#ever wonder if someone actually sees what you make

[isaisliterallyhim]

heyyyy love your fics <333

can you do sugar daddy Kaiser who's always been rude and rough with reader but one day when he realises he's falling in love with them he's really gentle, asking how they feel and praising them? if possible can you do fluff along with nsfw???

ahh hii anon!! thank uu i appreciate ur words <33 anywayss i love the plot ohh gosh ygs r so creative omg

"And all I wanna do is stay with HER"

ft. michael kaiser . sugar daddy! kaiser . ooc! kaiser lol... . ness is in the story omg! . is ness ooc! too... . yes ness is ooc asw . character development.? . eventual smut . sex gulp... . piv ! . afab! reader . mistreated! reader ... . fluff asw . unreliable narrator

wc: 1.0k

"she's annoying." kaiser grumbled, taking a sip of wine. ness looked at him, "[name] cares about you that's why." the magician tried to lighten the mood. clearly, it didn't work.

"she just wants fucking money." he retorted. ness frowned, "can't you look at it in a positive way.? at least she's trying. take a look at all the others you've had."

that sentence had kaiser reflecting for a bit. "huh. i suppose you have a point for once, ness." the prodigy felt himself get a little flushed. "you're treating her so rough, how often does she even ask for money.?" ness continued. "don't be so harsh man! she's trying..."

the emperor tsked. "if she's so 'perfect' you take her then." he grumbled. jeez this guy is really helpless man... ness looked at kaiser disgusted for the first time.

"keep acting like that and she's bound to become who you think she really is." ness thought as he picked himself up and left kaiser to his thoughts.

later within the night, kaiser found himself scrolling through your photos after sending you some money (oh need that.) it hit him you were gorgeous. pretty face with a kind heart.. he was going to go insane.

the more he scrolled the more he admired your beauty. you radiated an aura that he just couldn't place his finger on. perfection was a word too vague to describe it.

shaking his head, he set his phone down. hands on his head, he was wondering. what the literal hell was he doing.? all he's ever done was treat you like shit because he had such horrendous experiences with others.

i mean, you were like the others. you were just there for the money... and attention i guess. but there was something more to it. he was just to blind to see it. (tf r ur glasses for mihya bro.)

it was late — hella late. 2:32 A.M.? there's no way you'd come over right? so what the heck were you doing at his door in a matter of moments?

kaiser opened his door, surprised. "you — you actually came?" he asked, somewhat in disbelief. "i'm right here aren't i, dumbass.. plus you called." you shrugged.

the satin on the bed somewhat wrinkled as the both of you sat down. "um, so why'd you want me to come ove-" you were quickly interrupted by an apology. "[name], liebling. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for my behaviour, how i treated you. scheiße, i'm so fuckin' sorry."

he held your visibly smaller and softer hands. his hands feeling quite the opposite. you were kinda a dumbass, "wha — michael huh...?" you shook your head giggling, "what are you apologizing for?"

his gorgeous blue eyes stared into yours. "don't act coy with me, [name]. you don't need to forgive me. i'll do whatever for your forgiveness. please. do you want more money? gifts.? flowers..? wha.. god. what do you want?!" kaiser asked desperately.

you looked at him with a deadpan expression. god, has this man ever been treated alright.? "mihya, i don't really want anything. yea i mean i love money i mean — who doesn't love money. but i'm not here solely because of money." you sighed.

"yes, you have money is definitely a positive trait but, you have more to it. money isn't the only thing that makes you lovable." you continued to ramble. his hands released yours. you were caught in his embrace.

"mihya.?" you whispered. kaiser knew how scary it was to love someone. the amount of devotion you must give. the time and effort. one wrong move? it could all crumble.

his embrace got tighter, you were tensing a little bit up. was he gonna beat you like what the heck is goin' on?! he knew you were always running away from love, 'cause your daddy never gave you enough :((

hey, same for him as well, no? "meine liebe." kaiser breathed, "let's try again together. i'm done with the 'you deserve better' bullshit. i have the choice to be better and i'm taking it."

he loosened his embrace on you, hands on your shoulders. you met his gaze. all it could scream was blue of desperation. not going to even lie, most dedication you've seen in your whole life.

you were still skeptical — hell, i can't blame you! you've been mistreated all the time by partners, getting taken advantage of... what change is this rich and attractive man going to do? he has the money, the women ugh... thinking about it made your head hurt.

"what do you say, liebling. let me show you.?" he leaned in, mumbling into your ear. hah! as if you'd believe what he said and give him a chance.

kaiser would be lying if he said he didn't regret making up with you earlier. he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss you. hell! every bit of fiber within him missed you! his lips on yours, oh gosh. he's going crazy. :c

a little while after what was supposed to be a sweet make out, he found himself aligning his tip to your slit. you had glossy eyes as you stared back up at him. he had you pinned onto the bed...

"are you sure?" he asked stroking your stomach, his hands then tracing your curves. "fuu-uck. you're perfect." he mumbled. you nodded in response.

as he buried his length into your warmth he swore he got sent to heaven. "sh-shit.. scheißescheißescheiße...! please you're made for me..." he continued, his lips once more pressed onto yours.

nah, at this point his cock was stretching your opening... it hurt. kaiser broke off the kiss as he groaned, "you take me so damn well.. i'm sorry for being so horrid to you."

you were practically crying, was it cause the sex was good? cause of kaiser? you didn't know! "m-hya.." you sobbed out so sweetly. it was kaiser's last straw.

your walls were sucking his member in man..! how could he not..? your noises could kill him oh gosh! one last thrust and his length was kissing your womb :c "i'm sorry meine liebe, i-" the emperor didn't even get to finish his sentence as he finished in you <3

he pulled out just to push his fingers back in. admiring your form and expression. maaaan, kaiser couldn't ask for a better girl >< dawn came, so did kaiser, 'cept he n you came multiple times :3 kaiser could make it better. all he needed was just one more day with ya.

— ©isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags !! : @twijaxx ♡, @kyvkc

a/n: hey guys.. hey anon.. guess who's finally back heh... my writers block actually fried me so bad its diabolical man.. yes i lost motivation half way along w the plot tbf i had this in my drafts for 2 weeks or smth... i'm so sorry if this wasn't what y'all wanted ill cook for the future ones ;-; not proofread btw good GAWDDDD if kaiser was my sugar daddy man.. money and hes hot YES PLSS (no im nawt shallow but tuition fees are booty bro yall cant blame me.) yes this is all yap ALL MY NOTES ARE YAP OK </3 but um.. yay ilygs a lot mwa mwa <3

[lexiputellas]

Broken Vows

part2 - mdni

June 12th. Laundry day.

The monstrous, all-consuming, never-ending laundry day.

You remember when laundry was as simple as dropping off a bag of clothes at the dry cleaner and picking it up a few days later, crisp and fresh. That was before. Before life became an endless cycle of dirty socks, misplaced jerseys, and sheets that always seemed to need changing.

You start in Nora’s room. Nora, who is what some might call "spirited" but what you would call an absolute tornado. She plays football, like Alexia, but in terms of clothes, she is nothing like her mother. Alexia is meticulous. Methodical. Everything folded in perfect squares, socks matched like puzzle pieces. Nora? Chaos incarnate. At one point, you even wondered if she had ADHD, but then again, navigating a six-year-old’s mind is harder than you ever anticipated.

You strip the bed, replace the sheets, and move to Iris’s room.

The moment you step inside, a memory crashes over you. You and Alexia painting the walls, carefully placing the crib, folding tiny baby clothes. You were so pregnant with Iris that you joked about rolling around instead of walking. So big, so round, so full of expectation. But the reality was different. Harder.

You cried while feeding her, your nipples raw and bleeding. Your body didn’t feel like your own, you were right on the edge—so close to falling into postpartum depression that you still wonder if you actually did. Just a breath away from giving up.

But that was then. And today, you refuse to dwell on it.

You move to your bedroom, stripping the sheets, gathering Alexia’s clothes from the bathroom floor. You wash them the way she likes—because, of course, Alexia has a very specific way she likes things done. You are halfway through making the bed when her phone slips off the mattress, landing right on your foot.

Pain explodes up your feet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hiss, grabbing your foot before bending down to retrieve the damn thing.

You think about texting one of the girls, letting them know Alexia left her phone at home. But as you glance at the screen, a name catches your eye.

Eva.

There are several messages. You shouldn't look. You know that. You know it’s wrong. But the urge is overwhelming.

Who the fuck is Eva?

Your heart pounds as your fingers hover over the screen. You know Alexia’s passcode. It used to be your birthday, then hers, then Nora’s. You try and it works, the messages open.

It’s not a long conversation. Not pages and pages, just a few days’ worth. But it’s enough.

*Where are you? I’m worried.*

*Did your wife give you a hard time for getting home late?*

You didn’t. You pretended to be asleep when Alexia climbed into bed last night.

*When will I see you again?*

Your stomach twists. Maybe Eva is just a friend. A close one, maybe even a best friend. But deep down, you know. You fucking know. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers move.

You type back, pretending to be Alexia.

*Last night was good.*

You hit send. Your heart is pounding.

It takes barely a moment for Eva to reply.

*Oh, just fine, yeah?* she asks, her words dripping with a quiet, simmering edge of something darker.

*Was it just good when you fucked me against the balcony?* she adds, that sharp edge now unmistakable, laced with a daring smirk you can almost hear.

You freeze. Your pulse spikes, the room spinning around you. The words blur. The world tilts.

Alexia fucked someone else.

Eva.

Eva, who?

Eva, the reason she stopped coming home for dinner?

Eva, the reason she stopped tucking the girls into bed?

Eva, the reason she started giving up on you?

The name pounds inside your skull like a drum, like a fucking rock concert reverberating through your entire being. You can’t breathe. You can’t fucking breathe.

You drop to the floor, staring up at the ceiling, hot tears pricking at your eyes.

Is Eva prettier than you? Does she fuck better than you? Is she hotter? Funnier? Nicer?

You don’t know what to do. You don’t even know how to exist in this moment.

A cry pulls you back.

Iris.

You forgot you left her in her playpen.

You wipe your tears, stand up, and go to her. She snuggles into your arms, warm and safe. You hold her close, pressing your lips against her tiny forehead, and think—What the fuck am I going to do?

———————————————

7 PM. Dinner is ready.

You always wait until 7:30 to see if Alexia is coming home. You text Jana, telling her Alexia left her phone behind. Jana just says, Okay.

Alexia arrives on time. Kit still on, hair in a messy bun, looking every bit like the woman you fell in love with. She comes straight to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the girls, lifting them onto the kitchen counter as they sing along to something on the iPad.

She asks where her phone is.

"Upstairs," you say.

She kisses the girls again before heading up.

You had deleted the messages. Every single one. You’re not stupid.

When she comes back, phone in hand, she helps you set the table. You sit next to Iris, feeding her small bites, while Alexia chats with Nora. It feels normal. Eerily normal. Almost like the past.

You eat Dinner. Do the dishes. Put Nora to bed and Alexia tucks in Iris.

After being done you go to your bedroom, with an idea in mind.

Alexia is already there, sitting against the headboard, scrolling through her phone.

"You know what I was thinking?" you say.

She hums without looking up. "Hmm?"

"I got something for you. Want to see it?"

Her head tilts. She looks intrigued.

You haven’t bought or worn lingerie in years. Not since you stopped feeling like the woman who used to leave Alexia breathless. But you still have some—tucked away in the back of your closet, hidden like a past life.

"What it is? Show me," she says.

You step into the bathroom, slipping into the black lace. It hugs every curve, pushes up your breasts, makes you look almost unfamiliar to yourself. You barely recognize yourself.

But when you step out, Alexia does.

She stares.

Not just a glance—she looks at you like she used to, like she’s seeing something she forgot she could have. Like you’ve just stolen the air from her lungs.

Her phone slips from her fingers, forgotten.

You crawl onto her lap, slow, deliberate, feeling the heat radiating from her body the moment your thighs settle over hers.

Her hands move without hesitation—roaming, squeezing, claiming. Her breath is heavier, her fingers digging into your hips, trailing up your sides, gripping your waist like she’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"Fuck, baby," she murmurs, her lips dragging over your throat, her voice thick, ruined. "You look so fucking hot."

Her fingers move lower, tracing the lace, teasing the edge of the fabric. You roll your hips against her, slow and smooth, watching the way her jaw tenses, the way her fingers twitch against your skin.

She groans, low and guttural, her hands sliding up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms—like she needs to touch every inch of you. Her lips trail lower, hot and open-mouthed, sucking bruises into your collarbone, your breast, dragging her teeth over lace-covered skin.

Her hands are on your thighs, spreading you, guiding you against her. You grind down, chasing something desperate, moving against her fingers the second they find you—slick, eager, drowning in want. Her breath hitches as she pushes inside, stretching you, filling you.

Your forehead drops against hers, your breathing uneven, your body trembling. It’s messy. It’s hungry. It’s not enough.

And then—

You lean in, your lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, and whisper—

"Does Eva fuck like I do?"

Everything stops.

Alexia’s hands freeze inside you, her breath catching in her throat.

She pulls back just enough to see your face, her brows furrowing, her eyes flashing with something dark, something uncertain, something dangerously close to breaking.

She looks at you like she doesn’t understand.

Like she doesn’t want to understand.

You smile.

"Yeah, Alexia," you whisper, voice sharp, taunting, twisting the knife. "I’m not fucking blind."

[nyoomfruits]

@steviethenarwhal reblogged this post with the following tag

and i was like YEAH i kind of need to see that too SO. i wrote it lmao

--

Oscar had plans, on how this meeting was going to go, on what he was going to say when he saw Carlos again. There was a speech, about what happened to him, about the other Carlos, about what they mean to each other, in that universe.

Then he was going to ask. If Carlos wanted to try with him, too, maybe. Go on a date. Just to see if they would work just as well as the other Carlos and Oscar.

But that all sort of goes flying out of the window when he finally lays eyes on Carlos, his Carlos.

He’s standing in the door opening of his apartment, looking confused and apprehensive, and Oscar.

Oscar can’t do anything but kiss him.

He’s wanted to. He’s wanted to so badly, ever since he got to know Carlos better, got to understand him better. But it had felt wrong, kissing a Carlos that wasn’t his. That didn’t belong to him.

Carlos’s lips are soft – probably some stupidly fancy brand of lipbalm – and warm against Oscar’s, and for a moment – a wonderful beautiful world tilting moment – it’s just them, their lips pressed together, Oscar’s hand fisted in the front of Carlos’s shirt.

Then Carlos pushes him away. “Oscar, what-“ He starts, staring at Oscar with wide eyes. “Why.”

“Shit, sorry, I got carried away, I just-“ He takes a deep breath. “Did you know we are married?” At Carlos’s stunned expression, he continues, “Well, I mean, not here. In another universe. We’re pretty happy together too, from what I gathered.”

“Are you- Do I need to call someone?” Carlos asks, hesitant, cautious, taking a step back.

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I’m not crazy,” he says.

“You were in a coma for 2 months,” Carlos states, holding up his hands. “It wouldn’t be weird, if your brain-“

“Look, do you want to date me or not?” Oscar asks, a little impatiently. This is not at all going how he’d planned it. He’d forgotten how goddamn infuriating Carlos could be. Other Carlos was... Actually, no, he was still pretty infuriating. Oscar had just chalked it up to his other universe-ness.  

Carlos is staring at him like he can’t decide to kiss him again or call an ambulance. Oscar, not willing to wait or hope he settles for the first, throws up his hands. “Fine! Forget it,” he says, turns around to stalk away, but a hand snakes around his wrist.

“Wait,” Carlos says. “Let’s just… Come inside? We’ll talk.”

Carlos’s hand is warm around his wrist, and his eyes are big and doe like and make Oscar feel like he’s drowning and his mouth is pulled up into a hesitant smile and Oscar knows what he tastes like, now.

“Okay,” Oscar says. “Okay, let’s talk.”

[halsteadlover]

𝐀𝐧 𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐞

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested by @hart-kinsella: Basically, the fan fic could be set at one of Jay's Intelligence colleagues' wedding and mc is one of the bride's closest friends; the bride wants to set her up with one hot cop (could also be one who works on patrol). It could either be that the 'chosen' guy is not Jay, but then mc and Jay naturally connect at the reception (maybe through her wanting to avoid the guy she's set up with) or Jay being the 'set up' guy from minute 1 and them just meeting there (with the usual embaressement that comes from friends insisting you should get together) and hitting it off immediately.

• Warnings: curse words/strong language, mention of alcohol consumption, lots of tension and physical contact, heavy making out, suggestive at the end.

• Word count: 8.8k

• A/N: PLEASE READ ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+ DUE TO SUGGESTIVE THEMES. The way I was so excited about this fic but I reread it and now I hate it why am I like this 😭 Let me know in the comments what do you think about this one, I love you all ❤️

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you said to Kim as you watched her sip the champagne from her glass, her huge ring shining against the lights of the room.

She was radiant, a smile plastered on her lips as wide as you had ever seen her in all the time you were friends. She was happy and your heart exploded with joy seeing her finally have her happy ending with Adam, especially after everything they’ve been through.

She looked beautiful in her white wedding dress and you couldn’t hide the tears of happiness you shed when you saw her walk down the aisle, a radiant smile on her lips. Adam looked at her with eyes so bright and full of love it made you wonder if there’d ever be someone who’d look at you like that, as if you were the only person who mattered, as if without you he couldn’t even breathe.

“Of course it’s a good idea! There’s nothing better than a blind date with a hot cop,” she finished sipping her champagne and set it down on the tray as a waiter walked by, thanking him immediately after. “You don’t trust me? Have I ever let you down on the men front?”

You didn’t respond, just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay there might’ve been some unfortunate meetings but this won’t be the case. Please, please, please. I swear he’s a really cute and good guy!” She begged, putting on her cute puppy face that not even the devil could resist.

Little bitch.

You sighed and rolled your eyes and that was enough to make her clap her hands with joy. “Only because it’s your day.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise.”

The fact was you were already regretting it.

You had never been very good at blind dates, you hated not knowing who you were going to talk to and spend the evening with, you wanted to be able to decide first if you liked that person. What if you didn’t like him, or if he didn’t like you? It would’ve been very awkward.

Actually, it was. It was definitely awkward.

Kim had pointed out from afar a man who was talking to Adam—ignoring how the latter was watching Kim without ever taking his eyes off her even while talking to other people—and you took your time to observe him.

He was a tall man, from behind you noticed his ash blonde hair and a statuesque body that was embraced by a tuxedo. Without even saying anything, Kim grabbed your hand and dragged you towards them, ignoring your signs of protest.

You were so nervous and you hated it.

And it certainly didn’t help that Kim had made it her mission to pair you up with someone, since you were the only single girl in your group of friends.

But you were happy, you weren’t lonely, you were fine being alone and that was important, you didn’t need a man by your side to determine your happiness. You defined your own happiness.

“Hi babe,” Kim greeted her husband, who smiled before sliding his arm around her hips and kissing her. The two of them were so in love it was almost disgusting. “Sorry I was rude. Caleb, I wanted you to meet my friend.”

Your cheeks flushed red as you felt the man’s gaze on you. “Oh so you’re the famous Y/n right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

God please have mercy.

“I hope only good things,” you replied with a smile and offered him your hand, which he immediately shook. The way his eyes moved up and down your body made your skin crawl, and the smirk he had plastered across his lips as he looked at you didn’t suggest anything good.

You pulled your hand away, forcing a smile as he started to speak, and cursed both Kim and Adam when you saw them sneak away, both giggling as they left you alone with that guy.

As they say, a woman’s sixth sense is like a gift, it never fails.

And it didn’t even take half an hour of talking to Caleb to realize he was self-centered and you’d never see him again. He talked your ear off as if you’d known each other your whole life, focusing mostly on him, his work, the gym, his exploits. You nodded every now and then, just to give him the impression you were listening when in reality your mind had dissociated after the first ten minutes of conversation.

And by conversation you obviously meant monologue.

He didn’t ask you anything, and by nothing you really meant nothing, not how old you were, your job, your hobbies, in short the simple questions one asks when one is getting to know another.

You looked around bored, cursing Kim and yourself with every fiber of your being for letting yourself being dragged—for the million time— in a situation you didn’t want to be in.

You decided you’d never take a single piece of her advice about men ever again.

“Once, when I was still on patrol, there was a robbery a few blocks away. I was alone and when I got there the thief was already running. I’ll make this short but even the commander congratulated me…”

You were trying really hard to listen to him but every time you tried to pay attention, he was still talking about himself. It was hard to follow his conversation/monologue without being fascinated by some random spot in the room like the chandelier.

Caleb was a beautiful man, that was objective. He was tall, broad-shouldered, he had a sculpted physique, defined jaw, eyes as blue as the sky. But beauty wasn’t everything, not when his character was similar to a mollusk.

“Hey baby, here you are, I’ve been looking for you for a while,” a male voice reached your ears from behind and you almost had a heart attack when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. You snapped your head towards the man, finding yourself in front of one of the most beautiful man you’d ever see.

Forget Caleb, who the hell was this man?

You froze, having no idea what to say or do. Who the hell was he? What did he want?

“Sorry it took so long but the line for the bathroom was endless,” the stranger continued and you tried with every fiber of your being to remain impassive. Your body was tense as a violin string as you tried to subtly move away from his grasp.

Breathtaking or not, you didn’t know him.

“Baby? You have a boyfriend? Kim told me you were single,” Caleb exclaimed almost indignantly, alternating his gaze between you and the stranger. You thanked God he was a second-rate cop and had the detective skills of a hamster or he would’ve seen from a mile away this was the first time you’d seen that man around you.

“Oh, well this is pretty new not many people know about us, but we’ve been seeing each other for a while. Thanks for keeping my girlfriend company—”

“Caleb.”

“Carl. Thanks,” the stranger held out a hand and Caleb looked at it before looking back at you and walking away without a word, a furious expression on his face.

You didn’t even bother following him because damn, you were so relieved you got him out of the way.

The stranger’s gaze was on you even though he had removed his arm from around you.

“Well, I guess you need to work on your acting skills but it went well right?”

You widened your eyes, still confused about what the hell was going on. “Who are you?”

“Oh you’re welcome, I didn’t just save you from the most boring date of your life,” he smirked.

You continued to look at him, confused, embarrassed and unable to form a coherent sentence. Who the hell was this man? And why was he so breathtakingly handsome? And why did he just pretend to be your boyfriend?

He held out a hand towards you, a smirk plastered across his lips, acting like he hadn’t just pretended to be in a relationship with a stranger. “I’m Jay Halstead. You must be Y/n right? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jay? Why does this sound familiar?

You widened your eyes, not even trying to hide your expression of fear and shock. “How do you know my name?” You asked, taking a step back, ready to run away.

His gaze softened, understanding he must’ve really looked like a stalker. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, I work with Kim in Intelligence. She mentioned you a couple of times and I assumed it was you since you’re the only one of her friends I’ve never met.”

Then you realized why his name was familiar to you. Kim—when talking about her job—had sometimes mentioned a ‘Jay’ and it was nice to finally be able to associate the face with that name, especially if the face was that one.

God he’s so hot.

“Listen,” he continued, raising his hands in surrender, a drink in the left one, “I’m not a stalker I swear—I came off in the wrong way. I just saw you from afar while you were talking to Carl, and you seemed to be in trouble so I thought I’d help. Let’s start over, shall we?”

You tried not to chuckle at the way he got Caleb’s name wrong and stared at him for a moment. He maintained eye contact, his irises locked on yours with no sign of changing direction. You had only just noticed how green his eyes were and you didn’t know why, but something inside you made you no longer want to run away.

You nodded and he smiled triumphantly and, God, he had one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. He held out a hand to you again. “I’m Jay, nice to meet you.”

You tried to suppress a smile of your own and you clasped his hand. “It’s Y/n, the pleasure is mine.”

That handshake sent a spark up your entire arm, not in the cliché kind of way, but in the way that made you feel your body suddenly enveloped in a wave of heat.

He didn’t let go of your hand right away, but you didn’t care. You liked it, you liked the way his grip was strong, firm, confident, but his touch soft at the same time. You liked how his palm felt rough against yours but his skin was warm, a stark contrast to yours.

His thumb skimmed against the back of your hand before he pulled it away, bringing the glass to his lips with his other hand and taking a sip of his drink. All without him ever breaking eye contact with you.

This single innocent gesture left you breathless.

Did I mention he’s so damn hot and sexy?

He looked at you with curiosity, as if he had already decided that from now on his attention would be solely on you.

“This is the part where I have to thank you for saving me from an embarrassing date, isn’t it?”

His eyes flickered for a second on your lips as you spoke and he subtly took a deep breath, taking another sip of his drink. You pretended it didn’t affect you in the slightest even though your stomach had just flipped.

“You not filing a complaint against me is a great thank you,” Jay replied making you laugh, “and besides, I should be the one thanking Kim.”

You tilted your head slightly to the side, looking at him with a questioning expression. “Kim? Why?”

“For setting you up with the wrong guy, might’ve missed my shot otherwise.”

You burst out laughing again and rolled your eyes. “C’mon Jay, is that the best you can do?”

“Ouch,” he put his hand to his chest as if he was in pain. “That really hurt, I may be rusty but I’m not that bad c’mon.”

You smirked. “You’ll survive officer.”

“Nuh, uh. It’s detective, please.”

“My bad, I apologize Detective,” it was your turn to raise your hands in surrender. “But seriously, thank you for saving me from whatever that was.”

He smiled softly at you. “It was a pleasure. You were a couple seconds away from pulling the fire alarm to escape, I couldn’t just stay there and do nothing.”

“Oh, so you make a habit of being a knight and saving damsels in distress?”

“Nah, only the ones that are worth saving,” he replied, and you laughed, feeling that anxious and nervous feeling fade away as you continued to converse—for real this time—with Jay.

“I could’ve gotten away with it, you know,” you crossed your arms and Jay’s eyes flickered, for a millisecond, to your chest, specifically the neckline of your dress.

“Please,” he raised an eyebrow, “if he had kept talking any longer you would’ve ripped your hair out.”

“Stop you’re so dramatic, that’s not true at all,” you rolled your eyes—even though it was the truest thing you had ever heard—making him chuckle. “What’s your poison?” You nodded to his drink as he brought it to his lips and took a sip.

A teasing smile caressed his lips and then it was your turn flicking your gaze to his mouth. You had tried to resist but damn it was so hard. “Bourbon, neat. Effective right?”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his playful energy. “Is efficient a new fancy way of saying banal and predictable?”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound so low and warm it made your insides squirm. “Probably,” he countered, “but it’s still a classic.” He slightly tilted his head to the side as his green eyes roamed along your body, lingering for a moment on your dress before meeting your gaze again. You felt every inch of your skin catch fire under his eyes and you couldn’t help but compare Jay’s gaze to Caleb’s, which only made your skin crawl instead. “But it’s not for you. I think you’re more of a champagne kind of woman.”

At that same moment, by pure coincidence, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses passed not far from you. Jay stopped him and took it, before offering it to you. You blushed, before taking it, your fingers brushing against him. “Thank you.”

You lifted your glass towards him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. “To Kim and Adam,” you said.

“To Kim and Adam,” he repeated voice low and smooth. He raised his glass to meet you, the soft clink echoing between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke—his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. It was just a toast, simple and harmless, but the way he was looking at you? Nothing about it felt simple.

“So, you’re a champagne type of woman,” he smirked.

“Guilty,” you shrugged your shoulders. “But what can I say? I like little sparkle in my life.”

You took another sip of champagne and that time it was your gaze that roamed along his body, perfectly wrapped in the tux he was wearing—over the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his dress shirt stretched just right across his chest.

Man, he looked so good it had to be illegal.

When your eyes returned to his you noticed the way he clenched his jaw and the slightest twitch of his lips as he looked at you, as if he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t mind a bit.

His fingers flexed around his glass and a sexy smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes shining like the moon in the night. He slightly tilted his head to the side, his index finger brushing along the rim of his glass in a slow, absent-minded motion—like he was thinking about something he probably shouldn’t say out loud. “A little spark huh? And here I thought I was bringing the spark.”

You giggled. Yep, actually giggled. “Oh yeah? So that’s what you’re doing?”

“If you’re asking me then I’m not doing a good job,” he retorted, with a fake sad expression acting like he just wiped a tear, “you’re hurting me so much tonight.”

“Oh, you poor thing, I’d hate to bruise that big ego of yours.” You placed a hand on his bicep and caressed it in mock comfort and, fuck, you had to use every fiber of your body to not squeeze and feel up his muscles.

He tensed under your touch, his breath hitching in his throat feeling of your hand on him.

His lips curved into a slow, lazy smile—the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drew, his voice dropping just a notch lower. “I can take a hit. Besides…” His gaze swept over you again, slower this time—unapologetic. “Something tells me it’s worth it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the smile threatening to break free, but to no avail. He was too good at this—too smooth, too charming, but damn if it wasn’t working.

“Careful Detective Halstead someone might think you’re flirting with me,” you smirked, taking another sip of your champagne.

He shortened the distance between you, subtly and not too noticeably, but you felt his presence, his scent enveloping you fully, more than it had done so far. “Luckily I don’t care about anyone but the person I’m talking to right now,” he replied, “and they’d be right because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

The air between you grew heavier—not uncomfortable but charged with something unspoken. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the noise of the wedding reception fading into a distant hum. You should’ve looked away, said something to break the tension, but you didn’t want to.

You’ve never felt anything like this, being so damn attracted to a man you were dying to kiss him, to touch him.

“So confident,” you murmured. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but you couldn’t, not when his mouth was not too far from yours. “And here I thought you were just being nice.”

He chuckled, his voice low and deep. “Trust me sweetheart, there’s nothing nice about what I’m thinking right now.”

You took another sip, hoping to steady the warmth curling low in your stomach. Why were your legs suddenly turning to jelly?

“So…” you started, arching a brow in an attempt to shift the focus back on him, “do you flirt like this with every girl you save, or am I just special?”

Jay’s smile widened and he took a slow sip of his bourbon before answering. “You tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Do you feel special?”

Damn him.

You laughed softly, shaking your head and taking a deep breath at the same time. “You’re trouble, Halstead.”

He didn’t deny it. “And yet, you’re still talking to me,” he pointed out, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What does that say about you?”

“That I make questionable decisions?”

Jay let out another quiet laugh, but this one felt different—lower, warmer. “Or maybe,” he murmured, leaning in a bit towards you, “you’re exactly where you want to be.”

And the truth? You weren’t sure you could argue with that because he was right, you were where you wanted to be.

You finished the rest of your glass in a single sip because there were two possibilities, this or jump on him and you couldn’t already do that considering you had just met him.

He was throwing you off so much it left you speechless and it wasn’t like you. You didn’t know if you loved it or hated it.

He chuckled as he continued to look at you, as if he had just read your mind.

Your guardian angel, Kim—who you’d thank for the rest of your life from that moment on—appeared at that exact moment, interrupting the game of glances between you and Jay that was becoming too intense for your own good.

“Jay! Y/n? Where’s Caleb?” She asked, visibly excited and smiling.

“I have no idea, courtesy of my fake boyfriend here,” you nodded at Jay who chuckled sexily.

How could laughter be so sexy?

“We need to talk about your questionable taste in men Kim, what kind of rat did you want her to be paired with?” He joked one hand shoved into his pants pocket while the other held his almost empty glass.

“Hey, don’t talk to my wife like that, I’d say she made a good choice in men,” Adam suddenly intervened, wrapping his arm around Kim’s hips and pressing a kiss to her temple. The sight warmed your heart, making you smile like an idiot.

“So, you’ve already introduced yourselves,” Kim continued, alternating her gaze between you and Jay but with a sinister smirk on her lips.

You and Jay exchanged a quick knowing look. “Yeah, he saved me from the mess that was Caleb. And by the way, I’m never listening to you ever again Kim, don’t do that to me again.”

“You two look so good together,” Kim blurted out and giggled, visibly tipsy. “Don’t you think they look hot together honey?”

“Okay that’s enough, let’s get back to dancing,” Adam chimed in again, struggling to contain his laughter, before dragging his wife away.

Before she left though Kim came back to you and whispered, “I was watching you two from afar there’s so much sexual tension between you two that even I got turned on.”

Your cheeks turned on fire but before you could respond Adam finally dragged her away, leaving you alone with Jay again.

He let out a light laugh, and you turned your head towards him. “Do I want to ask you what she said?”

You shook your head, taking another sip of champagne as you still heard her words echoing in your head. “Nope.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyebrow raised. “Kim really does have questionable matching skills, I take it this isn’t the first time with Carl,” he said, changing the subject.

“You have no idea,” you rolled your eyes, “my brain can’t comprehend how she managed to match me with these men and not one of them was normal.”

“Well, have you thought that maybe they weren’t the problem?”

You gasped in fake shock and elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be in excruciating pain, making you laugh at the show he was putting on. “I could arrest you for assault on a police officer you know that right? You’d look really pretty in a prison uniform.”

“You think I’ll look cute in handcuffs too?”

What the fuck?! Where the hell did that come from?

Jay, who was taking his last sip of bourbon, chocked on it and started coughing after the liquor went down the wrong way and, although you were embarrassed by the stupidity of that statement, the scene was pretty hilarious.

“You good? Should I call a doctor? What happened?” You teased him, trying to hold back your laughter but failing miserably.

“You know damn well what happened,” he retorted with mock annoyance even as the smile on his lips belatedly came. “And pretty wouldn’t even come close to how good you’d look in handcuffs if you really wanted an answer, but that’s something we’ll talk about later.”

You blushed, once again, from head to toe and hated yourself for this reaction and how easily he could see it. “Later? Who says there’s gonna be a ‘later’?”

He smirked down at you, and it was so sexy it made your head spin. “Trust me there will be.”

“You’re so cocky detective.”

Jay leaned in just a fraction, enough that the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around you—something warm and woodsy, with a hint of spice. “Only when I’m sure about something,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less intense.

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy, and you felt heat creep up the back of your neck. You could've played it cool, thrown back a quip, but the way he was looking at you made your pulse skip in a way that was impossible to ignore.

His gaze dropped to your lips again—just for a second—but it was enough to send a fresh wave of heat curling through your body.

“C’mon,” he said suddenly, holding out a hand towards you. “You owe me a dance.”

You lifted a brow. “Do I?”

Jay shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I did save you from Carl. Seems only fair.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile that broke free as you slipped your hand into his. “Alright, Detective,” you quipped, “but only because you asked so nicely.”

His fingers curled around yours—firm, warm, just the right amount of possessive. And as he led you toward the dance floor, you realized something else: you didn’t want to let go.

The music shifted as you reached the edge of the dance floor—something slower, smoother, the kind of song that practically begged for two people to be just a little too close.

Exactly what you wanted.

Jay didn’t hesitate. His hand slid easily to your waist, fingers splayed warm and wide on the small of your back as he pulled you against him, close enough to send all your senses into a tizzy.

It had been hard until now, but this? Being so close to him that you could even count his eyelashes? It was devastating.

You couldn’t even recognize yourself, you’d never found yourself craving a man’s touch so badly, like you needed it to breathe, and in that moment you realized you’d only met the wrong people because, fuck, you were missing out.

“You good with this?” he murmured in your ear, his voice just for you. Low. Intimate. And there was something in the way he asked—like he cared, but also like he already knew your answer.

You nodded, hoping he didn’t feel the way your heart was beating against his chest. Your bodies began to sway in time to the slow music, like you’d done it a million times, like he wasn’t a stranger to you and you a stranger to him.

You didn’t know anything about the man, and he didn’t know anything about you, but you were so drawn to each other it almost drove you crazy.

As you engaged in small talk, you tried not to focus on how close he was—on how his thumb brushed against your back every time he shifted—but it was impossible. Especially when every slight movement seemed to make the space between you shrink.

He asked about you, what do you do for a job or in your free time, how old were you, how long have you known Kim, you asked about him and his life, and it was crazy how, even though you had known each other for literally a short time, you both felt comfortable talking to each other, joking and laughing when you both made terrible jokes.

“You’re really giving me a hard time,” he said, his fingers flexing on your hip.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, realizing how he was already looking at you. There wasn’t any trace of humor left, his eyes were staring at you, but they weren’t focused on yours exactly, they traveled along your face as if he was analyzing you, memorizing every feature and detail.

“Why?” You asked and his eyes flickered on your lips. He continued to caress your hip unconsciously, your bodies pressed against each other and with every slight movement you could feel the heat between you intensifying.

“Because I’m trying so hard to behave and be a gentleman but it’s getting really hard,” he answered softly, his voice raspy, his breath an inch from your lips. “And I hate not being in control.”

You stopped breathing for a second and a shiver ran down your spine. It would’ve been so easy to break that distance, it would’ve only taken a couple of inches and his mouth would’ve been on yours to finally satisfy that visceral attraction that was pulling you towards each other.

And you most likely would’ve let him do it if it hadn’t been for Kim who, with her usual perfect timing, had grabbed your arm, totally drunk and with a beaming smile.

“C’mon Y/n, we have to dance together!” she exclaimed loudly, jumping up and down with an enthusiasm you had never seen in her as she continued to pull on your arm without even leaving you room to protest.

Jay’s arm was still around your hip, though his grip wasn’t as firm as it had been before, and you hated to admit it, but you already missed that touch.

It seemed mutual because you felt him tense for a moment, his fingers reluctant to release their grip on you, as if he also hated the idea of letting you go. But eventually he did, slowly, the heat of his hand still burning through your dress and against your skin even after you’d pulled away.

“Don’t go too far,” he whispered in your ear, quiet enough to make it seem like a secret between the two of you.

And as Kim dragged you through the crowd to the beat of a more upbeat song, you turned to him and gave him one last look. Jay was still there, standing at the edge of the dance floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets, that intense gaze still fixed on you. He winked at you before you disappeared into the crowd and you almost tripped on your own feet.

Oh my fucking god.

Jay leaned against a wall, his hands still in his pockets, one foot placed in front of the other. In other moments he wouldn’t have waited to take another drink, but that night he wanted to be as sober as possible.

His gaze was fixed on the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, but not on everyone, his eyes scanned the people only for one person in particular. He cursed those disco strobe lights because, in those dim lights, it was not easy to find you.

But when he finally did, his attention was focused only and solely on you, not on the music, not on the world around him.

You were laughing now, spinning with Kim on the dance floor, some strands of your hair coming out of your hairstyle as you moved to the music. He should’ve backed away. Hell, he’d spent years perfecting that skill, knowing when to pull back, where to avoid getting too close, perceive when there was danger. But with you? It wasn’t that easy.

It hadn’t been from the second he laid eyes on you, when he saw you enter the wedding venue with some of your friends.

He didn’t know what kind of witchcraft you had performed on him but he seemed to not be able to stop looking at you. His gaze tracked the curve of your smile and the movement of your lips as you sang along the song, the flush on your skin from the warmth of the room, and the way your dress hugged your figure just enough to make his thoughts stray somewhere they shouldn’t.

He told himself to get it together—to stop looking at you like a creepy stalker—but it was a losing battle, he seemed hypnotized.

And when you tipped your head back, laughing at something Kim said, Jay swore under his breath.

He was in trouble.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the way you looked—although you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—it was the way you felt. Warm and soft against him when you danced, your hand fitting so easily in his. The way you leaned into his touch, like part of you wanted him closer, even when you were pretending otherwise.

It almost scared him how he found himself talking, laughing and joking so easily with a stranger he had just met.

But he wanted more of that. More of you.

And that realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

Jay exhaled slowly, willing the tension in his chest to ease. It didn’t work. Not when you turned your head as you kept dancing, scanning the room as if you were searching for something, or someone.

And when your eyes locked, his heart gave a sharp kick, one he didn’t truly expect. And the way you held his gaze? It did something to him.

Your lips curled into the faintest smile—small, almost shy—and damn if it didn’t make something twist low in his stomach. He should’ve been the one in control here, but with just one look, you had him pinned. And the worst part was that he didn’t mind.

Not even a little.

Your attention was caught again by one of your friends who pulled you towards her as you belted out the song in the background, breaking eye contact.

He tried to look away from you sometimes, focusing his attention on something else but it was as if his eyes were attracted to a magnet, you.

And maybe that was the problem.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this, wasn’t supposed to want someone he’d just met with this kind of heat and desire curling through his veins. But here he was, eyes on you, mind already running a dangerous path of wondering how you’d taste if he let himself get too close.

He was about to move—to do something, anything—but then Kim grabbed your hand again, spinning you around in a dizzy circle. Your laughter rang out, bright and carefree, while Jay just stood there against that wall.

He didn’t belong in this moment. Not really. A guy like him—weighted down by too much baggage, too many mistakes, a very dangerous job—had no business wanting you like this.

But God help him, he did.

When the song shifted to something louder and faster, you finally pulled back from Kim, breathless and glowing in a way that had no right to make his pulse pick up. Kim was already dragging Adam away, leaving you alone again, and for half a second, Jay thought this was his shot.

But then, just as quickly, you disappeared into the crowd.

And that shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. More than it had any right to.

Jay exhaled, dragging a hand through his face. He told himself to play it cool, to just let it go, but the thing was, he didn’t want to let it go. Let you go.

And if he had anything to say about it, this night wasn’t ending until he found you again.

Jay pushed himself off the wall, his pulse thudding a little harder than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t the type to chase after someone, not like this. But that night, he couldn’t seem to help himself. His eyes scanned the room, but the crowd was thicker now, people swaying to the music, bodies pressed too close.

You weren’t on the dance floor anymore. He knew that much. And the longer it took to find you, the harder it became to shake the restless feeling gnawing at the edges of his control.

Get a grip, Halstead.

He could’ve leave you alone. Should’ve, probably. But as he moved through the party he knew nothing would sit right until he saw you again.

And then, just when he started to think he’d lost you for good, he caught a sight of you through the open door leading to the balcony.

Jay hesitated, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, all he knew was that the moment he saw you again, his mind quieted. And maybe that was reason enough.

Without giving himself time to second-guess, he stepped outside.

You were leaning against the railing, your back to him, the cool night air brushing against your bare shoulders. He let himself take in the sight of you for just a second longer—how the city lights reflected off your skin, how you tilted your head back like you were finally catching your breath.

You were breathtaking. So fucking beautiful it hurt.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d get another chance to steal you away.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, and there it was again, that little smile. “Something tells me you love a good challenge Detective.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. “I feel like the reward will be worthy.”

He moved closer to you as he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, leaving his hands there for a while as he let your scent engulf him. You then turned fully to face him and Jay didn’t miss the way your eyes roamed along his body, focusing for a moment on his chest, his arms, before looking back into his eyes.

“Oh so you really like me,” you joked, eyes still on him, slightly tilting your head but he couldn’t ignore the blush on your cheeks.

“Thought I made that pretty clear by now.”

And just like that, the tension stretched tight again, thicker this time but with the difference that nothing and no one would interrupt this time.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant thump of music spilled through the open door, but out here? It felt like the rest of the world had faded away.

He closed the distance between you, never taking his eyes off yours. He tried to pull away, but it was as if he physically couldn’t, as if he needed it.

“And here I thought you’d even left the party.”

“You’re hurting me so much tonight, I’m not that bad at hitting on you c’mon.”

You giggled and bit your bottom lip. He found himself suppressing a groan because, damn, he had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted to bite your lip.

“Well,” you batted your lashes, “you’re definitely making it hard for me to leave now,” your eyes flicked to his lips before returning to his and he told himself to calm down but, God help him, if you did that again he’d lose every ounce of control he had left.

“I guess you found a good reason to stay then,” his tongue flicked across his bottom lip and he couldn’t miss the way your gaze landed on his lips, again. The light was dim, not very bright, but he could see so clearly how dilated your pupils were and it drove him crazy, knowing you felt the same.

“Is that so?” You murmured. He leaned closer to you and placed his hands on the railing at either side of you, trapping you in his arms but not touching you. Your breathing quickened at the closeness, your lips parted slightly as if you needed air, and that was enough to make his pulse quicken and the heat in his blood spike.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he taunted

You let out a quiet laugh, warm and soft, and something about the sound made his fingers itch to touch you again, so much so that he tightened his fingers around the cold metal of the railing.

You took his tie—which had been dangling between you—into your hands, and Jay seriously thought he was going to collapse at your feet at any moment. You hadn’t done anything too dramatic, but he felt like he was going to have an aneurysm. Just seeing your fingers caress the fabric of your tie, how you played with it while you continued to look at him, drove him crazy.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you repeated under your breath the words he had said a few hours earlier. His hands were gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles were completely white from trying to vent the frustration he felt.

His fingers inched closer and closer to you, until the sides of his thumbs were brushing against your dress. God, how much he wanted to grab you, hold you and touch you, every inch of your body until the ground disappeared beneath you.

You didn’t pull away, if anything, you shifted closer, your warmth seeping into his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked when he remained silent, staring at you while you continued to play with his tie.

“I think,” he murmured, his thumb sweeping slow circles against your pelvis’ side, “you’re gonna be a problem for me.”

The tension cracked, sharp and electric, and neither of you moved, like you were both waiting to see who’d break first.

“Maybe I want to be,” you admitted quietly.

That was all he needed.

Jay didn’t overthink it, he just moved, closing the last bit of space between you. His hand slid to your waist and made you stand upright, as he tilted his head down, giving you plenty of time to pull back.

But you didn’t.

You stayed right there, your breath warm against his skin as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

“You’re making this impossible,” he said, his voice rougher now, low enough that only you could hear. His fingers flexed against your waist, dragging you closer without meaning to. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure anymore. “I’m trying so hard to be good, but—fuck.”

“But what?” you interrupted, your tone softer, breathier than before. His eyes snapped to yours, and the challenge in your gaze nearly broke him. “What happens if you stop trying?”

His breath hitched. Jesus Christ.

Jay let out a low, bitter laugh, because you weren’t making this any easier. And the worst part? You knew it. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” he asked, as his fingers trailed up, just slightly, brushing the curve of your ribs. It wasn’t a question. Not really.

Your lips parted, and for a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d call his bluff. But instead, you tilted your head, eyes fixed on his mouth like you were imagining the same damn thing he was.

“I really, really do,” you murmured. And that was it. That was the crack in the dam.

His other hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers grazing along your jaw, tilting your face toward his as his nose brushed against yours. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he admitted, no more games, no more teasing. Just raw, unfiltered truth. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t even know you but you’re driving me crazy. You have to stop me.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Instead, your lips curled into the faintest smile, bold, knowing, and it only fueled the fire already burning through his veins.

“The thing is, I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, leaning in just enough for your breath to brush against his lips, “I don’t want you to be good or patient.”

The words punched through his last shred of restraint like they were designed to. And for a beat, all he could do was look at you—at the flush on your skin, the way your chest rose and fell a little too fast.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he warned, though it came out rougher than he intended, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, slower than necessary.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you shot back, quiet but sure—so sure—and, fuck, he was done for.

He wanted to win that little silent race, to see you snap but the truth was that he had lost from the start, he had no chance of winning.

So, when he finally kissed you, it wasn’t an attempt.

It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted, in case it was the last time. The faintest hint of champagne lingered on your lips, but beneath it was something that made his heart slam harder against his ribs.

You kissed him back like you wanted this just as much as he did, your hands sliding up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deeper, making his jacket fall on the floor.

And Jay? He let himself fall into it. Into you.

Jay’s lips moved against yours, slow and thorough, but nothing about the way he touched you felt careful. His hands slid along your waist, fingers pressing into the curve of your hip, squeezing you like he was memorizing the shape of you. Every brush of his skin against yours sent sparks racing through your body, and the heat pooling low in your stomach only grew stronger with each passing second.

His palms flattened against your lower back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies, until you could feel how much he really wanted you. He was warm, solid—everywhere—and the way he held you made your breath hitch.

You tugged lightly on the back of his neck. The muscles beneath your fingers were tense, and a shudder ran through him as your nails scraped gently against his skin. His breath hitched in response, and something about knowing you could unravel him like this made the heat in your blood burn hotter.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. His lips brushed over yours again, lingering like he was savoring the taste of you. But his hands, God, his hands, were anything but patient.

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up your spine, skimming beneath the hem of your dress as he went. The warmth of his touch against your bare skin felt a sharp, delicious shiver curling through you, and when his hand settled at the small of your back again, his grip tightened, so possessive like he wanted to keep you exactly where you were.

And you wanted to stay there.

You wanted more.

Your body arched instinctively into his, and Jay swore softly under his breath, his hold on you turning rougher, like he was losing the battle to keep himself in check. His fingers flexed at your hip, sliding lower, almost touching your ass before skimming back up, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most.

And when your hand drifted from his neck to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric, you felt the sharp rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm. His heart was racing and the realization felt another jolt of heat spiraling through you.

“Jay,” you breathed against his mouth, in such an intense and desperate tone, as if you needed him and his distance hurt you, and his response was immediate. His lips crashed back onto yours with a hunger that stole your breath, and the slow, careful rhythm shattered beneath the weight of all that tension.

He kissed you harder now, deeper. His tongue swept along your lower lip, and when you opened up for him, he groaned softly, a low, desperate sound that made your knees go weak.

His hand slid higher, dragging up your side, fingers brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ribs. He didn’t stop there. He traced the outline of your body desperately, knuckles grazing the side of your breast before his palm flattened against your ribcage, holding you firmly against him.

“Is this okay?” He whispered against your lips.

“Yes, god, yes please Jay,” you whispered back and damn, if your breathy voice hadn’t completely destroyed him. He loved seeing you as desperate for him as he was for you.

He kissed you again. “You’re driving me insane,” he murmured against your lips, and there was no teasing left in his voice. Just raw need. “I can’t—If you want me to stop say it because I fucking can’t.”

The response to those words of his was the way you grabbed his face and crashed your lips onto his again. “I don't want you to stop.”

Whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to snapped completely.

Jay’s hands tightened on your waist as he backed you against the wall, pressing you there like he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

His lips left yours just long enough to trail down your jaw, his breath warm as it ghosted over your skin. He didn’t stop when he reached your neck. Instead, he tilted your head gently to the side, giving himself more access as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat and making you sigh in pleasure.

And when his teeth graced that sensitive spot just below your ear, you couldn’t hold back the soft sound that escaped your lips.

Jay froze at the sound—just for a second to control himself before he’d come in his pants. He groaned low in his throat, his mouth returning to yours in a kiss that was rougher now, messier, hungrier. Like hearing you fall apart pushed him over the edge.

One arm was around your waist as he held you so tightly it was almost impossible to move, while the other hand slid down, fingers spreading wide across your thigh. His thumb brushed slow circles against the sensitive skin there, inching higher with every pass. “Tell me to stop, and I will, okay?” he repeated.

But the way he touched you, the way his mouth lingered on yours, made it painfully clear he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

“If you stop now, I might actually lose my mind.”

He chuckled before kissing you again as you pulled him closer, tilting your head to deepen the kiss even further. Your hands cupped his face, his beard tickling your palms as he took your breath away completely.

He slid his hand up your thigh again, taking advantage of the slit of your dress to touch your skin, to squeeze it, to feel it, to press his fingers so deeply into it until they left their mark. He grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist, making his pelvis grind with yours and making you both moan into the kiss.

His lips trailed back down to your neck, licking and sucking every inch of skin he had access to. “I want you so fucking bad.” His breath was hot against your skin, and when he spoke again, his voice was nothing but a rough, desperate whisper.

“Oh my fucking god Jay,” you gasped, trying to keep your voice low as his hand slid on your ass, squeezing it until you almost moaned again. “I want you so much too… Please…”

His lips found yours again, a desperate, greedy kiss that only deepened the ache between you two. There was no hesitation, no slowing down. Every touch, every movement, felt like a need that couldn’t be contained. You could feel the heat rising between you, consuming both of you in a way that made everything else fade.

His hard dick pressed into you, and the pressure made your breath hitch, another moan escaping as you started to grind into him again. His mouth left yours only long enough to whisper your name, low, rough, like a command.

“God, I need to feel you,” he muttered against your skin, like he was about to break. His teeth grazed your ear before his lips closed around the sensitive spot just below it, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped again. It only turned him on even more, his hands moving and exploring every inch of you, as though he couldn’t get enough.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his back, his chest, pulling him even closer, matching the urgency of his movements. You wanted to rip that shirt off of him, you wanted to feel his skin under your fingers, touch him everywhere.

His lips trailed down to the curve of your shoulder, sucking gently as the strap of your dress slid down. The sensation made you pulse race beyond imagination, and you found yourself tugging at his shirt, eager to feel more of him.

“Jay,” you breathed again, voice trembling, and you pulled his face back to yours, crashing your lips together with the kind of hunger that mirrored his own. The kiss was messy, full of heat and need, and you lost yourself in it. You bit his lower lip, sucking it and making him groan. And, fucking hell, the sound was so sexy you felt it directly in your lower regions.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Y/n,” he muttered desperately. His fingers brushing over the lace of your underwear before slipping inside, feeling how wet you were. The contact was electric, and the sharp Moab you let out made his almost like in his pants. “Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips.

“Yes, shit… Oh… Oh god Jay you feel so good please don’t stop,” you moaned, your body moving on instinct, a desperate need for more, and the words only seemed to unravel him further.

There was no turning back now, and for once in your life, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

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[lightlycareless]

the jealous y/n i promised. one of them, anyways :)

warnings: naoya used to like someone before you. the thought of it makes you... uncomfortable, by some reason. highschool au. minimal proofreading but sometimes you just gotta let things go...

It all started because someone decided they just had to mess with you on your first trip to Kyoto, during your first school exchange event.

As yearly intended, the game would be hosted on the winning school; not that someone managed to defeat Gojo and Geto, but to shake things a bit the higher ups decided to break the rules and give the opposing school a chance—maybe fighting in their hometowns would help against them.

Coincidentally, this would mark your first time participating, and what better way to do so than by going to a city you’ve never been to?

We’re you excited?

Undoubtedly. How could you not consider these past details?

However, that wasn’t the only (not the most important) notion that had you feeling such way; what actually got you all giddy was the fact that you’d be going with your boyfriend! Which secretly turned this school trip into a small holiday of sorts, a promise of a good time once he offered to take you to the city and show you all kinds of enthralling experiences you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

It was bound to become a memorable visit, one that you wouldn’t be able to forget, worthy enough to share with your eventual children!

And it was… but not for the reasons you expected.

“Ooooh, you know what this trip actually means, right Y/N?” Gojo would begin to stir, as usual. You do your best to ignore him. “You can ignore me all you want, but I’m just warning you, it’s going to be awkward.”

“Awkward?” You blink, taking his bait. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t say it, Satoru…” Geto warns, going against his very nature, which is to rile him further, and instead, showing genuine caution that you’d come to lament later on. “You’re just being cruel.”

“What is? Tell me!” You cry, fallen victim to your curiosity.

“Probably not as cruel as Naoya taking his girlfriend to see his crush. Or past crush, I guess.”

“Crush…?” You blink, your heart dropping to your stomach at the thought of his affections once belonging to someone else. It shouldn’t be that way, of course. Whatever happened before you met him should be beyond your concern.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from torturing yourself with the thought, needlessly wondering who was the lucky girl to previously obtain his attention.

Was she nice? Was she pretty? Did anything manage to happen between the two…?

…

…

Does she look like you?

You ought to know better than to ask questions you do not want answered.

“Naoya hasn’t told you?” Satoru worried. “He used to have this huge crush on Utahime, like you don’t imagine how big it was; he’d stalk her everywhere she went, turn all red whenever she was near—“

“Satoru!” Suguru condemned, but it was too late.

It’s safe to say you no longer looked forward to your trip to Kyoto.

“She was going to learn so anyways, might as well get it over with!”

“And?? That doesn’t give you permission to be an idiot about it!”

“I’m just preparing Y/N! It’s not my fault that Naoya hasn’t told her about it… which is quite suspicious if you ask me, more so since he’s been in contact with her quite recently! Did you know he asked me for her number? I think he might not be over—“

“Do you ever shut up, Satoru?” You coldly interject, retreating soon after before the tears forming in your eyes could further humiliate you.

Suguru was right, there was no need for him to be as imprudent when it came to the relationship you were clearly very happy with; but you should’ve not let his behavior affect you either, that’s just how he is—everyone knew that—since he was a little kid.

Satoru just had this need to make everyone miserable simply because he could; but now that your insecurities were stirred, all you could do was revisit Naoya’s enthusiasm for your visit… and tie it with Utahime.

Overanalyze every interaction you had with him and wonder if he ever imagined it was her instead of you.

Like when he complimented you for appearance, called you cute when decorating your hair with a bow, which after Satoru’s bold accusations, you come to find it might’ve been because of nostalgia, longing. Not because Naoya actually meant it.

Utahime’s beautiful, there's no denying that.

She's also taller than you, brighter, determined; with no patience for nonsense yet kind enough to help others when asked. You should know, on the few occasions you’ve had the opportunity to interact with her, she was nothing but gentle when explaining one of the assignments you were struggling with—even offering to tutor you if you continued to have questions.

Undoubtedly, a perfect match for Naoya; both politically and personally. A conclusion that makes your poor heart ache the longer you keep comparing yourself to her.

No one looks at her and thinks “she's too childish” or “she's unsuited for the life of sorcery”. In fact, she’s the type of person one would go to when in trouble, the one to look for when in need of comfort.

While you… well, you’re funny. And apparently, a bit childish too. But definitely not the hope for the next generation of sorcerers.

When weighing all these alleged facts, and after placing Utahime on a pedestal while desecrating your own worth, you question…

Did Naoya settle on you because he couldn't end up with her?

Or were you simply a steppingstone, a diversion while they reunite in the future?

…

…

…

Are you fated to never be good enough by yourself? Everyone’s second choice when their initial plan doesn’t work?

It's not something you'd discern at a simple glance, but when Naoya begins to act more and more secretive the closer the date of your trip got, the more you're inclined to believe so; his distance had been so glaringly obvious that the only time you’ve managed to spend with him was when accidentally bumping into each other in the hallways when going to your next class.

Still, your stubborn heart gave him one last chance. One more opportunity to deny all the ridiculous claims plaguing your mind and realize that the sole reason he’s glued to his phone is because of his family, tending his responsibilities as heir…

And not because he’s seeking another woman.

“Ah, Y/N… I'm a little behind with some of my projects right now so I don't think I'll be able to join you for lunch… but don’t let that stop you, go ahead, eat something. I wouldn't want my princess to starve because of me”

That’s when everything made sense.

Because Naoya, though he may hate paperwork, essays, and all that deviated from exorcizing curses, he was still an excellent student and always delivered on time. Might’ve coerced someone to do his work from time to time when not in the mood, but it still brought you back to the same conclusion.

A realization that sparked your anger, bitterness—jealousy.

But most importantly, sadness.

Which you could no longer hide the fateful day of your trip.

“Wait, Y/N—! Why are you in such a rush? We’re still on time for the train!” Naoya would say after catching up to you. The two had previously agreed to meet up just outside your dorm and go to the train station together from there; but alas, you were nowhere to be seen when he eventually arrived, and this caused him to be very surprised.

After all, you were virtually inseparable from him; you would’ve spent the night with him if only it wasn’t prohibited. So… why the sudden indifference?

One could only try to be compassionate when remembering this was his first, serious relationship, so there were many things he had yet to learn about having a girlfriend and how to treat her.

It’s just a misfortune he’d come to learn that lesson harshly so.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you frown, ignoring Naoya as you continue to pull your suitcase towards the exit. The faculty gave students two options, either take the provided transportation and ride with the rest of your classmates to the train station or go by yourself.

Solitude was only appetizing with the silent turmoil you carried.

Your boyfriend doesn't say much after that, though he does note the striking difference of your usually bubbly personality with this… muted version of his girlfriend.

When you once harbored excitement to travel to a completely new city, you now… well, it looked as if you'd rather get sick than do this. And it didn’t seem to be caused by anxiety either, he’d seen you nervous and this was not the way you behaved when such.

Not exactly the disposition he hoped for today's happening, and yet, he’s still light years away from figuring why!

Was it better to simply… leave you alone?

“Y/N, let me help you.” he decides otherwise, at least your stubbornness is something he’s familiar with and thus, not easily swayed to back off when you ignore him again. “Princess—”

“Don’t touch me!” You exclaim, pulling your hand away from his. “I said I'm fine, now leave me alone!”

Naoya blinks, at first startled by your sudden outburst, before growing irritated, never one to enjoy being lashed out on—less if it came from someone as important as you.

“What the hell has gotten into you?!’ Naoya scorns, trying to get a hold of your hand only for you to dismiss him again. “I'm just trying to help you!”

“Yeah, right. Just to get there quicker, huh?” you frown.

“I mean, is that not ideal?”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Huh??? Will you at least care to explain why you’re so moody out of the sudden??”

His choice of dismissing words stabs your heart in a sharp, painful way that only serves to ignite your anger even more. Naoya really had no idea, did he?

Or did he believe you were as naïve as he desperately intended to portray you?

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all! In fact, how about I just step aside so you can do everything you want in Kyoto? Go see who you want to see while I stay behind, quiet, so you won't have to worry about me?!”

“But—what?? Did you forget were supposed to spend time together over there?? Show you the city?!” Naoya exclaims. “What happens to that??”

“I don't know, you tell me!” You cry back. “No, you know what, don't tell me. I don't feel like hearing—”

“Oh, no you're not.” Naoya says, take ahold of your arm and forcing you to see him face to face—getting a good look of your red, swollen eyes from undoubtedly spending the whole night crying, that only made his determination to find out what ailed you even stronger.

And deal with whomever was responsible for this dreadful act.

Even if it was yourself, or unwittingly himself too.

“We're going to spend two hours on a bullet train which I don't intend to have by you ignoring me through the entirety of it.” He goes on.

“Naoya—”

“Who did this to you? Tell me who hurt you and I'll make sure they—”

“Just stop it already! You don't have to set up all these… theatrics just so you can feel less guilty about seeing her!”

“Her?” He breathes, of all things you could’ve sputtered, this is the least, most shocking one he could’ve received. Where did you even get this idea?? “Pray tell, who am I seeing?”

“I don't—I don't want to talk anymore.”

“Y/N!” Naoya exclaims, you flinch—a reaction that has him immediately regretting his act, softening his voice. “I can't help but feel there's a sort of misunderstanding here, just tell me what's going on… Please.”

“...I just want to know if you— if you still harbor feelings for that person before me?”

“Huh?” Naoya frowns. “Talk clearly, mochi. I don't understand a word you're saying—”

“I'm asking if you still like the girl you liked before me!” You cry. “Or perhaps never stopped liking…”

“Who did I like?” He asks back, genuinely confused.

“Are you going to make me say it?!”

“I mean, if we're to get anywhere.”

“Fine! I’m referring to Utahime! You like her, don't you?!”

“Uta—what?? Where did you get that idea?!”

“Don't—don’t act like you don't know what I'm talking about!” You insist. “Satoru told me…”

“Ah, and he's nothing but a reliable source, isn't he?”

“Suguru confirmed it too! Or at least his reaction did…”

Naoya pinches the bridge of his noise, exasperated.

“When are you going to stop believing the stupidities they spew at you?”

“Well, Satoru had no reason to lie about that!”

Naoya can think of many, thousands in fact, and they always boil down to malice…

It's hard to believe how he once used to admire him, even thought of himself as very similar to him. But now that he keeps needlessly tormenting his love, that sentiment is far gone—he’ll deal with that matter soon enough, right after reassuring you he doesn’t have feelings for his past classmate.

Not anymore, that is.

“... Just tell me if you still like her, so I can stay out of your way—”

“I don't like her, Y/N.” Naoya declares. “Honestly, I don't think I ever did.”

“Then why did he say that?”

All must’ve started back when he was still a first-year student, having just transferred from Kyoto after demanding to be close to one of his admirations.

Satoru, always the obnoxious one since the beginning of time, had the tradition of pestering all newcomers in hopes of finding a victim to let out all his frustrations on for the following years; however, his sights were specifically the Zen'in heir whom he was previously acquainted with and was quite surprised to see “interacting with the mortals”, since their families often preferred to homeschool their talents.

Of course, now that he was within reach, he just couldn't miss the opportunity of mocking him in any conceivable shape and form, beginning with questions intended to get a rise out of him.

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t like any of the girls here?” Satoru would begin, for the nth time that day. “Or perhaps left a darling back at home?”

“No, I do not” No matter the insistences, Naoya remained strong in his beliefs, much to Satoru’s disappointment. But if anything, this made it into a far more gratifying challenge.

“Oh, really? Do you expect me to believe the great Zen’in heir has trouble getting with girls?” He continues to tease. “Hm, should’ve known—the only way anyone could tolerate you people is by coercing—"

“Fine! Alright! I like Utahime!” Naoya promptly declared, making Satoru’s expectations… well, shatter. Whatever he had in mind was nothing compared with the seeming reality!

“No way, you like her???!!”

Obviously, for someone as aggravating, set to get the worst of people, he could never truly find enjoyment in Utahime that wasn’t from tormenting her.

But to Naoya… well, he’d soon find out there was more to his answer than just selecting the one he found attractive at the moment.

Just as it was stated, he found Utahime to be quite… alluring. She was fairly good looking, and conservative enough in certain aspects, at least the ones he considered his clan would care of.

Perhaps the only thing he didn’t enjoy was that explosive temperament of hers, how she always fell victim to Satoru’s provocations instead of ignoring him, as a proper lady would’ve.

But he still gave her a chance, tried approaching her, get to know what she thought of him, how much he knew of the Zen’in clan, and most importantly, if she enjoyed being a miko—because such lifestyle could prove detrimental if they got together, and the last thing he needed was more personal struggles to deal with.

Yet, as much as he insisted…as much as Utahime tried to ignore his preceding reputation and give him the benefit of the doubt, nothing would come out from someone that didn’t have the patience to see past of his rough exterior and understand why Naoya was the way he was.

Who he could truly be.

Such things were meant for soulmates, after all.

And all that could’ve been was effectively terminated the moment he decided to transfer to Tokyo.

But for the only other person who saw everything unfold, Satoru, there was still much, much more to exploit.

“...Satoru said you’d always get all flustered whenever she was around” you quietly continue. “So, if you really didn’t like her, why would he say that?”

“Because he'd follow me everywhere to tease me, it was becoming quite… irritating.” He answered honestly, but still not enough to ease your poor heart of its selfish, hurtful assumptions.

“It still doesn't explain why you were talking with her these past few days” you go on, as much as a part of you desired not to.  You just wish that whatever you found out, it wouldn't shatter you. “You’d even hide your phone from me…”

Naoya, understanding how bad this looked, sighs. Nonetheless, if he wishes to preserve your affection he cannot hold back on the truth.

“I… I didn't want to tell you, it was meant to be a surprise, really…  but, well, I managed to figure out where the exchange event is to happen, which is coincidentally, an area to which Utahime is native to. And since I promised to show you around, take you to the best places…. I thought it might've been productive to ask for her input.

I know I pride myself on being from Kyoto, quite arrogantly so, but the truth is… I barely know anything outside what my family has shown me. I wasn't much of a friendly person so I didn't have anywhere to hang out.

And I didn't want to disappoint you, I couldn't let you down, especially after instantly listening to your excitement. The thought alone of ruining your first trip to the city is enough to drive me mad, so… I believed that doing all this was the right path to take.

… But had I known this would be the outcome, I would rather face your disappointment that to never have you by my side again.”

At his explanation, conformed of genuine words and concerns, all you could do is cry.

Weep at the incredulity of your assumptions, ashamed of your distrustful behavior towards him for once again, believing the past that once plagued Naoya.

How long would it take for your insecurities to finally free you? To stop listening what others whisper at your ear, of how he was the wrong person for you?

Until he decides he’s had enough of your childish antics and leaves for good?

Naoya’s far from perfect, undoubtedly so, but he's trying his hardest and he's changing because of it: when he once cared for nothing but his needs, all he could think of now is your happiness.

Were you willing to disappoint him? Rupture this relationship and lose him forever?

You'd never forgive yourself, which is why you wept, and wept, and wept.

Because you had, right before you, the only thing you ever wanted in life— a man that loved you just as you are—and almost ruined it.

But Naoya, whom perhaps regretted this situation the most, didn’t see the reason behind your tears and instead, believed them to be caused by his own failure, the lack of oversight to realize the gravity of his acts and subsequently poorly attempting to bridge his misjudgment.

A part of him doesn’t worry about your solitude, because he knows you’ll always have your friends and family to support you.

But him… without you, he’s truly alone. And he can’t—couldn’t let you go.

 “Tell me, Y/N. What do I need to do for you to believe me? For you to trust me again?” he quickly begins to beg, spew just about anything that might earn him your compassion and forgiveness—one last chance.

Though a simple remedy was all that he needed.

“A—A—hug…!” You sob, and Naoya doesn’t need to be told twice to quickly wrap his arms around you and pull you close into his chest, hoping that by his warmth you’d be reassured into ceasing the one thing that always shattered his heart. “I’m—I’m sorry, I should’ve never distrusted you, it’s just that I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, princess. It was just a mistake.” He says, pressing his face against the top of your head.

“But I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did!” you retort. “I shouldn’t have accused you of something that I wasn’t certain of! Of something you would’ve never done, now I know…”

“Why did you believe that I’d have eyes for another woman in the first place…? Have I not shown you what you mean to me?”

“Ye—yes, but…”

“But?”

You sniffle, before swallowing.

“I guess a part of me always felt undeserving of you.” You confess. “Skeptical to believe I found someone that truly loved me, that’d be willing to do all you’ve done for me.”

Naoya at first remains quiet, starting at you in complete disbelief before letting out a warm chuckle, making you frown.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing, I just… learned we’re not so different, after all.”

You look up to him. “What do you mean?”

“I too, at times, feel underserving of you.” He confesses. “You don’t know how many times I’ve feared the possibility of you simply… deciding you were no longer happy with me; that you might realize there is someone infinitely better than me and leave.”

A certain friend of yours made sure to revive such sentiment within him whenever nearby.

But just as him, you never had eyes for anyone else that wasn’t the love of your life.

“…I guess that’s another way to know we’re meant for each other.” You quietly discern, resting your face back into his chest while Naoya laughs once more. “Does that mean you’re not… upset with me anymore?”

“Upset? If anything, I was quite delighted to see you jealous; you’re quite cute when you are, you know?” He teases, gently pinching your cheek.

“I wasn’t jealous!” You cry, he raises an eyebrow. “I mean… not without reason.”

“Have I not told you already that you are the most beautiful, adorable, gentlest woman in the whole world?” Naoya continues, you turn bright red.

“Now you’re just embarrassing me!” you gasp, pushing your face deeper into his chest.

“The list is honestly endless, but we do have a train to catch.” He reminds you, making your eyes widen and gasp.

“Oh, my god you’re right! We have to hurry!” you say, ready to fetch your suitcase, before bashfully looking back to him. “…Are you still sitting with me?”

“Unless you’re saving it for a random person.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Nope, and I do not want to run the risk of being paired with a weirdo!”  you exclaim. “You have a lot to catch up with me, anyways.”

“I know.” Naoya responds. “Though I doubt talking about preparations and schoolwork will be any exciting.”

“I was thinking something a bit more… personal. Like kisses.” You murmur, and he smirks before leaning down to peck your lips, heart fluttering in return.

“Is that a good way to start?”

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him back.

“Perfect.”

Your trip to Kyoto proves to be just as exciting as you expected, if not more thanks to all his precedent planning, that you simply couldn’t wait for the day you’d come again.

Thankfully, you’d have plenty of time to do so once convincing Naoya to take you to visit the Zen’in… much to his chagrin. But anything to make you happy, he supposes.

yes i love setting up more stories should I be blamed? NO. ahahaha

anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it 🙈 I couldn't (nor wouldn't) write anything that might be interpreted as slander against utahime cause i don't feel that way about her (though I feel incredibly disappointed that we didn't get to see more of her 😒😒😒😒) but also I couldn't write her in such way that would make one ask "well, if she was so good for naoya then why is he with y/n? lol"

yet I hope I was able to show how immature/selfish he was with her 🤣 asking questions like "I wonder if she's heard of my clan" instead of trying to genuinely get to know her and such. it's the power of love y'all.......................................

aaaah what i mean to say is, I hope you enjoyed this :') i think it's the first time I ever write Naoya taking interest in someone else, even though it was in the past 🤔 still...

take care and hope to see y'all soon!!

p.s. what do y'all think utahime's reaction was to naoya dating y/n? I have a few ideas but have yet to choose one lol.

[haartemis]

THE ALCHEMY | PART IV

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 6.7k

warnings: smut

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

A/N: as always, let me know what yall think :)

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

two months later 

he dreams of you.

it’s not the first time. but it is the first time it feels this real - like you’re actually there, warm and soft beneath him, your body a magnet, pulling him in like gravity itself.

he’s between your thighs, the view in front of him making his head spin. you’re already soaked, needy and desperate, and fuck, that does something to him. his fingers skim the inside of your thigh, spreading you open further. he watches you intently, the way your chest rises and falls, the way your lips part as you breathe out a soft, pleading "kylian…"

his name, spilling from your lips like a prayer.

he groans.

"this good?" he murmurs, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours.

you nod quickly, impatient.

he chuckles, smug, because he loves seeing you like this, loves the way you can barely stay still, the way you need him.

"are you always this greedy?" he teases, dragging a finger through your slick heat.

your breath hitches, hips twitching as you chase his touch.

"are you always this slow?" you manage to quip.

he smirks. you’re never one to hide your annoyance at him.

then he leans in.

the first swipe of his tongue makes you gasp. he groans at the taste of you, wet and addictive, and he instantly wants more. he devours you like it’s his favorite thing in the world, his mouth soft but insistent, a little teasing.

you fall apart for him. your fingers press against his close cropped hair, nails grazing his scalp, and he grins against you because he likes that - likes the way you lose yourself, the way you let him ruin you.

he flicks his tongue against your clit, then sucks, slow and deep.

"fuck-" you gasp, back arching, and that’s it - that’s the sound he wants, the sound he could listen to forever.

"knew you’d be this sweet for me" he murmurs, the words vibrating against your skin.

his fingers slide inside you, easing in effortlessly, curling just right. you’re so warm, so tight around him, and fuck - his cock throbs at the thought of being buried inside you instead.

"you feel good" he rasps, voice thick with desire.

you just moan in response, pressing yourself against his mouth. desperate. needy. perfect.

he wants you completely undone. so he moves his fingers faster, deep, precise, and your whole body trembles.

"kylian" you pant, whimpering, losing control, on the edge.

"let go" he commands softly. "come for me"

and you do. you break apart, shattering, and he groans at the way you grip the nape of his neck, the way you cry out for him.

he keeps going until you’re whimpering, until you can barely catch your breath, until he knows you feel him even in your bones.

when you finally slump back against the sheets, wrecked, he drags his mouth up your body, lips wet as he leans into your ear. this time, his voice isn’t cocky. its soft, almost vulnerable.  " ma cherie, don’t disappear on me again, please"

kylian’s  eyes snap open, chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. his body is hot, his sheets are twisted, and his pulse is still pounding. for a brief second, he isn’t sure if he’s still dreaming, if he can still taste you on his tongue, still feel the ghost of your fingers against his scalp.

but then reality crashes down on him - he’s alone in his bed, embarrassingly hard from a sex dream where he was giving head to someone he hasn’t spoken to in two months. 

yes, you haven’t seen or spoken to each other in two months.

two months since you were pressed against him, your body writhing with pleasure on his lap, every pretense and restraint dropped. since you fell asleep against his chest, the soft glow of the tv casting shadows while meg ryan and billy crystal got their happy ending on the screen. he remembers it vividly - the scent of your perfume.  holding his breath, trying to slow his pounding heart, hoping you wouldn’t hear it. 

his own words from the dream echo in his head. don’t disappear on me again, please.

like dream-kylian had any right to say that.

this was his doing. his MO, executed to perfection. he'd thought that if he put enough space between you, whatever this was - this annoying, unrelenting pull that so far he’s pretended is nothing more than sexual attraction - would fade. if he ignored the way you looked at him that night on his couch, if he pretended it hadn’t meant anything, then eventually, it wouldn’t. except it hasn’t. 

he was good at this, keeping people at arm’s length, creating just enough distance to keep himself safe. but this time, it doesn’t feel protective. it feels like suffocation. 

after that movie night at his place, you’d both floated vague plans to stay in touch. nothing concrete - just the kind of half-promises made in the soft haze of a morning after. kylian was heading into a relentless stretch of the season, bouncing between competitions, sometimes playing three matches a week. and you, working for the club, understood better than most how demanding a footballer’s schedule could be.

there were no real expectations, from either of you. but there had been an understanding- an unspoken acknowledgment that the all-out loathing had morphed into something else.

he’d known from the start that you wouldn’t be the one to reach out first. you’d make him chase you, let him feel the weight of his mistakes. it was your way of punishing him for his antics, and maybe, deep down, he knew he deserved it.

but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months and he never reached out and neither did you. there were no more coincidental run-ins, no more crossing paths by chance. you worked in the corporate offices, far removed from the world of valdebebas where he spent his days. its been a stretch of time full of silence, distance, of not seeing each other at all.

now, two months later, with your dream moans still echoing in his head, he wonders if he miscalculated. if maybe, this time, the game he was so used to playing  was costing him more than he expected.

it's a shoot day for kylian, an ad for one of the club sponsors. he’s already on set, ready to go, but for some reason, the production team isn’t. apparently, someone essential from the marketing department is missing. he tries to hide his impatience; his schedule is relentless, every minute accounted for and time spent waiting is time he could be using to decompress, even if just for a moment.

he’s letting out an irritated huff when the door barges open and you walk into the room, frazzled , out of breath, and looking completely out of place. kylian’s face drops, because, well, he doesn’t expect to see you here at all. 

“julia had an emergency” you’re murmuring to the production assistant. “everyone else from marketing is on that retreat, so she asked me to fill in. it was very last minute, i came here as soon as i could”

kylian shuffles on his feet as he watches you converse with the production team, nervously waiting for you to look up and notice him. his eyes zero in on your hands, on the ring on your pinkie finger - gold, with an intricate engraving at the center. you play with it absentmindedly, turning as you speak. 

the photographer, taller than kylian, scruffy looking, and far too familiar for his liking, seems to notice it too.

"that’s a beautiful ring" he remarks, stepping closer to you. "vintage?"

you glance up, caught slightly off guard. "oh-yeah, it was my grandfather’s”

the photographer grins, nodding in admiration. "where's it from?" 

his tone is friendly, maybe just being curious. 

“he bought it in morocco, back in the eighties” you say, smiling genuinely. 

this irritates kylian. immediately, he hates that you’re smiling at this guy while not even sparing him a glance. he hates the fact that he’s never noticed that ring before, that he doesn’t know the story behind it, that some random photographer has now seen more of you in the past five minutes than kylian has in the past two months.

finally, he interjects, voice sharper than intended. "can we get started?" 

the photographer blinks, momentarily thrown off, before nodding and moving along to set up the shot. you, however, finally acknowledge kylian with a detached and professional: “good morning, kylian”

that’s it. you look down to your clipboard before he can respond, already focused on something else.  feeling dismissed, kylian just walks away.

the shoot drags. kylian’s patience ,which was never in abundance to begin with this morning, is wearing thin. the lights are hot (which means the room is hot), the photographer keeps making him repeat the same movements, and the jersey he has on is kind of itchy. 

then there’s you. your nonchalance only builds on his irritation. he doesn’t like that you’re standing there flipping through your notes like this is any other work day. doesn’t like that you’re answering questions, talking with the photographer, even laughing a little all while acting like he’s just another player to manage.

when the photographer finally calls for a break, kylian walks straight to you, stopping just close enough that you have to acknowledge him.

"let’s get lunch after this"

it’s not a request. more of a statement, delivered in what he hopes is a confident tone.

you don’t even glance up from your clipboard. "no"

his jaw flexes. "why?"

this time, you do look at him, your expression so blank it makes his stomach tighten.

"i already have plans" you say, tone flat. "meeting a friend"

"cancel" he says before he can stop himself.

you raise your eyebrows. "excuse me?"

"cancel" he repeats, slower this time. "have lunch with me instead"

you let out an incredulous chuckle, amusement flickering in your eyes, like you can’t believe his audacity. "oh so because kylian mbappé decided he wants my attention today i’m obligated to drop everything right?"

"that’s not -"

"no, because this is interesting" you continue. "two months of silence, and now i’m supposed to rearrange my plans just because you’re suddenly feeling social"

kylian cringes hard at himself. he rubs his fingers between his brows, exhaling sharply. “okay, yeah. that came out bad, i’m sorry”

“i’ll try again” he straightens, clearing his throat. “can i take you out to lunch or dinner? any time you’re free”

“no” you snap immediately, rolling your eyes. “and can you get the fuck on with this stupid shoot? the sooner you do what the photographer asks, the sooner we can all leave this sauna” you point to his hairline. “and better get the good shots in before your sprayed on corners melt”

kylian’s completely speechless as you flash him the sweetest, fakest smile and saunter away, leaving him standing alone. he should be annoyed. maybe even embarrassed. instead, his lips twitch, fighting back a grin.

he doesn’t know why he’s drawn to someone so hellbent on putting him in his place, but he is. and god help him he likes it.

joining a book club might just be the most ridiculous thing kylian has ever done for a woman. and you're not even his woman (yet).

he gets the idea from his mother. they’re in a meeting discussing a project for his foundation when she notices how often he glances at his phone, hoping for a reply to the texts he keeps sending you. none come, of course. you’re nothing if not stubborn.

"what’s wrong?" she asks finally.

"nothing" kylian mutters.

she gives him a look, one he’s known since childhood, the kind that strips away any chance of deception. don’t even try lying to me.

he caves immediately. “waiting for someone to text me”

“y/n, the girl you claim you hate but won’t admit you like” she says matter of factly. then her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and mild disgust. “why aren’t you texting first?”

“i am” he says, as if it’s obvious. “and how do you know about her?”

“your brother loves to sing about your less than finer moments” she says as she shuffles her notes. “something about a watch and throwing a fit at a restaurant?”

kylian snorts. “ i didn’t throw a fit, and that’s not even the whole story”

she gives him an unimpressed look, the kind that says go on then. he hesitates for a moment, then decides to let it all out - because his mother is his confidant, always has been. he tells her everything, sparing only the explicit details, of course. no need to mention his self sabotaging tendencies either, she knows him better than anyone after all. 

when he’s done, she just sighs. “mon coeur, you have a bad habit of getting in your own way”

kylian stays quiet, staring at the floor. he knows she’s right. he’s always known.

after a moment, she nudges his foot with hers. “so, what are you going to do about it?”

he looks up, jaw tight. “i don’t know”

she clicks her tongue. "figure it out, before someone emotionally available and uninterested in wasting her time comes around and sweeps her off her feet"

kylian groans, dropping his head into his arms. “the thing is, I don’t even know how to see her. she’s ignoring me as it is. how am I supposed to -”

“get creative” she interrupts, smirking now, thoroughly entertained by his suffering. “read a romance novel or something. maybe it’ll give you an idea”

it clicks for him just then. at rafael’s dinner party, you’d mentioned a book club offhandedly, saying that’s how you two knew each other. 

the next day at training, he sidles up to the physio, voice carefully casual. "what’s the book of the month?"

rafael blinks at him, caught off guard. "what?"

“the book club” kylian clarifies, like it’s something he always asks about. “what are you guys reading?”

rafael gives him a look, but he humors him and tells him the title.

 “i love that book!”

rafael squints. "really? you read?"

"of course" kylian lies. he hasn’t touched a book since he was in school.

he claps rafael on the back. “i should join your next meeting. would love to discuss it. such a  lovely read, I mean-”

“sure” the physio says, still eyeing him like he’s lost his mind. “you should know its just me and y/n though, and  we do a lot of talking. you should come prepared”

and kylian does prepare. as soon as training ends, he texts his assistant asking to pick up the book, and by the time he gets home, the paperback is waiting for him. he immediately dives in. it’s just as boring an activity as he remembered from school; his eyes skim, his mind wanders, but he endures. because, somehow, there’s a need to impress. a desire to make you think highly of him. so he reads. and when he’s done, he finds analysis videos on youtube and watches them too. 

when the sunday of the meeting comes, rafael texts to the both of you that his cat is not feeling well and he has to take it to the vet. kylian quickly texts back - hope your cat’s okay - all while in disbelief at his luck; he’s getting one on one time with you, which is something he wasn’t expecting at all. it feels like divine intervention. bless rafael’s cat. may its suffering not be in vain. 

he calls you next. surprisingly you pick up. 

“why are you hijacking my book club?” you demand before he can even get a word in. 

“I’m not hijacking” kylian says innocently. “i politely asked to join. anyway, do you want to come to my place instead of your usual cafe? you know its a hassle for me to get around in public”

“your place? ” you laugh. “so you can get me in your bed again?”

“we didn’t make it to my bed last time” kylian smirks. “we can fix that though, if you’d like”

“i'll pass” you mutter. “It's either the cafe or nothing”

then you hang up. 

kylian, somewhat anxiously, puts on a mask and a cap, and makes his way to the cafe you and rafael frequent for your two person book club.

he gets there first, and when you finally walk in, his eyes lock onto you. there’s an effortless confidence in your walk, your posture perfect, and of course you make heads turn. for a brief moment, his mind runs wild and falls into a daydream. he imagines you beside him on a red carpet, a possessive hand on the small of your back as you pose for the cameras. the ritual he usually dreads, turned into a spectacle where he gets to show you off. it’s a fleeting thought, but clear: if you were his, he’d want the world to know. 

you take a seat across from him, murmuring your greetings. again, kylian is struck by your beauty, by the way you effortlessly infiltrate his senses, leaving no room for anything else. 

"you're late," kylian says as you settle into your seat.

"oops" you reply, entirely unbothered.

he huffs out a laugh, then signals the waiter. coffee for you, herbal tea for him - he doesn’t do caffeine. 

“how are you?” he asks. “how’s life? did you cut your hair again, by the way? It looks nice”

you blink, caught off guard. “...yes” then, with a smirk: “you pay too much attention to me, lottin. you need a hobby”

you tap the book on the table, a clear attempt to steer the conversation away from yourself. “like reading, maybe. how’d you like this one?”

kylian slides the book away from your reach. "first i want to say sorry-"

you groan, cutting him off. "not this again"

“no, i’m serious” kylian exhales. here goes - first time being honest about this to someone out loud. “ i tend to self sabotage sometimes, to run away when i get scared - emotionally i mean. that's why i've sort of gone quiet the past couple months. it's been like that for a long time, and obviously its nothing to do with you and everything to do with me”

“clearly” you snort.

kylian gawks at you.

you arch a brow. "what? you think i was sitting here wondering, why isn’t he calling me? there must be something wrong with me?" you scoff. "i’m a catch. obviously you’re the problem"

you flick a stray curl out of your face, smirking, and kylian can’t help but stare.

then, leaning in, your voice drops, more serious now. "it wasn’t like that at first, though. i resented you for how you treated me that night in paris. it messed with my self esteem for a while. you made me feel... inadequate” a pause. “but now i know better. you were the problem, not me. so, like... it’s whatever. and you did apologize"

his stomach twists. he knew he'd hurt you that night, but hearing it put so plainly and so directly makes him hate himself a little for it.

he meets your gaze again, face turning more solemn. " i'm really sorry for that. i regret it so much.. i think it's the ugliest manifestation of my stupid issues, and it had to be on you, someone i really liked from the get go"

you play with a napkin on the table. "and after the night at your place… well, you said it yourself. you run"

"i want to change" kylian says earnestly. "i want to do better, because i like you. and i want to get to know you, not just sleep with you, and -"

the waiter arrives with your drinks, cutting him off. kylian silently prays he hasn't overheard much of your conversation - the last thing he wants and needs is his business to be all over the internet. 

"thanks" he murmurs to the waiter as he watches you take a careful first sip of your cappuccino. a small cloud of foam clings to your lips, and he watches, slightly transfixed, as your tongue peeks out of your mouth and lick it away. this shouldn't be as sensual as it is, but kylian who’s been left to fend for himself with nothing but his hands lately (and is bizarrely haunted by dreams where he begs for you) finds the simple action oddly obscene. he’s so distracted, he barely registers the sting when he tears open a sugar packet too carelessly, the sharp edge giving him a papercut. kylian snaps his eyes away from you, hissing under his breath and shaking his hand out.

"smooth" you tease, watching him examine the tiny wound.

he glances up at you, a small smile on his face. "you want to kiss it better?"

“you’re such a baby” you sigh, shaking your head.

but then you reach across the table, taking his hand in yours, running your thumb over the tiny cut. kylian stills, his breath hitching a little.

you slip your hand into your bag and pull out a tube of aquaphor. he watches, swallowing, as you dab his finger with a napkin. there’s something absurdly intimate about it, the tenderness in your touch, the way you hold his hand like it's something delicate. “anyway” he says, voice quieter now, “what i was getting at before is that i promise i'll cut out this bullshit going forward. obviously i haven't done much to prove my worth, but i want to show you. can i take you out on a date?”

you don’t look up as you smooth a tiny amount of ointment over the cut.  "kylian, you say you want to change. i want to believe you, because i like you too, and i want to get to know you better. but first you need to prove to me you actually mean what you say"

"there" you say when you’re done. you meet his gaze, your touch featherlight. “all better”

not quite. 

for a moment, disappointment flickers inside him. rejection, no matter how gentle, stings. and kylian isn’t used to that feeling. but it doesn’t linger, not really, because kylian thrives on challenges. his entire life has been built on discipline, persistence, proving himself to people. he has never ever wanted anything more than to be worthy of the things he desires most. and if that’s what it takes to win you over, then so be it.

his fingers shift, brushing against yours, his grip tightening just slightly. when he speaks, it’s with quiet conviction: "i will"

you give him a shy smile, a hopeful one. for now its enough.

"okay" he blurts, a few moments later. "can we talk about the book now? i actually did read it "

you laugh, and its the best sound he’s heard in a while. 

three months later

"mbappé is so well spoken" ana, your co-worker from the comms department, remarks over lunch one day, her tone full of admiration. "not too wordy, always straight to the point. every time i upload his press conference quotes, i’m like, ‘damn’”

"i know, right?" you perk up slightly. "he’s actually really smart. i don’t think people give him enough credit for that, and he’s also-"

you stop mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the way your friends are staring at you, wide eyed, like you've just declared the earth is flat.

"am i hearing this right?" daniel asks, incredulous. "are you... complimenting mbappé?"

you shrug, quickly dropping your gaze to your food, hoping they won’t make a big deal out of it.

“he’s a decent guy, i’ve realized” you shrug, trying to sound casual. in reality, and not for the first time, a paranoid part of you feels like you let something slip, like i have a crush on kylian mbappé is suddenly embarrassingly scrawled across your forehead in big bold letters.

you can’t help but find it amusing, how everything has shifted since the three months since he said he’d ‘prove’ himself to you. what started as pure loathing, then morphed into annoyance, then grudging respect and acceptance of attraction, is now teetering on something more scary. your entire perspective on him is being rewritten. that supposed arrogance? turns out, it was just confidence, a man aware of his capabilities and potential, someone moving through life unapologetically self-assured. and that self-absorbed image you once had of him? it couldn’t be farther from the truth – you see it now, in the way he interacts with people around him, how everyone who knows him speaks highly of him, the way he quirks his eyebrows whenever he gives someone his undivided attention in conversation , eyes sparkling slightly.

yes, you think about his eyes sparkling often. it's quite troubling.

he’s a regular fixure in your life now, a constant you never thought he’d become the day you saw him walk into your office for the very first time. a close friend, if you will. 

it started with him showing up to the book club again. you’d thought it was a one time thing the first time, but kylian kept coming, kept reading the books. then he started inviting you over whenever ethan visited (you’d stayed in touch with his little brother over instagram, bonding over your shared love for bullying kylian). little by little, you got to know him better, and it was terrifying, because everything you learned just made you like him more.

there’s no denying he’s your dream man, kind, ambitious, funny. he gets on your nerves a lot; you bicker over the most trivial things, and somehow, every argument leaves you wanting to kiss him senseless. not that he doesn’t know. he probably knows full well how much you want him, but this time he’s waiting for you to break first. after all, you’re the one who set an ultimatum. 

you never thought there'd be a list of things about him you'd find endearing, but there are: his very loud laugh, which never fails to make you smile, the childlike joy he gets from playing football, he way he adorably messes up the pronunciation of some english words in an effort to sound perfect.

time passes. your liking of him grows. for his birthday, you get him a cake that says happy birthday to my fave manwhore who can’t drive. he gives you a long, slightly confused look when he sees it, and that same evening, you and kylian spend his 26th birthday watching clueless.

you send him memes of himself, clips from tiktok of people making fun of his interviews. there are some edits, the kind that make your eyes go wide that you save but don’t send. not that you’re lacking in kylian thirst traps: when he goes to dubai for christmas break, he sends you shirtless pictures unprovoked, to which you keep replying with a '???' but stare at for far too long. 

he sends you pictures of himself at the beach too, playing with his niece and nephew who he doesn’t get to see nearly enough these days because of the distance. one evening, you even meet his niece over facetime, a sweet, chatty little girl who instantly makes things awkward by asking if you’re tonton kyky’s girlfriend. her mother hurriedly comes into frame profusely apologizing, before whisking her daughter away. kylian just chuckles awkwardly and changes the subject. 

you joke that he should throw away his bucket hats if he ever wants a shot at taking you out. the next day, he’s not wearing one, opting for a cap instead. when you clarify that you were joking (because, unfortunately, his sometimes questionable fashion sense isn’t putting you off this man), the ugly bucket hats make a triumphant return.

when he gets back, he gifts you a corny will you be my habibti? t shirt and an expensive bottle of perfume. that’s another thing you learn about kylian: he’s generous to people he cares about. with his money, yes, but also with his time - what little of it he actually gets to dictate. he’s attentive, remembering things you mention offhandedly, things even you forget you’ve said.

and you can’t help it, you open up to him, confiding in him your fears, your anxieties. you tell him your growing dissatisfaction at your job, how your boss keeps singing your praises but drags his feet on the promotion he said would come months ago. how you’re secretly interviewing at other jobs, testing the waters, seeing if there’s anything else out there that’s going to enable the growth you envision for yourself. little by little, kylian lets you in a well, telling you about how it really feels adjusting to life in madrid, how the loneliness he initially felt was waning thanks to his new friends, his teammates he’s now closer to, and you. it makes your stomach flutter, the knowledge that you’re becoming an important part of his daily life, like he is becoming in yours. 

one day, while working from home, your laptop propped on the kitchen table, you hear an insistent knock at the door. when you open it, you’re met with an unexpected sight - kylian, standing on your doorstep, holding a massive bouquet of flowers and a small gift bag.

"kylian?" you blink, caught off guard. "what are you doing here?" then, before he can answer, you add quickly "come in"

you step aside to let him in, still trying to process his presence in your tiny apartment. he shouldn’t be here, not when he’s recovering from a flu that’s kept him out of the copa del rey match today. you’d sent him a text checking on him in the morning, and the worrying update he’d given afterwards was a brief complaint about the fever being bad enough that he had to warn the coaching staff. so you really didn’t expect him to see him at your door today. 

yet here he is, cheeks slightly puffy, eyes watery and bleary with exhaustion, bundled up in a warm sweater.

“congratulations!” he says weakly, brandishing the flowers to you. “had to personally deliver these”

you take the beautiful flowers from his hand, face heating, not really sure what you’re being congratulated for. “...thank you?”

he sees the confusion on your face. “i heard you got that promotion. your boss is a blabber mouth by the way, i ran into him at the car park the other day”

“ohh” you say in realization, chuckling. “thanks. i’m not taking the promotion, though. i actually just put in my two week notice. i got the job i was telling you about”

kylian's brows lift in surprise, and for a moment, he just stares at you, processing your words. then, slowly, he grins.

“no way” his voice is hoarse and croaky from being sick, but there’s warmth in it. you can tell he’s really happy for you.  “you got it?”

“i got it” you confirm, a little breathless, still getting used to saying it out loud.

his eyes soften, and he shoves the small gift bag into your hands. “open it”

you rip off the wrapping and find a jewelry box inside. when you open it, a beautiful gold necklace catches your eye. you can’t help but gasp a little, totally taken by how pretty the pendant is as you hold it up to the light. but then you gasp even louder when you realize the pendant has the same design as the signet ring you’ve had forever - your grandfather’s ring, the one you’ve kept all these years.

“how-what-”  you stutter, totally speechless.

kylian watches you with a small smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. "i saw you wearing the ring during that photoshoot a while back" he says. "and when i went to morocco a couple weeks ago.. well you know i have my ways-” he winks, but sneezes loudly immediately after, throwing off his attempt at being smooth. “- anyway, i asked around and found the jeweler who made it, and luckily they’re still in business. had them make a matching necklace”

“thank you, kylian,” you say softly, blinking against the tears welling up in your eyes. this is, without a doubt, the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received. you run your fingers over the pendant, still in awe, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm

before you can overthink it, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. he stiffens for half a second, probably because you never hug him, but then he melts into it, sighing against your hair as his arms slide around your waist.

“i really love it” you mumble against his shoulder.

“yeah?” his voice is quieter.

“yeah”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his hands linger at your waist, maybe intentionally, and you don’t miss his eyes flickering down to your lips for a second. 

“come here” he murmurs. “i want to put it on you”

you turn around, heart hammering as he gently lifts your hair and clasps the necklace around your neck. his fingers brush against your skin, and you feel goosebumps rise where he’s touched you. you don’t want his touch to leave you. 

“perfect” he says, and when you turn back to face him, he’s already watching you like he’s thinking the same thing.

but of course, the moment is ruined when he screws up his face, and after muttering a quick ‘sorry’, sneezes loudly. 

with his grand romantic gesture interrupted by sneezing two times now, you sit him down on your couch and make him tea, and somehow, some minutes later he ends up stretched out on your couch like he lives here, bundled up in a blanket he stole from your bed.

“you know what’s great about you quitting?” kylian mutters from the couch. “i mean, besides the pay raise and growth opportunities you’ll get at your new job”

you hum in expectation, raising an eyebrow as you glance over from your laptop.

“we when we start dating, it won’t cause complications” he says, chuckling. “you won’t have to tell hr, or anything”

“when, and not if?” you tease. “that confident?”

“very confident” he says. “and you know what, i already know where our first date will be: paris. I’ll show you my city”

you laugh, shaking your head at him. 

you fall into a comfortable silence where you keep working, fingers tapping against the keyboard as he lounges there, half asleep. every now and then, you hear him shift, adjusting the blanket or sighing softly. at one point, he mutters something incoherent, and when you glance over, he’s blinking at you sleepily, like he’s fighting to stay awake.

“what?” you ask.

he just stares at you for a second, eyes heavy lidded, voice thick with exhaustion when he finally says, “nothing. just.. you look nice when you’re focused”

your fingers falter over the keyboard. you try to ignore the way your pulse stutters at his words, how the weight of his gaze lingers on you even after he closes his eyes again.

thankfully for kylian, being a football prodigy means he has never known (and will never know) the trauma of a microsoft teams notification ping. so he sleeps on, undisturbed, curled up in the middle of your space like he belongs there.

you touch the necklace laying on your chest every couple minutes as you work. your eyes keep wandering to the flowers now sitting in a vase. you’re so giddy, so happy to be seen and to be known like this. and all from the man napping on your couch. the person you thought you’d never like as a person, much less romantically. funny how life works.

employees get the occasional perk: a ticket to a home game at the bernabeu. seeing as these are your last few days as a real madrid employee, you don’t want to miss what could be your final chance to watch a match from the stands. you want to soak it up, to fully live in it. 

so here you are, inside the stadium, weaving through the crowd on your way to your seat. but first, a quick stop at the restroom - you’ve come straight from the office after a long day, and you could use a splash of cold water to the face.

as you stand at the sink, washing your hands, you catch a woman glancing at you in the mirror. when you turn to offer a polite smile, she meets your gaze.

“hi” she says warmly. “you probably don’t remember me, but i remember you”

you blink, trying to place her. “hi…yeah, i don’t think i do” you admit sheepishly.

she laughs. “no worries. you must have a lot of people running around like headless chickens, asking where the conference rooms are”

and then it clicks. last year, in the office, on your way to the break room, she had stopped you to ask for directions. she even complimented your nails, you remember now. 

“i do remember!” you brighten. yet, something about her still tugs at you, like you’ve seen her face a thousand times before.

“i was here negotiating my son’s contract” she adds with a knowing smile.

and that’s when it hits you. the resemblance is unmistakable. she looks just like him.

“oh” your stomach flips. this isn’t how you imagined meeting kylian’s mother. “well, i’m glad you’re back, its good to see you again. i hope you enjoy the match tonight”

you move to dry your hands, but she stops you, eyes twinkling. “ you’re y/n, right? i’ve heard a lot about you.” her tone is teasing. “why don’t you join me tonight? the seats are pretty nice”

and just like that, you find yourself watching the game from the vip section, seated next to kylian’s mother. 

before kickoff, you shoot kylian a quick text: ran into your mom and now we’re sitting together. she’s already told me a million embarrassing stories, and i’ll dig for more if you bore me!!

he doesn’t bore you. in fact, the entire team plays what is probably their best match of the season. kylian scores a hat trick, and the stadium erupts with every goal. his mother remains composed each time he scores, but you catch the glint of pride in her eyes, the quiet joy of a mother watching her son finally hit his stride after a rough start to the season.

after the match, fayza invites you to join her and kylian for dinner at his house. you hesitate, not wanting to intrude on what’s likely one of the rare moments they get to catch up, but she doesn’t let you get away that easily.

“please” she insists. “i want to get to know my son’s best friend in madrid”

you don’t stand a chance. now you understand where kylian gets his charm from.

“okay” you say, smiling shyly as you nod.

together, you make your way to the underground car park to wait for him. he’s still making his rounds—talking to journalists, answering questions, stopping for pictures with fans. it’s quieter down here, the hum of engines and the distant murmur of departing spectators filling the space. from where you stand, you catch glimpses of him through the crowd. his energy is magnetic. it’s his night, his hattrick, his triumph, and the joy radiating off of him is infectious.

when he finally joins you, he’s bouncing his signed match ball against the floor, his excitement still buzzing through him. his mother greets him first, and then he turns to you, wrapping you in a tight hug that catches you off guard. he smells like body wash and his usual cologne, the warmth of his hoodie pressed against you, and beneath it all, you can hear the steady, fast beat of his heart.

“congratulations” you murmur. “you were amazing”

“thanks” he grins again, bouncing the ball again before holding it up to you and pulling out a sharpie from his pocket. “can you sign this for me?”

you blink at him, surprised. “me?”

he nods, his expression softening. “it’s your last day here. i feel like we should mark it somehow”

the sentiment catches you off guard, but you’re extremely touched.  kylian has been surprising you a lot lately. and every single day, you keep falling.

you take the sharpie from him, searching for a free spot among the messages from his teammates - inside jokes, congratulations, doodles squeezed between signatures. finally, you find a space just big enough. you hesitate for a second, then, biting back a smile, you write:

congratulations, ky <3. trip to paris to celebrate?

later, in the car, the night stretching out around you, you sit side by side in the backseat. somehow, your hands find each other in the dark, fingers intertwining like second nature. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over the back of your hand as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

you watch as he turns the match ball in his lap, examining the messages under the shifting yellow glow of the streetlights. then, he pauses. his fingers trace over your writing slowly, as if reading it again and again. 

when he finally looks up, his smile is so wide his dimples pop. and in that moment, you know he knows he’s won.

tags: @idontknowwhatthisvis555 @nowrosesaredead @iuoiyr @acarolnzinhaa-03 @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @loonworld @whateveryouloser @greyishbach @ajsboys @kyliansonlygf @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @heartbreakylian @ishaaglobus2002 @flawlessdiamond1 @ouiouibaguettei @kylianmb9 @peaceiswonderful @maricciardo @monodolan @borikenlovee

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi! I hope you’re having a great day! 🌟 I absolutely love your blog and your writing—it’s always so creative and immersive. I was wondering if you could write a Reverse Flash (Eobard Thawne) imagine for me? Here’s my idea: - [ do you know the fanfic that you did about him and normal reader? Well, I thought you could write about the wedding reception or what when on during the wedding] No pressure, of course—I just think your writing style would bring this idea to life in the best way! Thank you so much for considering my request, and keep up the amazing work! 💖

Eobard Thawne x male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been sending out job applications, how’s everyone else doing? I actually know like, nothing about weddings. The one wedding ive been through was thrown together in like three weeks.

you can find the fic mentioned here

The wedding could go multiple ways. It could be a huge wedding that costs more money than you could ever imagine. Or it could be something small and personal.

I think it makes more sense if it was a smaller wedding. Because sure, Eobard could show off, but he also has like no one to invite from his side, and he knows you prefer things being down to earth and calm.

The only person really invited on his side is Barry and that’s because you invited him, claiming that being rivals for so long pretty much made them family.

Your family has always loved Eobard, even if he has his moments where his villainy shines through. They’re all as normal as you, and could care less about his evil deeds. Eobard helps them repair stuff around their houses, and chased off your cousin Linda’s evil abusive ex. That makes him good in their books.

I think Eobard has little idea how to really plan a wedding, especially with someone he loves as much as you. Good thing he’s got you, and your one cousin who’s a wedding planner who’s helping you guys’ plan as a wedding gift.

Your family is pretty damn big, and you got people in all fields. Theres your uncle Bill whos got a major catering business, and your younger cousin who has a band willing to play. Your aunt Jenna gets the flowers for cheap, and your uncle Michael and his husband Diego run a security company.

I can even see Eobard being close to uncomfortable with just how open and supportive your super normal family is. Your nieces and nephews love Eobard for many reasons, from his red hair to him teaching them self-defense.

If it wasn’t for you, Eobard would become a major bridezilla, or should I say groomzilla? He wants it to be perfect, from location, time, season of the year, everything. It needs to be just as you guys planned. You succeed in pulling him in before he starts spiraling most days.

I can imagine Eobard would want to wear a yellow suit, but you and your groomsmen and bridesmaids end up talking him out of it. Instead, he wears a black suit with a yellow, and you wear a white suit with a red tie.

You spend quite a lot of time talking him out of stress or anger when things don’t go right, or when he’s starting to get overwhelmed. Theres multiple times you have to talk him out of time travel to get what he thinks is best.

The wedding goes off with little issue. There is a moment where Eobard wants to be mad about Barry showing up. But at this point it’s more just because he’s so used to being evil when he sees Barry. It’s like a trained reaction.

Barry brings a gift of course, off the registry since he doesn’t really know you too well.

Your family assume that Barry is related to Eobard in some way since they have a “similar energy” around them. Barry gets along well with your family, and fits into the wedding guests easily.

Eobard will never admit it, even if your family get it on video, that he started crying when you guys were saying your vows. His vows aren’t long, but are meaningful to the two of you, and it’s obvious he’s trying his best to express those feelings to you verbally.

The rings you guys wear are probably made out of some material Eobard got his hands on. something that can’t be broken by him using his powers or in battle, and something that cant be copied by others since he’s possessive.

There is of course a large party afterwards, with lots of hugs and congratulations from everyone in attendance.

As your family are all over you, laughing and celebrating, Eobard pulls himself to the side for a breather. He loves you so much, but it can be so overwhelming sometimes to feel so normal and accepted, loved even.

Barry would saddle up beside him with a drink in each hand, so the two of them end up standing side by side as people dance, drink and eat.

Barry would express how happy he is for Eobard, that he found someone who matters so much to him. That Eobard looks so much happier and healthier than the last times he saw him. Eobard would grumble but flush, mumbling about how he’s obviously better because he has you.

In the end you guys celebrate to your heart’s content, and when the party is over you guys don’t go to a hotel. Instead, Eobard runs you guys’ home so you can cuddle in bed and just be together.

Theres not much reason to hold a honeymoon in the way most others do. If you guys want to go to another country, Eobard will just run you there. Instead, you take as long time off work as you can, so you guys can just be together and do whatever you want.

[pain-is-forever]

The way Theo's head SNAPS towards Eris looks almost non-human. A quiet crack can be heard from his neck as he does so. His eyes pierce the goddess, unblinking. How dare she show her face here, after all she's put Argo through, after everything she's done. Theo will make her suffer.

He brings his left hand to his mouth and bites down on his cuticles until the ones on his thumb, pointer and middle finger are bleeding, which isn't very difficult with the sheer force of his bite. One would think he's about to rip parts of his fingers off with his teeth. He then twists his left hand in such a way that all of the stitches on his recent wound from the encounter with his mother and her two sisters come undone, ripping the wound open again. All the work Commodus's medics have done on it going to shit.

Then, he takes his sword, poison from his blood eating away at the hilt slightly, and creates a deep cut in his right palm, whatever the purpose of him hurting himself is, he looks determined and angry. Seething. He stares at Eris the entire time, as if giving her a warning. The only warning he's going to give her, to leave him and Argo alone and never return before Theo does something absolutely and utterly disgusting.

When he starts walking up to Eris, something changes within him. Someone else shows their presence. Theo's left eye turns... red? Pink? The entire eyeball gets flooded with that fucked up mix of two colors, glowing slightly, as if a ghost is possessing him. Because it's partly true, Andrea has taken over part of his mind to help him, his eye growing more red than pink by the second.

With blood dripping on the ground from his hands, he stops in front of the goddess. The son of Achlys's right hand shoots out to Eris's shoulder, his green-tinted toxic blood dripping all over it, he made sure to change the composition of it to make it ever so painful. The hand grips the goddess's shoulder with such strength, it... hurts? No, that's not possible. This is just an underweight teenager, there's no way anything he does would hurt her. Yet it does.

Theodore pulls his hand down, the movement being enough to drag the goddess down to his eye level. He looks her dead in the eyes for a moment, and she can see the one that isn't glowing looks... dead. There's only one thing behind his gaze, and it's pure rage. It sort of reminds her of her sister, the boy's mother.

He puts his left hand's bleeding fingers in a claw, then puts it to his heart and thrusts outwards, his pointer and middle finger sinking deep into the goddess's eyes, injecting poisoned blood directly into her face. His thumb digs into her cheek, the power and sheer force of the thrust helping him actually sink his fingers inside her face.

Still staring at her, Theo drags his hand down her face. He makes sure to make it last excruciatingly long, slow and painful. Just like she deserves. He creates a large scratch down the goddess's face, stoppping at her lips. He forcefully opens her mouth and digs his hand into it, grabbing at her tongue and sinking his nails in, making sure to inject his blood in there as well. The poison that's meant to melt everything it touches. To burn, melt and cause insane amounts of pain.

Once he's done, he pulls his hands away from Eris and places them on the control panel, spreading the destructive substance across it. He gives her a geniuine, friendly smile as he does. "Hello, auntie. I'm doing great, what about you? Oh, wait. I forgot. Your snake tongue got melted off! I wonder how that happened?!"

Theodore laughs, not a cruel or mocking laugh, but rather one people would hear after someone makes a hilarious joke. He's definitely going insane, his mind is actively shattering itself as he speaks. It's getting worse with every second that passes.

°•□Open Starter □•°

I Live Inside You Forever, With Satan Himself By My Side

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

>TW: Unwilling transformation, derealization, loss of bodily autonomy, body mutilization (possibly other things) <

Argo had locked himself in one of the prison cells the moment he felt it start. His wings had somehow.. absorbed back into his body? Making it all the more painful when they burst out again.

Argo lets out a bloodcurdling scream- like millions of souls worth of agony are being channeled through Argo right now.

Argo is wearing a weird outfit; like something an old puppet would wear. Bows. Everywhere. A bow tie, bows on their gloves, and bows on their little socks- and on every individual set of wings.

It would be cute, but the bows sprout into string; tying tightly around their respective areas. Wrists, wings, ankles, neck- and they lead back to an invisible control panel.. somewhere above Argo.

His wings are pure white- but tied back by razored, barbed, wire. So are his facial wings- and the smaller pair of facial wings that sprouted out with the large; actually functional wings.

They make Argo look almost.. angelic- in a biblical way.

Argo looks up, repressing another scream. Their voice already hurts.

They see a person and their face goes deadly pale.

You notice they're missing all their facial scars; like they're wearing a perfect porcelain mask.

The 'mask' which seems to now just be Argo's skin cracks; right where their jawline scar used to be.

Argo tries to move back- but their razor wire restraints prevent that. He almost objects; almost vocalizes- but a stitch comes undone from their neck and that shuts him up really damn quick.

Argo looks like a perfect little angel puppet.

So, what do you do?

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss

[thewistlingbadger]

Imagine if for about ten years you had no one to talk to. Imagine if for about ten years you only had a few people you could actually speak to and when you do speak to them, it's never anything personal. It's all just business. Imagine if for almost ten years you couldn't go where you wanted to go, you couldn't be in public, you couldn't be about with other people because there was someone out there trying to kill you- someone who hated you so much that they wanted nothing more than for you to die by their own hands.

Then imagine that after almost ten years of isolation, you met someone. Imagine if this person talked to you all the time. Imagine if they opened up about themselves to you and told you their problems. Imagine if they smiled at you. Imagine if they found humor and comfort in you. Imagine if they liked being around you. Imagine if they enjoyed your company everyday for several years and they let you know this.

This is what happened to Silco. Silco only had a few people in his life that actually cared about and loved him, and all of those people either died or turned on him at an early stage of Silco's life. As far as we know, Silco's only friends throughout his entire life were Felicia and Vander and maybe Benzo, maybe even Connel if we're being generous. We never see him try to rebuild a social life after Vander's betrayal. He has distant employees, colleagues he hates, a blackmailed enforcer, and a right hand woman who's maybe his friendly acquaintance given that he's closer with her than he is any of his other employees, but not actually his friend. She would turn on him in a heartbeat if the opportunity proved to be to her benefit, and she's made this clear to him.

We never see him get close to anyone ever again. Except with Jinx. Jinx, who isn't afraid of Silco. Jinx, who holds no judgment for his past actions and his current misdeeds. Jinx, who was a child who looked to Silco for connection and acceptance after being rejected one too many times.

When we talk about the early days of Silco and Jinx's dynamic, a lot of us like to paint the picture that he gave her a lot of reassurance and affection. I have no doubt in this interpretation, but I want you to wonder: what if it was the other way around? What if it was little Jinx who gave Silco affection? What if she hugged him at random? What if she practically stayed at his side every chance she had? What would Silco, a man who hadn't received any kind of affection or positivity in so long, do with that? How would he react? Because when we look at all the physical interactions between Jinx and Silco, they tell us that Silco is NOT used to physical affection and is a bit put off by it, whereas Jinx IS used to it and she gives it out and accepts it freely.

It all truly starts here. In this scene, Silco is looking for Vi. Silco has just witnessed how powerful she is and he needs to find her because if she's alive and if she cannot be turned to his side, then she poses a major threat against Silco. Vi is Vander's daughter, his prodigy. She can fight like hell, she's strong willed, and she's not someone Silco needs on his bad side. Silco is shocked to see that he has found a little girl, alone, instead of Vi. He's not sure what to make of her. She looks small and pathetic, but the rest of Vander's kids have already proven that they can be menaces despite their youth and size. Silco bends down to reach Jinx's level and hides a knife behind his back as he asks her in a measured voice with fake kindness. Whether he was going to use that knife to kill Jinx or if he just had it out in the scenario he would have to defend himself against her (again, Vi has already proven that these children will throw hands AND fuck up adults if need be) remains forever unknown, because after Silco asks Jinx where her sister is, she looks up, Silco leans towards her with an inquisitive look, and Jinx LOUNGES at him. And that is not an exaggeration- she throws herself at him with such force that the knife in his hand lands too far for him to use and she sends him straight on his ass several feet away from her original position.

Jinx curls herself towards Silco, nuzzles her head into his chest, and tightly wraps her arms around him. This man is a complete stranger, but in this moment it doesn't matter. He's here when everyone else is gone. Silco is COMPLETELY in shock. His mouth is open, his eyes are wide, his breathing is uneven, his legs bend as if to scoot away from her...he was not expecting this at all and he doesn't know what to do or how to handle this. He looks over at Vander's body as he listens to Jinx's words and a realization of some sorts dawns upon him. His legs twitch, unfamiliar to the human who is resting between them. SLOWLY, RELUNTANTLY, HESITANTLY, he raises his hand and returns Jinx's affection lightly. He scoots his legs to further embrace her and leans closer towards her to cradle her, as if to protect her from a threat that isn't present. He has to think before he knows what to say to her, and his next words are said ever so softly. It's almost as if the words he's saying aren't directed towards her, like they're actually for someone else. His words turn from a gentle affirmation to a determined promise. Jinx's hands clutch at Silco's back and he leans closer towards her.

This is the first scene we get with Silco and Jinx post time skip. By this point they have already been living together for years and they have become very close. Jinx now works for Silco, she is very comfortable with him and he is very comfortable with her. He lets her hide out on the rafters in his office. He's let her draw on his items. Likewise, Jinx is comfortable opening up to Silco about the things she isn't proud about, her failures and traumas. Jinx post time skip is very tough on the outside, but in this moment we get to see that she is still just as vulnerable as she was as a child. Silco is used to Jinx being vulnerable and honest with him because when Jinx tells him why she messed up, he hums with recognition and understanding. Jinx mistaking people for her sister is clearly something that has happened before and it's been something that Silco has been there for for Jinx. Silco extends the dropper for his eye medicine to Jinx. As she reaches for it, her fingers brush against the top of his hand and Silco leaves his hand up in the position it was before, even though Jinx has already taken the dropper and is starting to move closer to Silco. He doesn't put down his hand until Jinx is completely settled into her new position. It's kind of like the physical contact has him frozen or entranced, like he's still trying to process it or cling to it.

In her new position, Jinx's feet rest on the arm rests of Silco's chair, keeping him trapped in his seat. Her faces is inches away from his and her fingers are curved around his shoulder, her thumb rests on his throat. This is notable because Silco has trauma with being choked. He has been choked twice by Vander that we know of, with the first incident being so traumatic that all throughout act one he wore clip on ties instead of real ones. Only after Vander dies does Silco begin to wear normal ties. Yet despite all this, Silco allows Jinx to touch his throat and put pressure on it. This will happen again later as well. When Silco talks to Jinx, he spends most of his time looking dead straight instead of looking at her. Only occasionally do his eyes dart towards her. His tone is gentle, but it's clear that he's exhausted. Her performance at the job was less than ideal and even though he's not particularly angry or upset at her, he's stilled bothered. Jinx recognizes this, and that's when we actually get to the gif above.

Jinx specifically leans towards Silco, not even the chair. She made the distinct decision to move even closer to him than she was before, parts of her face now touching his hair. Silco sees her move this close to him and makes no reaction. Not to the movement or sudden contact. Immediately after, we see Silco touch Jinx for the first time unprompted. It is not in an affectionate manner, it is more of a reprimand for not paying attention to his words. He firmly grabs her wrist and lowers her arm. By this point Jinx's face is no longer just touching his hair, its touching his own forehead. This contact redirects Jinx's focus back to Silco. Silco keeps his hold on Jinx's wrist as he continues to talk to her, continuously adjusting his grip and making it tighter as he becomes more passionate with his speech. Jinx forcibly pulls her wrist away from him, out of his grip, and Silco lowers his hand.

This scene is the first time we actually see Silco get genuinely upset with Jinx. In the last scene he was disappointed in her failure and bothered by the ramifications of it, but he ultimately made sure to not let his emotions take control. But in this scene, Silco full blown shouts at Jinx and is angry at her. We can see his frustration grow as Jinx doesn't hear him/ignores him calling her name several times, until he finally gets her attention and goes off on her. Just like before, Jinx is blowing Silco off, ignoring him, not giving him her full attention. He gets closer to her and aggressively takes a pencil she was holding away from her, but he doesn't actually touch her. Now leaning closer to her, almost bending down to her level, he also uses his arm to point accusingly. Jinx takes his anger and gives him the gem stone, their hands do not brush. Silco looks at the gem stone, perplexed. He doesn't know what it is but Jinx seems to be happy with herself. Silco is still trying to figure out the gem stone when he looks up and finds Jinx a few feet away from him. In the gif you can clearly see the difference in silco's face before and after Jinx hugs him. Once again, he looks like he completely wasn't expecting her affection. He makes a shocked expression, he allows the weight of her body to push him backwards, and his arms instinctually move to surround her even if he doesn't immediately process what's going on.

Jinx herself looks like she was holding back right before, most likely out of excitement. However it's still clear that this is something she's used to doing with him, because she instinctually turns her head to the side when she hugs him and she makes her body flushed against his. Compare this to when she hugs Thieram, the bartender. She puts her head above his shoulder. She does the same thing when she hugs Vi too. Jinx continuously makes herself smaller when she's being physically affectionate with Silco. She does it as a child, when she curls into Silco's embrace. She does it in the office when she's hugging her knees. She does it in this scene by turning her head. And lastly she does it in the next scene I'm going to talk about by holding her arms.

But anyway, in this scene Jinx's arms quickly wrap around him like they did when she was a kid, she knocks him a little bit back like she did as a kid, and her hug makes a thud noise like it did when she was a kid. Silco is reluctant to return Jinx's affection, just how he was when she was a child, but he does return it. He delicately puts his hand on her shoulder.

If we're looking at all this scenes as Silco's journey with physical affection, then this is definitely the "turning point". Silco gives Jinx a lot of physical affection in this scene and it's the first scene that the affection he displays is completely of his own accord. He isn't just reciprocating Jinx's affection he's actually reaching out for Jinx to give her affection. First, the scene starts with Silco putting a lot of physical distance between himself and Jinx. This contrasts with all the other times we've seen them, as they have a history with having a close proximity to each other.

Silco extends his hand, physically reaching out for Jinx. This time, it's Jinx who actually hesitates but nevertheless she begins to make her way to Silco. As she gets closer, Silco begins to extend his hand even more, begins to lean towards Jinx even more. Jinx does take the hand he extends to her, and can we just look at that gif? Even though Silco was the one who extended his hand out to Jinx, even though he was the one literally reaching for her, he has barely taken her hand. Her four fingers are just barely wrapped around his top two. He's holding her hand in a very elegant, almost fragile manner. They are not completely hand in hand, flesh against flesh. He pulls her closer to him using the hand that has hers and with his other hand he gently holds the back of her head. Silco's mouth opens to take a breath, as if he's the one that's about to be underwater and not Jinx. He carefully lowers her into the water, adjusting his hand from the back of her head to the back of her neck for better support, leaning towards her the further away she gets to him. With only her face left to be submerged, Silco lovingly swipes his thumb against her temple and smiles at her. He lowers her even more, his fingers slide along the side of her face, to her cheeks then chin.

We've seen Silco get upset and aggressive with Jinx, but his negative emotions never actually impacted the way he touched her. Unfortunately, Jinx does not extend that same grace. Jinx's emotions drive everything about her and she has no problem on taking things out on the people she thinks deserve it. By this point in the story, Jinx has found out that Vi is alive and with this truth comes Jinx's assumption that if Vi is alive, then that means Silco has been lying to her this whole time. Silco hasn't seen Jinx for awhile now and when he does see her again, she's very aggressive and accusatory with him. She pushes his head back against the chair with her hand, forcing his head up. She climbs into and sits directly in his lap, a movement that is very childlike, a movement we haven't seen from her yet. Silco, I feel, doesn't even really get to process this because he's too busy trying to catch up on what's going on. He hasn't seen her in a few days perhaps and she's speaking in riddles, clearly upset with him. Jinx roughly moves her hand from his forehead to the sides of his face, with her lower fingers touching his throat (remember think back to the choking thing I talked about earlier) and her upper fingers pressing into his cheeks and jaw. A few moments later Jinx's hand readjusts itself higher, almost like she remembered something and purposefully moved her hand higher so she wouldn't be touching his throat so much. Jinx stabs Silco with his medicine dropper a few times and it's clear that Silco wants to retaliate in some manner. His hands instinctively ball up and flex but he ultimately does nothing other than move his hand from his lap to her forearm, similar to how he did earlier. Recall back to how I opened this post and now think about this moment. Jinx at this point is the one person in Silco's life who has afforded him physical affection, and now she is actively, purposefully harming him. Silco readjusts his hand higher, to her wrist as he begins to talk Jinx down. The more convinced she becomes, the looser Jinx's grip on Silco's face gets, until she ultimately gives Silco the proper eye shot and runs away.

Oh boy howdy is this one of my favorite scenes with these two. As I said earlier, from ep5 on we start to see Silco be more openly affectionate, and that is very clear in episodes seven and eight of season one. Somehow after their last interaction and Jinx ran off to go be Jinx, Silco manages to find Jinx on the bridge. Except, oh uh, Jinx is lying down on the ground as if she were a victim and not the aggressor. Seeing her unconscious and still, Silco rushes over to Jinx, fearing the worse. He is genuinely terrified, his eyes being the widest we've probably ever scene them. He instantly bends down and turns her face towards his with his hand. He runs his thumb over the side of her face, similar to how he did earlier in the river. When he sees her up-close, covered in blood and soot, Silco begins to feel a lose he had no idea he was capable of. To lose Jinx to her sister is one thing, but for Jinx to actually die? It is simply something Silco has never had to imagine before, and now that it's staring him in the face he has no choice but to imagine a life without Jinx. With one hand on her shoulder and the other on the back of her head, he lefts her upper half up. He moves the hand behind her head to hold her even closer to him than before. When he hugs her, her hands fall, and in pure astonishment Silco sees the length Jinx was willing to go for Silco. He rubs his hand against her hair, then moves it to her shoulder to properly hold her. He then picks her up like a child and walks off.

Immediately following the last scene, Silco rushes all the way from the bridge to Singed, hoping to get a hail mary that well help Jinx stay alive. Singed is able to help, but it comes with a lot of risk. Risk that Silco is unable to evaluate given the severity of his emotions and the lack of time they have to save her. Singed asks Silco if he's prepared to loose her, and once again, the thought is clearly inconceivable. Jinx coughs in the background, causing Silco to run to her side. He holds his body directly above hers. He cannot lose her. He holds a hand above her face, a ghost of a touch, before resting it on her head and giving her a kiss on the forehead. This is the most physical affection Silco has ever displayed on Jinx, even though he's kissing the strap on her forehead and not her actual forehead. Would he have done this had she been conscience? Would he have done this had she not been dying? Those are questions for you not for me. He pulls back from her slightly, keeping his hand on her head and a watchful eye. This is the last time he ever gets to touch Jinx.

In conclusion: I believe Silco was a man who was unfamiliar and shocked by physical affection after not receiving any for practically a decade. But then he met Jinx, a girl who had been rejected, yet loved all her life. A girl who was used to giving and receiving physical affection. Jinx has no problem being affectionate with Silco and for the most part she feels like she can be very childlike when around him. After being betrayed by Vander, Silco made it his own personal mission to mask his emotions at all time. For the most part he is very successful with this, except for the times where Jinx gives him physical affection. Despite the fact that they've known each other for years and have given affection to each other over the years, Silco is still always shocked to receive it and he's cautious when giving it to Jinx. Every moment is calculated and voluntary, he always makes sure its her choice whether or not to engage. He always is very gentle and light with his touch as to not overstep or be overwhelming. Not only is Silco touch starved from years of neglect and isolation, but he also has a complicated relation with touch due to his trauma of being nearly choked to death.

I want you to think about how I opened this post. Imagine if you went years without having any meaningful social or physical interactions. Imagine if you then spent everyday with a person who gave you both for the next several years. Now imagine that person's relative, who you know is close to your person but has also hurt you person in the past, comes around and tells you they're going to take away the person you've been with for the past several years. And now you see why Silco was so hellbent against Vi. Because she was going to take away the one person Silco had. The one person who gave silco affection and the one person who accepted affection from him.

[noisytenant]

one of those things about viewing oneself as a system is that it's oftentimes just the only thing that makes sense.

like, you can go around thinking of yourself as one single person who just, inexplicably or through some divine fault, struggles to know what they want, shifts priorities on a dime, and always seems to fuck up the things they want in the last second, feeling some mix of disappointment and relief.

someone who always has the right reasons for doing things, except when they have no idea when they did something, which is always more often than they'd like.

or even someone who overtly and knowingly contradicts themself, never stopping to question how it can be so!

so you can be that one person. or you could say, without even putting a name to it: let's just look at the patterns here.

sometimes i feel this, sometimes i feel that. sometimes i value this, and other times that. in a perfect world, i might be able to integrate all these contradictions, but i'm obviously not doing that, because even when i do what i think is right, something always feels a little wrong.

when i split apart the threads, suddenly i can trace a line from past to present that tells me why i am the way i am... when i'm this. and oftentimes this story conveniently excludes many of the details that would lead me down the path to being that. things begin to untangle. you start to see what the whole was made of.

and it isn't even weird that we have these pockets of self-understanding in a world that throws so many contradictory requests upon us. follow all the rules... now know when to break them. don't fool around... now lighten up a little. be silent and listen... now talk and entertain.

so of course you have these forces inside you and of course they're opposing. when the world asks for one, they're often also asking for the absence of the other. they're forced to grow apart. but all of these pieces only have one source to draw from--your personal history, your life. so in that way they're all the same.

the point is--a lot of people are already fighting with themselves, they're just refusing to see it as a fight and to name the sides.

treating these sides as "that weird way i act sometimes" offers you no real options aside from "be less that" -- something nobody has ever fully succeeded in. and when you inevitably become that, all you can think is how you should actually be less this instead.

meanwhile, treating these opposing forces as something closer to a person means you can talk to them, get to know them, negotiate and compromise. and sometimes brawl, or fuck.

and none of this is easy! it happens slowly, confusingly, frustratingly. but once you understand it, you wonder what the hell you'd been doing the whole time. because you believe there is sense to be made, things start to make sense. and your world gets a little bigger.

[signanothername]

What's your opinion about Nm turning back into passive, like they're both separate people?

Not my thing tbh

Here’s a list why:

1- them being separate people immediately falls into “what corrupt did was never Nightmare’s fault!!!” Which immediately makes for a very unsatisfying conclusion to those “Corrupt” abused, to those he hurt and to those he tormented, his abuse would immediately be written off as something that didn’t even happen on Nightmare’s end, or something that others shouldn’t blame Nightmare for, it puts Nightmare into “the perfect victim” which is so boring at best and very frustrating at worst

2- even if you write Nightmare as trying “to make it up to people Corrupt hurt with his face” it’ll be with a bitter aftertaste of “but it wasn’t really his fault, and he’s still trying anyway!” Which paints Nightmare not only as a perfect victim, but also a complete saint that has never and will/can never do anything wrong

3- Dream’s and Nightmare’s relationship would just be null and void, especially with the fact everything can be written off as “Dream doesn’t blame Nightmare for anything cause it wasn’t even him doing all the hurting”, and where Dream would be justified for protecting Nightmare from those rightfully seeking revenge, in fact, those he abused would easily be written as “irrational” for seeking vengeance, like their abuse didn’t even matter, how it wasn’t Nightmare that abused them, but someone wearing his face, and therefore he shouldn’t be blamed at all

When you can instead, write Nightmare pre and post corruption as the same person and get an interesting story about Dream’s very biased views and his tendency to surrender to his feelings, how he can be a bit of a hypocrite for protecting his abusive brother, where his morals clash with his own personal interests, which you can’t really write if Nightmare is wholly innocent no?

4-Dream’s endeavors to “save” his brother would just be completely justified, and in turn, make everyone else out to be irrational for thinking Nightmare is a bitch and that Dream needs to stop trying to save him and instead actually kill him, when in reality Dream is the one that should be written as “irrational”

Instead, if Nightmare is the same person pre and post corruption, you can write a wonderful story of something along the lines of Dream understanding deep down that his brother can’t be saved and that his attempts at “saving” Nightmare is from a deep pain in his chest where he can’t get over the grief of losing what he and Nightmare had before, and even worse, how he’s extremely terrified of a future where he no longer has his other half, and how he isn’t ready to live half empty for the rest of his life

5- writing Nightmare’s story to simply conclude with “and he was saved and they live happily ever after” is such an unsatisfying conclusion to the Twins’ story, to just negate all the hurt, all the trauma, and all the pain, by making them live happily ever after, like they didn’t endure 500 years of misery, to assume that they can actually just heal together (and immediately) just because Nightmare “wasn’t really the one to hurt people” is absolutely not something I’d be fond of

Of course, not saying you can’t make a story interesting with the idea of Nightmare and Corrupt as separate people (for example, I think you can write an interesting story about how Dream’s perception of Nightmare could be really distorted after so many years of Corrupt manipulating him that he’s indeed his brother, and that even after saving Nightmare from Corrupt, Dream now feels like everything is wrong and that Nightmare doesn’t feel like his brother anymore)

I honestly don’t mind the idea in itself, just that, I can’t really see how you can make a satisfying narrative and conclusion to Nightmare’s and Dream’s story with it

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗙 𝗜 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 max verstappen x  fem! lawyer! reader (angst) fic summary . . . when max meets with a lawyer to try and fight back against the FIA for getting community service fines, he discovers he might have accidentally swapped dreams with someone (704 words)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place that was meant to look expensive without actually trying too hard. Max shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he watched you skim through the document in front of you, your brows slightly furrowed.

This was awkward.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he had been fined for swearing in a press conference again or the fact that the FIA had thrown in community service hours like he was some reckless teenager caught speeding in a school zone.

Lando had laughed when he found out. "You’re gonna need a lawyer if you wanna fight back, mate," he had grinned, not even trying to hide his amusement. "I know someone. She’s brilliant. I’ll send you her number."

And now here you were, sitting across from him in a restaurant in Monaco, having driven over from Nice to help him deal with his punishment.

"So," you finally said, flipping the page. "Two hundred thousand euros and twenty-five hours of FIA-approved community service before December 31st."

Max exhaled through his nose. "I only said one bad word."

You looked up, amusement flickering across your face. "As soon as I went into qualifying I knew the car was fucked . . .  Max, ou swore at your own car."

"Because it was fucked." He reasoned, shrugging at the topic like it was the most obvious and normal thing.

You chuckled, shaking your head before jotting something down in your notes. Max watched, taking a sip of his gin toic, not quite sure what to say next. He wasn’t used to lawyers. He wasn’t used to needing lawyers.

"You know," he starts, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the piano in the background. "If my dad hadn't pushed me to stay in karting, I think I would've been a lawyer."

You huff a laugh, one that tastes like irony. "Yeah? If my parents hadn’t forced me to finish school and go into law, I think I would've been a driver."

Max blinked.

Your sour words made him look up from his glass. His blue eyes—fierce in every race replay you've ever forced yourself not to watch—are softer here, dimmed under the low lights of a restaurant that neither of you belong in. "Seriously?"

You nod, taking a sip. "Yeah. I wanted it. The speed, the competition, the whole thing. Wanted to move up into single-seaters, F1 eventually, you know? The dream. But my family . . .” You exhale. "They thought racing was a hobby. Law was the real future."

“I’m in Formula One,” Max stated, looking at you with his head tilted. He felt it was as if he stole your dream.

“I can see that, Max,” you chuckled, lifting the file the FiA had given him as proof.

Max leans back, shaking his head with a smirk that's more tired than amused. "Funny. My dad thought law was stupid. Racing was the real future."

The piano plays on, and neither of you say anything for a moment. It’s not awkward. Just . . . heavy. Like you're both listening to ghosts of the past, telling you how things should have been.

"You still watch?" he asks eventually, his voice careful.

You shrug. "Not really." A lie. You watched enough to know his career, his wins, the way he makes magic out of machinery. "You still read about law?"

His lips press together, considering. "Sometimes." A lie. You bet he still thinks about it when he reads contracts, when he argues with his team, when he wonders if he could've been just as ruthless in a courtroom as he is on a track.

"Do you ever think about it?" you ask. "If you'd had the choice?"

Max smiles then, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "All the time."

The music plays on. The waiter refills your glass. Outside, the world moves forward, fast as ever, like it never had to choose between two lives. But here, in this quiet little nowhere, you and Max sit with your what-ifs, sharing a quiet conversation about what to do moving forward and how to get rid of the fine and community service fine, the ghosts of who you could've been watch over your shoulders.

[munchablemusic]

honeypot au jayvik

I've been plugging away at this little thing for a few months and was wondering if anyone would be interested? obviously its not complete but idk if its all that great and would love feedback. :)

And for reference: this is one of the early parts of the story, with them getting off on the wrong foot and Viktor not trusting Jayce to begin with. ok thanks bye

In a flash, Viktor’s hand is pushing against his chest, shoving him to the wall. Jayce is startled enough to not notice the other hand reaching up and grabbing his neck in a grip that’s strong enough to not choke him out completely, but leaves him still gasping for a full breath of air. 

Viktor’s hand is cold and slim, with perfectly manicured nails that almost seem comically out of place circling around Jayce’s neck. His strength is startling, his middle finger and thumb pressing into his carotid with a force that belie his small stature.

Viktor says, “I think you should start thinking about what your words could imply before you speak. I trust that you know the implications of betraying Silco in our line of work. Your-” and here he pauses, looking for the right words to say. His grip tightens a bit, squeezing out the last of air in Jayce’s lungs. Reaching up to try and pry Viktor’s fingers away from his throat, Jayce finds that he actually really does need oxygen to function, as Viktor easily bats away his efforts to escape. 

“Your coworkers would not particularly care for your well being if word were to go around that you aren’t loyal to Silco. I wonder especially how they would take you apart if someone told Silco that his little toy genius was leaking information to someone on the outside. Someone in the high nobility.”

Cait.

A jolt of complete fear spikes through his heart. How did Viktor know- especially when Jayce had taken such precautions to ensure that no one could ever find out his connection to her-

Viktor says, “You should think twice before you start snooping around my work. I take this very seriously, a trait that you seem to not possess in the slightest. Next time I won’t be so lenient. Next time it’ll be your head that decorates Silco’s wall, hanging pretty for everyone to see.” His claw-like grip releases from Jayce’s neck and drops him unceremoniously to the ground. Jayce gasps and chokes for air, feeling like he might puke. His chest moves sporadically up and down, trying to make up for the lack of air he’s lost in the last minute.

okay let me know if anyone likes it or not! i might publish it regardless but it would be nice to know if its at least good lol

[theallianceofcelestials]

I'm recently thiking about how would the Mirror SEA family react to the Og's, from the Sun and Moon Show canon dimension?

I have the impression that canon Solar, along side with the rest of the canon family, would be quite protective of Mirror Solar, if they ever found out about how Mirror Moon is. (Which honestly, i think his personality would creep Moon out)

Like always checking up on Solar, staying around him, never leting him and Moon alone, not even letting the kids alone with Moon, just to make sure he doesn't do anything.

Imagine how shocked Solar must be to find a version of his uncle that isn't creepy and is actually super chill with him.

Only to find out this version from him is from another, another dimension, where the Moon was, of course, an butthole, and that world no longer exists, because of a certain someone.

Which when imagining this situasion, why do i have the feeling that once they found out who killed a alternative version of their baby brother/son/nephew, Ruin would wonder, where the bloody hell is this Boss Music coming from?!

I also think about their thoughts on how much more emotionally closed Solar can be in this dimension and how diferent this Sun looks from theirs.

Sun sill looks the same, he just acts different. Unless you meant in how he carries himself, which is pretty different yeah

But if they ever met Canon, then it'd probably happen after SEA meets Canon and has become a semi regular occurance, so at first they'd be like: SCP Lunar get the fuck out of the bushes! We see you!

And he'd be kinda scared like what? Canon would have a fun time once they realise it's an entirely different group of people. Canon Moon would probably be fascinated by the idea of there being a SEA dimension. And with Solar no less! How interesting!

They'd quickly recognise the problems too yeah, mainly from how Killcode is eyeing his own brother. And how SEA Solar freezes whenever he's grabbed only to relax after a bit. How everyone is uneasy when M!SEA Moon grows quiet, except for Sunny who seems oblivious.

Canon Solar can immediately tell what's going on. Even if his own didn't actually treat him decently not even once, he recognises the signs of his own Moon.

So yeah, they'd probably not leave the two of them alone. Something M!SEA Moon only excuses for Canon Solar, because he looks like his beloved nephew, even if he's healthy, something which greatly fascinates him. Like wouldn't it be great if his own one was?

M!SEA Moon would also be really soft and gentle with Canon Sun too, questioning Moon about his treatment of his brother, and how he could have let his Sun become so tired and sad and lonely.

SEA Solar and Earth would become buddies though, bonding over their shared suffering, even if Solar's issue is not chronic pain like Earth's. They'd be good friends, and with Canon Solar, they'd become a great friend group

[dardinan-ingellvar]

Scars and Revelations

The first night, after the gods fell, and Solas left willingly at Gale and Mythal's behest, Emmrich found himself able to truly explore Dardin'an's body for the first time. They'd shared a couple sweet, but quick couplings in the stone coffin in the Necropolis before that final fight, but they both had other things on their minds, and were more focused on the distraction and comfort of the other, so didn't really take the time to take in smaller details. But now, with no imminent threats of world-ending abominations looming overhead, they could do just that. And finally, Emmrich found the chance to ask about the strange scars on Dardin'an's body. They're heavily obscured by the paint they wear, but they're noticeably raised, so the shape is still there.

"Might I ask about your scars? The ones on your body in particular...They look like they must have come from a magic weapon, or...maybe a drake? They're clearly some kind of burns, but...they don't seem like a normal blaze...and the pattern of them...Like claw marks..." Emmrich can't help trying to parse it for himself, but it's clear he can't quite figure it out.

Dardin'an blushes as Emmrich's fingers caress each one, more trying to figure out what caused them than anything, but it is still gentle and intimate. "Yeah...I was...around fifteen? I never actually learned what happened exactly...I was in the city, just getting a few trinkets and things...Next thing I knew, there was a commotion in the market. I turned, and a rage demon had been let loose. Someone summoned it, but...no idea who. I was cocky, but I knew how to fight at least a little. I took it upon myself to try. A few other mages helped, or I'd have died for sure...I...remember it locked eyes with me, charged me....I tried to dodge, but I only remember claws and teeth in my skin I woke up a week later..."

Emmrich starts, a memory sparking in the back of his mind. "Wait...You were the child who fought a rage demon?! I was called in to heal them. It really was quite dire...I never actually heard if my efforts saved them. I actually assumed the worst when I'd gotten no updates after a few weeks. I never have forgotten the smell of burned...No...cooked flesh...and the sight...! It's one thing to see such damage on a proper adult, but on a child? I had nightmares for years...What I could have done...How I was at fault somehow..."

Dardin'an is dead silent, eyes blank for a few moments "You-...That was you? I was only told one of the professors came to my aid. I didn't really have a mind to ask which one. It didn't matter much to me at the time. I was alive, and just had to focus on learning to move again. They thought I was going to lose my right arm for a little while...But obviously, it's fine now..."

Emmrich winces "I'm glad you made it through...To think...It was you all this time..."

Dardin'an laughs "In all fairness, I was very early in my transition then...and I hadn't gotten much of my vitiligo. In fact...I think most of it was clawed and burned at the time. So, it makes sense you didn't catch on until now."

Emmrich sighs, half relieved, half horrified. "I suppose. I'm just glad to have that closure. Even more so, knowing I didn't lose you before I could find you...And your wounds were so extensive...I am amazed they healed so well! And they do suit you..."

Dardin'an eyes him "...I sense a 'but' coming..."

"...But..." Emmrich says with a small smirk "It does make me wonder...what about the scars on your face? Those weren't from that attack..."

Dardin'an shakes "No, they were from less interesting fights. Training mishaps mostly. Debris or the like from magic or knife work with rogues I sparred against. None were ever serious. But I was horrible with picking at the cross scar around my right eye. It's why that one stands out so badly."

Emmrich rubs his thumb over the cross scar, particularly the main X of it, under the eye. "And here I am without a scar to speak of, even with all we faced. You've lived such a storied life...While I don't envy the pain you've suffered to earn those scars, I do envy that you have stories like that to tell. Not that my life is uninteresting...But it does feel less...romantic and intriguing than yours. Even before your temporary departure from the Mourn Watch..."

Dardin'an chuckles and brushes his fingers over Emmrich's body, tracing his tattoos and nipple piercings "I don't think you have much reason to worry about a lack of romance or intrigue, Emm...You made your own. Better that than suffering what I did. My scars tell stories, but the suffering that led to most of them isn't worth it. If not for you, I likely would be dead now. I only have scars because of you. If not for your help, I would be back in a tomb far too soon. And now, you even have adventures under your belt. You don't need scars to tell those stories."

Emmrich sighs "I suppose you're right. I just hate that you've suffered so...and I've endured so little."

Dardin'an shakes their head with a sigh. "Emm, you lost your parents...I never knew mine...True, Varric was like a father to me, but....I only knew him for a couple years. I wasn't raised by him. I'll never know what you felt. And everything you went through with Hezenkoss? And..." They look off in the distance, seeming to know more than they let on. "...I'm sure you've dealt with more...You've gone through plenty of trials and suffering. So what if it wasn't physical? Scars exist deeper than flesh. You know that. Mental and emotional wounds count too."

Emmrich opens his mouth, as if to add to his painful memories, but stops himself. "I know...Thank you. I'm not sure if it's survivor's guilt, or if I truly have just romanticized survival against the odds to a...less than favorable point...Perhaps both. But I have always found scars especially attractive. Even envied them. But hearing you put it in this perspective has helped me rethink that. You're right. I have my own scars. They're just less visible."

Dardin'an chuckles "Exactly...Now...Tell me about your tattoos..."

[lunarruled]

She had the feeling that her question might catch him off guard, but it was something that Kyleigh had noticed more than once. And not from their little group, but from the others that lived in Alexandria. The quick glances whenever she would walk up the front steps, the whispers as she would come out of the front door hours later. True it was no one's business what two grown ass adults did, even in the end of the world. But the last thing she would want is to be an embarrassment to Daryl. Not that he was the type to give a shit what anyone thought of him, but she had already heard some of the things they said about him and didn't want to make it worse.

Without realizing it Kyleigh had actually stopped eating as she waited for him to answer. Never in her life had she cared so much what someone else wanted, their comfort level and how happy she could make than she did with this man. And as much as that terrified her the high she got from it made it all worth it. Just to see him smile when they were alone, to hear his cute laugh, to be close to him while he slept and make sure he was safe. She was blossoming into her role as his mate and just wanted to make it the best thing she had ever done in her life. Of course she would respect it if he told her maybe they should cool it off. It would break her heart, but as long as he was happy she could live. Carol and Rosita were already teasing her about her visits and what it was the two of them could possibly be doing and that was fine. But if anyone else said a single word she would have no problem ripping them apart late one night.

The second Daryl said that he didn't care Kyleigh's entire body relaxed, her heart started to beat once more and she let out a sigh of relief. And also a soft giggle at the fact that anyone had the balls to dare talk about a Dixon in some way. That did also make her wonder what Daryl's older brother that she had heard about would have thought of her, but now was not the time to drag that up.

"Oh not at all. I mean I don't think anyone's ever gossiped about me, even in the before days. Well they used to think my Aunt was a witch that never aged but that's not the point. No I'm with you on that Dar. If they want to talk then good, let them. It does get kind of boring around here so I can't blame them. I just didn't want it to bother you. I like the idea of people thinking we're together because I like being with you. When we were in the cabin, when we go on runs together, or like what we're doing right now. It's nice. Feels normal you know?"

"It was pretty snug there," he joked back with her, a small chuckle escaping him through his next bite.

He remembered how awkward he'd felt cuddled next to her, arms around her like a protective shell, trying his best to actually sleep - which he did not. But it had been worth it just to be near her. So much so that he'd forgotten what discomfort he'd felt and practically melted into her side. Daryl would fully admit (to himself at least) that he would have slept in that tiny bed every night, unease and all, if it meant he and Ky could always be together.

Her question caught a bit off guard however. Even though he wanted to move forward with them, and he hadn't really wanted outside interference, he surprisingly hadn't thought about other catching the obvious signs that they'd become a couple. "You coming 'round? Nah," he freely admitted with a gentle smirk, knowing full well that's not what she meant.

Daryl picked through his food a moment longer, pondering not if he'd be affected, but how. "Let 'em talk," he finally decided, taking a bite. "The Dixons have plenty'a practice being gossiped 'bout. N'if anybody's got anything ta say, I'll remind 'em ta mind their own business. How 'bout you? Would it bother ya f'people though' we were tagether?"