feel like something had shifted. Like maybe, just maybe, l'd found something-or someone-I wasn't ready to let go of.

What began as stolen moments quickly intensified. Some nights, I’d hear the rumble of his car pulling into the driveway and find myself slipping into something casual yet enticing. He’d knock softly on my door, and I’d let him in without a word, his hands finding my waist almost immediately.

Other times, Joel would invite me over under the pretense of needing help with something—though neither of us was fooled. We’d end up tangled together on his couch, my fingers threading through his hair as his lips traced the curve of my neck.

It was never more than the two of us sharing our time and bodies, but it worked. Joel was guarded, reluctant to open up about his past, and I respected that. I didn’t ask for more than he could give, content with the way he made me feel in the moment—desired, cherished, even if only temporarily.

And Joel? He couldn’t seem to stay away. There was something about him—the way he laughed, the way he didn’t push me to be more than I was ready to be. It felt easy, natural.

But as effortless as it seemed, there were nights when he lingered a little longer, his fingers brushing my skin softly as if memorizing me. And there were mornings when I woke to find him still there, his arm draped over my waist, his breathing steady in the early light.

We both knew it was a fling, but neither of us could deny the way it was starting to feel like something more.

After that first time, it became a rhythm. A pattern.

It was never planned, not really. Joel and I never talked about what we were doing or set expectations. But somehow, it kept happening.

A knock on my door late at night. A quiet, unspoken agreement in the way his eyes lingered on mine, the way his hand would find my waist as soon as the door closed behind him.

Sometimes it was me crossing the street, catching him in his garage working on that car of his. The way he'd straighten up, wiping his hands on a rag and giving me that slow, crooked smile-it made my chest tighten every time.

"You need somethin'?" he'd ask, his tone easy, casual, but his eyes told a different story.

"Always," I'd reply, tilting my head, my lips already curving into a smile.

It was always like that. Quiet. Unrushed. No promises.

It wasn't every night, but it was often enough that it started to feel like a routine.

The nights with Joel were magnetic, impossible to resist.

Sometimes it started slow, like a smoldering fire. He’d show up at my door, leaning against the frame, his dark eyes holding mine like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I’d step aside to let him in, the faint scent of leather and soap drifting past as he walked by. He wouldn’t say much—he never did—but the way he looked at me, the way his gaze lingered on my lips, said everything.

The door would barely click shut before his hands found my waist, pulling me to him with a quiet urgency. His lips would capture mine, firm and deliberate, his calloused hands sliding under the hem of my shirt, fingers rough against my skin.

He kissed like he didn’t know when he’d get the chance again, his lips devouring mine with a hunger that left me breathless. My back would hit the wall, and he’d pin me there, his body pressed against mine, warm and solid, making it impossible to think about anything but him.

Other times, it wasn’t so rushed.

I’d wander across the street under the cover of darkness, my heart pounding even though we’d done this so many times before. I’d find him in the garage, his hands deep in some repair, grease smudged across his arms. He’d glance up when I walked in, his expression softening into that crooked, lazy smile that made my stomach twist.

“You work too much,” I’d tease, leaning against the workbench as he wiped his hands on a rag.

Joel would smirk, tossing the rag aside before closing the distance between us. “And you think I should take a break?”

“Maybe,” I’d reply, my voice lighter than I felt.

And then his hands would slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He’d kiss me slow, like we had all the time in the world, his lips soft but insistent, teasing me until I was gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When his hands roamed lower, gripping my thighs, he’d lift me effortlessly onto the workbench, stepping between my legs, his body fitting perfectly against mine. His kisses would grow deeper, more possessive, until I was arching into him, the tools and the world around us forgotten.

The nights he stayed over were different.

He’d let himself into my house, the quiet creak of the door waking me, and I’d turn to see him standing there, his hair messy from the ride, his flannel hanging loose over a plain shirt.

“You’re late,” I’d whisper, pretending to be annoyed, but the grin pulling at my lips gave me away.

Joel would shrug, his voice low and gravelly. “Had to finish somethin’. But I’m here now.”

And then he’d crawl into bed beside me, his hand trailing over my hip, pulling me close. His lips would skim the side of my neck, soft and deliberate, his breath warm against my skin. It always started gentle on those nights, his hands slow as they explored me, his touch careful, like he wanted to memorize every inch of me.

I’d lose myself in the way his mouth moved against mine, the way he murmured my name like it was a prayer. The room would fill with the sound of our breaths, the quiet creak of the bed as he pressed me into the mattress, his weight grounding me in the moment.

It wasn’t just the way he touched me or the way he made my body hum with anticipation—it was the way he made me feel seen. Like I wasn’t just someone he wanted for the night but someone he couldn't seem to stay away from, no matter how hard he tried.

And as much as I wanted to keep pretending it was nothing, that it was just two people finding comfort in each other, I couldn't deny the way he was starting to feel like more.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, as I stretched under the covers. Joel was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his boots half on, the laces dangling as he reached down to tie them.

I watched him quietly for a moment, taking in the way his shoulders hunched slightly, the way his hair was still a little messy from the night before. He must have felt my gaze because he turned, his eyes meeting mine, and his lips quirked into that crooked smile that never failed to disarm me.

“You’re up early,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Could say the same about you,” I replied, my voice soft as I sat up, pulling the sheet around me.

Joel shook his head, finishing his boots before standing. “Got a lot to do today.”

I hated this part—the goodbye. Even though I knew he’d be back, it always felt like the space between us stretched further than it should.

Joel must have noticed the flicker of disappointment in my face because he crossed the room in just a few steps, his presence warm and solid as he stood in front of me.

“Hey,” he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light, though my chest tightened.

He didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was softer than I expected. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was deliberate, slow, like he wanted to make every second count.

Then, without a word, he shifted lower, his lips finding the curve of my jaw. He kissed a line down my neck, lingering there for a moment as his hands slid to my waist, holding me gently.

“Joel,” I whispered, my voice catching as he continued his path, his mouth pressing soft, warm kisses across my collarbone, then down my arm.

When he reached my wrist, he paused, turning my hand over to press a kiss to my palm, then to the tips of my fingers.

It wasn’t just physical—it felt like something more. Like he was trying to say something he couldn’t put into words.

When he finally straightened, his dark eyes met mine, and I felt like he could see straight through me. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his voice rough but steady.

I nodded, my throat tight as I watched him grab his jacket and head for the door. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at me one more time before he left, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Joel didn’t have to say goodbye like that—but he did. And it was those little things, those quiet moments that told me more than any words ever could.

My mom called me three times that morning to remind me about dinner, as if I’d forgotten the weekly ritual of overcooked chicken and her latest gossip updates. By the time I pulled into my parents’ driveway, the sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the neighborhood. I smoothed down my dress, grabbed the bottle of wine I’d brought, and headed inside.

“Y/n! You’re just in time,” my mom called from the kitchen, her voice bright and cheerful. The smell of rosemary and garlic wafted through the air.

“Hey, Mom,” I called back, setting the wine on the counter.

I could hear my dad laughing with someone in the dining room, his deep voice carrying through the house. A guest, maybe? Mom hadn’t mentioned anyone else joining us.

I walked into the dining room, my casual smile freezing on my face when I saw him.

Joel.

He was standing next to my dad, holding a beer, his flannel rolled up at the sleeves like always. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, and for a split second, I saw the same shock mirrored in his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“Y/n!” My dad grinned, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “This is Joel, my buddy from the hardware store. We got to talking the other day, and I figured I’d invite him over. Thought you two might’ve crossed paths in the neighborhood!”

Joel’s lips curved into a polite smile, but I could see the tension in his jaw. “Good to meet you, y/n,” he said, his voice perfectly even, his hand extended.

I stared at him for a second too long before snapping out of it and shaking his hand. His touch lingered for just a moment, his thumb brushing against mine in a way that made my stomach twist.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed, forcing a polite smile, my voice tighter than I intended.

“Joel just moved in a few weeks ago,” my dad continued, oblivious to the storm brewing between us. “Seems like a good guy. Figured we’d make him feel welcome.”

“Oh, he’s definitely that,” I said, my tone a little sharper than I meant. Joel raised an eyebrow at me, but he didn’t say a word.

Dinner was a blur of awkward silences and stolen glances. Joel was calm and collected, answering my parents’ questions with ease, like he hadn’t been in my bed less than 24 hours ago. I, on the other hand, felt like I was about to combust.

“Mom,” I said sharply, nearly choking on my wine. My face burned as I glanced at Joel, who was watching me with an infuriatingly calm expression.

“Oh, come on,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand. “I’m just joking! But seriously, sweetie, you’ve had…what? A handful of boyfriends?”

“More than a handful,” my dad chimed in with a chuckle. “You’d think we were running a speed-dating service out of the house at one point.”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “Okay, that’s enough,” I said quickly, forcing a tight smile as I stared daggers at my parents. “We don’t need to go down memory lane right now.”

“Oh, lighten up, y/n,” my mom teased, clearly oblivious to the tension in the room.

I dared a glance at Joel, expecting him to look awkward or uncomfortable. Instead, he was hiding a smirk, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. I shot him a glare, silently daring him to say anything, but he just shrugged innocently.

Dinner couldn’t end fast enough.

When my mom asked me to grab dessert from the kitchen, I jumped at the excuse to escape. But as I reached for the pie on the counter, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Y/n.”

I turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, keeping my voice low.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world.

“This is my parents’ house, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“Your dad invited me,” he said simply, his dark eyes scanning my face. “Didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

“A problem?” I repeated, my voice rising slightly before I forced it back down. “You didn’t think to maybe mention that you’re best buddies with my dad?”

“Didn’t know it was your dad,” he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. “Until I walked in and saw you.”

I stared at him, my cheeks burning. “So what, we just pretend we don’t know each other?”

“Seems like the best option,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Unless you wanna tell your parents the whole story.”

I glared at him, hating how calm he was. “This isn’t funny, Joel.”

“Never said it was,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softening. “But you’re the one who’s gotta decide how to handle it.”

Before I could respond, my mom’s voice called out from the dining room. “Y/n! Everything okay in there?”

I swallowed hard, grabbing the pie and pushing past him. “This isn’t over,” I muttered under my breath.

“Looking forward to it,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as I brushed past him.

As I walked back into the dining room, my face carefully neutral, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder. Joel followed a moment later, cool and composed, like nothing had happened.

But when our eyes met across the table, I knew this was only the beginning of a much more complicated mess.

Later, after we’d finished and everyone was saying their goodbyes, Joel and I stepped out into the warm night air together. My parents stood at the door, still chatting about something, so Joel and I started walking toward our cars, the silence between us heavy.

Once we were far enough away, Joel glanced at me, his voice low and teasing. “So… how many guys?”

I stopped in my tracks, my mouth dropping open. “Excuse me?”

He turned to face me, a lopsided grin on his face, the kind that made my stomach flip no matter how annoyed I was. “Your mom brought it up,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m just curious.”

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “I am not answering that.”

“Why not?” His grin widened. “You embarrassed or something?”

“No,” I shot back, even though my face was practically on fire. “It’s just none of your business.”

Joel chuckled, stepping closer. “Fair enough. But if you’re not telling, then I guess it’s only fair you ask me.”

“Oh, really?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Fine. How many women have you been with?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Two.”

I blinked. “Two?”

“Yeah,” he said casually, slipping his hands into his pockets.

I stared at him, completely baffled. “Two? That’s it?”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he didn’t understand why I was so surprised. “Yeah. Why’s that so hard to believe?”

I laughed, the sound escaping before I could stop it. “Joel, have they seen you? You look like that, and you’re telling me only two women?”

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. “What can I say? I’ve always been a quality over quantity kinda guy.”

The way he said it, his voice low and laced with humor, sent a shiver down my spine. I quickly looked away, trying to collect myself.

“Well,” I muttered, still trying to process his answer. “I guess that makes you… selective.”

“You could say that,” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer, something that made my chest tighten.

I shook my head, refusing to let him get the upper hand in this conversation. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He chuckled. “And you’re dodgin’ the question. But I’ll let it slide… for now.”

As we reached our cars, I could still feel the heat of his gaze on me, that teasing smile lingering on his lips. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew I’d be thinking about this conversation long after he drove away.

The air was thick with the lingering heat of the day as I stepped onto my porch that night, a glass of wine in hand, hoping the cool breeze would clear my head. Running into Joel at my parents' house earlier had thrown me. I hadn't expected to see him there, standing in their kitchen like he belonged, casually sipping a beer while talking to my dad like they were old friends.

It had been almost too much-the way his eyes found mine across the room, the flicker of something unreadable passing over his face.

The way my mother had smiled, oblivious, as she chatted away, completely unaware of the tension humming between us.

I had barely spoken to him then, just a brief exchange, a nod, a polite smile. But it had been enough.

Now, as I sat in the quiet of my porch, the cicadas buzzing in the trees, I heard it-the unmistakable rumble of his truck pulling into his driveway.

I should've looked away, should've ignored the way my pulse jumped at the sound. But I didn't.

Instead, I watched as he stepped out, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn't go inside. He stood there for a second, hands on his hips, looking over at me like he was debating something.

Then, without hesitation, he crossed the street.

I didn't move, didn't say anything as he walked up the steps, stopping just in front of me. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

"You left fast earlier," he said, his voice low, rough.

I swallowed, gripping my glass a little tighter.

"Didn't expect to see you there."

"Yeah, well," he exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Didn't expect to see you either."

There was something else in his voice, something unspoken.

A question. A challenge.

I should've told him to go home. That whatever this thing between us was, it didn't need to spill over into the rest of my life. But I didn't.

Instead, I stood, stepping closer, letting the space between us disappear. His gaze dropped to my lips, and that was all it took.

Joel reached for me, his hands firm but careful as he pulled me to him, his lips crashing into mine like he'd been holding back all damn day.

I sighed against his mouth, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt, anchoring myself as his hands slid to my hips, pressing me flush against him.

The kiss was different tonight-deeper, more desperate, like the sight of me earlier had unraveled something in him. He groaned softly when I tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands gripping tighter as he walked me backward, until my back hit the wall beside the front door.

"Joel," I murmured against his lips, my voice barely there, but he didn't stop. Didn't pull away.

"Mm?" He hummed, his lips trailing down my jaw, my throat, his hands slipping under the hem of my shirt, fingers warm and rough against my skin.

I shivered, tilting my head to give him more, to let him take whatever he wanted, because God, I wanted this, wanted him.

"We should go inside," I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.

Joel exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against mine for the briefest second before he pulled back, grabbing my hand and leading me inside, the door clicking shut behind us.

The second we were alone, it was like we couldn't get close enough. Clothes were pushed aside, hands roaming, mouths meeting over and over like we were making up for the time lost earlier.

He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me through the dark toward my bedroom, his lips never leaving my skin. When he laid me down, his body pressing into mine, I knew this wouldn't be like the other nights.

Tonight, it felt different.

Tonight, it felt inevitable.

The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the ceiling fan and the sound of our breathing, still heavy from the way we’d just spent the last hour tangled together.

Joel lay beside me, one arm resting behind his head, his bare chest rising and falling in the dim light. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of him—woodsmoke, leather, and something distinctly Joel—lingering in the sheets.

I turned onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow as I trailed my fingers along his arm. His eyes were closed, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked softly, watching as his brows furrowed just slightly.

Joel let out a slow breath before finally opening his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “Nothin’,” he muttered.

I didn’t buy it. “You sure about that?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he shifted, rolling onto his side to face me. His dark eyes held something I couldn’t quite place, something heavier than usual.

He hesitated, then ran a hand over his face. “I’m too old for you, y/n.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. A slow smirk tugged at my lips. “That didn’t seem to stop you before.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That was different.”

“Different how?” I challenged, pushing myself up slightly, looking down at him. “Because I don’t remember you thinking twice about it when you were kissing me against my front door.”

His jaw tightened, and I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was wrestling with something.

I softened, reaching out to trace a finger along the scar on his shoulder. “Joel,” I murmured, “what’s this really about?”

He let out a humorless chuckle, shifting onto his back again. “Your parents.”

That made me pause. “What about them?”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his chest. “I sat in their kitchen, y/n. Drank a damn beer with your old man, listened to your mom talk about how she just wants you to be happy.” He shook his head. “Felt like I was lyin’ straight to their faces.”

I stared at him, my heart tightening. “You weren’t lying.”

“Ain’t that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” I argued, sitting up fully now, the sheets pooling around my waist. “You think they’d hate you if they knew?”

Joel didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, his gaze heavy, unreadable. “I think they’d wonder why a man like me is in their daughter’s bed.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “You think too much.”

Joel huffed, shaking his head. “And you don’t think enough.”

That stung, but I refused to back down. “You act like this is something I just fell into, like I didn’t make this choice. I know what I want, Joel.”

His eyes searched mine, like he was trying to figure out if he could believe that. If he could believe me.

After a long pause, he sighed, sitting up beside me. His hand reached out, fingertips grazing my knee before curling into a loose fist. “I don’t wanna be the reason you regret anything.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening at the way he said it—so serious, so damn certain that he was the problem. That he was something I’d one day wish I could undo.

I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, squeezing tight. “If I regret anything, it’ll be not seeing where this goes.”

Joel let out a breath, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. His eyes softened just slightly, but there was still hesitation there, still that damn weight he always carried.

I shifted closer, leaning in until my lips brushed against his. “You gonna kiss me, or keep thinking yourself out of it?”

He sighed against my mouth, shaking his head, but then his hand was at my waist, pulling me into his lap, and all that hesitation melted away as he kissed me slow and deep—like he knew this was a bad idea but couldn’t stop himself.

And I had no plans to stop him, either.

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “DON’T YOU WANT A FAMILY WITH ME?”

୨ৎ pairing: husband!junho x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: angst. major angst that’s slightly emotional.

୨ৎ summary: 5 months into marriage you thought it was time to bring up kids and how big of a family you both wanted but.. things didn’t seem to work out when you brought it up to him and your world slowly started to crumble.

୨ৎ from myeong: hello!! here we are! my first ever angst fic and I hope you can enjoy it!! I feel as if I’m the best at this (since I’ve practiced writing angst so much in my notes app lol) let’s see how it turns out! x

staring at the ticking clock for what had seemed like hours now eyes burning from how long you went without blinking, a sigh left your glossed over lips holding onto the small pair of shoes you came across after leaving work one night. passing by a cute baby shop that held just about everything from clothing items to toys and strollers, your body filled up with this excitement that couldn’t be explained. it had finally been time to talk about a family with junho and the nerves only worsened as each minute went by. of course he wasn’t home yet junho was late almost every night. work was slowly getting to him turning him into a man that you weren’t too familiar with which only hurt more. he’d come home and rant about needing to find something that he just wouldn’t tell you and you never asked him what it was. were you scared to ask him?

“junho..” his name slipped from your lips the second the door opened and you stood from your seat on the couch. his eyes that you adored so much widened seeing the small pair of shoes that you held onto getting all the wrong ideas. awkwardly laughing and shaking your head, “oh.. these? no not at all. I picked them up at the baby shop nearby after work and.. well, just thought they were the cutest little things I’ve ever seen. I thought that maybe one day our little one could wear them.. what do you think?” all the fears that flooded your mind came back that moment seeing the look on his face it almost made you sick to your stomach. “my love, you already know what my answers going to be, hm? work is just too much for me right now. I think we’ll have to wait just a bit longer.” the large and warm hands that made you feel the safest and most comfortable gently grabbed ahold of your own and pulled you closer to him but you didn’t budge. feet staying in place and eyes staring at the floor beneath you it was hard to form words after hearing such an excuse. forcing him would make you feel like the most piece of shit wife in the universe but the both of you weren’t getting any younger and it had always been a dream of yours to have a child early so you could slowly grow with the child and be close with them but junho was stopping you and it was only making things worse in the marriage. many would say to enjoy marriage and wait for kids but you knew that junho would be the most loving, caring, and supportive father in the world. did you sound selfish for wanting to see it so badly? “how long do we have to wait..?”

it was his turn to sigh especially since he pulled you towards him again and you stayed put in the same place you were in when he walked through the door. “just a few more months, yeah? maybe one more year. give me another year and I can finally give you what you want.” a year..? did this man really just say give him a year? slowly looking up from the floor to look at him, a tear rolled down your cheek. why weren’t you able to understand this? it wasn’t rocket science junho was so involved in his work and you had knew that from the beginning but what you weren’t expecting is it to get in the way of the marriage and the topic of wanting kids with him. “don’t you want a family with me?” what a dumb question to ask but it was still asked as a few more tears rolled down your wet and warm cheeks.

“what? of course I want a family with you. why would you ask such a thing? I married you for a reason didn’t I? I love you. I love you so much and you’re so precious to me that’s why I need you to wait just a bit longer.” junho watched the tears roll down your cheeks in pure agony. not being able to communicate with you about his job killed him every day in ways that he didn’t want. as he met up with gihun and spoke about plans he would find himself zoning out thinking about you and how happy he was now being married to you. how much he wanted a child with you and who would that child look more like? his thoughts were clear from the start that he wanted, needed, and adored you. having a family is at the top of his list and he just doesn’t understand why his life had to turn out this way. hiding so many secrets from his precious wife and not knowing if you were safe or not with him during these months of needing to find his brother and the island.

allowing him to pull you into his broad chest a few sobs left you while his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you close to him even when you your best to pull away from him. “let me go junho.” voice stern even if it was weak from the crying you’d done. junho shook his head his grip around you only tightening feeling like the worst husband in the world watching you suffer. “I can make this better. please trust me? we can have a baby soon, alright? I just need a month—maybe two. I hate seeing you like this. you know how important my work is sweetheart.” work. it never failed for him to bring up work even after seeing you cry and feel so worthless like this. using the last bit of strength you had left and pushing away from him reaching to pick up the small pair of shoes and walk past him into your shared bedroom. “if work is that important then you should’ve never married me junho and I mean it! all you do is talk about work and how much it stresses you out but you won’t quit! I’ve told you countless times before to quit and find something more family oriented but you won’t. you’re home late every single night. I hear the phone calls you pick up during the early hours of the morning when you’re supposed to be sleeping. junho I can’t take any more of this. I love you because you’re my husband but I absolutely despise your work.”

junho was left alone in front of the bedroom door after hearing everything you had to say about how you truly felt about him and his work. he moved towards the wall and slid down it letting his hands run through his styled hair messing it up and rubbing the gel off. he had to make things right somehow and someway with you while still trying to find his brother. how? how was he going to do such a thing because at the end of the day he was keeping the most secrets from you, his innocent and loving wife that he absolutely adored. it felt so wrong but not at all wrong at the same time which had been the weirdest feeling for him. you or his job and brother? what kind of question was that? there was no way he could decide so easily without sounding like a heartless prick but.. it was time for him to decide.

[primofate]

Death and Regrets - Alhaitham

Notes: This has been written for quite a while. It will be part of my next Genshin book "Primofate's Angst Anthology Volume 1" I was planning on keeping it exclusive to the book, but I hadn't posted in such a long while that I felt that I had to give you guys something. Grateful to all of you who are still here and please look forward to the release of my next book! I'm planning for it to be out late 2025 on Amazon!

Word Count: 2316 (yes, the death and regrets in my next book are quite long)

Others in the series: (Scaramouche and Kaeya Version) (Thoma, Xiao, Diluc and Zhongli)  (Itto, Gorou, Albedo)

Death, Regrets and Second Chances [An Alternate Ending to Death and Regrets]: (Kazuha, Childe, Scaramouche, Kaeya)

Warnings: not proofread, YOU DIE, no comfort

Characters: gn! reader x Alhaitham

It was not that your relationship with the Scribe was a secret, it was simply because the two of you were private people. There’s no reason to go around telling everyone that the two of you were dating, in fact, it would be rather unprofessional to do that, seeing as both of you held high positions in the Akademiya.

Even before that, however, when you were merely students, there were a few countable times in which Alhaitham and you crossed paths.

“What’s a Vahumana student doing reading a book about ancient runes?” He was a handsome, young man. As he was today. But he was less guarded, less critical of others in his younger years. You had no idea whatsoever that this encounter with him would lead to a blossoming romantic endeavour.

You stared up at him, rather enchanted by his eyes, book held in your hands. You took one look at his uniform and immediately knew he was Haravatat. “…We’re going on an expedition into the Hadramaveth Ruins soon…” you explain, just waiting for him to leave.

He stands in front of you for a good 5 seconds before sighing and exclaiming “…I suppose I can let you have the book for a few more days,” he starts to walk off, adding a brief “Let me know if you’re done with it,” signalling to you that he probably wanted to borrow the book.

It was weeks later that you handed the book over to him, your left arm bandaged up and in a sling. He glanced at the book, then at your arm. “…What happened to you?” it was merely an offhanded question. He was just curious what kind of accident you got into.

You didn’t seem the reckless type.

“Just some trouble in the ruins,” you shrug.

You thought that leaving the book with him was the last you would see of Alhaitham. But, days later, struggling with a broken arm and in a cliché scenario of being unable to reach a book on the highest shelf, it was him who leans forward and retrieves it for you easily.

“…Alhaitham,” he says it with a bit of uncertainty. As if not knowing if he was making the right decision.

“Huh?” You instinctively let out.

“My name. It’s Alhaitham,” You make a sound of understanding, and give him your own.

What happened after that was a whirlwind of intense and exhilarating experiences. Somehow he had made it part of his routine to lend you a hand in the library. Those little butterflies in your stomach start to flutter, wondering why he made such effort for you, when you secretly knew the answer yourself.

Those same butterflies start to fly, flitting about in twists and turns in your stomach when you find yourself sitting side by side with him, studying separate subjects, yet together in each other’s presence.

Until, even when the sun set, the butterflies are awake and alive within you, seemingly escaping your gut and now fluttering with a rhythmic thump-thump-thump in your chest while the two of you meet in the secret corners of the dormitories, head to shoulder, whispering and talking about anything and everything you could think of.

You excelled in your school, as did he, and before long, the two of you were given important roles within the Akademiya. Him as the Scribe, and you, as Vahumana’s Assistant Sage.

“Y/N?” there was a knock on your study door, voice as familiar to you as your own.

“Come in,” you stand as the door pushes open. Alhaitham slips in and just as easily closes the door with his foot, striding over to meet you at the middle of the room.

Knowing that there was no one there except the two of you, both of you walk the full length, up until he opens one arm, and up until you walk into his warmth. His arm wraps you tight for a few seconds, his eyes closing, nose diving into your hair for a quick kiss, before releasing you completely and stepping away from each other.

Just a quick greeting.

Always a quick greeting, in case someone decides to come in.

“Your message…” Alhaitham trails off, he had been out on some sort of task for a few days and the only way to reach him had been through a messenger. The message you sent was clear. Grand Sage Azar was planning something devious, and he had to be stopped. “…are you sure?”

“…At the very least, Azar is suspicious,” you recount how it seems like the Grand Sage had been scheming something. That there was an important project the sages had been working on. That Cyno had suddenly quit his post as General Mahamatra. “…They’re tampering with the Akasha System, and I haven’t seen Naphis in weeks,” you end, face carrying a grim expression.

Alhaitham, as always, remained calm and collected. You had long known that he had been a person of logic. That he was smarter than the average person, his mind always seemed to be working faster than others’ did.

“…Even then, there’s nothing we can do at the moment, without any evidence,” he closes his eyes when he says this, possibly going through all the information that you’ve given him.

“Alhaitham,” you press, words suddenly taking a more assertive edge. “It’s not natural for Naphis to disappear like this. Furthermore, all the other sages assure me that he’s merely busy working on the project.” And it’s here that he detects a hint of your pleading tone. “but he opposed of the project, Alhaitham. They’re hiding something,”

He holds back a sigh, you see it in the way his shoulders tense and his face attempts to remain neutral. “If we don’t have anything against them, then there’s nothing we can do,” he repeats and you almost feel like you’re talking to a wall, but he continues. “I’ll scout around, but there are other things I have to do. We can’t just go by your intuition alone,”

“You’re saying I’m making this all up?”

“That’s not what I said, and you know it. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you, Y/N,”

You bite your lip. He’s right. As he always is. Patience is a virtue, that was always what he said. If he wanted to do something, it had to be mapped out and planned perfectly. It wasn’t his style to go rushing into something, including accusations of people.

“We’ll talk about this a bit more tomorrow. Just cool off, for now,” he leaves with only a nod, knowing that the two of you just needed some time to think and gather your thoughts carefully, before hatching a plan. Together, the two of you could easily do it, Alhaitham had always valued your opinions and intelligence.

Early morning the next day the same messenger you had sent to Alhaitham finds his way to your study. Karman, his name was.

“Assistant Sage Y/N,” he respectfully hands you a letter, bows his head and steps away.

The letter is addressed to you, from Alhaitham.

I was on a separate task to the Hadramaveth Ruins and found traces of the sages “project”. I did return to the Akademiya but hadn’t the time to seek you out before leaving for another assignment. I left my letter to Karman. I’ll make quick of my task, and meet you at the Ruins shortly after daybreak.

Karman only watches as you drop the letter on your desk, quickly packing essentials to travel to the ruins.

Pity. He thought to himself. Such a young talent going to waste.

“You’re free to go,” you hurriedly dismiss him and he nods, taking a last glance at the fabricated letter on your table.

Alhaitham wakes far too late to stop the tragedy from happening. When he slips into your study, your door being slightly agape was his first clue that something was amiss. The second was the letter on your table.

‘I didn’t write this,’ was his instant reaction.

‘Y/N’s in trouble,’ was his second,gut-wrenching realization.

He sprinted without a second thought towards the ruins. His legs, as practiced and trained as they were from doing assignment after assignment, burned with a speed that he had never attempted to reach before. He hears his laboured breathing in his ears, hears his heart going faster than he had ever felt it go.

All the while he berated himself. How could he not have seen this coming? Why had he not taken extra precautions?

The desert is brutal, even to him. It was harder to press on, his feet stamping on soft sand, making it difficult to propel forward. He sees the ruins in the far horizon, the doors shut tight.

I can make it! He thinks to himself, pushing his strength to the last limits. You must have been inside,all he had to do was—

BANG!

In a sudden, quick explosion of sand the entrance to the ruins erupt in a lick of flames. And then, one after another bombs set off. The ground shook at the intensity, Alhaitham swayed, tipped over, and fell forward only to push himself up and keep going, his eyes determinedly glued to the ruin entrance despite the sand kicking up everywhere.

I’ll make it. I’m coming.

Explosions were still going off, ringing in his ears. His worst nightmare descended upon him when the ruin doors burst into thousands of pieces, in smithereens and mixing with the sand. The rest of the structure stumbled and caved in, it was sinking so fast into the sand.

Alhaitham pressed on.

There’s no way.

He scrambled forward as the pillars and rocks crumble and sink. For a moment he thinks he hears someone calling his name, but all he can think about is your face.

Your face. In every corner of his life. Now sinking into the sand, trapped for eternity, never to be seen again.

Y/N…!

“Alhaitham!” He’s suddenly jerked backwards, equally strong arms are holding him back, preventing him from going any further into the disaster.

“Y/N!” Alhaitham finally bellows, the sound of his voice echoing through the desert. He struggles against the hold, pulling and heaving himself forward. When he realized that the person holding on to him was just as stubborn as he was, he swerved around with a glare. “I have to go! What’re you doi—” he stopped short, and saw that it was Cyno.

Cyno who had a pained look in his eyes. “It’s too late,” he said as a matter of factly.

Alhaitham stilled, he could hear the structure still crumbling, yet to him it sounded like the whole world falling. He jerked away from Cyno’s grasp, turning towards the crumbling structure, and finally fell to his knees.

His hands grasp on sand, palm stinging at how hard he was gripping on to them. “—Can’t be,” he murmurs something into the wind, only bits of it audible. His frame crumples forward, arms keeping him from falling face first into the sand. “It can’t be…It can’t. can’t. can’t. CAN’T be!” His fist pounds into the sand with each angry word, eyes squeezing shut and wracking his brain for a solution. This can’t be it. Y/N was smarter than that, you might’ve found a way to avoid it.

To Cyno, who had never seen Alhaitham unravel in such a way, who had no idea that the man could even be in such a state, only silently watched. Unaware of what he could do for him. “Alhaitham…”

The Scribe suddenly stood, as if he hadn’t been mourning just a few seconds ago. By now the storm had settled, and where the ruin doors once stood was now just a mound of sand, as if it had never been there before. “Y/N could still be around,”

Cyno could only see his back, now tall and proud. The General Mahamatra watched as Alhaitham picked his arm up, laid it over what would be his face and dragged it, slowly, from left to right. Cyno wasn’t sure if it had been sweat or tears, but the taller man stood there for a moment, and with a hint of a tremble, said “I have to bring Y/N back…”

That’s how Cyno knew, that Alhaitham was conscious of the world, was conscious of the tragedy that had just happened.

But that didn’t stop him from coming back to the ruins every single day, holding out on whatever hope he had, the pain of “We’ll talk about this a bit more tomorrow. Just cool off, for now,” repeating over and over and over again in his head, keeping him awake at night.

How could that have been his last words to you?

How could he have passed on the chance to wrap you in his arms, like all those times the two of you shared in your younger years, and passed on the chance to tell you how much he adored, missed and loved you instead?

The worst part of it all was the fact that he had nothing left. Not even a last look of your face, not even a tombstone to visit. Not even a safe space for you to rest.

All of a sudden it didn’t matter how much he had succeeded in life up until this point. He had failed you so miserably.

What had he been doing for the past few years?

What was it all for?

When all was said and done, when the sun set and the tasks were completed, he came home to you.

And now, there was no home to be found. For a while, he would come home and collapse on the cold, hard, floor. It was so, so quiet and all around the four walls he saw your face and your smile, haunting and piercing his soul.

There was no home here.

Only sadness, and solitude.

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[allfearstofallto]

Food is a Love Language

Osamu x Fem! Reader

TW: None! Pure fluff

AN: Repost from my old account, don't blame me, I like to read it

You stared down at the basket. It had been placed beside your work bag, on a bench on the furthest side of the court. Inside was six neatly wrapped onigiri, each one with a different filling. Scratchy writing on the saran wrap of each rice ball told what they would contain on the inside, but other than that, there was a singular note at the bottom of the basket. It was neatly folded and smelled of the food it was packaged with. You looked at the gift and smiled, already knowing where it came from.

As the manager of a professional volleyball team, you found yourself getting close to your members and close to their family as well. You helped Hinata and his younger sister practice, Bokuto and his sisters offered for you to hang out with them often, and then there was Atsumu.

You didn’t know much about the highschool volleyball scene before becoming a manager, you barely even knew much about the professionals. You were at a bit of a disadvantage, still having to catch up on things. You didn’t know what happened in certain matches, you didn’t know what teams were considered to be better than others, you didn’t even know who on the team you were managing were rivals before becoming companions.

So when Atsumu mentioned that he had a twin brother, you nearly laughed in his face. He was a jokester afterall, and you had tragically fallen prey to just a couple of his pranks. But sure enough, he was serious. Not only was he serious, but he mentioned that his brother also used to play, but he quit to open a restaurant. All of this sounded made up, but when you asked around about it, it turned out to be real.

“Yeah! He was so cool! When he spiked the ball it would be like woosh, then bam! Ya know?” Hinata jumped eagerly as he spoke excitedly about Atsumu’s brother. You slowly nodded your head in response, you didn’t understand a word he’d said, you never did, but if you didn’t pretend to know, he would keep going.

“Atsumu's brother?" Bokuto began, scratching the back of his head, looking up at the sky as he thought on it, "He makes good food!" You expected no better answer from Bokuto. He thought with his stomach most days, even when he was playing volleyball. He did say that trusting his gut was the best thing to do in a game.

Sakusa was the last person you asked about him, Atsumu’s mysterious twin brother, “Annoying. They’re all annoying,” he sighed his answer out, his hand stuffed into his pockets. You don’t even think he’d heard the question, he always answered similarly when asked anything.

You remembered your first time meeting this twin. Atsumu insisted that you meet his brother because you’d hung out with everyone else's family members. You couldn’t turn him down, not only because he was right, but also because you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Nothing was making you more curious than one of your team members having a twin. Especially a twin who was a former volleyball player. From what you’d seen, everyone was so passionate about the sport, his brother being one of those people.

The entire time you walked to his restaurant, Atsumu complained about his brother. He said that he was lazy, rude, ignorant, and a bunch of other unkind things. If anyone would’ve heard what he was saying, they would’ve thought that he was talking about someone he was planning to fight. But you saw through it. The entire time Atsumu raged on and on, you could see a glimmer of excitement in his eyes and a little smile on his lips. He was happy to see his brother, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

The first thing you noticed about the building was that it was modest. A little smaller than the average building, but it still looked pretty lively. Onigiri Miya was plastered on a large sign above the door, and the smell of freshly cooked rice was already leaking onto the street. You felt your stomach rumble, Atsumu had offered to buy for you, the only thing he saw being good about his brother was his cooking after all.

A part of you still didn’t believe he was genuinely real, the twin, at least, not until Atsumu held the door open for you and you stepped inside. The sound of light, jazz music was playing over the speakers, giving the entire sitting area a calm vibe. And the smell, you couldn’t get the complete smell from outside, but now that you were in, it was all hitting you. Grilled fish, eggs, pickled vegetables, and seaweed. Amidst the idle chatter of the place, the smell was the thing you noticed the most.

Then you saw him, the spitting image of his brother. He looked exactly like him, you would’ve believed it was Atsumu standing behind the counter in a wig if not for the fact that he was standing right beside you. His hair was a light gray, a little longer than his brothers, you could see his black roots starting to grow in. That was practically the only difference, their face, body, even their smile was similar.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu shouted to his brother from across the restaurant. He finally turned to look at the both of you, his smile dropping when he laid eyes on the blond boy.

Atsumu didn’t even seem to mind the almost harsh reaction, rather he pulled a chair up for you at the bar, right in front of him. Right in front of the twin that you barely believed existed. You were still a bit dumbfounded, but there he was in the flesh.

“Why are you here,” he groaned. Their voices were a bit different, this ‘Samu sounded a bit more monotone. Or maybe he was just that angry.

“Introducing you to my manager!” he practically cheered, “This is my brother, Osamu.”

For the first time since you entered, he finally laid eyes on you. His face immediately softened when he looked at you, you supposed that that look was reserved for his brother.

His hands were planted firmly on his hips, the black waist apron he wore was dusted and dirty from a day's work. The gray shirt that he wore looked practically sculpted to his body. There was a little onigiri embroidered on the breast pocket of his shirt, your eyes were drawn to it. Even though they said he quit years ago, his arms were still large and firm.

“What he said,” he spoke a bit more kindly towards you, even bending over a little so that he was at your eye level where you sat, “I own this place. Nice to meet you, Ms. Manager.”

“Y-you too,” you managed to stumble out, before his focus turned back to his brother.

“Now are you actually going to buy something or are you just here to take up space that can be used by paying customers,”

“I’m buying, I’m buying,” he groaned, picking up a menu and showing it to you.

It was a fairly short menu. Only having different types of onigiri, some soups, teas, and a couple of alcoholic drinks. You let Atsumu order for you, saying you didn’t know what to get and that you trusted his judgment. Osamu snatcehd the menu from his brother’s hands when he was done ordering. He glanced at you a few times while he and Atsumu talked. You could feel his eyes on him and even met his gaze a couple of times, the two of you locking eyes for brief moments before he tried to turn his attention back to the conversation.

“You’d better pay for it this time,” he disappeared into the kitchen after he said that, leaving you with a chance to think about it. Think about everything.

“I thought you were lying,” you spoke in awe.

“Why would I lie about something like that?” he asked defensively.

“Because you’re you,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The two of you playfully argue back and forth. The casual conversation being what helped you both past the time. The atmosphere inside the restaurant was a calm one. The tea that you were served was even more calming. It had a sweet, earthy taste that only made you think of him. Of Osamu. The mysterious twin that you’d finally gotten the chance to meet, but were still so curious about.

“Here,” he said, sitting a plate of rice balls down in front of you, “Piping hot.”

You looked up at him again. There was a gentle smirk on his face. Atsumu had only ordered you two a piece, but there were three on your plate. The blond boy was too busy digging into his own food to notice, but you did. The way Osamu calmly gestured for you to eat up told you that much.

The first bite was incredible. The second was even better as you finally got a taste of the filling inside. It was long before you found yourself looking like Atsumu, stuffing your face full and trying to enjoy every bite.

“Like it?” he asked, the question was for you. You found yourself not able to answer. Your cheeks were completely full, you only nodded enthusiastically. It was the only thing you could do in order to not look like a complete slob. “I can tell.” This time, he reached across the bar and rubbed his thumb across your cheeks, brushing grains of rice away.

You could feel your face growing hot from just that one touch, but you didn’t pull away. Swallowing down the food, you rested your elbows on the bar, getting closer to him.

There was a tension between the two of you, you could feel it, even if you barely talked. As he tried to work and handle orders, he was still looking at you. Giving you half smiles, small waves, he’d walk up to you and ask you how the meal was. You’d long since finished at that point, only drinking the tea that he insisted on refilling for you. Almost as if he didn’t want you to leave.

The only time you were able to breathe, was when he went into the kitchen. Your mind was still filled with him when he was gone, but it was easy to not be a flustered mess without him in your line of sight. You could tell Atsumu was beginning to notice, the vibes between the two of you were hard for even the most oblivious person to miss.

“Don’t tell me-” he began, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“What?” you pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he wasn’t buying it.

“My brother? Him? Really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Osamu answered before you had the chance to, sitting an alcoholic drink down at your side, “On the house.”

You looked him up and down, silently thanking him. The drink was sweet, you could barely taste the liquor in it. Atsumu eyed you as you drank it, his face was a mixture of emotions. Anger, Sadness, maybe a little bit of disgust, but you didn’t care.

“Gross! You never give me free drinks, ‘Samu! You never give me free anything!” he complained. The restaurant was practically empty now as it was closer to closing, so he was allowed to be his normal loud self.

Osamu practically ignored the boy, wiping down the counters around you, his hand brushing up your arm a few times, “You don’t have to pay this time, consider that your free something.” The words were meant for Atsumu, but he was looking at you. You supposed that meant that the free meal was for you as well.

“Thanks,” you answered, finishing off the last of your drink. The sweet taste still lingered in your mouth, beckoning you to ask for more.

He took notice of this, picking up the glass that now only held ice, “Want another?”

Before you even had the chance to answer, or even to tease him for trying to get you drunk, your arm was grabbed by his brother. A now fuming Atsumu was pulling you off of the barstool. It was a playful anger, you could tell, but even you knew that he was getting jealous. Not because you were flirting with his brother, but because you were getting special treatment.

“No more drinks for her! We have work tomorrow!” He shouted, pulling you out the door. You waved a solemn goodbye to Osamu, watching as he didn’t stop smirking, even after you left out the door.

Almost all the lights inside the building were off, but you could still see Osamu’s form through the window. His broad shoulders slumped just a little bit, but he continued to wipe down the counters. You didn’t feel sad though, you knew you would see him again. He was the twin brother of one of your team members after all.

Practice the next day felt the same as normal. You guided the boys through their stretches and helped them with their drills before going into your office. Sitting your clipboard down, you noticed something on your desk by your mouse. A neatly wrapped onigiri, still a bit warm to the touch.

Even though it was wrapped to keep it fresh, you could tell by the shape of it where it came from. One bite of it and that familiar flavor was filling your mouth. That familiar flavor and thoughts of him. Osamu Miya. You wanted to see him again, but you knew practice would run late. Another big game was coming up and when that happened, the team acted like all they knew how to do was play volleyball.

Rice balls began to pop up all over for you after that, in places that you were sure to see them. On your desk, in your bag, on the bench you always sat on when you watched the boy’s practice matches. You knew Atsumu was the one hiding them, having got them from his brother before practice each day. You knew before he even told you, walking up, his lips in a deep frown.

“Couldn’t think of a place to hide this one,” he groaned, practically forcing this rice ball into your hands. You couldn’t help, but laugh in his face. For someone who didn’t want to be doing this, he sure was enthusiastic about hiding them.

That’s what brought you back to this basket. This had been the most you were given in one day, which was a surprise because there was no easy Atsumu could hide something like this on his person. You were the only person with the keys to the gym.

You sat down on the bench beside the basket, carefully picking up the note and reading the few words that were scribbled on it. It was simple, lacking formalities and having his same god awful handwriting. Only containing one sentence that somehow made your heart beat out of your chest.

Won’t you come see me again?

-Osamu

[alastxrs]

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

Gojo Satoru X Male!Reader

Gojo Satoru, the King of Ithica had been away from his home for twenty long years. Until finally, he arrived home and his first thought is his family after...(EPIC THE MUSICAL AU)

Twenty Years.

Twenty long years for him to return to Ithica only to see unwanted guests planning to hurt his son and his husband.

Satoru Gojo made examples out of them.

Nobody was going to get away with plotting to kill and hurt his family. He had been gone for so long, there was no doubt they had been planning to hurt his family for so many years.

They wouldn't dare anymore now that he was back.

"Father?"

"Son..."

The white-haired man slowly turned around to see his son, Yuji standing before him.

His son.

Yuji was grown now and stood proud before him, a small smile formed on his lips as he took in his son. He missed his whole life but he wouldn't miss anymore now.

"My son, I'm finally home!"

Home, home....

Satoru managed to have his arms out before his son almost tackled him into a hug, this moment meant the world to the two of them.

The young man couldn't believe that he was with his father at long last. "Father, how I've longed to see you!"

Home, home....

This moment could go on for hours and they had all the time in the world to catch up yet it was time for him to see his beloved.

He pulled away from the younger man as a soft smile filled their faces. "Go, tell your dad I'm home, I'll be there in a moment of course.." The pink-haired man nodded as he pulled away from his father before he went to tell Y/N that his husband was home.

The man quickly fixed his hair because he wanted to make himself look SOMEWHAT nice for his beloved husband.

Make his hair look decent at least.

Shit, he had blood on his hands.

He was finally home.

His time on that dreadful island with that dreadful God was something he would be glad to forget about.

"Father? He's waiting for you."

Satoru turned to his son before he walked past him to their bedroom door, he took a deep sigh. "Y/N..." he muttered before he opened the doors to see his beloved husband.

There, stood the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on.

His (E/C) eyes stared at him with disbelief that his husband was home. "Is it you? Have my prayers been answered?" He spoke softly as he approached Satoru slowly. "Is it really you standing there, or am I dreaming once more?"

"You look different," His lover tilted his head as he looked at him up and down. "Your eyes look tired..."

A small frown on his beautiful partner's lips as he looked at his appearance. "Your frame is lighter...." His eyes went to his lips. "...Your smile torn.."

"Is it really you, my love?"

The white-haired male sighed in relief when he felt the gentle touch of his lover's hand on his cheek, Y/N's touch always relaxed him. "I am not the man you fell in love with..." he responded, he placed his own hand on top of Y/N's hand. "....I am not the man you once adored."

The two knew what he was saying was a lie but it is what he thought.

"I am not your kind and gentle husband.." Satoru said as he pulled back slowly from the touch as he backed up. "And I am not the love you knew before.

Their eyes never looked away from his each other.

"Would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I've done?" He asked his lover with a pained expression on his face. "The things I cannot change, would you love me all the same? I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love."

The (H/C) haired male was quiet for a moment before he asked. "What kind of things did you do?" Satoru looked down as he looked at his own hands.

"Left a trail of red on every island as I traded friends like objects I could use..." He answered before he looked back at him. "hurt more lives than I can count on my hands but all of that was to bring me back to you!"

"So tell me, would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I've done?" He asked again. "The things I can't undo, I am not the man you knew! I know that you've been waiting, waiting..."

Y/N didn't believe what his lover was telling him, he was a man of Sparta.

He sighed as he kept a hand to his chest. "If that's true, could you do me a favor?" The (H/C) haired male kept his eyes on him, afraid if he looked away that his husband would disappear again. "Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace."

The taller male nodded his head. "Of course!"

Y/N gestured over to their bed. "See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over?" he asked, he knew this was impossible for any man to do. "Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here."

"....How could you say this?"

The feeling in the white-haired males chest ached with pain at the mere thought of his husband wanting him to remove their wedding bed. "I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat, carved it into the olive tree where we first met!" He made his way over to their bed though as he looked at it with a pained expression. "A symbol of our love everlasting..."

He turned his head over to the smaller male. "Do you realize what you have asked?" he asked his partner. "The only way to move it is to cut it from it's roots!"

"Only my husband knew that, so I guess that makes it you!"

A surprised expression formed on his face as he stared at the other man.

"Y/n..."

A serious expression laid on his beautiful face as he glared a Satoru. "I will fall in love with you over and over again!" he stated as he pointed to him. "I don't care how, where, or when! No matter how long it's been, your mine!"

"Don't tell me you're not the same person." Y/N's fist clenched into first as he stepped closer to the other man. "You're always my husband and I've been waiting, waiting..."

Y/N, waiting, waiting (Y/N)

WAITING, WAITING

"Waiting, oh!" Y/N gently caressed his cheek as he looked at his husband with a small smile on his face. "For.....you-"

The two men leaned forward as their lips pressed against each other.

The two stayed pressed against one another as they let their emotions take over, it was perfect after so long the two had been apart.

Clothes started getting removed as the two moved on top of their bed, the (H/C) haired male pinned his husband against the bed as their clothes disappeared onto the floor.

They didn't know how long they had been in bed for yet the two men wanted to be with each other, they were definitely going to be attached to the hip.

The lovers were happy to finally lay in bed together once again.

After a while, the two laid in bed and Satoru buried his face in his neck as they stayed quiet for a few more minutes just to bask in each other's warmth.

"How long has it been?"

"Twenty years..."

Y/N and Satoru looked at each other again with a soft expression resting on their tired faces.

"I love you." Both men whispered as they kissed again.

EXTRA CONTENT

"How dare you think I wouldn't love you!!" Y/N lectured his husband as he scoffed while drying the white-haired males hair, the two had finished taking a bath (and having anothter steamy session). "I'm a man of Sparta, did you forget that?! I swear being off at sea for twenty years has made you stupid."

Satoru chuckled as he smiled while his lover took care of him, the (H/C) haired male had been gentle with every scar he had.

"I'm sorry it's been years! I thought you wouldn't like-"

"I don't care what you thought!! Hearing you slaughter all those men was attractive, I thought it was attractive!! Not disgusting!!"

Y/N muttered something under his breathe about how he had an idiot for a husband.

"Your humor has gotten worse hasn't it..."

"I have so much jokes to tell! I need to catch up!"

The smaller male sighed with an irritated expression. "You are lucky I am madly in love with you or I swear, you would be joining those suitors at the bottom of the sea."

Satoru smiled brightly as the other man leaned down to kiss him.

It was good to be back.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

i'll make you lose your way

guess what this is about 😇😇😇 yeah! double homicide be upon ye!!!

(cw: violence)

sans stands outside of the house, uncaring of the way the cold winds bite into his bones through the layers of his clothes, now stained with dust. with his shoes rooted to the ground, he stares at the window to the kitchen, where he can see the silhouette of his brother flitting around in the warmly lit background.

papyrus, who is inside.

papyrus, who has always trusted in him.

papyrus, who is now standing in the way.

sans can’t find it in himself to move, to take a step forward, to take away that light.

“what’s the matter?” a familiar voice breathes out behind him. “getting the jitters?” a couple of footsteps crunches in the snow, then sans feels the presence of his shadow at his back – solid, trustworthy, yet unnerving at the same time. “it was like this for me once, too. but i got over it. you will too, in time.”

sans doesn’t say anything. he can feel the white eyelights of the other burning into his trembling form, unable to tell if it’s from the cold or something else. his shadow continues to speak, “listen, kid. think of it this way. if you don’t kill him, the human will get too him sooner or later. and then, he’ll die begging you to save him. he’ll die cursing your name for not being there. you think this is cruelty, but it’s not – it’s mercy. for him. for you.”

sans can easily imagine that. he’s even seen it a hundred times before, hasn’t he? papyrus, slain by the human. papyrus, with his skull crushed under that creature’s gleeful boots. papyrus, with his death prolonged by a sadistic being who doesn’t care about him at all. all for what? for this song and dance to play out again and again and again and again and-

and sans couldn’t take it anymore. he must take matters into his own hands. it’s been a grueling job, but he’s not alone in this crusade at least.

ash is… strange. allegedly a future version of him where he’s finally won, and yet the lone skeleton wouldn’t tell sans about his world. so tight-lipped about everything except sans, or himself basically. despite having no lv or exp, ash is unnerving, making all of sans’ senses stay on alert whenever he’s near. sometimes sans turns around just to see something else under that hood that ash refuses to put down – something unnatural, something too human-like. but it’s always gone before sans can put a finger on it. maybe he’s seeing things, the hallucinations having evolved from just sounds to full-blown sights.

it’s normal, ash has said a many loops ago. seeing things, hearing things that are not there. all just a product of our brains inside this hell. you’ll learn to differentiate them after a while.

how do you know what’s real and what’s not? sans has asked, all wide-eyed and desperate to escape from his constant nightmares.

… you just gotta have faith in your judgement, kid.

ash has a lot of advice like that, on how to deal with all of this. little tips on how to compartmentalize his feelings to process later. how to get past the pesky puzzles in hotland. how to search for the easy targets to dispose of first. how to deflect and lie and run away when things get difficult.

ash is strange, yeah, but he’s also reliable. so, when he said sans needs to kill papyrus, the younger skeleton has some rare reservations for once.

“is this…” sans exhales slowly. “… the only way?” when ash flickers his eyes at sans, the younger skeleton fights an urge to look away. “i mean, it’s papyrus! he’s not- he doesn’t deserve this!”

ash clicks his tongue. “deserve? what he deserves doesn’t matter. i’ve lived through this before, remember? he dies every single time. you can’t stop it. you can only control how it goes.”

sans swallows, something uncomfortable settling in his nonexistent stomach. “… are you sure about that? you’ve… done this before?”

ash’s grin widens, his eyelights flickering with something unreadable. "i’ve been through this so many times. and, like i said, it gets easier. so stop worrying.”

sans forces himself to meet his mentor’s gaze, unwilling to let the topic wander away this time. "how many times?"

ash is silent for a long moment before tilting his head, looking almost thoughtful. "i stopped counting a while ago,” he mumbles, staring at a spot just on top of sans. “anyway, it doesn’t matter. that papyrus wasn’t real. none of them were."

a chill sets over sans’ bones. “what?”

“what?” ash grins at him, his sockets crinkled at the edges. “what did i say?”

unconsciously, sans takes a step backwards, away from his doppelganger. ash grabs his wrist, the grip unrelenting, almost bruising. sans lets out a hiss. the world around him feels so much smaller, and the air feels even more frigid.

“come on,” ash says, still smiling serenely, his voice deceptively calm. “don’t tell me you have cold feet right now. this is an important moment for you, kid. time to see your commitment to the cause. how much are you willing to sacrifice to make this all work, sans?”

sans stares at ash, at the way he looks so assured, so convinced of whatever nonsense he’s just spouted. something at the back of his mind, a voice sounding suspiciously close to the human, crows about how stupid he’s been, how oblivious he’s been to all the red flags popping around his older self. all the times ash has guided his shaky hands to kill his fellow monsters. all the times ash has patted his back, murmuring encouragements and praises as he stares down the frightened eyes of his targets. all the times ash supposedly stands guard over him as he gets his few precious seconds of sleep, only to wake up without seeing the older skeleton anywhere.

when has his judgement become so horrendous?

(ha, has it ever been good before?)

something inside sans cracks.

“you’re insane,” he whispers. “you don’t care about him. you don’t care about them. you never did.” you don’t care about me.

ash’s eye twitches. “what did you say?”

“you’re just making excuses for your actions. you're just trying to make yourself feel better because you couldn’t take it. because you gave up.”

ash’s expression darkens. “gave up? no. i ascended. i became what i had to be. and now it’s your turn.”

sans’ magic flares, clumsily. he barely has time to act before ash is on him, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the snow. a sickening crack echoes as his skull meets the frozen ground. his vision swims. ash presses him down by the skull, pinning him beneath his knees, his breath coming out in uneven huffs, half-laughing, half-growling.

“you thought you could win against me?” ash says, voice tinged with amusement. “look at you. you can’t even land a hit. weak. like i was.”

sans cries out as a bone attack pierces through his shoulder, rendering his hp down to a single digit. the grip on his skull lightens only a bit, and the voice above him drops to something more patient, more affectionate. “you have to let go of this – your fear, your weakness. they’re a detriment to your conviction. your goal. you know i’m right. you could be so much more. you could be everything we were meant to be.”

sans squeezes his eyes shut, letting the poisonous words coil around him like a noose around his neck. he can’t focus through the pain, through the burning thought that his brother is inside the house, unaware of what’s happening outside right now.

papyrus. the only reason he’s doing all of this.

(isn’t it?)

“i’m not-” sans gasps. “i’m not like you. i won’t be you.”

the grip on his skull tightens for a blinding painful second, then it loosens as ash exhales, a breathy laugh escaping, as if he’s amused, as if he’s disappointed. “yeah, yeah, paps. i might be a little bit impatient there. but he needs some tough love, doesn’t he?... sorry, yeah, that was terrible.”

ash releases sans and stands up. sans opens his eyes and freezes upon meeting the red hue that has been haunting his dreams for so long now. ash’s bi-colored eyes regard sans as if looking at a puzzling specimen.

“clearly, you’re not ready,” ash says, hands in his pockets as he summons a cage of cyan bones to trap sans within. “but we have all the time in the world. don’t worry, i’m not going to have you kill your papyrus now. but still, someone has to.”

with that, he turns around and starts to walk towards the house. sans’ hands claw weakly at the ground, but it is no use. he can’t move. he can’t breathe. he is trapped, pinned beneath the weight of his own failure, of his own weakness. he’s always been too weak, too late for everything.

just a failure.

“one day,” ash calls out as his voice gets more muffled by the wind, “you’ll look back and see that this is a blessing. you’ll be grateful.”

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 5

Part 1 here. AO3

Simon hadn’t been surprised when Kyle said he invited someone to drinks. He had been surprised to see a woman step through the door. What surprised him was not the fact Kyle had invited a woman but that Kyle had invited a normal woman. He attracted beauties the world over. Simon thought back to a day the week before when Kyle had trapped him into listening to a rant.

Simon has watched his sergeant rant and pace for going on ten un-hyperbolic minutes. Kyle had never been one Simon would choose for having woman troubles.

“I bring her flowers and she gives them away!” He is spinning to pace back the other way.

“Does she like flowers?” Simon can’t keep his thoughts to himself any longer.

Kyle stops, foot falling heavy onto the concrete masquerading as carpet on base. He looks at his L.T., incredulous.

“Women like flowers, Simon.”

Simon would have punched the man square in his pretty face if it didn’t require standing. He had sustained a back injury on their last job and had been relegated to desk duty and PT.

“I’m not asking if ‘women’ like flowers Kyle.” Simon failed to keep the snark from the word women as he put air quotes around it. “I’m asking if your bird likes flowers.”

Kyle’s teeth snapped shut as he stared at his L.T. Simon took pity on the younger man.

“I know your mum and sister like flowers. What do they like?”

“Orchid and Sunflowers.” Kyle straightened, tucking one hand into the collar of his shirt in lieu of a tack vest.

“And your bird?”

“She’s not my bird,” he mutters to the floor.

“But you want her to be. Quit treating the woman who bests you in philosophical discussions like the ones who throw themselves at you and would take any crumb of affection that might fall into their mouths. She doesn’t sound like the type to accept scraps.”

Kyle’s nose scrunch gave away the depth of his emotions.

“And what if she doesn’t like me after?”

“After?” Simon prompted.

“After she knows that I am not a good man?” The brusque quality of his voice does not mask the fear, pain, rejection there.

Wincing, Simon stood with back stiff and straight.

“Kyle.” He waited until the man looked up from his boots. “If she’s worth having around at all she’s worth being a friend.”

Simon recoils from the pain when he lifts a foot. Damn. He was getting too old for this life.

“If you meet her would you tell me what you think?”

Introductions pulled him back from the edge of his memories. Kyle had passed your name around as they sat in a booth at a bar that looked like any number of them on this street. His arm is stretched across the back of your chair, possessive. You lean forward, elbows on the table to avoid touching him. Simon didn’t plan on watching you to inform Kyle of his thoughts but the attentive distance you kept drew his interest.

“This is Soap, and this is Ghost,” Kyle pointed to each man in turn.

Johnny held his hand out for you to shake with his signature woman-eating grin.

“Call me Johnny.”

“Simon,” he nods at you instead of offering his hand.

The side eye you send Kyle speaks of familiarity and a solid foundation to your friendship.

“So they do have normal names.”

Kyle cracks with laughter. “I never said they didn’t. Can’t help that you assumed.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to Johnny and Simon. Kyle slips off to grab drinks from the bar. Credit where credit is due, you are interesting and pull everyone into a discussion. Simon even shares his opinions on whether or not trees have domesticated humans, he does not think they have.

When drinks, beers for the guys, are running low a round of rock, paper, scissors sends Kyle to the bar and Johnny nips off to the john to relieve himself.

A deep frustrated sad sigh from Kyle’s bird has Simon looking over at you.

“How copy?”

You glance up at him, to Kyle with a beautiful woman dripping off his arm at the bar, and then turn back to the small drink in your hand, swirling the red-tinged liquid. You had been nursing the single drink the entire night.

“He’s too damn pretty for my good.”

Humming in agreement Simon thought of Johnny.

“He’s loyal though,” he sips his beer to give himself a moment to grab more words. “Kyle has walked through hell for us. He would do more than that for you.”

A snort escapes from you. Simon catches your look of self-derision.

“Kyle wouldn’t want someone like me. I’m a good friend, not a hot fuck.” You sip your drink as if to stop the flow of words.

“Friendships are the best basis for more. He only talks about three women at work. His mum, his sister, and you.”

You would have replied, brows pulled together as if looped together with a stitch tugged taut, but Johnny threw his body onto the bench next to you.

“Lass there are so many men looking for someone to take home. Interested in playing the field?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows in your direction before throwing a wink at Simon.

The bark of laughter from you has both men returning their gazes to you.

“The last time I took a man home from the bar he stayed the night and then hit on my supermodel hot roommates all breakfast. I’m not looking for a repeat of being the ugly step-sister.”

Kyle returns to the table, catching your words’ tail end. Before he can say anything you smile up at him and tap Johnny on the arm.

“I’m gonna head on home.”

Johnny stands and offers you a hand you take as you pull yourself across the bench seat until you can twist to escape.

“Already? You’ve hardly touched your drink?” Kyle gestures to your half-full glass.

Simon watches, eyes moving like he watched a match at Wimbledon.

“I don’t drink much to begin with.”

“I barely got to talk to you.” The sadness in his eyes is clear to Simon, the innumerable missions, plane chats, exfil being delayed times teaching him what that ache looked like on his sergeant.

You must not see it.

“That’s okay, we talk all the time. It was nice to meet some of your teammates though,” you toss a smile to Johnny who returns the gesture. “Good luck with whoever you end up going home with tonight.”

A wave to Simon, a nod to Kyle and you are off. Weaving through the tables and returning the goodbyes from the bar staff. Simon and Johnny watch you go, your absence absorbed by the hum of conversation filling the bar.

Kyle jerks forward when Johnny slaps him on the shoulder.

“I like her; now if she ever gives you a shot don’t fuck it up,” the Scot laughed and settled back into the booth.

When Kyle sits it is with folded arms spread across the table and his nose kissing the wood.

Finishing his beer Simon sets it softly on the table.

“You really like her.”

It is not a question.

“I want my mom to meet her.”

The look of shock on Johnny’s face as it swung to look at him would be comical if Simon didn’t also understand the gravity of that statement.

“Damn Kyle, you got it bad.”

Kyle’s response was to thump his head on the table three times, sit up straight, finish the abandoned drink, and then slam his own.

“I’m going home.”

Simon struggled to stand and Johnny left the booth behind him, hand heated against his shoulder blade. Johnny took care of paying for everyone’s drinks and met them at the door.

Kyle ignored any heated look sent his way by hopeful women, head down and shoulders crunched. Simon had no words of advice for this; he also yearned with no recourse.

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant @demothers-empty-blog

[cozmowrites]

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again?

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again? - Epic: The Musical

-----

The city lights twinkled like dying stars, their faint glow reflecting in the puddles on the cracked pavement. Katsuki leaned against the balcony railing, hands gripping the cold metal as if it could anchor him. Below, the streets buzzed with life, but it all felt distant-a hum in the background of his restless thoughts.

He'd messed up.

You were inside, curled up on the couch, flipping through an old photo album. He hadn't meant to look over your shoulder, but when he caught sight of the picture, he froze. It was the two of you, younger, happier-before his stubborn pride had driven a wedge between you.

"Do you remember this?" You had asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

He did. The memory hit him like a sucker punch: the day at the fair, where he'd won you that ridiculous stuffed bear you still kept. You had laughed so much that day, bright and carefree. He hadn't seen that side of you in so long.

He hadn't seen it because he hadn't been looking.

Now, as the chill bit at his skin, Katsuki closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. He was good at fighting, good at protecting, good at winning. But love? Love was something he couldn't fight his way through. He couldn't yell it into submission or blast his way to a solution. He'd been reckless with you, taking your love for granted until it started to slip through his fingers.

The sliding door creaked open behind him. He turned to see you step out, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the cold. The soft glow of the apartment framed you, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

"What are you doing out here?" You asked, tilting your head.

He shrugged, his voice rough. "Needed some air."

You nodded, leaning against the railing beside him. For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the distant noise of traffic and city life.

"I've been thinking," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "About... us."

His stomach twisted. "Yeah?"

You glanced at him, and he saw the uncertainty in your eyes. "Do you think we can get back to where we were? Before everything got... hard?"

Katsuki stared at you, the weight of your words pressing down on him. Could you? Could he be the person you deserved after all the times he'd let you down? He wanted to promise you the world, but he knew better than to make empty declarations.

Instead, he reached out, hesitating for a moment before his calloused hand found yours. His grip was firm, grounding, as if he feared you might drift away if he let go.

"I don't know if we can go back," he admitted, his voice low and strained. "But... I wanna try. I wanna be better. For you. For us."

You searched his face, and he wondered what you saw. Did you see the boy who'd won you a stuffed bear, who'd walked you home in the rain and held you close when you shivered? Or did you see the man who'd let his temper and ego build walls between you?

"I miss us," you said finally, your voice breaking. "I miss you."

His chest ached, the pain sharp and unrelenting. "I'm still here," he said, squeezing your hand. "I know I've been an idiot. I've hurt you. But... I love you. I never stopped."

Tears glimmered in your eyes, and for a moment, he thought he'd said the wrong thing. But then you smiled-a small, fragile thing that made his heart swell.

"I will fall in love with you.. over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when, you're mine," you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. "But it's going to take time, Katsuki. This... it's not easy."

"I know," he replied, his voice steadier now. "I'll wait. However long it takes, I'll wait."

You closed your eyes, and he felt the warmth of your trust seeping into him. It wasn't a perfect moment, but it was real. For the first time in a long while, Katsuki allowed himself to hope. "Hey, don't tell me you're not the same person. You're always my husband and I'll be waiting.."

[irishironclad]

Walking As Somebody Else

Some place in Tennessee that had no name nor number to describe it there sat a rusted mobile home that some folk might assume abandoned or housing squatters. It if weren’t for the relatively new truck that was parked next to it. 

It was summer, the small AC unit dripped moisture and rattled in its struggle to warm the space that was too large for it. Vincent kept a clean home, any time there was a mess he felt an unnatural fear that someone would appear to scream at him about it. 

There were no pictures, no personal belongings unpacked, with everything away in luggage or small chests.  The cupboards held one plate, one bowl, one mug, and there was one set of silverware. 

Vincent sat in an old leather chair that he didn’t remember ever buying yet was wrinkled with his shape. He stared at a television he hardly ever bothered to turn on. While nursing a glass of Chattanooga 1816 Reserve paired with one of his cigarillos. Smoothing back his sandy blond hair he sighed and paid attention to his breathing and heart rate - listening for any abnormalities. There was no reason for an incident to happen now, but he worried about it constantly. There was no one he could call if it happened again. 

Today was the day he did it, the day he tainted his hands. He remembered trailing ash into the recruitment office, they didn’t question him none. More meat, another body. Vincent had hoped to die over there in the desert, but the Devil had other plans for him. So when they rotated him out, citing his ‘heart condition’ as why he couldn’t go back - he returned to nothing. 

The recession didn’t touch those who hadn't nothing to lose. Whatever Vincent had inherited from his daddy was left to ashes, and as far as the banks were concerned he died in those flames too. They weren’t too concerned to look, so he only needed to move to the other side of the state and no one thought much of it. 

So one bothered him, except for the lady who kept knocking on his door. See he’d made the mistake of getting involved, he realized soon enough that if he sat around doing nothing for nobody then soon enough he’d find himself eyeing the barrel of a gun. So he’d found himself working as a bounty hunter, as well as getting a P.I license. Helping out the local boys with a case here or there. Was even a sheriff’s deputy for a while. All that fell apart, it didn’t take long for them to get a whiff of who he truly was. No lawman. No protector. The stink of blood remained no matter what title he had. 

The woman at his door didn’t seem to get the message. Sarah-Lynn James had been calling on him a few times now. Vincent sighed and put down his drink, taking a moment to smooth his shirt and look presentable before opening the door. There stood a single mother, worn and tired, with gray streaking her once vibrantly red hair she now stood teary eyed with a freshly made casserole at his doorstep. 

“Mister Valério, I made you-” 

“Mrs James, that's very kind of you but I have to direct you to the sheriff again, I know you’re hurtin’ but I’m a bail bondsman not the police,” Vincent said calmly. 

“I know you’ve found people before who ain’t out on bail,” Mrs James said, her voice quivering, she shoved the casserole into Vincent’s arms and he had no real choice but to take it. It was still warm and smelled like it was chicken. 

“Mrs James those were criminals and known fugitives, missing children ain’t really-” 

“Her name is Jane, she just turned twenty, a tiny thing she never ate right. She’s allergic to shellfish and has a beauty mark on her right cheek,” Mrs James produced a polaroid of her daughter, she looked like a younger version of her mother. With all the life and energy of youth. Vincent’s chest tightened. 

“Ma’am the sheriff’s department…”

“Won’t lift a finger, says she’s an adult, she only just turned eighteen! And she’s never been one to leave like this!” 

He wanted to help, but there were complications. It was outside of his licensing, even if he was a former sheriff’s deputy this was stepping out of the line. Vincent had been careful, folk were out looking for people like him. It had been on the news more and more, and putting himself into harm's way - it only invited exposing himself. And really, what right had he to do good? That wasn’t he. He found bad people, not good ones. It was a different sort of hunt. 

“Mrs James…” he started. He had a hundred reasons he could give, but when he caught her gaze they died in his throat. Mrs James brown eyes were red and puffy and lined but they were the same as her daughters. Vincent saw they had the same laughter and joy in them, or they did. 

“Thank you for the casserole…” Vincent sighed. “Maybe… I’ll come by later, look at her room, see if I can’t find a lead.” 

“That's all I ask, thank you, thank you so much.” 

She left blissfully quickly and Vincent was able to close his door and place the casserole down with a sigh. He could humour her, head over, take a look, and tell her that there’s no way to find her daughter. That would be the smart thing to do. That would keep him safe. Even if the look in that mothers eyes struck at his heart. 

He got away with how things were, deputies turning a blind eye, using a false name. But this was real detective stuff… it would draw attention. Yet, the feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away. If he couldn’t do this then why was he…

Vincent shook his head and stood up. Stuffed into a corner was a footlocker, hidden under stacks of files and old paperwork. Vincent cleared off the mess and opened the footlocker, inside were more notes and some leather bound journals. Layed on top was a chain with dog tags hung from it. Vincent barely nudged them with his finger before he felt a nauseous anger boiling in his throat and he snapped the footlocker closed. He rubbed his eyes and chewed his lip, unsure what to do, yet unable to ignore the nagging need that urged him on. 

What use are you if you don’t? 

He could just keep it quiet and not bother anyone. 

You have sins to repay. 

Vincent clutched his hands into fists. He could almost feel it, the prickling stabbing sensation that he had run from. Would he need to do it again? 

Freaks like you don't deserve to be alive if you don’t do nothin’ for nobody. 

Vincent avoided phones these days, but he had a burner that he kept around just in case. Dialing a familiar number he got an answer with only a few rings.

“Deputy Jones speaking.”

“Hey Jim, it’s Vince.”

“...hey man, you doing alright?” 

“Yeah, could you do me a favour? Wondering if you know-” 

“-Vince… the boss has been wanting to talk to you, something about a case, this one has the feds involved.” 

“...what’re they saying?” Vincent asked carefully. 

“You’re not a suspect but they just wanna talk, I don’t know the details.” 

“Right, well, can you tell me anything about the Jane James case.” 

“Jane James… Vince, did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, the case?” 

“It isn’t one, she’s an adult and ain’t been gone a day, why’re you asking about this?”

“Thanks Jim,” Vincent said, hanging up immediately. He snapped the phone in half and tossed it in the trash. 

Feds weren't a good sign, but he’d always known they’d sniff him out eventually. Most of the boys had some inkling, but he was useful enough they didn’t care. Some of them even understood, others wished they could have done the same. But they didn’t know for sure, they didn’t know the details. 

How long could he remain in hibernation? Not long, not if the feds were here. Vincent considered the casserole on his table. If he was going to be found out anyhow then what was the harm? That was the cold logic he gave himself, in truth the way Jim had dismissed the case all together. That didn’t sit right. 

He took the time to shower and shave, considering his jawline in the mirror Vincent decided to keep his mustache. He felt it made him look professional; as well as making his face look a tad different. He carefully combed his hair, cleansed his face, moisturized, and applied his favourite cologne; citrus and vanilla bean. He didn’t do all this to impress, it was like a cleansing ritual, attempting to wash off the taint from himself. Apply enough perfume and you couldn’t smell the stink of blood. 

He pulled on his boots and an old denim jacket and left, deciding to take his 1992 Harley Daytona for the short trip. It usually lived concealed under a tarp behind the trailer home, but some part of Vincent figured it may be a while yet before he could ride it again.

Mrs James lived on the outskirts of Nashville in a small little home on a hill apart from the other houses. The grass hadn’t been cut in a long while, and the house desperately needed a coat of paint.  Mrs James welcomed Vincent in with offers of sweet tea and more food which Vincent politely declined. 

Jane’s room was on the second floor, it had a window but a sheer drop below it. The room was no less messy than one would expect from a young woman. Though the drawers and closet had been left ajar from what looked like her quickly packing clothes. 

You picked up a few things tracking people, and Vincent had learned the easiest way for folk to go missing is when they go missing by choice. 

“You say she’s disappeared before?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Mrs James said. “But never this long, and not like this, she's never packed before or stayed out more than a night.”

“Did you let her go out like that?” Vincent asked. As much as he hated to think it, there was always a possibility Jane was running for a reason. 

“I didn’t approve but I knew she was young and… I should have been more strict, I shouldn’t have let her go out, stupid, but I didn’t want to bar her like some animal.” 

The tone was sincere, if Mrs James was the issue she would have blamed her daughter. Vincent carefully stepped around the room, looking for anything out of place. If she didn’t run away, then she may have been running to something. A boyfriend? 

“She never dated,” was mom’s answer. 

Could’ve been a secret boyfriend, maybe, but mom said she never dated not that she wasn’t allowed to date. Hiding a boyfriend usually came after the first boyfriend who mom didn’t like. 

“Friends?”

“Yeah, I mean, a few, sometimes and she’s gone out with them but never any real close friend you know? I worried sometimes about that, you need folk you can rely on.”

Vincent was entirely sure mom wasn’t to blame at this point. Sounded line Jane struggled to really connect with folk, but maybe she wanted to. Maybe that was what this was all about. On the veranda there were pictures of Jane, with friends, never the same ones. Always with her seemingly with a group, never just her and one other friend. Always tacked on, an addition, an afterthought. 

You’re sure you’re talking about Jane? 

No computer in the house, so if there was someone tempting Jane out of her home it was done in person. Vincent found no letters, no notes, not even a diary or day planner. He was beginning to understand why the sheriff’s department didn’t want to touch this. Still something smelt off, twinged the hairs on the back of Vincent's head. 

Back in the desert he’d grown this awareness for things, a look here, a movement there, one rock out of place. Helped with keeping the boys from being shot when no one was looking. Helped even more shooting the other boys when they thought you couldn’t see. You never did stop looking for targets in the sand, even when there wasn’t any sand. 

There was a trash bin though, and inside of it Vincent found a few wrappers and random bits of discarded paper. But then there was a ticket, fairly new, punched. On it read ‘Visions - Bar and Dance.’ Vincent thought for a moment and was fairly sure that wasn’t anywhere in Tennessee. 

“Cincinnati,” Mrs James said. “She’s been to that one before that… that was the only time I ever got mad at her for going out… I didn’t want her crossing state lines Oh God did I push her-” 

“Ma’am I've seen cases with runaways before,” Vincent said. “A lot of them parents gave their kids a lot of reasons to run away and it took years before they did, I don’t think this is your fault.”

“I’m just… I just want her back safe.” 

“I’ll… do what I can, ma’am,” it felt odd. To hunt down something lost, something wanted. Then to hunt what no one wanted anymore. 

Mrs James attempted to force money into his hands again, but he wouldn’t take it. Not this time. Not anymore. He left her with a promise. Hell or highwater he’d bring her girl back. 

Vincent returned to his trailer, his breath caught in his throat when he approached the footlocker again. He swallowed and opened it, pushing aside the dog tags and the papers to find a wooden box buried underneath. He retrieved it and quickly sealed the footlocker and its memories back up. 

The box contained a gift. A browning hi-power handgun, the grip was mahogany and the steel blues with silver engravings encroaching up the sides. The word’s “Be Not Afraid” written on the slide. It was polished and clean, never fired. Vincent pressed the cold metal of the slide to his lips. He didn’t need the gun, he knew this, but it allowed him to pretend. 

He retrieved a magazine and loaded the weapon with a click of the slide and the hammer. He stuffed the weapon into his waistband and hid extra magazines inside of his jacket. There wasn’t much else to take, none of it he needed, and none of it he’d be able to keep once he was caught up to. Better to travel light. 

On his way out Vincent gave the trailer a pat on its siding as a goodbye, and he did the same for his bike. As much as he wanted to take it out with him it just wasn’t practical. So he got into his brown 2001 Ford Ranger and set off without so much as a look back at what had been his home for the better part of three years. 

It was a five hour drive to Cincinnati. Vincent drove hard to the Kentucky border, he didn’t know how long before a warrant would be put out for him. But he was sure whatever courtesy he’d gained with the sheriff wouldn’t hold off the feds forever.  

He stopped at a twenty-four hour diner just across the state border, the sun having cast itself into the west with an explosion of orange light. Vincent sat down and ordered coffee along with steak and eggs. No one paid him any mind. The radio softly cut through the din of the various truckers in the diner eating and taking a rest. It cut between country blues and Elvis, and Vincent allowed himself to relax. 

The last song slowly faded away and a voice replaced it. 

“Thank you for listening to 181.6 FM, your voice on the road. I’m Jared Culsinger, and I have here with me Bobby Kinney, he’s the founder of the Preservationist Foundation here to talk about the latest reports of so-called Metahumans appearing across the United States, thanks for being here Bob.” 

Vincent froze, mid sip of his coffee, and resisted the urge to spit it out. He could physically feel the palpations of his heart pulsing through his body like ripples in a lake. 

“No problem Jared, thanks for having me.”

“Now as it stands the federal government as well as any of the states have refused to comment on the existence of these Metas, so what can you say to people at home that’re skeptical?” 

“Well Jared all you have to do is pay attention, multiple medical experts have stated on the record about these cases, we saw just in the news a few weeks ago a young girl burned her way through a concrete wall, these people are out there whether the government wants to admit it or not.” 

“And to the people at home should they be concerned at all?” 

“They should but I don’t want to fearmonger. Metahumans are people, they just have a condition, they’re scared and they often don’t know how to control what's happening to them. It’s in their best interest as well as the public’s that they be identified and given the help they need.” 

Vincent let nothing show on his face or in his actions. He calmly glanced around and it didn’t look like anyone was paying any attention to the radio. He wasn’t even sure what he’d do if he were to be found out; though it was ridiculous enough that anyone could tell what he was. 

“So Bob, how would the folk at home be able to tell one of these Metahumans from someone normal?”

“It can be hard, but a few things to look out for. There’s the obvious like them doing things that a human shouldn’t be able to do, feats of strength, injuries that would kill someone else. But what we’ve found is that they can never hide what they are from friends and family, so we find so many of them homeless or drifting. So I’d say give a close eye to anyone who seems to be wandering into town for no good reason, doesn’t seem to have any connections to anyone else, they give vague details about where they’re from. That sort of thing.” 

Vincent decided to keep on driving through the night. Only stopping once to catch an hour of two or sleep on a back road off the highway. He made it to Cincinnati by early morning. 

The whole place was a mess of office buildings and construction. Vincent never liked cities, but they were good places to disappear into. And harder places to find someone. Whole place smelt of piss, Vincent sneezed. 

He drove around a bit, getting a feeling for the area. It didn’t take long for him to wander downtown and soon the streets were lined with bars and clubs. The neon lights flickered brightly even in the brightening light of the morning. He didn’t see anywhere labeled ‘Visions’. 

Vincent figured that if Jane were here to go clubbing she would have gotten a room nearby so she wouldn’t have to walk far. He began driving in ever larger circles around the block until he found a hotel which matched the seedy tone this part of the city had. 

The receptionist was a lovely middle aged woman who looked Vincent up and down while dragging on a cigarette. Vincent recognized the look, and he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. 

“Hello, darlin’” he said, laying on the accent a tad smoother and thicker than he would naturally. “Hopin’ to stay a night or two.” 

“Absolutely,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “Visiting someone?”

“No one special,” it was a practiced dance, something he’d picked up over the years. “Know any good places to get a drink around here?” 

“Depends what you’re drinking,” she said. “What're your tastes, hon?”  

Men. 

“I like to try new things,” Vincent drawled. “Heard there’s a spot nearby, Visions?”

“Oh that's definitely new, all sorts go there, I’ve been there a few times,” the receptionist leaned on her hand. “Maybe I could take you?”

“Why don’t you sell me where it is, sugar, and I’ll meet you there tonight.” 

“It’s a date,” she said, and she scribbled an address and her number on a scrap of paper. “Still needing that room, hon?” 

“Something tells me I’ll find a place to stay tonight,” Vincent said with a wink, and the receptionist blushed violently. Vincent sauntered out, he memorized the address she had written down and then tossed the paper without even glancing at her number. In fact he hadn’t even looked at her name tag. 

The false face had come easily, the smile practiced, the look in his eyes, the way eh drawed out his vowels. No one taught him this, it was a natural thing. Different face, a different name. Alway walking as somebody else. 

Evening came soon enough, and with the neon signs illuminating the dimming streets Vincent. As he walked the streets he realized he felt elated, a smile growing on his face without his consent. The trail, the hunt, the chase, the searching. He missed these things, it felt right, it felt like him. 

Once he noticed it, instinctually he tried to push the feeling down out of reflex. Scared of what it meant, of why he felt this way. Forcing himself to remember his first hunt, his first kill. Acid scorched Vincent’s throat. By the time he found the club Vincent was frowning again. 

He watched as people lined up outside to get in. It was only half your average club crowd, frat boys and girls dressed in too little for the cold. But the other half was interesting, suits, all older, all were able to skip the main line and enter right away. 

Some of the suits the bouncer just glanced at and let in, but others had to wave cash. That was a way in quickly. Vincent was just about done eyeing his way in when he heard buzzing from his glove compartment. He opened it, pushing away the empty cigarillo packs and unpaid parking tickets to find one of his burner phones buzzing away. 

Vincent raised his eyebrow, he didn’t get scammers or anything. Anyone who called that number knew it and knew who they were callin. So Vincent flipped it open and answered. 

“Mister Valério?” 

“Who’s calling?” 

“Agent Milton, FBI.” 

“Right, and what can I do for you Mister Milton?” 

“Is this Vincent Valério I’m speaking to?” 

“It very well could be but I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” 

“Right, well, Mister Valério I have a few questions for you and I’m wondering if you might come down to the local station.” 

“Well I’m a might busy right now, Agent,” Vincent glanced behind him out of habit. No one was sneaking up on him. 

“I thought as much, when I visited your trailer you weren’t there and your vehicle was gone.”

“Nice of you to stop by.”

“Yes, do you mind telling me where you’ve gone?”

“Off to visit family.”

“Right, according to our records you have no living family.”

“Is that so?” Vincent rummaged around his glove compartment and managed to find a cigarillo. His voice had been calm, but this was a ploy. He had to play this game to buy himself time but he could feel the well of shame in his gut; a cauldron of self disgust that threatened to spew out of his mouth. The taste of tobacco on his lips soothed it slightly. 

“Your father died in 2006 right?”

“I’m sure you know already.” 

“And you enlisted to the US Army Rangers that same year, correct?” 

“You tell me.” 

“It’s not exactly normal behaviour to enlist right after a close family member dies is it?” 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“And then there’s the manner of his death, coroner didn’t even know what he was looking at, it was like something tore him apart from the inside. He couldn't even put down cause of death.” 

“I didn’t read that case,” Vincent said. He dragged heavily on his cigarillo as the memory came to him. Gurgling and choking, red spikes piercing flesh from within. 

“Listen, Vince, I made this call out of professional courtesy for the work you’ve done and out of respect for you as a veteran but… I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you come into the station or I’ll have to get a warrant.” 

“If ya could’ve gotten a warrant you would’ve already,” Vincent said. “So ya’ll either can’t or ain’t wantin' to, either way Agent, you and I ain’t gunna chat again.” 

Vincent hung up and snapped the phone in half, tossing it out the window before getting out and approaching the club. He joined the short line of suits who paid to get in. The bouncer raised an eyebrow at him, but accepted the wad of cash Vincent offered him. 

“Only 200$ to get in,” he said. 

“Keep the change.” 

“Much obliged but you sure this is your scene, cowboy?” 

“I’m sure, maybe you can point me to who I’d talked to if I wanted something… different?”

A hint of displeasure showed on the bouncers’ face “Talk to Chase at the bar, he’ll set you up.” 

“Thank ya”

The pounding beat of music vibrated through the neon halls. Doorman was right, it wasn’t his scene at all. Vincent never did like techno much. 

There were three sorts of folks here. The ones with a lot of tattoos and too little clothes. Full of piercings and strange colours all over. Then there were the suits, stiff and coked up; looking for something they could only taste privately. Then there were the staff, all young, too young. Girls and boys both. Vincent felt something settle in his stomach that he didn’t like. 

The dance floor was crowded with people lost in a haze of substance and song, neon beams streamed across them like search lights. Older men pulled young women into private rooms furnished in velvet. Vincent noticed the weight of his gun more and more. 

Vincent skirted around the crowd and towards the bar, he sat down with a sigh. Pinching his nose, he had to focus on Jane. He began to think through how he would search the place, that was until he was distracted by the bartender. 

His messy curly brown hair was pulled back in a short loose tail, his turtle neck hugged his body a little too much. And he smiled sweetly at Vincent, who couldn’t help the grin he got on his face. 

“What can I get you?” he asked. 

“Whatever you’re best at, sugar,” Vincent drawled. The bartender batted his long eyelashes and grinned, reaching down to grab a glass. Vincent swore he was showing himself off. 

“What’s a cowboy like you doing here?” 

“Looking… for something.”

“Oh yeah?” the bartender delicately placed the drink before him, his nails were painted blue. “What would that be?” 

Vincent slowly sipped the drink, tasting sweet whiskey and pomegranate as he looked him over. 

“You first, what’s your name, sugar?” 

“Chase,” he purred. 

“And what’s a pretty little thing like you doing working here?” 

“It’s a job,” he shrugged a graceful shoulder. “Now you got a name, cowboy? Or you too mysterious for that?” 

“V- Cain” 

“Cain,” Chase repeated, tasting the sound of it. “Very mysterious, that your real name?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Not at all.” 

“Good.”

“Still haven’t told me what you’re looking for, so what is it, cowboy?” 

Vincent paused, weighing his options. For all he knew he’d be arrested on return home, one night couldn’t hurt… he snuffed that thought quickly. It was tempting, but not important, he had work to do. 

“Looking for something different, taste wise,” Vincent said. “I heard they did that sort of thing around here.” 

The playful light dropped from Chase’s eyes and his smile dropped, Vincent hated it. 

“Yeah,” he said, he sounded almost robotic. It was as if he was forced to comply. “This way.” 

Chase brought Vincent past some curtains and down a long hall, the music faded to a distant hum as they entered a large dimly lit room. There Vincent joined a group of suits, all of whom looked strung out. They sat in plush velvet chairs, watching a dim stage in anticipation. Vincent joined them. 

The lights faded into a purple haze and from the curtains came ten women. Girls actually, the oldest couldn’t have been older than twenty, and the youngest was only twelve. Their faces were glazed over, staring off into the middle distance. All were dressed as if they were going to prom; with short skirts dressed full of sequins. The suits perked up, eyeing them and panting like rabid dogs. 

Vincent clenches his fists, he could feel a stabbing pain in his heart. His blood physically reacted to his anger, and threatened to reveal itself. He breathed through his nose, and scanned the lineup. 

It was hard to recognize her immediately with all the makeup they had plastered on her face. But there she was, Jane. The light from her eyes was gone. Vincent scanned the room, there were bouncers at every corner, likely armed. He would need to get Jane alone first. 

Chase came around and handed each man a menu, there displayed was each girl as if she was some premium cut of meat. With her age, her weight, and even her ‘mileage’ and though many of them had a number there Vincent was relieved a little to see Jane’s was zero. The price for each girl was barely that of a new car. 

Vincent’s heart pulsed but he maintained an air of calm; he indicated to Chase that he was interested in Jane. The suits chose their prize, Vincent struggled within to not kill them all here and save the other girls from what would happen next. He reminded himself he was here to do a job. One job. And getting himself killed helped no one. 

The girls were pulled off the stage and pushed into side rooms, the suits eagerly followed them, panting like dogs. Vincent swallowed back the acid in his throat and followed Jane into the room she was placed in. 

She stood waiting for him, staring off into the distance. She shook like a leaf, and blinked back tears. Though she otherwise looked unharmed. As Vincent stood there thinking of what to say she silently began to unclasp her dress. 

“Stop,” Vincent said quickly, Jane jumped in fear. Vincent softened his face and knelt down, speaking as calmly as he could. 

“Your name is Jane,” he said, and she froze. “Your mother is named Sarah-Lynn James, she sent me here, I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to get you out.” 

“Are you… with the police?” 

“Not exactly, my name’s Vincent, just breathe okay?”

Jane continued to sob softly into her hands. Vincent scanned the room, besides the lush bed and cushions, neon lights, and mirrored ceiling; there wasn;t much. No secondary exit. Vincent began considering how far he could get with Jane in tow before he was stopped; not far. 

He was considering hiding her under his jacket when the neon lights shut off abruptly and they were left in darkness. Vincent heard shuffling outside, footsteps, shouting. He gripped his pistol and pulled it from his waistband. 

Speakers crackled to life, and a soft voice spoke out into the darkness. 

“Step out.”

Vincent felt an immense pressure in his head, like the words physically weight a tone on his mind. His legs nearly moved to obey, like he was meant to do so; yet he caught himself. He blinked in confusion, and in that moment of lost focus he didn’t immediately realize Jane had left his side and walked towards the door. 

He jumped to his feet and shoved himself in front of her as she stepped into the now bright lights of the stage room. Jane bumping into Vincent’s back was enough to knock her out of her trance and she froze again. 

Vincent gripped his pistol with white knuckles but did not raise it, they were surrounded by twelve armed men who pointed pistols and shotguns at them. In the middle of them was a portly balding man who smiled brightly at him. 

“It doesn’t work the best on people like us,” he said, his voice reverberating through Vincent’s skull. His heart beat thumped in his head. 

“You don’t recognize me but I recognize you… Vincent, right?”

Vincent said nothing, he did his best to tune out what he was saying and scanned the room. Only one exit. 

“You look good, been working out? You’re not as skinny as you were but then we were both young.” 

Vincent observed the armed men, they all had that glazed empty-minded look about them. Behind them, just barely, Vincent could swear he saw Chase hovering behind them. 

“I was in the program too, Vince, I’m Basil remember? Cut pretty early because they realized my voice… well everyone hears it… everyone listens you know?” 

Vincent was having trouble not listening but he managed to keep his face blank even though he felt an urge to reply. Like he was obligated to, like he wanted to. 

“No matter what I say, everyone wants to listen and do as I say, except us, except metas, the stronger they are the more they resist,” Basil laughed. “Took some trial and error to figure out, but I realized what this meant. These people, they’re meant to serve me, I’m meant to command you see? That's why I have this voice.” 

Vincent tried to remember how many bullets he had. Thirteen rounds in each mag, one locked and loaded, two more in his pocket. That made thirty-nine rounds. More than enough if he was accurate, but he didn’t know if these thugs were wearing body armour, or if there were more waiting to bust in. 

“I realized these people are like cattle, so I treat them like such, bought and sold, meat for me to do as I will; but you, oh your power is even greater. You were a warrior. I could use a warrior, Vince.” 

Vince spotted Chase again, he was staring at him from behind the thugs. His eyes were wide, and has lost the glazed look that he had before. He stared at Vincent, and at Jane. Vincent looked at him intensely. 

“All your life, Vince, you’ve been a lapdog for the state, for the obsolete! We’re the next step, stronger, faster, smarter, it just takes time; that’s what I’m building here don’t you see? A world where we don’t have to walk as if we’re something we’re not!”

There was a pause, as Basil spread his arms open in expectation. Vincent stared at him unimpressed, and the smile slowly faded on Basil’s face. 

There was a crash and within a moment the whole room was plunged into darkness. Vincent reacted immediately, grabbing Jane and throwing them both to the side. Lunging behind the stage the darkness was cut with bright muzzle flashes as the thugs opened fire. 

Vincent shoved Jane onto the floor and covered her body with his as the bullets ripped around them. When there was a break in the gunfire he quickly popped out of cover and spit out a flurry of ten rounds, unsure if he even hit anything. 

Jane was crying, Vincent’s ears rang with noise. He smelt blood, and swore he felt sand between his fingers and the scent of blood mixed with the stench of burning oil. 

He grit his teeth and popped out of cover to fire three more times, until his pistol clicked empty. This time he definitely heard a body hit the floor; he dove back down to quickly flick out the empty magazine and replace it with a fresh one. 

The door to the room slammed open, light from the bar spilled into the darkness and illuminated a wide strip of the room. Five or six more bouncers rushed in, and Vincient stood and fired accurately as they paused to take stock of the situation. Two shots per man in rapid succession. Vincent threw himself backwards, his back slamming into the floor as bullets ripped through the stage, throwing wood splinters everywhere. 

Vincent felt his last magazine slip from his waistband and clatter to the floor, sliding under the stage and into the dark where he couldn’t see. While controlling his breathing he pulled back the slide on his pistol and saw he only had one round left. Next to useless, he stuck the weapon into his jacket. 

“There’s no way out of this, Vince!” Basil shouted from across the room. 

Vincent felt Jane’s trembling hand holding onto his arm. His heart beat hard in his chest. 

“All your life you’ve been running, the only way out of this is to show me what you are!” 

Vincent placed his hand over Jane’s, his fingers cracked like they were full of ice. 

“Keep your eyes closed and don’t move until I come back,” he said softly. 

Vincent’s heartbeat palpated through his body. Splinters formed under his flesh, spreading like ice. Hardening into crystal. Vincent found a nail on the floor and picked it up, before he got to his feet and slowly stepped out of cover. 

He kept his hands open and arms spread and Basil kept his men steady. The lights flickered back on and Vincent saw he was able to bring down seven of the thugs. 

“I know what you are,” Basil said, grinning triumphantly. 

“Doubt it,” Vincent said, and he took the nail to his wrist and tore open his flesh. 

Crimson blood spurt forth in a wide shower, immediately solidifying into razor sharp fragments which hailed down onto Basil and his thugs. They ducked and stumbled, covering their heads and eyes. 

Vincent flicked his wrist and blood rapidly formed a long spear which snapped off from his open wound, he gripped it and swung it in an arc knocking three of the men down by sweeping their legs. Adjusting his grip he shoved the point into the throat of the man to the far right, his pistol clattered to the ground as he gurgled on his own blood. 

Gunshots rang out, Vincent felt two pinpricks of pain on his back. He dropped the spear and turned, seeing a bouncer staring at him with wide eyes. A spike formed in Vicnent’s hand and he tossed it forcibly so it flew through the air and buried itself in his forehead. 

He whipped around and with the rapid movement of his arms Vicnent unleashed a flurry of spikes into the remaining bouncers between him and Basil. They ducked and stumbled to avoid them, but Vincent’s aim was true, and all of them fell to the ground with a six inch spike buried in their flesh somewhere. 

The room stank of blood and echoed with the sounds of dead and dying men. Basil lay on his back, staring up at Vincent with a mixture of fear and excitement. 

“Don’t you see what you're capable of? Don’t you see what you are?”

Vincent approached, blood dripping from his arm. He grabbed Basil by the throat and hoisted him up. 

“We’re… brothers, you and I,” he croaked. 

Vincent pressed his palm against Basil’s eye. 

“I killed my brother” 

His skull cracked loudly as the crystal shard shot right through his brain. 

Jane kept her eyes shut as Vincent led her out of the club, a trail of blood followed them. Yet just as quickly as it strained the floor the blood began to ripple and flow; pushed by an invisible current as it followed Vincent. Crawling up his leg to squeeze its way into his wound. The crystals shattered apart and melted into liquid which followed the flow. Vincent’s heart pumped painfully, the second he got to his car he popped an aspirin. 

He only told Jane to open her eyes when the club was far out of sight. She refused to listen until they were out of Cincinnati and headed towards the state border. 

Vincent inspected his wrist, only a thin scar remained. It had been so long since he’d done that. It felt… he hated that it felt good, like a pressure was released, a weight off his shoulders. Yet it also came with sickness, his heart hadn’t stopped aching. His head sounded, his blood felt heavy; constantly reminded of what was inside him. 

“Why didn’t ya call the police?” 

“What?” Vincent asked, starting out of his own thoughts. 

“The cops, why didn’t you call ‘em when you found me?” Jane asked. 

“Couldn’t be sure they’d actually help,” Vincent said. “Place has been there for a while, good chance five-oh know ‘bout it, and they’ve done nothin.” 

Jane was silent for a long while, Vincent scanned his mirrors. Looking for anyone tailing him, be it Basil’s goons or the feds. 

“He called you a Meta,” Jane said. Vicnent glanced at her in his rearview mirror, she was staring out the window at the passing farmland. 

“Yep.” 

“I’ve heard talk about them on the radio, folk don’t like ‘em.” 

“Yep.” 

“That… man, he was one.” 

“Yep.” 

“Are you?” 

Vincent considered the road for a moment. 

“I’m just here to get you home.” 

They rode in silence for a long while, until Jane spoke again. 

“I won’t tell no one.” 

Vincent couldn’t help but smile softly to himself. He saw a turnoff that led to a service plaza, little more than a gas station, a truck stop, and a few other amenities. But there was a McDonalds. 

“You hungry, kid?” 

Soon enough Jane was sitting munching on fries and a burger, she even managed a little smile. Vincent smiled back as he sipped a cup of coffee. 

He tried not to think about how Jane would turn out later, how any of this would affect her in life. But maybe, just maybe, a few quiet moments feeling like a little kid again would help. He sure as hell never got that. 

“Can I get a McFlurry?”

“Knock yourself out, kid.” 

They took their time but soon enough they were off again down the highway, Jane slurping down a milkshake and Vincent feeling a little bit better. The drive back to Tennessee was remarkably uneventful, Vincent even found himself not looking around for danger. A sense of peace came over him, the last thing he did as a free man was a wholly good one. 

He pulled into the driveway of the James home, Mrs James opened the door, her eyes welling with tears. Vincent had hardly parked his truck when Jane ran out and sprinted into her mothers arms. They were both wailing and laughing, touching each other's faces. 

Vincent stood off, hands in his pockets. Allowing them their moment, before he quietly stepped back into his truck. 

“Wait! Mister Valério!” Mrs Jones rushed up to the window of the truck, leaning in to kiss Vincent on the cheek. 

“Is there sure there’s no way I can pay you?”

“Like I said, ma’am, the casserole is enough, take care of your daughter now,” Vincent looked over at Jane. “Stay out of trouble, you hear?”

“Yes sir,” Jane said with a smile. 

Sirens echoed through the air and Vincent pulled out of their driveway, speeding off as the sirens got louder. He blew past the turn that led to hsi trailer, seeing the distant glow of police lights heading that way. 

He turned back towards the highway. He was sure he wouldn’t get far, and a part of him screamed to give it up. Yet a more base animalistic voice drove him to run, flee, at least try to escape the noose tightening around his neck. 

Vincent turned onto the highway, as he did so, seemingly out of nowhere, three black SUV’s turned onto the highway with him. They matched his speed exactly. Vincent glanced at them through his mirrors, their windows were tinted illegally dark. Feds. 

He pressed onto his gas, the old engine in his truck shuttered. One of the SUV’s pulled ahead of him. Vincent tried to swerve but hsi front locked with the SUV’s rear and pitted him into a spin. Vincent kept himself from rolling over and came to a stop, looking up to see his truck boxed in and surrounded by men with guns and dark shades. 

Game over. 

Vincent placed a cigarillo in his mouth and lit ii, casually stepping out. He half expected to get shot right there and then, but he wasn’t. He frowned. Cops weren;t this quiet, even Feds. He looked around, they all had weapons trained on him, but no shouts, no commands to see his hands, nothing. No logos either…

“Mister Valério,” a woman’s voice said. Vincent turned around, a brown woman in a suit approached him. Her heels clicked against the pavement, the tip of a tattoo poked out from her collarbone. She extended a hand. 

“You can call me Saturn,” she said, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I have a career opportunity for you.” 

TAGS: Remember when I used to tag people? @west-end-lady @redheadedbrunette @bespectacled-ghost @lowes-core-waifu @talesfromgringolandia @borgesperovago @thelegendofsqam @beakedwhalesyo @a-beautiful-crow @paula-of-christ @tinfoil-catholic @kasrkinguardsman @rose-in-the-snow @supreme-leader-stoat @the-lost-alchemist @holbytlanna @cousin-possum-kc @cheerfullycatholic @cat-a-holic @the-writers-wrench @animeandcatholicism @the-tea-and-book-nook @lions-online-library @lady-larklight

lemme know your thoughts and if you wanna be added to the tag list

[stilynskyx]

Rafe and Quinn

A little look into the behind the scenes of Quinn and Rafe as siblings in MALIBU BARBIE

•Quinn always felt different from the rest of the Cameron family. Sarah was the perfect child in their dad’s eyes—polished and put-together—while Quinn was more easygoing and a bit messy. Rafe could relate in his own way, feeling the pressure of being the oldest and the only son. They had a mutual understanding with one another cause of it.

One afternoon when she had been sitting on the porch steps, frustrated after failing a test she actually tried to study for. She had been staring at the paper in her hands, crumpling the edges, when Rafe dropped down beside her.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. Instead, he plucked the paper from her grip and glanced at the grade at the top.

“Yikes,” he muttered, folding it in half.

Quinn groaned. “Thanks for that.”

Rafe smirked but didn’t hand the paper back. Instead, he ripped it in half and then once more, letting the pieces flutter to the ground.

Quinn gaped at him. “What the hell, Rafe?”

“Problem solved,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just a test, Q.”

She rolled her eyes, but the weight on her chest felt a little lighter. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered.

•Rafe was always protective of Quinn due to her bubbly, clumsy, naive nature. When Quinn was younger and constantly getting into trouble—whether it was getting in trouble at school or just generally being the “free spirit” of the family—Rafe would often step in to cover for her.

Quinn sat on the curb outside the gas station, her arms crossed as she nervously tapped her foot against the pavement. The store clerk inside was still watching her through the glass, suspicion written all over his face.

She pulled out her phone and quickly typed a message.

Quinn: Sooo… hypothetically, if someone accidentally shoplifted… like, totally by mistake… what would be the best way to fix it? Asking for a friend.

Rafe: Jesus Christ. What did you do?

Quinn: Okay, don’t freak out. I picked up a drink while looking for my wallet, got distracted, and just… walked out. No alarms went off or anything. It’s fine.

Rafe: It is absolutely NOT fine. Where are you?

With a sigh, she sent her location and braced herself. Fifteen minutes later, Rafe’s truck pulled into the lot. The second he climbed out, she could already see it—the you’re an idiot look he had mastered when it came to her.

He walked up, crossing his arms. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

Quinn groaned. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to take it—I just forgot I was holding it.”

Rafe dragged a hand down his face. “You forgot to pay for something in your hand?”

“Yes! I was distracted!”

He glanced at the clerk still eyeing them from inside, muttering under his breath before looking back at her. “Stay here.”

She watched as he strolled inside, exchanged a few words with the guy, and pulled some cash from his wallet. A moment later, he came back out and shoved the drink into her hands.

She blinked. “You paid for it?”

“No, I let them call the cops on you over a damn soda,” he deadpanned. “Of course I paid for it.”

Quinn twisted the cap open, smirking. “So technically, you just bought me a drink.”

Rafe shot her a glare. “Get in the truck before I change my mind and actually leave you here.”

Still grinning, she climbed into the passenger seat. As they pulled out of the parking lot, she peeked over at him. “Thanks, Rafe.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Just stop making me do this.”

Quinn smirked. “No promises.”

•Quinn always says thank you when Rafe helps her even if he's grumbling the entire time. He always tells her to shut up, but she knows he secretly likes hearing it.

•Rafe has a talent for knowing when Quinn is lying. She’s bad at it—she just can’t lie. She fidgets, avoids eye contact, and stumbles over her words. He sees right through it every time, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed, waiting for her to crack. She always does.

The sun was high, and the OBX Country Club was buzzing with energy. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce were out on the course, showing off their golf skills while Quinn and Sarah chilled in the golf cart, laughing at their antics.

Quinn, always up for some fun, grabbed a golf ball and started playing around with Kelce. As they joked and tossed the ball back and forth, the ball hit off the cart and hit Rafe’s expensive portable speaker, knocking it off the cart and onto the ground with a loud crack.

“Oh shit,” Quinn muttered, eyes wide as she looked at the shattered speaker. Kelce immediately jumped back. “Uh, Quinn… I think you just broke Rafe’s speaker.”

“Shut up,” Quinn hissed, quickly trying to hide the damage. But it was clear from the broken pieces that it was done for.

Rafe, hearing the crash, turned around and walked toward them with an eyebrow raised, his expression shifting from confusion to suspicion as he saw the broken speaker “What the hell happened?” Rafe asked, his voice calm but sharp.

Quinn immediately started fidgeting, her foot tapping nervously. “I—I didn’t do it!” she said too quickly. “It wasn’t my fault!”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t do it, huh?”

Quinn’s eyes darted to the ground, then to the cart. She couldn’t lie to him, and she knew it. “Okay, fine! I might’ve knocked it over… but it was an accident!”

Rafe crossed his arms, waiting. “An accident, huh?”

“Yeah! It just… fell!” she said, now looking everywhere but at him. “I was just playing around, and it slipped! I swear!”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Quinn, you’re terrible at lying.”

She let out a frustrated sigh and slumped her shoulders. “I know, I know! I’m the worst!”

•Rafe and Quinn playfully bicker like it's their job throwing insults back and forth like it's second nature. But if anyone else dares to say something about Quinn?
Suddenly, Rafe isn't so amused anymore.

•Quinn knows exactly how to annoy Rafe. She hums when he’s trying to think, changes the radio station just to mess with him, and steals his truck keys just to watch him lose his mind.

Rafe was driving down the road, his mind focused on a hundred things at once—his plans for the day, the endless to-do list in his head, and the hum of the engine. He glanced over at Quinn, who was sitting beside him, grinning.

The radio was playing his favorite song, and Rafe was content to let the music fill the silence. That is, until Quinn leaned over and casually hit the dial, switching the station mid-song.

“What the hell?” Rafe said, glancing at her.

Quinn was acting completely innocent, tapping her fingers on the dashboard. “Just looking for something better.”

“I was listening to that,” Rafe said, exasperated, reaching for the dial to switch it back.

But before he could, Quinn quickly changed it again. And again. And again. “Quinn, stop!” he snapped, his hand hovering over the radio.

She just grinned, leaning back in her seat. “What’s the matter, Rafe? You don’t like this station?”

“No, I don’t!” he growled. “I like the one I was listening to. Just leave it alone.”

“C’mon, relax,” she said, casually fiddling with the dial again. “It’s not like you’re really listening anyway.”

“I’m trying to focus!” Rafe said, his voice rising in frustration. “Can’t you just give it a break?”

Quinn’s grin only widened. “But I’m bored,” she teased, leaning toward the radio to change it again.

Rafe reached over, this time quickly yanking the dial back to his station before she could change it again. He shot her a look, his patience almost gone. “You’re impossible.”

Quinn raised her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll leave it alone… for now.”

But Rafe knew better. He rolled his eyes, bracing himself for the next round of radio chaos. Quinn never let anything go without a little fun at his expense.

ask away if you want more or who you want to see more of quinn’s relationship with!!

[seldomscilence16]

The Dream Au Gift Part 4!

This one is a little shorter cause I got super busy but wanted to give ya'll something! Which also means I didnt edit it so sorry in advance! Check out 'The dream au' tag for awesome art, snippets, and other amazing writers takes! And check out @hey-hey-j the creator and fantastically talented mind behind it all and more!

Floyd has been unconscious since he found him. Tossing and turning and sick, but never awake. He’s wary of leaving his side, but he knows he needs to talk to his kids, and the island has been so worried��� 

“Ngh-” He’s trembling, trying to push himself up, it's the first sign of anything, and Bruce is quick to pull him close, to support his weak frame. 

“Floyd, hey-” he fights in his hold, hand gripping Bruce's shirt far tighter than he should be able to in his condition, “It's okay!” 

“Whe-” gasping breaths from a too thin frame, “Where are they?” His other hand reaches for his own hair, faltering and panicked. 

Bruce carefully plucks the egg from his hair, placing it gently against Floyds chest, 

“Here, they’re here, they’re safe.” Pulling him closer, trying to calm his own heart in some sense of reassurance, “You’re safe.”

Floyd cradles the egg, all his strength going into the action as he slumps against Bruce. His half lidded eyes are focused only on the precious cargo, but whether he’s actually taking anything in or not, the elder has no clue. When fuschia pupils are hidden once again, when fever and unconsciousness dig their claws deep into the younger, and quiet raspy breaths once again fill the silence, Bruce lets a tear fall. Only one, before he takes a shuddering breath and situates his brother again, wiping at his face and returning to his position at his side. 

He couldn’t say how much time passes before his wife joins him. Her head laid so gently beside him as she kneels at the bedside. They speak in soft tones, and he takes strength in her supportive presence, and while the idea of leaving this room, leaving his side, had his stomach twisting and heart clenching, there is no one he trusts more than the woman before him. 

.

John hears arguing. 

An accented voice and another with a raspy quality to it. He thinks there's a few others in the background, but he’s more focused on the tones. His hair stands on end, nerves wound tight as he takes a stake from his hair, rarely does he run into other friendlies on the road, especially so close to a giant colony. He crouched low, ears flickering to pinpoint the louder voice-

He lunges.

.

Branch sees the figure around the same time Dickory does, but it does nothing to allow either of them to react in time. Barb flails backwards, Viva has Poppy pushed behind her, Hickory is still too surprised to do more than hold the stake wielding arm at a distance. Clay actually reacts first, gripping Branch’s shoulder as he breathes out another haunting name, before shouting it again with his arms up and out to draw attention,

“John!” 

His head whips around, faltering just barely as he takes the two in,

“Stop! He's with us!”

“He’s Floyds Boyfriend!” Branch adds, a little too off put to say much else, anything to shock him enough to stop attacking. 

“He’s Floyd’s what now!?” 

“What is happening…?” Barb has been helped up by Poppy, staring at the frozen scene with a perplexed look, like she had been ready to fight and halted too soon, stuck in the lurch as it were. 

“The dead are coming back to life left and right is what's happening.” Branch mutters, heart calming just enough for some of that bitterness to return. 

“Let him go John, before you get yourself killed.” Clay warns reluctantly, motioning to the shorter yodeler that looks a moment away from throttling the visor wearer. 

John looks from one to the other, slowly lowering his weapon and releasing Hickory, he does a 180 as he turns to Clay and Branch, 

“I can’t believe you guys are alive!” He throws his arms out, grin wide, and maybe Branch can see some genuine relief in his eyes, but it's still over 20 years too late.

When silence follows his exclamation and neither brother moves forward to greet him, an awkwardness and tension war to fill the air and Poppy is never one to let it linger,

“Okay! Um… Hi, I’m Poppy. My newly found sister Viva, Queen Barb of Rock, Hickory and Dickory, and I guess you already know those two… Uh,” her eyes flash around their group and surroundings for only a moment, “It's getting dark, why don't we make camp, and figure out our next move.” 

Everyone warily dispersed to do just that, Branch ignoring John's dejected look, as Poppy appears at his side with a worried tilt to her brow. He releases a quiet sigh, but takes her offered hand as they go to collect firewood. 

.

Viva had not expected her day to turn out like this. To meet other Trolls, to reunite with her sister- who wasn't dead!- to agree to leave the putt putt course and join her on this journey… 

She was kinda freaking out. 

The jump scare just now didn’t help, and the tension between so many members was making her nervous, only added to with their newest addition. There were so many questions, but just like herself, no one looked ready to talk about it just yet. 

Their newest member stood where he had been left, Dickory eyeing him where he was setting up their sleeping spaces. John looked lost, and sad. A million emotions in his eyes, one's she didn't know, and ones she did. For all of Dickory's suspicion, she had no doubts that he too recognized some. 

And with their current group… It likely wouldn’t be addressed quickly. 

She makes eye contact with the shorter Yodeler as she shuffles closer to John Dory, figuring for once that her speed wouldn’t be appreciated here. To his credit, John's ear twitches at her approach, obviously still aware. His face changes as he straightens up, turning to look at her with only a little strain to his smile, 

“Princess Viva, good to see you alive, or would it be Queen now?” His brow furrows at the thought, the passage of time a tricky thing to deal with. 

“Mm, Clay and I are Co leaders of the Putt Putt Trolls.” Viva offers with a shrug and a so-so gesture. 

John blinks a few times, and Viva can see his brain turning all the new info around, before he nods, eyes going to where his two brothers had gone- in different directions. She thinks she might see something click, and she's reminded of the Band she loved so much, and how different they all are now. 

How real they are. 

“What brings you out here?” She finally asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“Found some food!” 

Their eyes snap back to the designated camping area, where a fire has been started already and tents set up, a pot hanging over the flames. 

“We should help out.” 

Viva’s lips purse as John walks away, avoiding her question as his shoulders sag with whatever heavy weight he’s carrying. 

Dickory sits beside him as they eat, a silence hanging over them all as even Viva and Poppy fail to lighten the mood. Eventually, John wanders to the border of their little clearing, sitting against a tree, only then do conversations slowly pick up. 

It bugs her.

But she's not sure why.  

…

“There you are! Are you alright?” 

Hickory can’t draw his eyes away from the letter, reading over it once more, each swirly slightly crooked letter. 

“It's not his handwriting.” Admitting it out loud feels like a window shutting on his shoulders. 

“You think the brother’s telling the truth?” Dickory sits beside him, he can feel the worried eyes scanning his profile as a tear escapes his careful facade. 

“What other choice do I have?” His voice goes hoarse, the letter crinkling in his fists, he has to force his grip to lessen as not to tear the evidence. His brother is silent for a long moment,

“I'm sorry…” Rarely does Dickory’s voice sound like this, “I shouldn't have asked you to come with me.” The guilt… 

“It's not your fault.” Hickory has to swallow the lump in his throat, for all his anger and fear, he never means to hurt his brother.

“But if I hadn’t-”

“Stop it.” He finally turns to him fully, firm as he looks him in the eyes, “I’m the one who left. If it's anyone's fault-” his shoulders slump-

“Now you stop it.” Dickory’s hand is solid and warm on his shoulder.

And despite the despair and guilt, an understanding passes between them. 

They’d have eachothers backs, like they always did. 

[flaresemily]

Hello hope your having a good day! I have an angst idea for richter from castlevania nocturne. I was thinking of Richter and the reading being friends when they where younger and after his mom’s death, going to France they lost touch.

Eventually richter finds out that reader had been turned into a night creature (he realized from maybe something still on them jewelry, birthmark), how would that go?

I wanted to leave it open since a few ppl don’t like detailed requests sometimes 😅 if you do get around to this thank you!

It's okay if it's with me you can just make it as detailed as you can because this is to prevent me from being confused on what you are requesting. Idk if it's a good angst or not

Richter x Female Reader : Night Creatures.

"Richter!! Behind you!" Maria shouts at Richter seeing one of the night creatures trying to stab him from behind but fails.

"This thing keeps coming nonstop!" Richter replies as he kills one of them. "I feel like someone is controlling them but who?" Annette said as she protected Maria backs.

"weird...feels like we're missing a piece here" He mumbled to himself.

"If all 3 of you would look ahead. That's probably the master" said Alucard while glaring at the dark corners of the night street.

"get ready! It's about to strike!" They all get to their fighting stance. As the creature launched itself to them long claws were sheathed from behind the hood.

Cling!

"AGH!!!"

"Richter!!" As the creature attacks him with its long claw Alucard manages to launch some attack by cutting the left hand of the creature.

The creature growls before Maria summons her birds and attack it making the hood falls off.

It is revealed to be a female night creature. Long hair,sharp teeth,6 eyes. As if the creature stares at their souls.

"weirdly enough she maintains some of her...human face" Alucard comments on her appearance.

She growled at them before launching herself at them.

"Take cover!!!" As Annette shouted. Richter's world seems to be slow as the creature attacks him first.

Luckily Alucard managed to save him. "What were you thinking! Standing there like a prey!" He scolded him.

Richter was still in shock not by the creature attacks but with the creature's appearance.

"Richter are you alright?" Maria asked him.

"I...I..." As he looks down he remembers a promise he make

Flashbacks (yes flashbacks)

"promise me you come and protect me when I need help" a young girl probably 3 years old asked a young boy.

"I promise!" As they linked their pinky finger they laughed at each other's behavior.

Flashbacks end

I...I kno---" the creature screams again before attacking them.

"ugh it won't stop attacking...even when we are already blind it's eyes!"

Richter only remains silent. He slowly walks to the night creatures. "What are you doing!" Whisper Annette in case the creature hears her.

"just take cover...tell the others I handled her"

Annette just looks at him weirdly and runs to the others. As they all hide behind a ruin wall they watch Richter getting closer to the creature.

"hey beautiful..." The creature turns around and lets out a scream. "I was too late aren't I?" He let out a sad chuckle.

"... it's always like this, always late to save you even now I'm such a useless friend"

As the other 3 listened to his speech, they were starting to understand what was going on.

"do you know I actually got beat up by a female?" As he said, the creature attacks him again. He uses his whip and binds her leg together. Then he uses his power to freeze her leg after binding them.

The creature snarls at him.

"I'm sorry please... please forgive me" he used his power to freeze her whole body leaving only the head.

She growls and snarls at him. As if warning him.

"hey hey look it's me? Richie the 'wannabe hero' remember?" The creature seems to calm down.

"I am Alucard! And I'm gonna kill you!" As Richter said it in a playful tone. The creature seems to recognize it as its blinded eyes widen.

(the others feel cringe at that especially Alucard he looks like he got betrayed.)

As Richter cupped the creature's face. He brings the creature's forehead down and kisses her forehead. The creature truly calms down this time. It cries at the feeling.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry it's all my fault isn't it...I failed once again." He cried out. The creature screams once again trying to escape his grasp.

"please! Please!! I'm begging you! Stop I'm sorry! It's my fault! It's my fault!" As the final stroke the creature breaks out from the ice and slams Richter to the wall.

Alucard sensing this quickly attack the creature.

"YOᑌ lie!! ᎽϴႮ ˡᶦᵉ!" The creature cried out in pain.

"ꪱׁׁׁׅׅׅtׁׅ 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻 ｉｔ ｂｕｒｎ!! 𝘼𝙜𝙝!!! ՆɿคՐ სiმჁ!!"

Richter try to reach out for her but was stop by Annette.

"you have to let her go she's suffering."

"I can't..." He sob. "I need to keep my promise and yet I failed once again! Why! Why!" He punches the floor in anger.

"I was always late to save her. And yet she was always on time to save me. Why am I so useless!" He cry. Tears flowing nonstop.

"𝑺𝒂... ᵥₑ.... ₘₑ" Richter eye widen.

"It's now or never Richter!! You need to save her!! She's hurting! She's suffering! Keeping her alive just makes her suffer more!"

He screams in anger and runs to the creature. He uses his power shaping them like a dagger and slams it to the creature chest 5 times. The creature chokes on its own blood and falls backwards.

Richter walks to the creature still crying and cradles it. He screams and screams and screams till he loses his voice.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry y/n." He sob.

"ₘₒ... ᵣₒₙ" he heard the creature mumble and smile. "Yeah...I'm a moron"

As the creature chest stops moving it indicates that the creature finally meets its end.

"someday...I promise I save you just in time"

He carries the creature and buried it near the lake.

"who is she actually and how did you recognize her?" Maria asks watching Richter bury the corpse.

"...her leg" he smile. "Her leg?"

"she has a burn mark on her left leg. She got it from a fire that happened when we were little. It was still there" he answered.

"now...she probably wishes for me to continue living so... who's gonna cook tonight?"

Slap!

"as if!! We already cooked yesterday it's your turn!" Annette say and walk away with Maria.

"Do you agree with them?" Alucard side eye him and smirks. "Guess you will be cooking alone tonight Belmont boy" he chuckled and followed the other two.

"hey! It's not fair?!"

The end~

[shadowsndaisies]

I was re-reading the series bcs duh, why not? And I love that NG has so different dynamics with each member of the Team and I love that with Roy is just younger-sister-sassy.lvl_3000

LIKE- she turn even more cheeky and stubborn with him, annoying him on purpose and getting in his nerves LMAO THAT'S EXATCLY LIKE SIBLINGS ARE

here a dialogue that I had with my siblings that remembered me of Roy and NG

Roy: get out of my room (lying down on his bed scrolling through his phone)

NG: (stading right there on his room door) I'm not on your room

Roy: yes you are, get out!

NG: I'm not!! I'm not stepping inside of your room! (points down where her feet's are behind the line of Roy's door line)

Roy: Get out!! OR I'MMA THROW OUT YOU JACKET (gets up)

NG: YOU WOULDN'T-

Roy: (bolt out of his bed)

NG: (running down the hallway)

so ive been sitting on this one bc it inspired a lil blurb. enjoy some sibling roy and birdy content after their angst from the season finale!!

synopsis: sibling bonding time!! aka the holidays right after ollie takes in roy...

wc: 1.2k

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You were bored.

It’s winter break, 2004. Christmas is days away but you were so incredibly bored.

This year you were celebrating in a cozy little cottage some ways outside the city that Oliver’s family owned. Ollie himself had been pulled away for some sort of League thing, and so at the moment it was just you, Dinah, and Roy. Dinah had been on some call for the last hour and a half in a little home office. So really, it was just you and Roy.

You like Roy. Everyday he's becoming more and more like the older brother you never had. Dinah seems to really like him too, so it bodes well for your little family. Ollie had only taken him in about six months ago, and there was still some space for adjustment as you settled into being a newly minted family of four. Not that Roy seemed to realize that this was a family… he’d catch on soon enough.

But that's okay. It took you a while to put it together, you could give him some grace to do the same, even though he's older than you were then, and older than you in general.

Nonetheless, be it the boredom, or because Roy was still this new thing, you found yourself in his doorway.

He was just laying there, book in hand. Maybe he's bored too? you consider as you stare. If he's reading the tactic books that Ollie had given him, he had to be, right?

“What do you want (y/n)?” he sighs out, without looking when you stood in silence too long.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Stuff,” is his one word answer and you crinkle your nose in response.

“Come play with me,” you offer instead.

“Nope, doing stuff,” he repeats.

This time your brows shift down, and you step closer.

“Stop,” he groans, finally turning to look at you. “I'm not interested, and I’m doing stuff, so just.. I don't know? Go away?”

You're fully frowning now.

Teenagers suck, you decide.

And then your face relaxes. If Roy wanted to be a sucky teenager meanie pants, then he would be treated like a sucky teenager meanie pants.

“No.”

Roy stops mid page turn and slowly turns his head to look at you. Blue eyes narrowing slightly. “No?”

“No,” you cross your arms and confirm.

“(y/n), get out of my room!” he huffs.

You know he's starting to loose his patience with you. He's already tossed his book to the side to glare at you with full focus, he didn’t even mark his page, you note, scrunching your nose.

Your brows furrow in response before you glance down at your feet. You can see the thin little line that marks the threshold of the room and hallway.

smirking you look back at roy and state, “im not in your room,” as matter of factly as you can manage.

You don't laugh when his eye twitches, but you do take great smug solace in it.

“Yes, you are! Get out!” he shouts again.

“No, I’m not,” you repeat with the same tone. “I haven't stepped into your room at all… yet,” you challenge, pointing to the threshold of the door, and how your feet were planted firmly in the hall still.

“Get out, or I'm donating your leather jacket to a Goodwill,” he challenges, standing up.

That gives you pause, because no fair, you loved your jacket. Dinah and Ollie got it for you.

You hesitate in the door, and he steps forward.

“You wouldn't,” you counter, brows knitted as you study his body language.

Honestly that’s probably the only reason you managed to move as quick as you did.

Studying him for a lie meant you saw how he tensed up, pushing his weight to his back leg before he pounced, arms open and trying to grab you.

Well, and Dinah, consider she's the one who taught you how to read people.

You did notice though and were already booking it back down the hallway before he’d even caught his footing.

“BIRDY!” he shouts, and you can hear him running after you.

You're about to turn to your room, ready to shut the door and throw the lock when you realize your jacket is hanging over the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen. You turn quickly, sprinting through the home.

When you risk a glance back to see Roy gaining, stupid longer legs you think menacingly to yourself.

“DINAH!” you shout, hoping she might hear you.

“NO DINAH!” Roy counters.

You plant one leg on the couch vaulting yourself over before skidding to a stop next to your jacket.

Roy stands across from you. The two of you separated by a couch.

“You shoulda just left me alone Birdy!” he spits out, but you're both panting hard.

“I was bored!”

“How about now?” he challenges. “Still bored?”

You're hugging your jacket to you as you frown, but are saved from retorting when the door swings open, revealing Oliver. He's a bit bruised and battered, and he's got his bag with all his GA gear slung over a shoulder, but he's back.

Neither you nor Roy moves, and it takes less than two seconds for Oliver to read you both and let out a sigh.

“What was it this time?”

“She’s annoying!” Roy starts and you stick your tongue out at him.

“At least I'm not a sucky teenager meanie pants,” you counter, and Ollie’s eyes blow wide.

“Wow, breaking out not only sucky but also a meanie pants, gosh squirt what’d he do?”

“He was mean! for no reason!”

“No reason? She’s literally annoying me for no reason!” Roy counters.

“We're really feeling that holiday spirit huh?” ollie offers in response, finally walking all the way in, and shutting the door behind him.

“So funny,” you scoff.

“Yeah, what a crack up,” Roy snarks.

Ollie takes the opportunity to beam with a little too much pride at you both.

“See, you guys do agree on stuff,” he decides. “I’m great at this conflict management stuff,” he smirks, “I honestly don't understand what Dinah was going on and on about,” he adds, though his tone drops a bit quieter as he says the last sentence.

You make eye contact with Roy behind Ollie’s head and you see as he rolls his eyes and the expression he shoots at you clearly asks, *can you believe this guy?*

You hold back a snort as you quirk a brow in response. Roy seems to pick up on what you were trying to share because slowly you place your jacket back on the chair and then in the next second you both are lunging at Oliver. Ollie, despite how well trained he is was unprepared and lopped over the back off the couch, practically somersaulting over the sofa until he was on the ground. It's quiet for a second and then both you and Roy are laughing. He's holding the edge of the couch and there are tears in your eyes.

“Yes,” he states dryly, slowly pushing himself back to his feet, “bond by bullying your injured mentor…”

The look on his face simply had you both laughing harder.

...

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