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misswynters · 23 hours ago

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Ma Meilleure Amour

featuring. ekko x fem!reader

a/n. doing my duty as a writer to fill the ekko tag with fics of him only (it’s translated to my best love)

inspired by. the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie and the scene with ekko and jinx in act iii (listen to it while reading)

Everything felt different. The streets of Zaun had the ever-present haze of smog seem softer, its grim edge dulled by the warm hum of neon lights. The streets bustled with life, as they always did, but the night gave the chaos a certain charm. The glow of green and pink signs reflected off damp cobblestones, while the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning lamp sent ripples of color through shallow puddles.

You walked side by side with Ekko, your steps slow and aimless, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. You didn’t, of course. With how Zaun always had a way of reminding you that the clock never stopped ticking. But right now, under the swirl of lights and the faint hiss of steam vents, it felt like time had paused just for the two of you.

Ekko’s hand brushed against yours every so often, and though he wasn’t one to initiate touch easily, you could tell he didn’t mind the closeness. He always had this way of being effortlessly cool, his swagger and wit making it seem like nothing fazed him. But you knew him better than most. You saw the weight he carried, the pressure of being a leader, a fighter, and a kid all at once. And tonight, you were determined to remind him what it felt like to just…be.

“Ever think Zaun’s kinda pretty at night?” you mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ekko glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, before looking around. “Pretty? Dunno if I’d call it that. More like…gritty with a side of a green glow.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one waxing poetic about this place,” he shot back, his grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, maybe I’m seeing it through rose-colored glasses. Or maybe I just like walking around with you.”

That earned a chuckle from him, the sound low and warm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned closer to you. “Well, when you put it that way…” The two of you wandered through winding alleys and across rickety bridges, the air thick with the scent of metal and oil. Every so often, Ekko would point out a shortcut he’d used for one of his time-bending escapades or share a story about an adventure with the Firelights.

But then he led you down a narrow path you hadn’t noticed before, his fingers brushing yours briefly to guide you. At the end of the path, you stepped into a beautiful hidden oasis. A rooftop garden tucked away from Zaun’s usual grit and grime. The first thing you noticed was the lights. Strings of mismatched lanterns crisscrossed the space, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Tiny fairy lights were woven through the vines that climbed up makeshift trellises, their warm flicker like little stars in the night. The plants themselves were a mix of scrappy greenery and surprisingly vibrant flowers, their colors popping against the muted tones of the city below.

“Woah…” you breathed, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the faint blush on his cheeks gave him away. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a spot I’ve been working on.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” you said, your voice filled with awe.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away from yours. “Figured it’d be nice to have a place to get away, y’know? Somewhere quiet.”

You stepped forward, taking it all in. A small wooden bench sat in the center of the garden, its surface worn but sturdy. Around it, the plants swayed gently in the cool breeze, their leaves catching the light just enough to shimmer.

“Come on,” Ekko said, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back as he guided you to the bench. “I didn’t bring you here just to stand around.”

You sat down, the wood creaking softly under your weight. Ekko settled beside you, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of Zaun filling the space. It was a working pattern. There was always a comfortable silence between the two of you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you asked softly.

“Couple months,” he said, leaning back with his arms stretched across the bench. “Takes a while to get plants to grow in a place like this. But I dunno…it feels good to build something, y’know? Instead of just tearing things down.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his voice. Ekko didn’t let people see this side of him often though. I mean this was the boy who dreamed of a better Zaun, the one who carried the weight of his community on his shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Just like you.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and a little shy. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just telling the truth,” you said, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped into you.

The two of you sat like that for a while, wrapped up in the stillness of the garden. Ekko’s hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, like you were always meant to fit together.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For, y’know…being here.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “Of course,” you said softly while winking. “You’re worth it, Ekko.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, the golden light casting shadows across his face. Then he smiled. It was real, genuine smile that made your chest feel light and full all at once.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you leaned into him.

“This is nice,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little muffled. “It is.”

There it was again, the comfortable silence. The garden was quiet, bathed in the golden light of the mismatched lanterns. You rested your head on Ekko’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you. His fingers were still intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing small, absentminded circles against your knuckles.

It was peaceful, almost too perfect for Zaun, where tranquility was a rare luxury. The hum of distant machinery and the faint chatter of the streets below were a backdrop to your own private world. You thought this was it, that the night couldn’t get any better. But Ekko had other plans.

Suddenly, he shifted away from you, his weight leaving the bench as he stood. His warmth leaving your body. You blinked up at him, confused as he turned to face you, his signature grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, the glow of the garden lights reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Dance with me,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with an irresistible playfulness.

You tilted your head, a laugh escaping you. “Dance? Here?”

“Why not?” He wiggled his fingers, urging you to take his hand.

You hesitated, glancing around. “Ekko, there’s no music.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Reaching into his pocket, Ekko pulled out a small, beaten up speaker, a relic salvaged from some forgotten corner of Zaun. He fiddled with it for a moment before a warm melody crackled to life, filling the air with a gentle rhythm.

You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting in surprise. “You planned this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing miserably as a proud smile broke through. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head with a soft laugh, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his palm grounding you. “Alright, Clockstopper,” you teased. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ekko pulled you to your feet, guiding you to the center of the garden. The music swelled around you, soft and sweet, a contrast to the chaos of Zaun. His other hand found its place on your waist, and he held you close, his movements easy and unhurried. At first, you tried to match his rhythm, your steps tentative as you followed his lead. But it wasn’t long before your foot accidentally landed on his.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, pulling back slightly.

Ekko winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “You’re killing me here,” he said, his voice laced with mock pain.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Baby?” He laughed, spinning you unexpectedly. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, the sound of your shared laughter echoing in the garden.

The two of you continued like that, swaying and spinning under the lanterns. Every so often, you’d step on his foot again, and he’d exaggerate his reaction, making you laugh until your cheeks hurt. But then, as the song shifted to a slower melody, Ekko’s movements became gentler, more deliberate. He pulled you closer, your bodies impossibly near. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of zauns atmosphere lingering on him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The golden light reflected in his eyes, making them shimmer like they held their own constellation. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something raw and real that made your heart stutter.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned in slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with everything words couldn’t express. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around your waist. The world seemed to tilt, the glow of the lanterns and the soft hum of the music swirling around you in a haze of light and sound.

Time felt irrelevant—ironic, considering who you were with. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the lights around you. Smiling, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too,” you said, the words as natural as breathing.

Ekko grinned, his hands tightening around your waist as he pressed a series of quick, playful kisses to your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft giggle from you, his affection spilling over in a way that was so uniquely him.

“Ekko, stop,” you laughed, trying to pull away as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” he said, his voice full of mock defiance as he caught your lips in another kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The music played on, the lights flickered, and Zaun’s ever-present hum seemed softer, almost distant. As the night stretched on, you found yourselves back on the bench, your head resting on Ekko’s shoulder as he absentmindedly played with your fingers. The garden felt like a dream, a little slice of peace carved out of the chaos. And in that moment, with Ekko by your side and the glow of the lanterns above you, everything felt right. Almost perfect.

banners. @anitalenia

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

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edenesth · 1 day ago

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By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

"N-No, please! Spare me! I was wrong! I swear I'll never do it again!" The man's voice cracked as he grovelled on the damp ground, tears carving paths through the grime on his face. His trembling hands offered up the tiny diamond he'd been foolish enough to steal—his last-ditch effort to appease the eight figures towering over him like shadows of death.

He'd heard the whispers, the warnings: Never cross the Black Pirates. Never touch what belongs to them. Never even think of betrayal. Yet greed had blinded him. Now, staring into their cold, merciless eyes, he knew his regret was far too late.

The leader of the gang stepped forward, a smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, studying the pitiful man like a cat sizing up a doomed mouse. "Didn't I ask you to screen these rats better?" he drawled, casting a sideways glance at the eldest among them before shifting his focus back to their prey. "No time to waste. Finish him."

A low chuckle echoed through the tension-filled night as the gang's usual executioner, a broad-shouldered figure clad in his signature fur coat, stepped forward, his grin as sharp as the blade in his hand.

"Sorry, buddy," he mused, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "This will be the night you take your final breath—by order of the Black fuckin' Pirates."

ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

Watching the harrowing scene from a distance stood a figure with crossed arms, his voice low as he muttered to his right-hand, "Every man has a weakness. Find the Black Pirates', and we'll knock them off their high horses."

"And if they have none, sir?"

The figure's lips curled into a dark smile. "Then we'll make sure they do."

Pairing(s): gang members!ateez x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Summary: One by one, the Black Pirates uncover their greatest weakness. But when the cracks begin to show, will they stand firm or let their vulnerabilities bring their empire to its knees?

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, blood, murder, language, contains dark themes in general

A/N: Credits to the wonderful @sundaybossanova for giving me the idea of something Peaky Blinders inspired. Thank you so much and ily💖

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong

‣ The Captain [Coming soon]

The Captain of the Black Pirates—respected, feared, and unmatched in strategy—lives by his sharp mind and unshakable resolve. But his carefully constructed world begins to crumble when a grave mistake leads him to torture an innocent suspect nearly to death. Haunted by guilt, his quest for redemption takes an unexpected turn, awakening a part of him he never thought existed: a desire to protect and care for someone.

Seonghwa

‣ The Gentleman [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' poised diplomat, celebrated for his refined demeanour, sharp wit, and unmatched negotiation skills, is always in control. But his composure falters when he encounters an unwilling captive trapped in the Red Room—a ruthless training ground for spies. Driven by an unexpected urge to save her, he finds his carefully maintained boundaries beginning to unravel.

Yunho

‣ The Enforcer [Coming soon]

The towering enforcer of the Black Pirates, both disarming and deadly—his easy charm capable of winning over enemies, while his legendary fury dominates the battlefield. But his unbreakable facade begins to crack when he meets a psychologist during a mission—someone who can see through his carefully crafted mask, just as he can see through hers. Beneath her confident exterior lies a frightened soul lost in a dark world, and for the first time, he finds himself compelled to protect someone in a way he never expected.

Yeosang

‣ The Phantom [Coming soon]

Mysterious and elusive, the Black Pirates' intelligence expert is known for his sharp instincts and unparalleled skill in espionage and reconnaissance. But when he crosses paths with a woman who surpasses him in both skill and wit for the first time, his confidence begins to waver. As she outsmarts him at every turn, he finds himself unexpectedly drawn to her, eagerly anticipating each challenge—because the thrill of being near her is something he never expected to crave.

San

‣ The Tempest [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' most unpredictable force is a whirlwind of fiery passion and unbridled energy—always the first to leap into action when chaos erupts. But his world tilts when he stumbles upon a woman who, unlike his victims who always begged to live, is on the brink of ending her own life. Upon discovering she's terminally ill, he finds himself gripped by an unfamiliar and urgent desire to save her, igniting a battle within himself unlike anything he's ever faced.

Mingi

‣ The Firestarter [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' wild card is notorious for his fiery temper and even more explosive schemes—a dangerous yet irresistibly charming presence. But his confidence takes a hit when one of his near-disastrous plans is salvaged by an unlikely passerby: a composed and resourceful former aristocrat, exiled and stripped of her wealth, now navigating the world's harsh realities. Her icy demeanour and unshakable poise captivate him, leaving the ever-impulsive man unexpectedly drawn to her.

Wooyoung

‣ The Charmer [Coming soon]

The Black Pirates' negotiator and master of distractions is renowned for his confidence and flirtatious charm, which can sway almost anyone. But his ego is severely wounded when he encounters the loyal bodyguard of a high-profile target, someone completely immune to his usual tricks, during a high-stakes mission. Frustrated by his failure yet captivated by her unwavering resolve, he finds himself unable to stay away, drawn to the challenge—and to her—in ways he never expected.

Jongho

‣ The Anchor [Coming soon]

The steadfast foundation of the Black Pirates is renowned for his unfaltering strength and calm under pressure. As the gang's moral compass and protector, he's always put duty above all else. But when a rival gang's attack threatens the life of their kind-hearted hired doctor, he begins to realise that his priorities extend beyond just his brothers. Torn between his loyalty to the gang and his growing feelings for her, he faces an agonising choice: protect his family or save her.

Voila, my loves! As promised, I finally managed to come up with a little something for this comeback teehee. I hope you're as excited about this as I am! Truthfully, I just returned from a 10-day trip in Shanghai and am back to work on Monday already - which means I might not be able to write much until the following weekend but I will do my best to get the parts out ASAP!

Super excited to hear your thoughts on the concept! Do let me know which member's summary enticed you the most!✨ and of course, just leave a comment if you'd like to be tagged for when the parts are released!

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

@evidive @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @ho3-for-yunho

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @vantediary @green-agent @skzline

@sharksandminhos @writingwieny @heyitsmetonid @tinyteezer @hollxe1

@pandabur666 @vampzity @tournesol155 @lilactangerine @oddracha

@haven-cove @idfkeddieishot @vic0921 @vnessalau @apriecotte

@bangtannie7 @vtyb23 @khjoongie98 @scuzmunkie @anxiousskylar

@bunny4yungi @zl-world @bethelighthalazia @tsunchani

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF THE WORK HERE.

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gffa · 3 days ago

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*walks back into BATFAMILY fic fandom eleven months later, holding a Starbucks cup* I'm right on time, I don't know what you mean. AND I have returned with the fruits of a fandom that continues to be incredible at providing the good stuff! Sometimes it's still hard for me to grasp just how much fic has exploded onto the scene in the 10+ years I was away from DC, that there was some incredible fic back when I was into the fandom, but coming back to actual mountains of it has continued to blow my mind every time and made me love these characters even more than I already did.

It's almost overwhelming, honestly, how much good fic there is to read, so let me scream at you guys and shove links at you because I'm having a great time here and I want to drag all of you into it with me, COME HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT RIDICULOUSLY DRESSED SUPERHERO COMICS WITH ME, it's all fun and games, I swear! (Okay, but at least you'll have a good time crying about the Bats, I can give you that much at least.)

BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST GREMLIN ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ sleepless, perfect duty by glassofwater, dick & bruce, 4.3k The choice to forgo sleep, to forgo Dick Grayson, has never been easier. Not when the other option is Robin. ✦ Parallels in Reverse by rosetteanon, dick & damian & bruce, time travel, 2.2k Damian travels to a dimension that's a little bit behind his own. There, he meets a younger Dick Grayson, and a happier Bruce Wayne. ✦ string theory by wingdingery, dick & bruce & damian, time travel, 8k When Bruce and Dick get transported to an unfamiliar Gotham, it only takes running into a different Batman and Robin for Bruce to realize two things: one, they’re in the future; and two—in the future, Dick Grayson is dead. ✦ Rooftop Meetings by orphan_account, dick & bruce & leslie & shrike & cast, 10.2k wip When Two-Face almost beats a newly minted Robin to death, Bruce decides that the life of a vigilante is too dangerous for a kid. This becomes the catalyst for a series of events that leads twelve-year-old Dick Grayson down a darker path. ✦ It Could Stay This Simple (Just Stay This Little) by coconuticecream (magspie), dick & bruce, 3k Maybe claiming legal guardianship over a child at 22, and so soon after becoming Batman, spread Bruce thinner than he'd realized. Maybe Bruce was less equipped to parent a third grader than he'd thought. Maybe Bruce should do more to invite Dick into his life. Maybe Bruce should hug Dick, or promise he'll do better by Dick, or tell Dick that he loves Dick more than he thought himself capable. (or: bruce and dick practice self care together.) ✦ No One Said Flying Was Easy by Wrtrmd2, dick & bruce & alfred, 51.1k Eight year old Richard Grayson has just watched his parents fall to their deaths. Hurting and alone, he struggles to adjust to the new life he's thrown into. Bruce Wayne takes him in, but seems to have no idea what he's doing. Can they help each other put the pieces of their broken lives back together?

✦ Zitka by PechoraFlow, dick & bruce, 2.7k After Dick's parents fall to their deaths, he is left clinging to the few things he has left: one of them being Zitka, his stuffed elephant. ✦ your heart is the only place that i call home by emavee, dick & bruce, talon!dick, 6.3k There shouldn’t be any Talons that are this small, this young, but there’s one standing right in front of him. And that shouldn’t be Bruce’s soulmark blooming on his too-pale skin, but it is—there’s nothing else it could be. Batman really should know better than to bring a Talon home with him, but here he is, wrapping up the boy in a set of meta-cuffs and tucking him into the backseat of the car. ✦ Hostage by EternalLife, dick & bruce & alfred, 3.9k Dick Grayson is 10 years old. Batman is nowhere to be seen, and Robin has a gun to his head. ✦ The Mother-Son Dance by cometoastop, bruce & dick, 1.8k Dick is upset he doesn’t have a mother to bring him to his school’s mother-son dance, so Bruce offers to bring him instead.

BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Permission To Pause by farawayfiction (JJ_Thomas), dick & bruce, 1.9k Bruce pulled the phone from his pocket. A text from Dick was waiting for him on the notification screen. ✦ oathbreaker by one_step_closer_to_death, dick & bruce & cast, 2.3k Stranded and on his last leg, Batman might be fighting his last battle yet. But Bruce promised he was coming back home and this was one promise he wasn't going to break yet. ✦ Judge and Juror by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & alfred, 6.6k Anonymous asked: I was just wondering if you would like to write a story set during bvs and how Nightwing could be involved there? ✦ When You Don't Have an Umbrella by TheSilencer, dick & bruce, read the tags, 1.2k Dick Grayson and Batman talk about the rain. Except they're not actually talking about the rain. ✦ riding the blues by TheResurrectionist, dick & bruce & oc, 3.9k “What’s in there, anyway?” Charles asked, rolling down the window. “Looks heavy.” “A few million dollars' worth of electroshock weapons,” the kid said, dead-serious. After a moment, a grin stretched across his face. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. It’s old clothes, mostly.” ✦ Lexically Homeless by nighhtwing (divineauthor), dick & bruce, 1.1k Dick, Bruce, and their relationship with language and each other.

BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ One, Two, Buckle My Shoe by sElkieNight60, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred, de-aged!dick, 17k wip Dick was twenty-eight. The boy in the mirror most certainly was not. ✦ Weight of Judgment by Dragonbat, dick & bruce & alfred, 1.6k As leader of the Teen Titans, Dick had to make a difficult decision. Now he's dealing with the fallout. ✦ Robins, titmice, and other spring birds by Fleur_de_Violette, dick & jason & bruce, 8.5k There are a lot of things Jason doesn’t understand in the dynamic of the Wayne manor, despite being here for nine months. Maybe a rescue turning a little more dangerous than it should have been for Robin will help him see things clearly? ✦ bachelor parties of different sorts by cedarcat, dick & jason & barbara & cass & bruce (& background dick/babs), read the tags, 4.4k Dick and Barbara are engaged. There's just one complicating factor that Dick has to deal with. He'd rather avoid it. aka: the one where dick handles past trauma poorly, finds the support he needs in his family, and comes out better for it. ✦ Kitchen Talk by Smitty, dick & alfred, 3.1k Dick Grayson gets some good advice in the hours before Nightwing #45. ✦ Teach Me to Dream by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & alfred & leslie & cast, time travel, 29k wip Dick’s eleven. Not thirteen and eager to prove himself. Not seventeen and mourning a brother. Not nineteen and wishing his best friend wasn’t dead and Bruce would look him in the eyes. He’s only eleven. So why does he remember all of that? ✦ like the back of my hand by Jo_B, dick & bruce & conner & dick/babs, 2k “Cut it out.” “Would you stay still, please?” Dick swats Bruce’s hand away and starts pushing himself up. “Y’know, in the wild, bats eat their kids.” “That’s not even a little bit true and you know it.” ✦ idea man by vaporeon_ninja, dick & bruce & jason & damian, 8.3k Ask him. As if it were that easy. As if Damian hasn’t only just barely begun to respect him, and would immediately burn all the ground they’ve covered if Dick so much as implied he wanted to help him get through something. Yeah, fat chance. No, Dick can’t ask him. But he can’t just keep doing nothing, either. So he decides on a third option- just start trying anything. ✦ One of His Own by DawnsEternalLight, dick & bruce & damian & alfred, 1.3k Dick's freshly back from Spyral and apartment hunting. Little Does he know his dad has already got that covered. ✦ Now That's a Lot of Damage by Sanctioned_Chaos, dick & bruce & jason & tim & cass & cast, 5k wip On a joint operation with the Justice League, Dick's family falls victim to a particularly malignant curse and he's the only one who can free them. Consequently, it makes him the subject of their suffering.

BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I'M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ All the Roofs of Uncertainty by Kieron_ODuibhir, dick & jason & bruce & leslie & cast, 70k For all the blood on his hands, Red Hood was never just a villain. And Nightwing never gives up on family, not for good. (Or: The one where Dick bleeds a lot and Jason argues with everybody.) ✦ Red In My Ledger by WordsAblaze, dick & jason, 1.1k day five, where jason realises a little too late that dick isn’t an intruder breaking into his safehouse... ✦ Fixed Points and Fluxes by i_am_the_imposter_syndrome, dick & jason (& bruce), 16.5k wip When a mission involving a mysterious sorcerer goes wrong, Dick and Jason find themselves out of time and place in a Gotham that’s not quite their own. Protocol dictates they lie low and avoid unnecessary interactions as much as possible until they can get home, but their family here is fractured, and if there’s one thing that’s constant across universes, it’s that Bats have each other’s backs. ✦ Too Close to Call by Dragonbat, dick & jason & bruce, 5.8k Summary: Things go horribly wrong when Robin thinks he can bring in Two-Face by himself. Now Nightwing’s life is on the line and one bad decision might spell disaster!

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I'M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Won't You Stay A While? by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & tim, 2.8k Ric did not expect to find a child sitting on the hood of his cab. Damian did expect to get his brother back. ✦ The Universe Doesn’t Get to Take This by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & bruce, 1.9k “And they’re so important that you don’t come home to check on your recently un-amnesiac brother? And here, I thought I was your favorite.” ✦ Just a Little TLC by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian, 1.7k Dick was not sick. Really. He was fine. Fine!

BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ The Long Way Home by itsnatalie, jason & tim & bruce & dick & damian & cast, 111.6k With Jason tentatively back in the Batfamily, things are going pretty well for him--except for the whole thing with Tim. But who gives a shit about Tim Drake? But when Jason and Tim are pulled into a frightening race for their lives inside a labyrinth that's out to kill them, they may have to look past their differences just to stay alive. Maybe along the way, they'll discover they aren't as different as they thought, and family comes in many different forms. ✦ IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio, jason & cass & barbara & bruce & steph & tim & damian & roy & dick, 8.5k A Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle: The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. ✦ Real Housewives (sort of) of Gotham by brandywine421, dick & selina & bruce & damian & jason & roy & talia & dinah & harley/ivy & helena & cast, no powers au, 5.9k Selina is curious to a fault but she has a twinge of concern at her almost-stepson's name popping up on her personal line. They were allies and frenemies, depending on who was Brucie's favorite pet at the moment but he usually texts birthday wishes and xoxo's instead of actual voice contact. "Is everyone okay?" ✦ War! by Smitty, dick & barbara & tim & cast, 1.9k What 'entertainment' was Nightwing talking about in Nightwing #44? Innuendo. ✦ Nowhere Safer by lurkinglurkerwholurks, dick & jason & tim & bruce, 9.6k What's a Robin to do when the nightmares don't stop? ✦ Love like Cats by Laroyena, alfred & bruce & dick & jason & julia & cast, 20.7k “This takes crazy cat people to a whole new level,” his old friend told him. “So this old family your dad took care of, they left their fortune to a cat.” Alfred Pennyworth, ex-special agent of the British Secret Intelligence Service, moves to America to become a butler. A cat butler. ✦ Minimum Height Requirement by Drag0nst0rm, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph, 66.4k Somewhere in the multiverse, there's a universe where letting his children dress up in capes and follow him into vigilantism seems like a good idea. Bruce is determined that it isn't going to be this one . . . Despite his children's repeated attempts to convince him otherwise. (Or: "When you're eighteen, you can do what you want. Until then, no capes.")

✦ Family Crisis by librarylexicon, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass & steph & leslie & cast, 85.8k At the close of the gang war, Batman uncovers an attempted deception concerning the life of his former protégé Stephanie Brown, and suddenly nothing is as important as his family. While Dick seeks absolution, Tim struggles with grief, Cassandra searches for belonging and Steph rebuilds her sense of self, Bruce faces the return of ghosts from his own past and psyche. (War Games AU) ✦ grasp of ice by Kieron_ODuibhir, tim & damian, 6k “Drake.” The hand in his was cold. Not because it belonged to a corpse, but because the night was cold. Cold and bright and pitiless, fresh snow glittering perfect under the waning gibbous moon like diamond sand. “Drake. Stay awake.” Drake, because he was insane, smiled before he said, “I don’t want your pity, Robin.” ✦ The Salem Protocol by Dragonbat, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & barbara & jim & cast, 47.4k An AU version of Batman, RIP. When the GCPD makes a surprising arrest, Gordon knows he needs to call in support. Contains MASSIVE spoilers for Batman #678.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I CUT MY TEETH ON DICK & TIM AS CLOSE BROTHERS AND NO ONE WILL NOT TAKE IT FROM ME: ✦ Hide and Seek by WordsAblaze, dick & tim, 1.1k day twenty five, where a mission leaves dick and tim playing a not-so-fun version of hide and seek... ✦ To be a good brother by andthentheyweretwo, dick & tim (&tim/kon), 7.7k It’s not always easy to be a good brother. Sometimes, it’s downright hard. ✦ Think Happy Thoughts by fanfictiongreenirises, dick & tim & bruce, 2.3k Dick's vitals keep crashing if his thoughts turn downwards. Tim tries to help. ✦ Hisstamine by coyote_nebula, dick & tim, 2.7k Dick gets bitten by a venomous snake. Tim pretends to know exactly what to do. ✦ Words That Must Be Said by Dragonbat, dick & tim, 1.4k Tim needs Dick's advice when his long-lost uncle turns up.

BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY'RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ I'll crawl home (to her) by dizarys, dick & babs, ~1k She needed to focus. She was Oracle and Oracle couldn’t falter or be distracted by personal feelings, not when multiple lives depended on her coordinating teams across the city, the country, the globe. There was no time to worry about Nightwing or his radio silence. Too much going on to pester him. He got out, said he wasn’t majorly wounded, and she needed to trust him. After all he was Nightwing. Vigilante since he was ten. Dick didn’t need her worrying in his ear while trying to stay alive. They needed to be professional because anything else could end in death. ✦ to my word now I'll be true by theragingstorm, dick/ babs, NSFW, 4.7k A chance night becomes something more. ✦ Scar Tissue by Smitty, dick/babs, 2k Some scars heal more easily than others. ✦ Time Enough by Smitty, dick/babs, 1k Barbara asked him for time.

BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ What a Hunk (Of Rock) by AelinSardothian, tim/kon & cast, 4.4k Tim is pulling another all-nighter when an injured Kryptonian lands on his balcony, leaking blood and affection. ✦ Obligatory Nap Time by egg_thief, tim/kon, 2.6k Tim hasn’t been sleeping lately. Kon’s determined to at least get him to take a nap ✦ GUY.exe by thebodydies, tim/kon, NSFW, 4.6k “If you tell me what you want,” Conner said, “I’ll do the rest.”

BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ threadbare by inconstant_moon, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & donna & cast, read the tags, 53.8k wip That's the thing. Dick looked right at the kid, broken hand and all, and nearly let him in. He nearly let him train. Because after all these years, he didn't process anything wrong with the image before him. (Dick, Bruce, and the implications of raising a partner instead of a child.) ✦ Kindness isn't Free by minnow_doodle_doo, bruce & dick & alfred, no powers au, 6.7k “You need to love humanity unconditionally or else the world will beat you into the ground and you won’t be able to get back up again.” He said into Dick’s hand like a prayer. “And you can’t kill what you love and survive.” ✦ Home Assignment by librarylexicon, dick & bruce & tim & babs (some dick/babs), 6.8k Blüdhaven police officer Dick Grayson is suffering the tail end of a nasty cough when he's summoned to work a stakeout as Nightwing with Batman and Robin in Gotham. As the night wears on, his worst fears are realised when three urgent pleas for help pull him in separate directions, forcing him to choose between members of his own family in a way that feels suspiciously intentional. ✦ How Sharp The Pieces Were (You Crumbled Into) by WinterSky101, dick & tim & damian & cass & bruce & alfred & steph & duke & cast, 14.9k wip Dick is back, but scars like his don't heal easily, even with a new healing factor. (Thirteen stories of Dick and his family in the year after his return to Gotham.) ✦ Pain o' Chocolate by Anonymous, bruce & dick, 1k Dick is in a coma.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #fic recs #batman fic recs #long post #feral gremlin length post

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josephquinnswhore · 2 days ago

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the day your heart stops yearning - pedro pascal x female reader

summary: pedro is tired of the two of you dancing around your feelings for each other.

word count: 1.2k

content warnings: bitta jealously, insecurity from reader, mentions of sex, suggestive comments etc. Pedro is the loml I swear these new pictures have altered my brain chemistry.

Wrapping the towel around yourself tightly, you sit down as your swimsuit soaks through the material. Hair dripping wet and skin cooled down from the sea water. Pedro looked incredible, his hair wet and curly. Droplets of water running down his toned chest.

His board shorts tighten and stick to his thighs and crotch. Swallowing thickly, you help him put his sling back on to support his shoulder injury.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” His voice calls to you softly, drawing you out of your thoughts, every time you were with Pedro, you seemed to be lost in them. Somewhere far away from him.

There’s a moment's hesitation where you process what he’s said, reeling yourself back to the serenity around you. The two of you are on a small boat, surrounded by clear blue water, bright and mirroring the clearness of the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

There’s a formation of an unnaturally curved rock, shaped by erosion, perhaps the gods. The sight would’ve been worthy of such creation. Pedro was wearing nothing but his multi-coloured board shorts, and a deep blue sling.

“That doesn’t even come close to it. I can't describe how it feels to be here.”

With you.

But the words are lost, dying on the tip of your tongue as they had many times before. More often than not the two of you had done this, your own separate outing together aside from everyone, co-stars and friends.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” The concerned murmur is met with a smile that he reserved for you. All teeth baring and eye wrinkles exposing themselves, the smile that reaches his eyes. His deep brown orbs aren’t much to be seen now, eyes squinted as he laughs.

“You’re worrying about me at a place like this?” He tilts his head, the one curl from his messy brown mop of hair falls onto his forehead, and he runs his hand through it, pushing the hair back off his skin.

He’d always found a way to lighten the mood, sending some kind of solemnness emitting from you today, he knew you better than anyone. The feeling had his insides clenching with anxiety.

It had been happening for years, the two of you having some unspoken moments where you couldn’t deny that there was a connection between you, something so effortless and heart wrenching at the same time. So many unspoken words and almost confessions.

“Hey,” he draws you out of your head again, lost in the fog of heartache and doubt.

He looked so good with Connie, that’s all you’d thought about since you’d flown to Malta with Pedro. They seemed so perfect for each other—the way he looked at her while he filmed their shared scenes. It felt real.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m just thinking about some things.” It was easy to brush off, or to pretend to anyway.

“Since when do you keep things from me? Somethings going on with you, come on, spill your heart to me honey.” Meeting his gaze, the brown orbs suck you into an intoxicating familiarity of the love you so desperately crave.

“Can this wait? I don’t want to ruin all of this.” Gesturing to the view, the lapping sound of the water against the side of the boat, the gentle rocking sensation sends your stomach spiralling into more unease.

“You aren’t ruining anything, talk to me.” Setting his can of beer down, he shuffles closer to you, placing his hand on your exposed thigh. “Talk to me.” He pleads again.

“I miss you.” The simply utter broke the silence between you, cutting through the background noise.

He knew what you meant. There hadn’t been much time for the two of you to see each other. Between filming for Gladiator II and the new Fantastic Four franchise. Yet—he knew it ran deeper than that.

You missed the picnics, the shared gazes of knowing and mutual love. The late night dancing and his hands running through your hair, the two of you unable to let go of one another.

The sex you miss, too. But not nearly enough as you crave for his skin on your own, for his hand in yours and his heart in your hands.

“Oh, sweetheart—“ he sounds so sweet, so sincere, but you cut him off anyway.

“Pedro.. don’t. We don’t need to do this today.”

He stares at you, wondering what’s happening in that head of yours.

“You know how I feel about you, right?” He murmurs, tracing unnamed shapes over your skin.

“I suppose so.” All he gets is an uncertain shrug from you.

He frowns, the stress lines on his face appear on his forehead. “My heart is yours, sweetheart.” He utters your name softly, fingers leaving your thigh to caress your cheek.

“What’s it matter how we feel? We can’t be together. You practically are married to the entire internet and it’s not practical for us to date.” Finally, he was getting to the root of it all.

“Fuck being practical,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you feel, just say it to me, I’ll do right by you.”

It feels like your throat is swelling up, preventing you from uttering the words you’ve longed to tell him for years. Somehow, you blurt them out in an anxious whisper.

“I love you.”

Before you could process the admittance of your love, he had pressed his own lips softly against yours. It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but this time felt more authentic.

Your fingers caress his face, his facial hair tickles your fingers as you hold him against you, his nose is pressed into your cheek and it’s a little awkward. But your heart is pounding erratically in this moment, eyes closed and focusing on the feeling of his lips, his hand clutches the back of your neck.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, pupils blown wide take up most of the mass around the deep brown iris. “I love you,” the whisper in return was made against your lips, his nose against your own.

“Tell me you’re mine, that we’re going to do this properly.” He pleads, he’s too close for you to look at anything but his eyes. The pleading gaze of hope in them.

“I want that, want you.”

The words aren’t lost on him, the entire afternoon is spent in seclusion, the two of you holding each other, kissing and wrapped around each other as if you were two halves of a whole.

Your fingers are white, lathered in sunscreen as you apply the substance on Pedro’s back. “We really should’ve done this hours ago.” You scold lightly, to which he laughs, shaking his head.

As you trace his back while you’re applying the sunscreen, making sure to cover all the freckles on his skin, and his arms as you trail down. Fingers running up the muscled limb as you return to the base of his neck to give a light massage.

He’s not subtle when it comes to how you made him feel, a loud breathy groan escapes his lips.

“Feel good?” The purr turns his cheeks red—he turns to you.

“Such a tease. If we weren’t in public you’d be in trouble.”

“Maybe we should head back to the hotel now then?”

He perks at your suggestion. The corner of his lip tugs upward in a slight smirk. Pleased with the idea of having you all to himself.

“My girls just got all the right ideas, don’t she?”

My girl—his girl. After years of pining and yearning over more from him, he’s given you the chance you’d dreamed of.

#Pedro pascal #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal comfort #pedro pascal x you #Pedro pascal fic #Pedro pascal x female reader #Pedro pascal boyfriend #this man is so fine

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ddejavvu · 17 hours ago

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Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Five) (18+) / Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 7.0k / navigation / inbox

A/N: Thank you all for waiting for this chapter! I know it took me longer to finish this one than it did the others but it's the longest chapter so far, and I also had a lot of major life events go down in the time between this chapter and last. I appreciate each and every single one of you who stayed patient with me, and I hope that this chapter and that the rest to come are worth the wait :) <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You’re doing a terrible job at paying attention to where you’re going as you take the elevator, jamming your finger against the 12 button so hard it hurts. Pizza is on the twelfth floor, and you’re hoping Daniel will be there early like you so that you can forget about Jake and his tyrannical rule.

It’s clear as day to you; Jake thinks he has control over you just the same way he has control over the girls that drool over him at the Hard Deck. He thinks one glance will melt your brain into mush, but it won’t. It doesn’t, and you’re not letting the cockiest man you know believe he’s won you over. Especially one that you work with. If anyone found out- if any of your fellow aviators knew that you’d succumbed to Jake’s charms… you’d risk losing the respect you’ve fought hard to earn on the tarmac. You’re not letting your career take a nosedive because Jake won’t stop bragging about getting his dick wet. He doesn’t get a say in your life if he has nothing genuine to contribute to it. You know him well enough to know that caving in and fucking would be the worst decision of your life, and you refuse to let him feel like he’s won you like a prize. You’re standing up for yourself; if he can shit-talk Daniel, you can shit-talk Miss Melons.

Your skin prickles with annoyance the more you think about the woman that had approached you both- seriously, did she not consider that she was being intrusive and rude? You assume Jake has snagged her away from her roommate by now, and they’re probably having a better time than you are.

Everything feels unfair, down to the coincidental roommate placement. It’s like the universe had heard you needed a break, and wanted to punish you for it.

Cracking open your book helps, but it takes you a while to get into the groove. You’re sitting poolside across from the pizza place, eyes glancing from page to parlor every once in a while to check for a certain bearded man. The main lead is compelling, and your stomach soars as you imagine Daniel in a cowboy hat. You’d save that horse.

Peace is hard to find while sitting poolside on a cruise, but chaos is actually the perfect white noise for you to read, and your concentration isn’t broken until a shadow falls over your lounge chair. You glance up, but it’s not the man you’d wanted to see.

“Hey.” Jake’s already frowning, his face apprehensive like he thinks you’ll scream at him to get away. You want to, but you don’t want to cause a scene.

“What, Hangman?”

“I’m not trying to control you.” He pushes despite seeing your gaze back on your book, “I just don’t think you’re meant to be with Daniel. But I shouldn’t have given you a hassle for doing the same thing to me. I just… I do it because-”

He stops short, glancing sideways at a man running despite the clear no running sign on the lifeguard tower. You decide to help him in his moment of need.

“Because you’re used to women who let you walk all over them. Even if you’re not trying to control me, you’re used to having that control. It’s familiar for you, so you expect it, even if you don’t know you’re doing it. But I’m not like that. You can’t keep me waiting on you.”

The scoff he lets out is accompanied by an expression that looks truly pained, “That ain’t it at all. But forget it. Don’t worry about why I do it. I just thought maybe you were doin’ it to me for the same reasons. But never mind. I’ll shut up about Daniel. Truce?”

You glare up at him, book still open in your lap. He extends an uncharacteristically helping hand, and you wait a truly uncomfortable amount of time before taking it and shaking once.

“Truce.”

He takes the chair beside you, stretched out in the sun. Unfortunately, it seems like your reading time is over as his head turns to you, “So, Dudley showed up yet?”

“He’s coming for lunch.” You cling to your novel, trying desperately to ignore Jake and his instantly broken promise, “What about Melon girl, they weren’t ripe enough for you?”

“She wasn’t my type.” He starts, and there’s a heavy silence before he continues, “I don’t like a woman who thinks it’s fun to get between a couple.”

The sideways glance you send Hangman, the ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk, is lethal.

“Anyways.” He continues, tone more casual now, “Fancy a swim, darlin’?”

“I’ll read instead,” You offer, “But you have fun, Hangman.”

“Party Pooper,” He accuses, standing from the lounge chair he’s occupying and stretching briefly, “You’re an absolute mood-killer. No fun, the most boring person on this boat.”

“I’m about to be more of one: have you put sunscreen on?”

“Nope,” He grins, “You volunteering to do the honors, you sleazy thing?”

“Absolutely not. But you can use the stuff in my bag.” You nod at your tote bag, “Don’t use it all, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake nods, folding into a seat on the edge of the lounge chair beside yours, “So, what’s going on in that book, they boning yet?”

“Mhm.” You nod absently as Jake begins smearing sunscreen over his arms and legs, “Real sexy stuff.”

“I’ve got somethin’ sexier for you.”

“It’s a porn book, Hangman,” You clarify, in case he’s forgotten, “I’m trying to read porn. Leave me alone.”

“There’s porn right here!” He calls, arms out to show off his impressively tanned and toned chest, a thick layer of sunscreen giving it a sheen that glistens in the light. As reluctant as you are to admire anything about Jake, you can’t lie; he has a body worth ogling. But you will not ogle it.

“This porn’s better,” You hum, glancing up at Jake through your lashes, deceptively inviting, “This guy’s got a cowboy hat on.”

“I’ve got a million and one cowboy hats,” Jake insists, slowly inching towards you and away from the edge of the pool, “Is that really all it takes, darlin’? ‘Cause I can slap one on in seconds, if that’s what you’re after. ‘Even brought one with me in case my roommate was into it.”

“Mm, maybe,” You let him get closer, excitement clearly swirling in his eyes as he advances towards your chair. He doesn’t notice the shifting of your feet until it’s too late and one is shoving firmly against his chest, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling backwards into the pool.

There’s not anyone in his immediate vicinity besides you, so you take the brunt of the splash, but it’s worth it.

“But I like it better when the hat’s on a real gentleman!” You call, laughter interrupting your words as Jake emerges from the pool well and truly soaked, shaking water out of his hair. He’s been thoroughly underwater trained, so he’d been able to catch his breath in time despite the surprise of it all, and there’s no real harm done besides the initial splash.

“You dirty rotten minx,” He calls, water dripping from his short hair into his eyes, “You lured me in with the promise of cowboy hat sex just to push me in the pool?”

“I can’t believe you fell for it!” You’re still laughing, but maybe this bout of giggles is only to annoy him, “That’s, like, the oldest trick in the book. Well, maybe besides the cowboy hat sex thing. But you shouldn’t have gotten so close!”

He braces his elbows on the wall of the pool, the border surely burning his skin. But he stares at you regardless, “I thought you were finally givin’ in.”

“It’d take a lot more than a cowboy hat to make me give in, Jake.” You laugh, turning back to your book, “Like, a full personality transplant.”

Jake hears Danica’s words repeated back to him in his head, ‘Show, don’t tell’.

“Noted. I’ll look into one’uh those,” He quips, smile sarcastic and empty as he resorts to swimming alone, “Hey, when you’re done with that chapter, you should join me.”

“No.”

“Alright.”

You glance away from the book’s pages at Hangman’s unusual, immediate acceptance of your refusal. But he lifts himself out of the water- no stairs, no ladder, only his forearms against the deck, and your stomach sinks as you realize he might be playing a game of wills with you.

Instead, he sits beside you again, this time facing away from you, “Will you rub some sunscreen on my back?”

You want to say no. You would, if he were only asking to feel your hands on him. And maybe that’s part of it, but you also know that as much as he tans, he could burn, and his back is the only part of himself that he can’t reach. You’d want someone to do you the solid too, so you sigh and set your book aside.

“Fine. But you owe me.”

“Mhm.” He nods, passing you the sunscreen, “I’ll rub it wherever you want, Y/N.”

You whack him upside the head with the bottle, and when he hisses in pain and pitches forwards, you squirt some of the lotion onto your palm and begin applying it to the broad, tanned, muscled expanse of his back.

You’re no masseuse, but apparently you’re rubbing all the right places, because Jake lets out grunts and groans that are borderline pornographic. If they were coming from anyone else, you might have squirmed in your seat, but each one sends your eyes rolling skywards as you cover Jake’s skin in goopy sun lotion.

“Damn, you’re good.” Jake grunts as you dig into a knot beneath his shoulder blade, “Do that again?”

“I’m putting sunscreen on you, Jake, not working out muscle tension.”

“Oh, come on, just a little more?” He pleads, turning so that he can glance at you from the side of his gaze, eyes shining in prayer.

You dig extra hard into his muscle, and you take some sort of wicked pleasure in the way that his resulting groan is more of a pained yelp than something of enjoyment.

“There, Hangman.” You whack the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades, “You’re all oiled up.”

“Aren’t you glad you were the one to get to do it?” Jake grins blindingly, and you bury your nose in your book again to avoid answering his question.

“Oh, you can stick your face in that book all you want,” Jake drawls, and you hear the displacement of the water he steps in as he lowers himself into the pool, gracefully and by choice this time, “But I know you liked having your hands all over me, darlin’.”

You want to gripe something back- something witty and cutting that will tear him down where he stands, but he’s turned away from you, already submerging himself to begin swimming laps. You admire his dedication to exercise even while on vacation- you have no plans to visit the gym in the lower decks.

Jake sees the diving board just as you do, and you keep him in your peripheral vision as he climbs out of the pool to make his way up the ladder. Your novel is begging to be read, but your eyes stick firm on one fitting word- ‘abdomen’ so that you can watch Jake from the corner of your eye as he prepares to dive.

Fortunately, you don’t need to continue the ruse of reading because Jake bellows from across the deck, “Y/N, look!”

You’re met with a grin when you look up at him, his arms raised above his head and joined flush together in diving position, “I’m gonna dive- watch me.”

“I’m watching.” You call, injecting your voice with as much disinterest as you can manage without feeling guilty, “This feels like babysitting, Hangman.”

He dives instead of quipping back, and it’s an impressive one, not that you’ll sing his praises for it. He comes up on the side of the pool closest to you, arms flinging an arc of water onto the concrete before you.

“Was it good?” He asks, panting slightly, hanging onto the wall.

“Yes,” You reply, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you condescend to him, “You did so good, honey.”

“Shut up,” He sends a wave of water splashing over your sandals, and you can’t be mad at him after all the teasing you’ve been inflicting upon him.

“I’ve been workin’ on my diving,” He goes back to swimming around, this time more casual as he keeps his head above the water to speak with you, “My nieces back home are learnin’ to swim so I’ve been in the pool a lot lately. Anytime they drag me in there I dive in and splash them.”

His arms cut through the water with strength and ease, confident strokes as you mull over his words. The image of Jake urging a toddler in floaties to cross a 3-foot gap into his arms is- endearing, not that you’ll admit it. You hum in acknowledgement, and tuck back into your book.

There’s not many people in the pool this early- most are probably still in bed with a hangover and a mess to clean up - and it’s large to boot, so there’s plenty of room. Your eyes drift left and catch sight of a jacuzzi, and suddenly your beach chair seems to pale in comparison.

Okay, you won’t join Jake in the pool, but you’ll relax for a couple of minutes in the jacuzzi. Just until Daniel gets here.

Jake doesn’t notice that you’ve stood until your chair is empty, and you have a perfect view of him floundering, scanning the entire deck until he spots you half-submerged in the hot tub.

You get to laugh at him again, and he grants you a good-natured grin instead of getting annoyed.

“I thought you’d finally found what’s-his-name,” Jake swims over to the separation wall that keeps the hot water parted from the cold, “Mind if I join you, Y/N?”

“Only if you’re- careful!” You shriek, trying desperately to protect the pages of your book from his sopping wet skin as he scales the barrier, “Hangman, if this book gets wet, you’re replacing it for me.”

“Alright, alright! I’ll take you on a shopping spree, relax. Hey, if I’m buyin’ you porn books, doesn’t that make me somethin’ like a sugar daddy?”

“You’re not getting any sugar,” You shrug, “But sure.”

“Just call me daddy, Y/N.” He grins, “That’s all the sugar I need.”

You hide behind your book so that he can’t see the way your face wrinkles into a grimace. The heat from the jacuzzi spreads inexplicably quick all of a sudden, warming your neck, your ears, your face, and Jake lets out a thick, heavy groan as he settles into the warm water.

“This is nice.” He muses, eyes closed, “Real relaxing.”

“It’s less relaxing when someone’s talking the whole time,” You peek across the side of your book, “Shut up, maybe?”

Jake snorts, leaning his head back against the edge of the pool, “Alright, alright your majesty. I’ll stay silent.”

You don’t verbally thank him, but you don’t make a scene when his leg drifts across the jet currents of the jacuzzi to brush against yours.

You cover a good chunk of your novel before a voice calls your name, and this time it’s the two people you’d been hoping to see all morning. Danica waves giddily at you and Jake, who’s picked his head up from where you thought he’d fallen asleep and is already mad-dogging Daniel. You wave back to Danica, and cast a quick glance down at your bathing suit before standing to greet Daniel. It’s just as tight and showy as you prefer it to be.

You pay no attention to Jake where he gets out behind you, too focused on Daniel to care. But perhaps you should have, because you’re two steps from meeting Daniel in the middle when Jake’s strong arm shoves you sideways, and your book is wrenched from your grasp as you fall sideways into the pool.

It’s cold, colder even because you’d been soaking in the hot tub. You’re surprised, but you suppose you can’t even really be mad at him considering it’s just payback for what he’d done to you.

You’ve barely righted yourself in the water before there’s another splash beside you, and when you finally emerge there’s hands reaching for your waist, Daniel’s as you realize he’d jumped in to help you.

“You-!” You splutter at Jake with bleary, chlorine-soaked eyes, attention split between Daniel who’s trying to ensure you’re alright, and Jake who’s snickering while holding your book in his thankfully dry hand.

“You asshole.” Daniel finishes for you, “She could have drowned!”

“I know how to swim,” You brace a hand on Daniel’s chest- startlingly bare, but riddled with coarse, brown hair, “It’s fine, I- I pushed him in earlier.”

“Relax, Prince Charming. It’s just a bit of payback. And look,” Jake waves your novel in front of you, “Dry as a bone.”

“Well I am- uh, not.” You stand half-submerged in the pool, Daniel still holding onto your waist, “So, I guess I will go swimming.”

“Great. You can swim with us.” Daniel smiles, warm and inviting as he keeps his hands on you.

“Yeah, us.” Jake agrees, taking Danica’s towel and spreading it over a sunny lounge chair for her.

Jake helps lower Danica gently into the pool, holding her hand while she takes the stairs, before jumping in beside you so that you’re splashed by the wave he creates.

“You are an asshole,” You laugh, breaking away from Daniel’s grip to shove at Jake’s shoulder. The grins on your faces are bright and genuine, perhaps the first time you’ve both been able to laugh with each other the entire trip. It feels nice, and you don’t fight when he shoves back at you with strong arms.

“Hey- hey!” Danica shouts, standing behind Daniel with a hand on his shoulder, “Why don’t you turn that pushing and shoving into a game of chicken?”

“I’m down,” Daniel seems thrilled to be opposite Jake as he lowers himself for Danica to climb atop his shoulders, “Y/N, you okay on his shoulders?”

Jake does the honors himself, dunking himself under the water and coming up between your legs. You barely have time to plant your hands on the top of his head, fingers twisting instinctively into his hair as you accidentally tug it while he stands at his full height again.

“Shit, sorry Hangman.” You let go of his hair, hoping you hadn’t yanked too hard. He’s forgiven, for now, so you won’t resort to childish things like hair-pulling.

“That’s okay, darlin’.” He grins, craning his neck back to meet your eye, “I like it when you tug on my hair.”

You have to overlook Jake’s suggestive comment as Danica’s already reaching for you, and you eagerly engage in a shoving match while the two men beneath you plant themselves into the bottom of the pool. You manage to get a leg up on Danica, and they’re both pushed backwards by the force of your shove, but Daniel surges forwards and ends up knocking you and his roommate right into each other.

You collapse against Danica, forehead-to-forehead, giggling like little girls. Her eyes are bright and shining with amusement, and her breath smells minty- like gum, not toothpaste. You’re more than happy to begin pushing at each other again, and though you’re confident your navy-built muscles are going to prevail, she lands a critical shove against your shoulder that throws you off-balance and sends you toppling off of Jake’s shoulders.

The water is cold, colder than you remember as you splash into it, and when you come up for air, already laughing, Jake’s facing you, having turned when you’d fallen from his shoulders. He’s grinning too, a hand already outstretched to help you up, but upon seeing you stand his eyes widen and his face drops.

“Shit.” He lunges for you, cutting through the water as his arm wraps around your back to yank you tight against his chest. You protest, grunting with exertion as you try fighting against his grip. But his muscles are impressive, and you’re trapped against his chest despite your best efforts.

“Would you cut it out? I’m trying to help you. Your top came untied.”

“What?” You splutter, water trailing down your face as you quell your instinctive struggle against his crushing hold. You realize that the reason for the extreme cold had, in fact, been because your bikini top had abandoned ship, and you barely have time to process the feeling of your bare tits slammed up against Jake’s hard, toned chest before he’s fishing the bathing suit out of the water and feeding it around your waist.

“Up,” He instructs, lifting his eyes to the expansive blue sky above you so that you can separate yourself from his chest for long enough to cover your own again. It’s- a strange gesture of courtesy that you would have expected from Daniel, sure, but not Jake. Perhaps that’s why you’re so sluggish, why it takes you longer than expected to fit your top back over your tits and grapple with the strings.

“You decent?” Jake asks, and when you grunt in confirmation he drops his eyes again. He notices you struggling with the ties and reaches for them himself, gently swatting your fingers away as he uses his advantage of sight. It presses his muscular shoulder up against your face, and you turn so that your cheek rests against it instead of your nose. Suddenly you’re held against his chest like a slow dance, and something terribly and inexplicably squirmy happens in your stomach.

“Done. I double knotted it.” He hums, and it’s such a sincere tone, one that’s completely vacant of all his usual dickishness, that you lose yourself staring at his face when he pulls away. You begin examining it for any sign that perhaps he was murdered and replaced with a poorly-trained doppelganger.

His hair looks right, albeit sopping wet. His eyebrows are growing slightly bushier than usual, but nothing you’d consider a complete and total imposter. His nose is still the same: strong, slightly downturned (though not as far as Rooster’s), and there’s a tiny patch of sunscreen that hasn’t been rubbed in near his right eye. His mouth is set in a determined purse as he double knots the strings of your bikini top together, and his eyes- his eyes are different.

Miles different than you’ve ever seen them. The outside edge of his hazel-green rings is softened, like someone has blurred their usual sharp border and lined it with suede. His pupils are huge, and they’d be eclipsing his irises if those weren’t so big and puppy-like. He is, in every sense of the word, gentle, inside and out.

Jake has never been gentle before.

“You alright?” He asks, and you snap back to reality with his large hands spread over the expanse of your bare back, the eyes that you’d been examining firmly and concernedly fixed upon you. Only a few meager strings separate his skin from yours, and you nod once, steadily as you gently push his arms off of you.

“Let’s go again,” You call to Danica and Daniel, your voice a piss-poor attempt at strength and nonchalance as it lacks its usual life, “Good hit, Danica. But watch out, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Bring it,” She grins gleefully, and her giddy gaze drifts downwards to Jake’s face when he lifts you onto his shoulders yet again. From the looks of it they share some sort of silent conversation- some inside joke that you’re not privy to.

Something about that, something about her excluding you from a conversation with your own teammate makes you shove her, not enough to knock her off of Daniel’s shoulders, but enough to show her that you’re not going easy on her. She shrieks giddily as she writhes to stay balanced on Daniel’s shoulders, a smidge less broad than Jake’s. You’re thankful for that, for the steady mount you’ve got, as you resume pushing and shoving at Danica.

Jake is going insane. Not only does the phantom sensation of your bare tits- nipples hard from the chilly pool water - stick to him like a wet t-shirt, he can feel you against the back of his neck, your warm sex nestled snugly against him with only the bottom half of your bikini to separate you. Your thighs bracket his head, close enough for him to reach out and bite at, but he has to focus on keeping his stance sturdy so that you can play properly. Daniel’s glaring viciously at him across the few feet that separates the four of you, and he’s not going to let Mr. Mailman win.

This time, Jake suspects you’ve used that military muscle of yours, because Danica slips backwards off of Daniel’s dewy shoulders and splashes into the pool. Your hand cups beneath Jake’s chin, tilting his head upwards and leaning it back into your lap.

“Nice one,” He grins upside-down at you, and you bump your fist against his when he offers it. Then you’re craning your neck down, surely uncomfortable as you leave mere inches between your lips and his, and his ears are ringing.

“Back up,” You murmur, disguising it as a congratulatory speech while Daniel helps Danica back onto his shoulders, “Get them to chase us and we’ll use the momentum against them.”

“Darlin’,” Jake proclaims, pride puffing up his chest that your legs are resting against, “You’re my kinda woman. Always looking to win.”

“Just do it, Hangman,” You scoff, but your eye-roll is less than irritated, fond if anything due to your partnership as Jake drops his head to face Daniel and Danica once more.

Jake stands in place where he’d been before, but when Danica engages with you he begins backing up. Slowly, carefully, ensuring that his feet are planted steadily each step so that you’re not tipped over, he makes his way towards the drop off towards the deeper end of the water. Daniel follows, taking the bait, and soon enough his predicament becomes obvious: he’s not as tall as Jake.

He stands somewhere close to six feet, surely, but not past it like Jake does. Your partner’s head is still comfortably above water, smirk in full force as Daniel’s beard becomes waterlogged.

“That’s not fair!” Danica laughs, petting sympathetically at Daniel’s sopping wet hair, “Poor guy, we’ll get you stilts for the next round.”

Daniel lands a teasing pinch against the curve of her ass and she shrieks. You lunge for her, using her momentary shock to catch her off guard as you send her tumbling backwards into the water behind Daniel.

You don’t have time to celebrate before Jake is ducking down and slipping himself out from beneath you, his strong arms bracing your fall so that you barely sink a few feet into the water. He crushes you in a celebratory hug, his laughter harmonizing with your own. He turns you both to face Daniel and Danica as they splutter to catch their breath, his cheek pressed flush against your own.

“Chicken Champions,” He declares, holding you tight to his side at his own height, which means your feet float above his own in the water, “I’d offer to go again, but that’d just be cruel. You ladies wanna chatter in the hot tub while Danny-Boy and I show off on the diving board?”

“I brought a book,” Danica hums, face dripping with water you feel only mildly guilty for submerging her in, “If you wanna read, Y/N, I’ll do it with you.”

“Perfect.” Daniel nods, already cutting through the water on his way to the diving board, “I’ll be careful not to splash you guys.”

“I won’t.” Jake supplies helpfully, his grin turned shit-eating as he eyes you up, “No point in reading one of them smutty porn books if you’re not soaking wet.”

“Splash me and I’ll throw your room key off the side of the boat, Hangman,” You promise, “You’ll be begging strangers to take pity on you in the elevator.”

“Nah, that’s not my style,” Jake’s voice is dripping with intent while Daniel takes position on the diving board, his swim trunks dripping steady trails of water. You don’t know why until he continues, taking his own bait, “I’ll leave that to Daniel.”

You blame Jake’s comment for why Daniel’s dive nearly turns into a belly flop. It’s instantaneous, really, Daniel’s changing of posture as he register’s Jake’s biting words, and you have half a mind to admonish Jake for riling Daniel up during a dive- that could have ended badly. As it stands, Daniel does a sort of cannonball, though not intentionally, and you and Danica cringe in unison when he lands, sending water splashing well over the divider into the hot tub. Your book remains mostly unscathed- only a droplet of water lands on the cover and obscures the male lead’s face, blurring out his beard and making him appear clean-shaven.

Jake is already scaling the ladder, and when he gets to the top he surveys Daniel emerging from the water.

“Six,” He shrugs, sneering down at Daniel from the highest point on the deck, “‘Could’ve clinched a seven if you hadn’t splashed the ladies, but your form was still shit.”

He doesn’t give Daniel a chance to fire back- or maybe the man is just too smart to take Jake’s bait - before he sets his arms together above his head, and seamlessly, impeccably cuts through the water. For someone so muscular and bulky, his form is graceful- not that you’ll ever tell him that. Water arcs outwards from where he’d landed, one half of the splash practically targeting Daniel where he stands watching.

He swims farther, nearly reaching the other end of the pool before he emerges, shaking water from his hair like a dog as he looks intently at you and Danica in the hot tub for a rating.

“Ten!” Your reading companion shouts, blessedly unaware of the tense atmosphere- or again, too intelligent to fall for Jake’s lowly antics- and you look at the water-stained cover of your novel.

You smear away the water droplet with your dry thumb, and the male main character’s beard returns.

“Four.” You call, voice deadpan as you lock your eyes on your novel, “For playing dirty and sabotaging the other contestants.”

Hangman’s grin is open-mouthed and cemented into place as he stands taller than Daniel in the water, tanned skin standing starkly out from the blue of the chlorinated water, “Dirty’s the best way to play, darlin’.”

Danica shoots you a look from behind the spread of her novel that you’ve sent many-a-girlfriend before. It’s the wide-eyed, restrained smile that screams ‘We’re talking about this later’, and you mirror her expression with your own disdain.

“Leave us alone,” You call, grinning apologetically at Daniel so that he knows he’s only a bystander, “We want to read.”

“Let’s leave the ladies to their smut, Dorian.” Jake calls, louder than he needs to be as he stretches to display his toned abdomen and muscled arms, “We can find our own fun. Wanna see who can swim the fastest? Place your bets, ladies: pilot or mailman?”

“You swam pretty slow when you crash-landed in the Pacific that one time,” You muse, fighting to keep a smirk off of your face, “I remember thinking you would die in the time it took for you to swim back to shore.”

“Wouldn’t’ve gone so slow if I wasn’t hauling my RIO back to shore. He hit his head on the way down,” Jake dips his head towards Danica, happily regaling her with the tale, and you realize you’ve only fluffed his ego more, “So he was unconscious. Well I couldn’t just leave him there, ‘poor guy was only a trainee. So I took him along. It did slow me down, but,” He heaves a disgusting, gaudy, fake sigh, “It was worth it to send him back home to his mama.”

You taste a hint of blood where you’ve apparently chewed through your lip. You let it go and hope nothing escapes your mouth. It would be a shame to stain the pages of your novel red.

You’re trying very hard not to pay attention to Jake and Danica where he’s engaged her in a staring contest. Well, you suppose it’s not much of a contest that she can win: the point is that you’re losing. Jake’s showing off his impressive build, still running his mouth with every vaguely self-complementary anecdote he can embellish, and Danica is taking the bait, which means that your rampant attempts to cool Jake’s ego have failed.

You let the warm, borderline-hot water sink into your skin and simmer alongside the building irritation that threatens to blow beneath the surface. You’re tired. This was supposed to be a relaxing vacation for you- or, if not relaxing, a good way to blow off steam. You were supposed to be bent in half up against the shower wall by now, not bending the pages of your book with the strong grip you’ve cemented onto them while you mediate Jake’s ego and the willingness of so many women to accommodate it.

Part of you wants to let loose and have fun- not with Jake, of course. Never with Jake. But part of you wants to act rationally, forget the constant rivalry between you two and let him shack up with whoever will show him her tits first. But the other part of you, the one that cheers every time he places second in a show of skill, wants to knock him down a peg. It’s why you’re so persistently humbling him- or, trying to, at least. Something about him putting on this cocky persona- erasing all human emotion to make way for pure sleaze puts you on edge, and you pity the fool who believes it.

You can’t tell if Danica’s that fool yet, because she’s turned back to her book with a smile, but to her credit she doesn’t ogle him while he’s swimming. It would be easy to- he’s all tanned muscle and gestures that show off just the right curve or vein. He knows how to preen, but Danica seems to be minding her own business. That makes it easier for you to read your own novel; you don’t feel like you have to keep an eye out for her anymore.

You’re not sure whether it’s a love for the act or a wordless competition to outswim the other that keeps Jake and Daniel occupied with lapping the pool for so long, but as more and more people filter out of their rooms and onto the deck, there’s not much room for recreation anymore.

“Are you done?” You ask Danica, peering over at her after someone unknowingly sends a wave of water straight for you both, narrowly avoiding soaking your novels.

“I think I’m done.” She nods sheepishly, rushing to stand and keep her book dry, “Should we run away before the men notice we’re leaving?”

“Excellent plan,” You laugh, but you can practically feel Jake’s eagle eye upon you as you race for your towel, leaving soaked footprints behind on the wooden deck, “We should go get some pizza. They’re making more now that it’s a little busier out here.”

“You shouldn’t stare like that.” Daniel’s irritatingly smooth voice, pitched up slightly from Jake’s and entirely free of Jake’s rugged charm, makes Jake’s lips yearn to curl into a sneer.

Jake pivots in the cold pool water to face Daniel rather unimpressed, a scoff begging to burst from his lips, “Like what?”

“Like she’s a piece of meat, or something.” Daniel’s arms are crossed, and Jake plants his feet firmly against the concrete floor of the pool.

“Oh, you’re so virtuous,” Jake drawls, his skin burning and not from the rays of sun hitting it directly, “You frenched her in an elevator, Daniel, you’ve got no room to be talking to me about class.”

“She wanted me to kiss her. She kissed me.” Daniel insists, and Jake laughs- actually laughs, a grit of his teeth and a forceful exhalation of air, “That’s different than staring at her ass while she runs away from you like you’d flip her skirt up at a drive-in movie theater.”

“Flipping skirts,” Jake laughs, sadistic grin in full force, “Daniel, I’m not that old fashioned! Please, she’s in a bathing suit that she chose, for a sex cruise that she booked, and you know what? She probably wants you to be staring at her ass in it. And you don’t seem too concerned with the other people on the deck, I’m sure a few of them are looking too. And are you worried I’m looking at Danica’s ass?”

“You’re not looking at Danica’s ass.” Daniel nearly bites his tongue in an effort to keep his voice level, “Because you’re not interested in Danica. You’re interested in Y/N and you can’t have her. She’s not yours.”

“She’s not yours, either.” Jake spits, and there’s a moment of silence where both men’s chests heave with barely-suppressed tension. Jake realizes that he’s admitted to Daniel that he has no real claim over you, but the other man doesn’t fight back against not having one of his own. But you are his, you are Jake’s, in the way you’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, in the look in your eyes when you’d stared into his own earlier, in the stain on his pajama pants.

You’d moaned his name- his name, not Daniel’s.

Someone knocks into Daniel from behind, backing right into him and nudging him slightly off balance.

“Oh!” The woman shrieks, “I’m sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s fine.” He offers her a tight smile, heading for the ladder, “Don’t worry about it.”

Jake hauls himself up out of the pool with nothing but his forearms, using his towel to dry his hair if only to show off the expanse of his chest to any who may be watching. He checks- you’re not.

“So,” Danica leans forwards into your space at the pizza counter, eyes meaningfully wide, “Tell me why he’s acting like this.”

“He always acts like this.” You scoff, and when she levels you with an unimpressed glare, you insist, “No, really! He’s just- everything is a competition to him, everything. I met his mom once, and she told me that he used to have races at the dinner table to see who could finish their food first. He kept making himself sick but as long as he’d beat his brothers he didn’t care. He always has to win, and right now, he’s competing for us.”

“No, he’s competing for you.” Danica corrects you, “Is he winning?”

“Hell no. He’s- he’s not really competing for me, not meaningfully. He just wants to say he ‘got me’, you know? That would be major bragging rights on the tarmac. But that’s exactly why I can’t give in- I can’t be known as the woman who slept with her fellow pilot! Then they wouldn’t see my achievements anymore, just my mistakes.”

“I get that.” She nods, “But how do you know he’s just gonna dump you?”

“I’ve watched him dump the whole of San Diego,” You scoff, “That’s what he does. He doesn’t do love, he’s the kind of guy who’s only ever interested in something quick and dirty.”

“Everyone does love.” Danica frowns, “Some people just start later in life than others. And I think he’s starting now. With you.”

“Love,” You laugh, and sure, it’s dramatic, but if it gets through to her, you don’t care, “A man who loves me would not have tormented me for my entire career.”

She tilts her head thoughtfully, “I think he does. Even if he doesn't act the way you think he should, even if he doesn't act the way you would, I think he does love you. I think he just loves differently. I think he's new to it. What has he done to torment you?”

You huff, grateful for the opportunity to vent, “He constantly tries one-upping me- again, he can’t lose. He just- he pokes and prods and teases me like we’re on the playground or something, and it’s non-stop. It’s not like he’s sweet most of the time and then there’s a few bouts of light teasing, it’s- it’s constant, and I can’t ever let my guard down, or I’ll lose.”

“So you’re fighting to win, too.” Her eyes narrow slightly, “Why?”

“Because. I can't be second-best, and I can’t be known as the woman who slept with her coworker. I’m not doing that.” You repeat.

“Oh," She laughs, "So you're both stubborn. You don't want to lose, either. But second-best is temporary, rankings come and go. And I understand your thing about not wanting to be known for sleeping with him, but even if you did sleep with him, the whole Navy doesn’t have to know.”

“They will, Hangman will brag. He always brags.”

“He won’t- not if he’s in love with you, not if you want him to keep it private.”

“He’s not in love with me-!”

“Four slices of Pepperoni, two cheese?” A large tray is placed between you and Danica at the counter you’re both leaning against, and it snaps the two of you out of your debate.

You turn to see one of the employees looking expectantly at you, and Danica stammers, “Uh, three cheese.”

“Sorry.” He smiles placatingly at her, scooping another slice onto the plate, “Three cheese.”

“Thank you.” You take the pepperoni pizza, leaving Danica to collect the cheese. You feel bad for walking away, even if you know she’s hot on your trail, but you feel frustratingly suffocated, like everyone is urging you to make the biggest mistake of your life and never considering why you simply can’t. She doesn’t know Jake, she hasn’t spent the last decade with him as he’s blown his way through tourist after tourist, bragging all the while. And he doesn’t understand what it would be like- even if he wasn’t looking to win, even if he did just want to try casual sex for fun, you’d never be able to escape that reputation.

You feel like you’re going crazy, and you plop down between Jake and Daniel where they sit at opposite sides of a table, ready to stuff your face with pizza instead of dealing with any of it.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

149 notes · View notes

sanguineterrain · 22 hours ago

Note

Idk if you know that scene from friends where Rachel kisses Ross while they're in the laundromat and Ross hits his head on the washer door afterward 😭🩷 it makes me giggle sm. Anyway thinking about that kind of kiss with Spencer. Genius left speechless!

very cute prompt thank u! gn!reader. your kiss surprises spencer—his kiss back knocks the wind out of you.

****

This is an impossible case.

You throw down your files in frustration and rub your temples. "I'm gonna quit and join the circus. I suck at this."

"Hm?" Spencer looks up from his computer. It's just the two of you staying late. The cleaning people have already come and gone. You're both working on a case that's stumped the team for three days.

You're here because you're new and, yes, you need to prove yourself. Spencer's here because... well, you're not actually quite sure why he's here late. He doesn't usually stay. But he'd offered when you said you were going to. His company is certainly welcome.

"This is fucking impossible. I've gone over these lists three times. There's no pattern, no commonalities, nothing! I'm such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Spencer says, getting up and joining you at your desk. He pushes some papers aside and sits on the corner. "Can I see?"

His long fingers brush yours as you pass him the lists. Gloomily, you scratch at your notepad with your pencil.

"Why are you trying so hard on this case?" he asks, fingers tracing the paper as he reads.

"Because I know you guys don't really need me here and I wanna prove that I'm valuable."

Spencer stops reading. "You are valuable."

"You're sweet, Spence."

"No, you are. You're smart. More brains are always better when it comes to this job."

"I think you've got enough brains for all of us," you say, half-smiling.

"Everyone provides skills that I don't. That's why we're a team."

You hum, pushing your pencil around. "Yeah, sure."

"We can figure this out," he says. "Let's think. Okay, no connections with the names or the ages. Gender and race is random. Did you check the locations of their deaths?"

You nod. "Did. No shapes, no nothing. Garcia ran every algorithm she has."

"There's sixty-three names on here. When did these murders start?"

"About nine weeks ago. But not everyone on this list was murdered. Some of them have been long dead. That's what's so confusing," you say. "The police think the killer will round back and kill the rest, but I don't think so."

"I don't either. Which people were killed?"

You circle them in red. Spencer stares at them.

"That's every sixth name. Maybe groups of seven are the key." He points at the second name on the list. "He's a reverend, right?"

You nod. "Yeah, more than one name on here is."

Spencer drums his fingers. "Circle those."

You do. Suddenly, you're struck by something.

"What is it?" Spencer asks as your fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Solomon Grundy."

Spencer leaps off the desk, immediately understanding and just as excited as you. He kneels beside your desk chair and starts highlighting and circling names in different colored pens. Heat emanates from his body, he's so close. You swallow and try not to think about it.

"Reverends Christened on a Tuesday," he says.

"Every third person was married on a Wednesday," you say. "The unsub is following the rhyme!"

You turn to him, mirroring his joy. "We did it!"

"I told you you'd figure it out," Spencer says triumphantly.

"Are you kidding? You brought up the numerical patterns."

Spencer grins at you. "I wasn't even thinking Solomon Grundy! You're the genius, not me."

You roll your eyes. "Aren't you past modesty, Doc?"

"Aren't you?" he shoots back, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "You're brilliant."

And something about the rush of solving the puzzle, and the way Spencer's smiling at you, open and happy and proud, it makes you impulsive. You see his round, dark eyes, his fluffy curls, and the way his cheek crinkles from his smile, and you do it. You lean in.

Your hands go to his face for a moment, just enough to steady him as you kiss him. You kiss for two seconds, your touch like a breath on his skin. Spencer tastes like the cherry Chapstick you bought him last week.

He shoots up and away, lips parted, eyes wide. You panic.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that—" you begin.

"You, um, you just—okay—"

He turns the wrong way and bumps bodily into the side of your desk. You wince as his thigh crashes into the wood.

"Spencer! Jesus, are you okay?" you ask, beginning to stand.

"Uh-hm," he squeaks out, voice strained. "Yeah, fine." He rubs his thigh in a way that suggests he's very much not fine.

You hover, unsure if you should touch him. You know Spencer doesn't love to be touched without warning.

He leans against your desk. He's not running away screaming, which is a good sign, although he's somewhat incapacitated so maybe he wants to but can't.

You go to your desk drawer and get an instant ice pack, shaking and crushing it.

"No, I'm fine, really—" Spencer insists, but you make him take it anyway. He obediently presses it to his leg.

"I know you bruise easily," you say, chewing your lip. "God, I'm so sorry, Spencer."

"This wasn't your fault. I'm clumsy," he says.

You shake your head, lump in your throat. "You don't have to spare my feelings. I know I shouldn't have kissed you. It was stupid of me."

Spencer presses his lips together and looks down, shuffling the ice pack around. "Oh. I-I mean, we can forget about it, of course. I won't bring it up to anyone. No one will know we kissed."

"No, if you want to tell Hotch and, y'know, have my desk moved or something, I'd understand," you say, more glum than when you couldn't crack the case.

"Wait, what? If I told Hotch?"

You shrug self-consciously. "It was unprofessional, to say the least. I made you uncomfortable."

"No, you didn't."

You look at Spencer. He's looking right back at you, pinning you with those bottomless eyes.

"Did you kiss me because we solved the case?" he asks.

You shake your head. "No. I... I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he says softly, and then you're getting kissed back by Spencer Reid.

He kisses like he wants to devour you, and it startles you how voraciously Spencer kisses, like you're a well-loved book whose pages he pores over every time he reads.

You're caught off-guard too by his confidence, those big, chilly hands completely cradling your face. The ice pack tumbles to the floor. Spencer takes the air right out of you, sends lightning up your spine.

"Thought you thought you'd made a mistake," he says against your mouth, in between kisses.

You shake your head. "Didn't." And that's all you both need.

You think you'll stay late more often. You suspect that Spencer will, too. It's incredibly productive.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #blurb #inbox

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youcouldmakealife · 2 days ago

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SOTM: Luke/Andreas; wined and dined

For the prompt: Andreas and Luke meeting/hooking up the second time

I literally finished this before I realised you guys probably meant like, the second time they hooked up, not the whole second time 'round. Mea culpa, everybody. And for those who interpreted it the same way I did...you're welcome?

Andreas can’t remember the last time he was wined and dined.

Though maybe that isn’t the best way to describe it — Andreas has dinner meetings all the time, has sat beside clients at the best restaurants in almost every NHL city, sampled from the menus of half of New York's most exclusive restaurants. Always on the agency’s dime, of course, or his multi-millionaire client’s, or the teams they play for, or the teams who want to sign them.

There’s plenty of wine involved — though Andreas always restricts himself to a glass when it's business — plenty of dining. But a meeting’s a meeting, whether it’s in a conference room, patiently waiting for a GM who’s been around since there were still six teams in the league to figure out how to unmute his mic, or eating something exceptional at a Michelin Star restaurant.

So obviously that’s not what he means. It’s not that he hasn’t been dating either, though admittedly, he had less and less time to spare for it as he got older. And not that he hasn’t gone on dinner dates specifically, where he allows himself a second glass of wine, orders what he’d like, rather than ‘what he’s having sounds good’, unless, Andreas supposes, it truly does sound good. So there has been wining and dining, in fact. Possibly even a surplus of it.

And yet.

At a certain point Andreas thinks he just stopped expecting romance. It wasn’t any sort of resigned, jaded disappointment at the dating scene. Not that it isn't a shitshow, but it's probably better here than just about anywhere else. More an acknowledgment that most guys didn’t seem to be looking for romance, at least the ones Andreas was dating.

And that was fine, because Andreas wasn’t really looking for it either. Romance was undeniably nice, but he worked long hours, put almost all of himself into his job, and what he had left didn’t require much more than good conversation and some companionship, a spark of attraction, mediocre or better sex. Romance might have come along down the line, but things didn’t tend to last long even when he did find someone who met his simple — yet almost impossible to find — criteria.

That one, he thinks has more to do with him than it does with them. Andreas’ career is one of those things that’s attractive in theory, but significantly less endearing when he’s slipping in and out of bed at all hours, constantly checking his email or ducking out to make a call, flying off to who knows where, sometimes with plenty of notice, sometimes with none at all.

Maybe his life just isn’t conducive to romance. He doesn’t like to think that, but there would be worse things, wouldn’t there? He has a job that he finds fascinating, a job that offers something different every day, a job that, incidentally, pays him more money than he has the time to spend. He could retire tomorrow if he wanted to, live the rest of his life in comfort, dedicate all his time to searching for true love, but why would he want to? It sounds excruciatingly boring.

So he works — he works a lot, works more than he should, at least according to everyone he knows, including Dave, the giant hypocrite — and he — well, he works. But it’s fine. Most people have to search for meaning in his life, but he has his. If anyone asks about it — and they all ask, except Dave, that gem of a fucking man — he says he doesn’t feel like he’s lacking anything. He’s not lying, either.

That doesn’t mean something doesn’t squeeze tight when Luke conveniently ‘happens to be in town’ — though if there’s any town that actually applies to, it’s New York — when he figures they should ‘catch up’. Even as he tells himself that he’s just catching up with an old flame, one who doesn’t even live in the same country as him anymore. Even as he tells himself once for old time’s sake, and then twice doesn’t hurt considering they’ve still got chemistry, then when it’s been three, four, half a dozen, and if Luke’s got a return ticket Andreas doesn’t know when it’s for, but it doesn’t feel like it’s any time soon.

Luke has always been a romantic. He’d deny it up and down if Andreas said it, and it wouldn’t even be a kneejerk macho shit — Andreas doesn’t think Luke even knows he does anything out of the ordinary. Andreas doubts he was thinking ‘I’m going to woo Andreas’ as he asked him out to dinner, not the first time, or the second, not when he came with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine from a vineyard Andreas mentioned in passing, said he’d cook for him, laughing as he fought with Andreas’ temperamental bottle opener, scoffing when Andreas impatiently intervened before he could ruin a good bottle of wine.

Technically, he doesn’t even know if 'wooing' is Luke’s aim at all. He could just need the change of pace, miss the city, the speed of it, the convenience, and while he was here, Andreas was just as convenient as the rest of it — good conversation, good companionship, Luke more attractive than ever, the sex still fantastic. And they didn’t even have to get to know one another. What could be easier?

But Andreas doesn’t think so, at least not judging by the way Luke’s started looking at him.

Andreas doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like Luke does, the complete focus of it. Looking isn’t a strong enough word — it’s more like he’s taking him in, trying make sure that he gets every single detail correct, the way Andreas imagines a painter would gaze at their subject, a poet at their lover. Luke’s no poet, but, well — maybe he is, a little, minus the words. There’s something about the way Luke looks at the world. Something about the way Luke looks at him.

It used to unnerve Andreas, a little, especially because Luke wasn’t only looking at him like that over romantic candlelit dinners and endorphin fueled pillow talk, but also during the most mundane moments. Andreas would be scowling at his phone, pecking out an answer to a client who decided he urgently needed to discuss his contract on a Sunday morning, a full season before it expired, and he’d look up and there Luke was, visibly taking him in. Sometimes there’d be a little smile on his face — the moments Andreas let himself be a little cranky there often was — but often there wasn’t, just Luke’s eyes on him, taking him in like he was never going to see him again.

It was — a lot. Luke was a lot, almost from the very beginning. Andreas thought he was going to get a regrettable hook up out of things, and then he thought it was going to be a few of them, and it was like a switch was flipped, and Luke went from the hot, fun, surprisingly good in bed client Andreas had completely unprofessionally fucked — and not just once, but a few times, and then a handful — to even more surprisingly good company outside of bed, to something Andreas didn’t quite have a name for. Someone who was gone even more than Andreas was, someone Andreas started to miss when he was gone. Andreas was the one staying put, most of the time, but Luke was the one always watching him like he’d disappear the moment he closed his eyes.

The look hasn’t changed, and Andreas imagines it means the same thing now as it did then, Luke who doesn’t blink, Luke who jumps both feet first, Luke the romantic.

It doesn’t feel as overwhelming now, though Andreas suspects he’ll be spending some time thinking about just how quickly Luke was on board. How quick they both were — Andreas can’t pretend he doesn’t know what’s coming, what’s already here, can’t pretend that isn’t something he wants, when he could end things with a word.

But he doesn’t. This time Andreas lets himself look back, and when Luke catches him at it, he doesn’t let himself look away.

#fic snippet #andreas krause #luke morris #SOTM

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danielsarmand · 3 days ago

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ugh yes you get it it’s not ABOUT ships being endgame i feel like ppl have come to expect that nowadays and it’s really weird. whatever happened to scraping for crumbs of interaction and running 20 miles with whatever we got?? and even if a ship does become ‘canon’ it’ll usually never happen in the way you personally want anyway. they’re NARRATIVE FOILS babe it doesn’t get much better than this i am eating it UP

i swear the new season has been EXASPERATING from a fandom standpoint. i think in retrospect it was like this with season one and the whole mel thing, too, but enough time has passed that my brain conveniently forgot about that.

i don't want to make this about age, but when i was growing up in fandom we used to have maybe a 1% canonization rate when it came to queer ships, which forced me to develop an array of skills i don't see much of anymore. queercoding and queer characters were there still, regardless of how canon or not a ship was, and everyone agreed that canon love interests mattered very little when the dynamic of two characters was the core of said characters.

i genuinely could care less about mel and jayce when they uh. got together i guess??? and i say i guess because we barely know anything about their relationship and dynamic. which is the point! we know way more about him and viktor, so that's where my thoughts go.

people were making a fuss over jayce and mel fucking, meanwhile i was going insane over their sex scene being paralleled to viktor coughing blood, and about how afterwards we see mel waking up in bed alone because viktor wakes up in bed and jayce is beside him. now, people are making a fuss about viktor and sky and i'm over here thinking of what sky is: a symbol, a representation of viktor and jayce's dream, of viktor's humanity and of his remorse. because that isn't even grief—he barely knew sky, didn't even look at her once in season one, he cannot grieve someone he didn't care for; he grieves her POTENTIAL, what she could have been had he let her, he feels guilty for being the cause of her death and he clings to his humanity through her.

arcane is all about visuals. every single frame. none of it is left to chance. and this is unfortunate when its viewers seem adamant on not turning on their brains whilst they watch.

#jayvik #arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #vikjayce #viktor the machine herald #arcane meta #arcane spoilers #asks #to clarify: this isn't hate towards mel or sky. i don't care. mel is her own character and sky serves a purpose.#i'm just stating what the show visually conveyed so far

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writing-mlm · 2 days ago

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Hi, could I make an order for Hiccup Haddock x male reader? In which at the beginning they are at the end of the first movie and, like what happened to Hiccup's mother, a dragon kidnaps the male reader because he liked it (this dragon can be a woolly howl? 🥺 Almost no one knows this dragon). And at the beginning of the third movie, when they are rescuing the dragons from the ship, the reader He appears with a somewhat unkempt appearance, and it turns out that all these years he was trying to locate Berk so he could return but on his journey he came across the hunters' ship. I would like a meeting full of action and romance with tears of happiness for finally meeting each other, please.

Going home

Summary: Being kidnapped by a dragon has its perks, but you really miss home. And Berk, too, you guess. Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x male reader Wc: 3k A/n: idk couldn’t stop thinking about this, rushed it out as soon as I could and I have zero idea how to write fight scenes

It was true that Hiccup had a soft spot for dragons— no one around Berk could deny that fact— that Toothless had opened up like a gaping chest wound he didn’t know was there at first. Unable to kill the mighty beast that night, seeing himself in the young dragon. Instead becoming the first (technically second) dragon rider from Beek; turning violent hunters into loving but still violent dragon riders.

Hiccup loved all the dragons, he learned the ins and outs of every single breed he came across. He obviously had a favorite, Night Fury’s but he wouldn’t say he hated any dragons. At least, depending on who was asking him.

Astrid, Stoick, and Gobber would all hear the endless rambles about one particular dragon; unable to roll their eyes or stop his ramblings because they know the reason for his near hatred of them.

The Woolly Howl dragon was one he couldn’t bring himself to care about. Not even if you paid him all the money in the world could he be anything more than indifference and he doesn’t think he even has that for them. Not after the dragon nest incident.

Hiccups remembers the first time he’d taken you flying. Before Astrid, before everything. You’d been braver than he was, had a better grip on Toothless too. He liked that about you, you’d always been the one with a level head, doing what was necessary. It’s probably why his father pushed for the two of you to become friends, hoping you’d rub off on Hiccup. Toughen you up.

Stoick couldn’t imagine what would happen between the two of you, though.

He wouldn’t say it was love, not yet at least. You’re both only fifteen, although Stoick supposed he was in love with Valka at a younger age. But he can definitely tell it’s coming soon; the way you two operate is like two halves of a missing puzzle. He reckons if his wife was there to see it, she’d say you were soulmates in living color.

You’d gotten the others ready to follow Stoick and the other Vikings and used Astrid to knock some sense into him. You would’ve done it yourself but you knew none of the others could get the dragons somewhat ready. And time was running out, you needed to be as fast as possible. Although Hiccup did most of the work convincing them to actually get on them— he always was the crowd worker of the two of you.

Touch as you were, though, you had a terrible sense of direction, so you rode with Snotlout towards the dragon nest. You were going to ride with Hiccup but Astrid was firm that wasn’t going to ride with Snotlout and couldn't fly just yet.

It was good. At first. The plan was working, you were distracting the leader dragon and then one thing led to another before things went terribly wrong.

You don’t know when, you don’t know how, but you remember falling. It was hot, fire was everywhere. You lost the others in the chaos, you couldn’t see more than a couple of inches in front of yourself. Smoke started quickly filling your lungs and you were ready to give up on trying to escape the flames when it was put out. Suddenly everything was cold, colder than the worst snows on Berk.

Ice and snow pushed against your face and you hurriedly used your shield yourself while trying to remain standing. When it stopped, you slowly lowered your hands and looked around.

You thought you saw dark brown fur, but when you reached out you felt the hard scales and a deep timber rumble. Purple eyes stared back at you before it roared and you were shot into the sky. As you were being taken up, you saw Hiccup enter the air with Toothless, the monster of a dragon hot on their tail and tried to scream for him. Scream for either of them to notice you— anything. But your voice was shot, the smoke had done a number on your lungs and throat.

It was useless to try any longer and you watched as the island got smaller, dread filling your stomach.

The Woolly Howl had flown in the clouds, flying away from the fight you could see in the distance. Purple blasts from Toothless grew less and less as you gave up fighting. Even if you got out of the dragon’s harsh grip, you don’t know where you’d land or how you’d even make it back.

You never did get to see if they won the fight.

When Hiccup woke up in his room with Toothless at his side and half of one of his legs; he was just happy the plan had worked. He was happy that he saw Berk buzzing with dragons, he couldn’t look anywhere and not see them. Everyone had greeted him like a hero for the first time in… well, ever. Surely he had died and this was his paradise but when you didn’t run up to him, he was sure this wasn’t paradise.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” He slowly asked Stoick and the laughter and cheers died down around him. Stoick removed his helmet and Hiccup faltered, almost falling on the firing had it not been for Astrid. He looks between the crowd that’s slowly dispersing, his chest heaving up and down as his mind swims with the worst possible ideas.

“No one could find him,” She said when Stoick couldn’t find the words. “Toothless and the others tried to track his scent but…” She looks off.

“No,” He shakes his head, looking around. This wasn’t true. “He- he was with Snotlout! How did he lose him?”

“They got separated. One of my men saw a Woolly Howl flying around; they think it's what took him.” Stoick places a hand on his son's shoulder, offering comfort before Hiccup throws himself into his fathers, pulling him impossibly close as he cries. Stoick sucks in a breath before he kneels down, embracing his sobbing, grieving son just as he did when he lost Valka.

“I’m sorry, Hiccup. I’m so sorry.”

—

You scramble to your feet as the Woolly Howl drops you on top of a snowy patch on a mountain. The snow stings your hands and you’re already shivering; your furs weren’t nearly as thick enough for these temperatures. The dragon tilts its head as you slowly back up, reaching behind you when your back slams into something.

Glancing behind you, your eyes close when you find you’re backed into a corner. You know you’re too high up to leave, too cold to even think to fight.

The dragon nudges your leg and you open your eyes, waiting for your death but it nudges you away from the corner and gestures to a cave. There’s a… you squint and smile. There’s a fire inside. Rushing into the cave, it follows after you and you see an older man next to the fire, spinning a long fish over the fire.

“Good,” He coughs, patting the animal fur rug to make you sit. Settling next to him, you look at the entrance of the cave where the dragon is lying in front of, but not blocking. “BeeBoo needs a new friend.”

“BeeBoo?” You ask, looking back at him.

“I'm old,” He continues, ignoring your question. “She needs a new friend.” The man takes the fish off and offers it to you. “You’ll get used to the cold. My furs are in the corner, if you’d like.”

“I need to go home,” Shaking your head, you look for the furs and then them lying in a neat corner. Rushing to put them on, you return to the fire. “Please, can you take me home?”

“BeeBoo can,” He nods. “I’ll be gone before nightfall.”

“You’re leaving? Is there a village nearby?”

“No village,” He shakes his head. “I am old. I will be gone soon.” You look him over, his skin hangs the way the elders on the island do, his hair is barely there, and he shivers like no other despite being bundled in several layers and next to the fire. He’s old, you realize, he will be gone soon.

“Oh,” Blinking, you peel back the scales of the fish and eat in a solemn sort of silence before the old man leaves the cave as the sun starts to go down. BeeBoo howls, giving the man one last head hug before he disappears into the blizzard. BeeBoo turns to you, a sad sort of cry echoing from her chest and you can’t help but feel bad for the dragon.

—

Hiccup checks his notes again, running a finger past each line as he observes two Woolly Howls playing in the nearby snow with Toothless.

strike dragon

fire type- hail

purple mouth and eyes

fur like scales

tail fins

segmented underbelly— blends into clouds

can withstand blizzards

medium-sized

lives in snowy mountains

Sighing, he wipes his face and turns to his map. This is the fourth snow mountain he’s been to this week. He’s lost count of how many he’s been to in the past five years.

He calls Toothless back as he packs up his items; it’s nearly time for the steal mission with the others. As he’s packing the items, he runs his fingers over your old arm brace. He remembers when the two of you had carved your initials into it, he’s since outgrown his but he keeps it around. It hangs in this room right next to your other items that he had lying around.

Hiccup hadn’t given up hope in finding you. He spent every waking moment he could trying. But, he found everyone but you. He found his mother; he’d hoped maybe you were there too. In some secret dragon sanctuary but no. She was the only human and she hadn’t seen you. He had a separate map for you; he’d tracked countless Woolly Howls and where they’d spend their time. A few times he thought he was close, he was sure of it, but nothing. Your clothes had lost their smell and even if they hadn’t, he doubts Toothless or any of the other dragons could track it through the blizzards.

You hadn’t stopped either. You traveled whenever you could, only stopping when Beeboo needed to rest. But, your sense of direction was still as shit as it was when you still lived on Berk. It felt like you found everything but your home. Even found some weird dragon place that looked like a nice place to live. But they weren’t exactly taking newcomers and you didn’t want to stay.

Even more unfortunate for you; you’d managed to get trapped by dragon hunters after falling asleep while Beeboo flew over a stretch of ocean. Apparently, she got curious about a boat and went to inspect it. Beeboo had protected you when they found and trapped her, hiding you in her wings so you wouldn’t get caught or hurt.

Currently, you’re catching the last bit of your rest. You’d been up for nearly a whole day and, Odin, were you tired. But the smell of fire had woken you up and it made Beeboo stirr uneasy with the flames she was seeing. You began to crawl out from under her wings when you heard the gate lock slide open and then the gate slowly opened.

BeeBoo growled, holding you close as you heard two footsteps get closer. It was from one person, but one of the steps sounded heavier than the other. The other half step had a sort of metal sound to it. Metal hitting metal rather than leather-bound feet. The person sighs; this sort of annoyed sigh you do when BeeBoo goes fishing without you and brings up eel.

“Hey, easy girl.” Peering out from the wing, you see a man walking up to BeeBoo and slipping out, pointing your sword at the man’s neck. His back is illuminated by the lamps, face is hidden in the darkness of the cage.

“Another rider?” He asks and his voice is so familiar. His voice is one you hear when you sleep, one you’ve spent years trying to find again. With wide eyes you drop your sword and remove your helmet, it clunks as it hits the floor, rolling between you and Hiccup. Hiccup falters, eyes widening as he recognizes you within seconds. You’re messy, sure. Your hair is different, unkept and there are bits of ice inside of it, your lips are chapped and your clothes are wet from the melting ice.

But it’s you.

“(Y/n)?” He breathes and you rush into a hug, holding him close. He hugs you, lifting you from your feet and you laugh, doing the same when he sets you down.

“I’ve been looking for you,” You sob, slipping your hands under his helmet which he quickly tosses off. “I’ve never stopped looking.” Holding his hand, your fingers wrap around the glove, his warmth feeling like a beacon.

“Me neither,” He pulls his head back, tears in his eyes. “I never stopped.” Laughing out another sob, you hold his face and take him in. His gloved fingers slide across your face, brushing your hair away so he can take you in before his lips crash into yours. They’re so incredibly warm and he tastes like home, gods, you’ve never been happier to be locked in a cage before.

He pulls you closer, your tears mixing together on your face, ignoring whatever is going on outside because fuck that. You just got each other back.

BeeBoo makes a noise she only makes when there’s danger around and you pull away. Grabbing Hiccup’s helmet first, he takes it while you grab yours, quickly putting it back on and grabbing your sword when you see guards rushing over. Hiccup fixes his helmet into place and guides you out, his hand never leaving yours.

“Attack!”

“Get the rescues out of here!” Hiccup shouts as you leave the cage and Toothless drops down next to him. You beckon BeeBoo to follow Toothless, trusting Hiccup's judgment of his dragon with yours.

“Okay. Who’s that?” Astrid asks but Hiccup just smiles and flicks his helmet down, his sword igniting in a fire. Your sword isn’t nearly as cool as his, but BeeBoo blasts it with ice that creates a jagged blade.

“Stay close,” His voice is a plea that you agree to without hesitation, the two of you fighting as if you’d never been separated. He goes low while you go high, disarming threats as they attack. Toothless and BeeBoo work together as well, BeeBoo freezes them into place while Toothless launches them into cages.

Hiccup swings his sword, bringing a guard's sword to the ground and you tackle the guy, tossing him into a nearby cage. With him knocked out, you turn around and see Hiccup struggling under the guards; Toothless is in the middle of helping the twins so you rush over, jumping on one of the guy's backs to pull him off and down.

He fairs better with the one guy while you wrestle the second into a pinned position.

“You okay?” Hiccup breathes, his guy knocked into the cage of the first guy.

“Yeah,” Nodding, you toss the guy's ax away and pick him up. “I’m just used to fighting dragons.”

“You fight dragons?” He asks and you laugh, fixing your clothes.

“BeeBoo likes to wrestle but she doesn’t know her own weight.” Ducking under another guard, you kick his legs out and Hiccup keeps him down with his fire sword.

“Yeah,” He nods, his head bobbing like it always did when he was younger. “I wrestle with Toothless all the time.” For a second, he joins Toothless in taking down a small group and you glance around for your dragon. She’s fine, freezing a broken cage into place.

“Dragons are such babies!” Punching a rogue guard that had escaped Snotlout, you watch as he falls down.

Somehow you managed to get back to Astrid; although it’s not that big of a ship. You and Hiccup send your dragon to get the others while you deal with the last of the guards.

“I thought this was supposed to be a stealth mission,” Astrid rolls her eyes as she walks up, swinging her around around. “And who is that?”

“Yeah, they always start that way—“

“Look out!” The three of you split up as a spear gets shoved where you once stood before a dragon takes the man away and drops him into the water. “Thanks, Stormfly! Who is that?” Once again, Astrid looks at you and you wave.

“Long time no see,” You grin, lifting the visor of your helmet. She gasps and looks at Hiccup who nods, squeezing your hand.

“Move out! We got ‘em all!” Hiccup tells the others and the fight immediately stops; the others find their dragons with ease. You wonder how many times they’ve done this; it seems very well rehearsed. Calling for BeeBoo, you latch onto her tail before she takes up into the sky.

You wait for Hiccup, blasting a group of guards that had cornered him just as Toothless barrels into the ones BeeBoo hadn’t gotten. You smile when he joins you, nodding to where the others are waiting for him and for you. You look over at them and smile, wiping your face. Joining the others, you’re given a warm welcome by them all— and a very long apology from Snotlout that you promised wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t his fault you got separated and then kidnapped by a dragon. It could happen to anyone really. Hell, it happened to Hiccup's mom from what she tells you as you’re flying.

“Wanna ride with me?” Hiccup asks when you’re coasting through the air. You’d been flying side by side with him but that wasn’t close enough and obviously, he felt the same way. Nodding, you stand on BeeBoo and take his hand, letting him guide you onto Toothless.

“Where’re we going?” You ask, laying your head on his shoulder. He squeezes your hand that’s on his waist as he looks back at you; his lips brushing against your lips.

“Home. We’re going home and I am never letting you go again.”

#x male reader #x reader #hiccup haddock x male reader #hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x male reader #how to train your dragon #httyd x male reader #httyd x reader

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amethystarachnid · 1 day ago

Note

Hello, I’d love to request something for you

It’s for Tony and female reader, they are friends with benefits and she ends up getting pregnant, she’s afraid to tell Tony and afraid of his reaction because their arrangement doesn’t involve feelings (but they are so deeply in love with each other already) so she starts getting a little cold with him and Tony gets sad, until one day they decide to talk and reader tells him that she’s pregnant and that she understands if he doesn’t want the baby but Tony is so happy to be a father and to be a father of a baby with the woman he loves 🤍 after the news they will turn into a real couple and be so happy together. Thank you! 🤍

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: spicy, some mixed angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Accidents happen, right? That's what you keep telling yourself the days after the condom broke while you and Tony were...together. Your period doesn't come but you lie to Tony and tell him it as, because he surely doesn't want a kid, right?

ᯓ★ TW(s): a small spicy scene, condom breaks

ᯓ★ I love family man Tony so much, matter of fact, I love every character seen as a family man I don't know why lol.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The fluorescent lights of the Stark Tower kitchen are glaring, but not as much as Tony Stark’s smirk. He’s leaning against the counter, casually sipping coffee like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. But you know better. You see the faint twitch of his lips, the amused glint in his eyes that’s practically begging you to break the silence.

“You’re being weird,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the fridge.

“Weird?” he repeats, mock-offended. “I’m drinking coffee in my own kitchen. What’s weird about that?”

You raise an eyebrow. “The way you’re looking at me. Like... like you’re picturing something.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’m definitely picturing something.” He tilts his head, eyes roaming over you in a way that’s anything but subtle. “Something that happened roughly seven hours ago, give or take.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you quickly avert your gaze. Seven hours ago, you’d been in Tony’s bed—or rather, sprawled across it while his hands did things you’re not entirely sure you’ll ever recover from. It’s supposed to be casual, the thing you have with him. No feelings, no strings. Just… stress relief, as Tony had so eloquently put it when this arrangement started.

But Tony Stark has a way of making casual feel like a loaded gun, just waiting to go off.

“Keep it down,” you hiss, glancing toward the door. “Do you want the others to hear?”

Tony raises his eyebrows in mock innocence. “What others? I’m pretty sure we’re alone.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you grab an apple from the counter, pretending to be far more interested in it than the infuriating man in front of you. Tony doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at you with that stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip in a way that’s both exhilarating and dangerous.

“You know,” he says after a beat, “if you keep trying to play the ‘nothing to see here’ card, it’s going to make things more obvious.”

“Obvious?” You scoff. “There’s nothing to make obvious.”

Tony sets his mug down and closes the distance between you in two easy steps. You barely have time to react before he’s towering over you, his arms boxing you in against the fridge. His cologne—some kind of absurdly expensive blend that probably costs more than your rent—wraps around you like a second skin.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine. “I’m a genius. You think I don’t notice the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, you do.” His lips curve into a smug grin, and damn it, why does he have to look so good doing it? “And let’s not forget how you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself when we’re alone.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, his voice dropping another octave. “Don’t worry. I like it. But you might want to work on your poker face, darling, because if I can tell, you can bet your ass the others will.”

The implication makes your stomach twist. “They don’t know.”

“Not yet,” Tony agrees. “But I wouldn’t underestimate Romanoff. Or Rogers, for that matter. The guy might be old-fashioned, but he’s not blind.”

You groan, pushing against his chest to create some distance. “This is exactly why we need to keep things… professional in public.”

Tony chuckles, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “Sure. Professional. That’s exactly the vibe we give off.”

You glare at him. “I’m serious, Tony. If this gets out—”

He interrupts you with a finger pressed to your lips. “Relax. I’m not exactly running my mouth about it. What we do—” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “—or don’t do—is nobody’s business.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you hate how easily he gets to you. You know you should say something, maybe call him out for being so infuriatingly cocky, but the words catch in your throat when his hand brushes against your hip, his touch just light enough to make you ache for more.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter.

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Before you can respond—or do something stupid, like kiss him—the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you shove Tony away, nearly knocking the apple off the counter in your haste to look casual.

The door swings open, and Steve Rogers walks in, his expression as neutral as ever.

“Morning,” he says, nodding at the two of you.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice a little too high-pitched for comfort.

Tony, of course, is the picture of nonchalance. “Cap,” he says, raising his mug in a mock salute. “How’s it going?”

Steve gives him a once-over, his gaze lingering just long enough to make you sweat. But if he notices anything unusual, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and heads for the door.

“Training in ten,” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

As soon as he’s gone, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “See? This is why we need to be more careful.”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “Relax. If anyone could smell trouble, it’d be Rogers. And he didn’t say a word.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t suspect something.”

Tony smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe. But then again, maybe he just thinks you can’t resist my charm.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” He steps closer, his voice dropping to that dangerously seductive tone that makes your knees weak. “You keep coming back.”

Before you can respond, he’s gone, sauntering out of the kitchen like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You, on the other hand, are left standing there, your heart racing and your head spinning.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Tony’s fingers tangle in your hair, his lips trailing hot, demanding kisses down your neck as your back hits the soft sheets of his bed. The city lights outside cast long, flickering shadows across the room, but you barely notice. You’re far too focused on the way Tony’s hands roam your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you, the rough pads of his fingers igniting fire wherever they touch.

"You're incredible," he mutters, his voice thick with reverence and hunger as he leans back to look at you. His gaze rakes over you like you're the most exquisite thing he's ever laid eyes on, and for a moment, you're lost in the intensity of his expression. It's almost too much. Almost.

"You're not so bad yourself," you tease, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. It doesn’t matter. Tony doesn’t need words to know what he does to you.

He smirks at your reply, his trademark arrogance mingling with a rawness he rarely lets anyone see. He dives back in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that leaves you dizzy and aching. Everything about him is overwhelming in the best possible way—the taste of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the way his hands grip your hips like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go.

The night is a blur of heated whispers, tangled sheets, and the sound of your name falling from his lips like a prayer. By the time you both collapse back onto the bed, spent and panting, the world feels a little hazier, a little quieter. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his body warm against yours as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice soft but edged with that familiar playful lilt.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, your heart still racing as you close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you.

But then, his hand stills on your hip. There’s a beat of silence, followed by a quiet curse under his breath.

“What?” you ask, your voice sharp with alarm as you sit up slightly to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Tony doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls back just enough to inspect the condom in his hand—what’s left of it, anyway. The air between you shifts instantly, the charged intimacy replaced by something colder. His jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to yours, and you don’t need him to say anything to understand.

It broke.

Your stomach twists, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. You know what this means. You know the risks, the possibilities. And judging by the way Tony is staring at you, his usual confidence momentarily stripped away, he knows too.

“Okay,” you say quickly, sitting up fully and reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. We’ll handle this.”

“Handle it?” he echoes, his tone sharp. His fingers curl into a fist around the useless piece of latex, his frustration evident. “Do you have any idea—”

“Yes,” you interrupt firmly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know. But freaking out isn’t going to help.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know. But it did, and we’ll deal with it.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find something—reassurance, maybe, or some kind of solution to a problem neither of you can undo. Finally, he nods, though his jaw is still tight.

“I’ll take care of it,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “I’ll get the pill tomorrow morning. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mixture of skepticism and concern. “Not a big deal? Y/N—”

“Tony,” you cut him off, your tone firmer now. “I’m serious. It’s fine. These things happen. That’s why emergency contraception exists.”

He doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks more agitated, his mind no doubt racing through every worst-case scenario. You can practically see the calculations happening behind his eyes, his genius brain working overtime to solve a problem that can’t be solved with tech or money or wit.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching up to cup his face. His stubble is rough against your palm, but his skin is warm, grounding. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he does, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a vulnerability there, buried beneath the layers of charm and bravado he wears like armor. It’s a side of him he rarely lets anyone see, and it makes your chest ache.

“It’s going to be okay,” you say, your voice steady. “I promise.”

He exhales slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at your words. He places his hand over yours, holding it against his cheek like he’s drawing strength from your touch.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he murmurs, his tone softer now. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” you say firmly. “It just happened. And it’s not the end of the world.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze searching yours like he’s trying to gauge whether you really believe what you’re saying. You hold his gaze, willing him to see that you’re not afraid—that you’re in control, even if the situation feels precarious.

Finally, he nods again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Alright,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Now, stop overthinking it and come back to bed.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“Someone has to be,” you tease, lying back down and pulling him with you. He goes willingly, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go.

As you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you feel the tension slowly drain from his body. He still holds you a little tighter than usual, and you know the worry is still there, lurking beneath the surface. But for now, you’re both safe in the quiet cocoon of his bed, and that’s enough.

The morning sunlight spills into the bedroom, cutting through the blinds in thin golden slats. You wake up before Tony, which isn’t unusual. His arm is slung lazily over your waist, and his face is relaxed in a way that makes him look younger, softer—like he’s let go of the weight of the world, if only for a few precious hours.

You slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. Your feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and you grab one of his shirts from the edge of the bed, slipping it over your bare skin before padding out of the room. The small box you picked up from the pharmacy the night before sits on the kitchen counter, unopened. Your stomach twists as you pick it up, the weight of it heavier than it should be.

It’s not the first time you’ve taken the pill, and logically, you know what to expect. It’s supposed to be a fail-safe, a last resort. But something about the circumstances makes your chest tighten as you swallow the pill with a sip of water. The air feels thicker this morning, heavy with an unspoken tension that you can’t quite shake.

By the time Tony joins you, freshly showered and looking far too put-together for someone who stayed up so late, you’ve shoved the box deep into the trash and plastered on your best neutral expression. He doesn’t mention the pill. He doesn’t ask if you took it, though you know he’s probably been thinking about it. Instead, he leans casually against the counter and makes a joke about the kitchen being out of coffee, his easy demeanor doing little to mask the faint tension in his voice.

You don’t call him out on it. The last thing you want is to drag the conversation back into that same spiral of worry. Instead, you focus on normalcy—breakfast, half-hearted banter, the comforting rhythm of your strange, secret dynamic.

Days pass. A week. Maybe more. At first, you’re fine, brushing off the gnawing anxiety at the back of your mind. But when the calendar flips over to a new month and your period is nowhere to be found, the panic starts to creep in.

You check your phone obsessively, googling every possible explanation that isn’t what you’re afraid of. Stress, you tell yourself. Hormonal shifts. The pill can do this, right? Throw off your cycle? It’s not like your body works on a perfect schedule anyway.

And yet, as the days continue to pass, your chest tightens a little more every morning. The thought of telling Tony lingers at the edge of your mind, a shadow that grows darker every time you push it away. You think back to the night it happened, to the way he looked at you when the condom broke. The frustration, the fear—it’s all burned into your memory, and you’re not sure you can bear to see that look again.

So you don’t tell him.

When he asks casually a week later if “everything’s sorted,” you force yourself to smile and nod. “Yeah,” you say, your voice far steadier than you feel. “It was just a big scare. Everything’s fine now.”

The relief that washes over his face makes your heart sink. He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as his lips curve into an easy grin. “Good. That’s good.”

He doesn’t realize the way your stomach twists when he says it. He doesn’t notice the faint tremor in your hands as you reach for your coffee cup, your fingers brushing against the ceramic edge like it’s the only thing grounding you.

Tony doesn’t dwell on it after that. He’s good at compartmentalizing—too good, sometimes. Once he’s reassured, the topic is filed away in whatever mental vault he keeps for things he doesn’t want to think about.

But for you, it lingers.

You try to push it down, to bury it beneath layers of distraction. Missions, training, pretending that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. But every time you’re alone, the weight of the lie presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe.

You catch yourself staring at him sometimes, wondering what he would say if you told him the truth. Would he panic? Shut down? Or would he surprise you, the way he sometimes does, with a level of vulnerability that makes your heart ache? You don’t know, and the uncertainty is almost worse than the fear itself.

One night, as the two of you sit curled up on the couch watching some old black-and-white movie he insisted you’d love, you feel the words bubbling up in your throat. The urge to tell him is almost overwhelming, the silence between you stretching thin and taut like a thread about to snap.

“Tony—” you start, but he cuts you off with a lazy smirk, his hand brushing against your thigh.

“You’re not actually paying attention, are you?” he teases, nodding toward the screen.

The moment slips through your fingers like water, and you force a laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admit, though the words feel hollow in your mouth.

He grins, leaning in to kiss your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The warmth of his touch should be comforting, but all you feel is the gnawing guilt in the pit of your stomach.

Days turn into weeks. You’ve never been particularly religious, but you find yourself silently praying every night, begging for some kind of resolution that doesn’t involve your entire world unraveling. You know you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, the truth will come out, whether you want it to or not.

But for now, you cling to the fragile illusion of normalcy, pretending that everything is fine, that the ache in your chest isn’t growing louder with every passing day.

It’s late one evening when the weight of it all finally becomes too much. You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin looks paler than usual, your eyes shadowed with exhaustion. You press a hand to your stomach, your fingers trembling as you let out a shaky breath.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep pretending.

But when you step out of the bathroom and find Tony sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on his tablet with an easy smile on his face, the words die in your throat. He looks so… unburdened, so relieved.

You sit down beside him, your movements stiff and robotic. He glances at you, his expression softening as he sets the tablet aside. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You okay?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

It’s not fine. None of this is fine. But as Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, you let yourself fall into the comfort of his embrace, even if it feels like it’s built on a crumbling foundation.

Because right now, it’s easier to let him believe the lie than to face the truth.

And for better or worse, you’re not ready to let go of the fragile peace that lie has created. Not yet.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The bathroom feels colder than usual, the air thick with a kind of tension you can almost taste. You’re sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the small white stick on the sink like it’s a bomb waiting to go off. Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that it drowns out everything else—the hum of the air conditioning, the distant city sounds drifting through the window, even your own breath.

You’ve been here for what feels like an eternity, though it’s probably only been a few minutes. The instructions on the box said three minutes, but you’re too scared to look. Too scared to confirm what your body has already been hinting at for days.

Your period is ten days late. Ten.

You’ve always been irregular—stress, missions, even the pill you took that morning can throw your cycle off—but ten days? That’s more than a delay. That’s a sign.

You’re holding your breath, your hands clenched tightly around the fabric of your pajama pants. You want to stand up, to take that final step and see the result, but your legs won’t move. You’re frozen, caught between the urge to know and the overwhelming fear of what you might find.

When you finally gather the courage to stand, your knees feel shaky, like they might buckle under you. You lean over the sink, your trembling hand reaching for the pregnancy test. It takes everything in you to flip it over, to look at the little window that holds the answer to the question you’ve been too terrified to ask.

Two lines.

Positive.

You blink, your breath catching in your throat as the reality of it sinks in. For a moment, you feel like the ground beneath you has shifted, like the whole world has tilted on its axis. This can’t be real. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, as you stare at those two little lines, a strange, unexpected feeling blooms in your chest. It’s faint, fragile, but it’s there—happiness.

Your hand flies to your mouth as tears spill down your cheeks. You don’t even know why you’re crying. Is it shock? Fear? Joy? Maybe it’s all of it, a tangled knot of emotions you can’t begin to unravel.

You sink to the floor, your back against the cold bathroom tile, clutching the test in your hands like it’s a lifeline. Tears blur your vision, but you don’t wipe them away. You just sit there, letting the wave of emotions crash over you.

You love him. That’s the thought that breaks through the chaos in your mind, clear and undeniable. You love Tony Stark. Of course, you do. You’ve loved him for longer than you care to admit, longer than this arrangement of yours has been going on. And now, you’re carrying a piece of him inside you—a tiny, fragile piece that terrifies you and fills you with a strange, aching kind of hope all at once.

But then the fear creeps back in, sharp and insistent.

You think about the way he reacted that morning after the condom broke, the tension in his shoulders, the way he’d paced like he was trying to solve an unsolvable equation. You think about the relief that washed over his face when you lied and told him your period had come.

He doesn’t want this.

The thought makes your chest ache, the tears coming faster now. You know Tony. You know the walls he’s built around himself, the way he keeps people at arm’s length, even when he’s letting them into his bed. You know how hard he fights to keep control over his life, his world, his emotions.

A baby? That’s not part of his plan. Hell, you’re not even part of his plan. You’re supposed to be casual, no strings, no complications. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, here you are, clutching a pregnancy test and crying alone in the bathroom, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to navigate this new reality.

You can’t tell him. The thought hits you like a punch to the gut, but you know it’s true. You can’t tell Tony. Not now. Not when you can still see the relief in his eyes from the last time you reassured him that everything was fine.

He’ll leave. The thought makes your stomach twist painfully, but you can’t shake it. If you tell him, he’ll panic. He’ll shut down, pull away, and you’ll lose him completely. And as much as the idea of raising a child on your own terrifies you, the thought of losing Tony is worse.

So you don’t tell him.

You wipe your tears, setting the test on the counter with shaking hands. Your reflection in the mirror looks haunted, your eyes red and puffy, your cheeks streaked with tears. You take a deep breath, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to calm yourself. You need to pull it together. You need to figure out what comes next.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, staring at your reflection, trying to reconcile the life you thought you had with the one that’s suddenly, irrevocably changed.

The door to the bedroom creaks open, and your heart leaps into your throat. You scramble to compose yourself, swiping at your eyes and plastering on a shaky smile just as Tony’s voice drifts into the bathroom.

“Hey, you alright in there?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with concern.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Yeah,” you call back, your voice only wavering slightly. “Just… needed a minute.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he hums softly, like he’s satisfied with your answer. “Well, don’t take too long. I ordered breakfast, and you know how I feel about eating alone.”

You let out a weak laugh, your chest tightening at the sound of his voice. “Be right there.”

When you step out of the bathroom a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your expression carefully neutral, Tony’s already sprawled on the bed with a plate of food balanced precariously on his lap. He grins when he sees you, patting the spot beside him like nothing’s changed.

And for now, you let yourself fall into the illusion of normalcy, even as the weight of your secret presses heavily against your chest.

The air between you and Tony shifts subtly at first—so small, so gradual, that neither of you comments on it. Nights that once burned hot now fizzle out before they even begin. The once-electric tension, the playful banter that led to tangled sheets and breathless laughter, is replaced by something colder. It’s you who pulls away first. At first, it’s subtle—an excuse here, a brush-off there. “I’m not in the mood tonight,” you say, avoiding his eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed, a little too far from him.

Tony lets it go. He always does.

He’s not the type to push, and you know he’s trying to respect your space. But as the days stretch into weeks, your distance becomes harder to ignore. Every time he reaches for you, his touch hesitant but hopeful, you step just a little further out of his reach. It’s not that you don’t want him—god, you want him more than ever. But every time he’s close, every time his lips brush against your skin or his voice drops into that low, teasing tone that always used to make you weak, you feel the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone.

You don’t know how to face him, how to look him in the eye without feeling like a liar. So you pull away.

Tony notices. Of course he notices.

At first, he thinks it’s stress. You’ve been juggling missions, the chaos of your lives, the constant push and pull of being in the public eye while trying to keep your relationship—whatever it is—a secret. Stress makes sense. It’s logical, explainable. But as time goes on, and your coldness toward him hardens into something sharper, something unrelenting, the doubts creep in.

It’s late one night, and Tony’s lying in bed alone, staring up at the ceiling as the soft glow of the arc reactor casts faint, shifting patterns on the walls. You’re not there. You’d excused yourself earlier, claiming you were tired, but instead of lying down beside him like you used to, you’d retreated to the living room.

He wants to follow you, to ask what’s wrong, to tell you he misses you even though he knows it’s not the kind of thing you say to someone who’s supposed to be a casual fling. But he doesn’t. He stays in bed, his chest tight, his mind spinning with every possible explanation for your sudden distance.

Maybe you’re over him. The thought sends a sharp pang through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. People lose interest all the time. It’s normal. Expected.

But then there’s another thought, one that he tries to push down but can’t quite ignore: Maybe there’s someone else.

He hates the idea of it. Hates the way his stomach twists every time it crosses his mind. But the way you’ve been avoiding him, the way you’ve stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped touching him, stopped letting him touch you—it all feels like proof that he’s losing you.

The thing is, Tony Stark isn’t good at feelings. He’s spent his whole life hiding behind sarcasm, distractions, and whatever shiny piece of tech he can throw together to keep people from seeing the cracks beneath the surface. But you? You’ve always been different. You’re the one person who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to pretend, like he doesn’t have to be “Iron Man” all the time.

And that scares him. Because if he loses you, he doesn’t know how to go back to the person he was before.

He tries to bridge the gap one night. It’s been weeks since you let him touch you the way he used to, weeks since the warmth of your body pressed against his in the dark. So he decides to take a chance.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice tentative as he steps into the living room where you’re curled up on the couch, your knees drawn to your chest.

You glance up at him, your expression guarded, and his chest tightens.

“Hey,” he continues, trying to keep his tone light, casual, like he’s not unraveling inside. “I was thinking we could—” He hesitates, the words catching in his throat. “You know. Watch a movie or something.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m not really in the mood, Tony.”

It’s the same excuse you’ve been giving him for weeks now, and it stings just as much as it did the first time. He nods, stepping back like he’s been burned.

“Right,” he says, his voice clipped. “Of course. You’re… busy.”

You feel the weight of his disappointment, and it makes your stomach twist with guilt. You want to reach out, to tell him the truth, but the words won’t come. You’re too scared—scared of what he’ll say, scared of what he won’t say.

Tony doesn’t press the issue. He never does. Instead, he retreats back to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. But you know him well enough to know he’s hurting. You’ve seen the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, the way he avoids looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You hate it. You hate yourself for causing it.

But every time you think about telling him the truth, about letting him into the tangled mess of emotions you’re drowning in, the memory of his relief when he thought everything was fine stops you. You can’t bear the thought of seeing that same relief again, of watching him pull away from you because this—whatever this is—was never supposed to be more than just sex.

The problem is, it’s so much more for you. It always has been. And the thought of him not feeling the same way, of him walking away when he finds out about the baby, is enough to keep you silent.

So you stay distant, building walls around yourself even as your heart breaks every time you see him. And Tony, for all his brilliance, doesn’t know how to break through them.

It’s late when Tony finally breaks. The night air is cool, flowing in through the windows of the lab as he works, tinkering with something that doesn’t need fixing but still allows him to focus on something other than the gnawing feeling that’s been growing in his gut for the past few weeks.

He can’t ignore it any longer.

You’ve been so distant, so closed off. Every time he reaches for you, you pull away, your smile strained, your touch hesitant. He knows something’s wrong. You’ve been avoiding him—more than usual—and it’s like the light that once sparked in your eyes when you were around him has dimmed. You’re still there, physically, but emotionally? Mentally? He’s losing you, and he doesn’t know why.

At first, he thought it was just stress. You’ve both been running at full speed with everything going on in your lives—missions, the Avengers, the constant media circus that surrounds everything you do. But as the weeks have stretched on, and you’ve pulled further into yourself, Tony’s mind starts to wonder. He tries to brush it off, tries to tell himself that maybe you’re just going through something, or maybe you’ve just gotten tired of the arrangement you two have been navigating.

But that would mean he’s losing you, and the thought of that makes his chest ache.

He’s pacing now, a strange sense of urgency growing inside him. He can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. He can’t pretend he hasn’t noticed the way you flinch when he touches you, how you go out of your way to make excuses not to be close, to keep that emotional distance between you. It hurts. It cuts deeper than any physical wound he’s had, and if he doesn’t get to the bottom of it, he feels like he might lose himself entirely.

Without thinking, Tony heads toward the living room, his footsteps heavy as he approaches the place you’ve been hiding out in for the past hour. He’s not sure what he expects when he opens the door, but he knows he needs answers.

When you look up at him from the couch, curled up with a book in your hands, he sees it again—the sadness behind your eyes, the coldness in the way you hold yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve looked at him like that, and it hurts more than he’s willing to admit.

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice more strained than he meant it to be, “We need to talk.”

You blink at him, like you were expecting him to say something else, something easier to hear. But instead, you set the book down, letting out a long breath. “What about?”

Tony steps closer, his brow furrowed in frustration, eyes searching yours for any sign of the woman he once knew. “You’re not fine. I know you’re not. And I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay between us when it’s not.”

You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not ready to tell him, not yet, but Tony’s insistent stare makes you feel like you don’t have a choice.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on. I—” He cuts himself off, not sure if he’s about to confess something he isn’t ready for. “I hate this distance between us. I hate how you’ve been avoiding me, and I’m not going to let you shut me out. Not when I know something’s wrong. So please, just tell me.”

You stand slowly, turning away from him, eyes cast down to the floor as you try to steady your breathing. You know you can’t keep this secret any longer. He deserves to know, but you’re terrified of his reaction. Terrified that he’ll leave, or worse, that he’ll shut you out just like you’ve been doing to him.

“I—” you start, your voice cracking slightly as you turn back to face him, your words hanging in the air like a fragile glass balloon ready to pop. “Tony, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the room feels impossibly still. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest is louder than anything else. Tony’s face doesn’t change immediately, and for a second, you wonder if he’s even heard you. Maybe he didn’t catch it, didn’t really understand what you just said.

But then his eyes meet yours, and you can see the shock flicker across his face, his mouth opening as if he’s about to speak but nothing comes out.

The silence between you both stretches, and you hate it. You hate the tension that fills the space where once there was laughter, banter, comfort. You take a deep breath, the weight of your confession settling on your shoulders like an anchor, and you brace yourself for his response.

“I know you don’t want this,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I saw the way you reacted when I told you my period had come. You were relieved, and I know that means you don’t want a kid. And I—”

But Tony doesn’t let you finish. He’s already moved toward you, his expression softening, and before you even realize it, his hand is gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t know had fallen.

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his voice quieter now, but his words are firm, like he’s trying to make you understand something important. “I wasn’t relieved because I didn’t want the baby. I was relieved because I remember you saying you didn’t want kids right now.” He lets out a shaky laugh, almost embarrassed by the way his own words feel in his mouth. “I guess I got scared for a second, thinking this was all happening too fast, but it wasn’t about not wanting a kid. It was about… us. About where we are in life. I wasn’t sure if you were ready for this, for everything that comes with it.”

You stare at him, blinking as the shock of his words sinks in. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, trying to process what he’s saying. He’s not angry. He’s not freaking out. He’s—he’s relieved? And then the smile that spreads across his face is one you’ve never seen before. It’s so full of hope, of joy, that it almost knocks the wind out of you.

“You’re happy?” you whisper, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound steady.

Tony’s grin widens, and his eyes are shining with something so genuine, so raw, that it’s impossible for you to look away. “You have no idea,” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted to be a dad for a while now. I’m happy, Y/N. I’m so happy.”

The air between you both changes instantly. The heavy weight that’s been pressing down on your chest—your fear, your anxiety—lifts just a little. You feel like you can breathe again, the walls you’d built around yourself crumbling with every word he speaks.

You look up at him, your own smile breaking through the uncertainty, and before you can stop it, the words spill out. “I think I’m happy too, Tony.”

Tony’s expression softens, his eyes softening as he reaches for you, pulling you into an embrace so tight it almost feels like he’s never letting you go. You bury your face in his chest, your heart racing with a mix of emotions—relief, happiness, fear, but most of all, love.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re doing this together. Okay?”

You nod against him, your arms wrapping around his waist as if you never want to let go. “Okay,” you whisper, a quiet laugh escaping you as the weight of the moment finally settles in. “Together.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

Later that night, after the quiet joy of shared smiles and whispered promises had filled the room, the weight of the moment seemed to settle in more than ever. The excitement, the relief, the joy of the baby—all of that felt real now. But there was still one thing neither of you had addressed. The question that hung in the air just as heavily as it always had: What are we?

You weren’t sure when it started. When the blurred lines between “friends with benefits” and something more had begun to form, but you knew it was there now. It had always been there, from the moment his lips had first brushed against yours, from the first time you’d shared something deeper than just casual touch. The emotional attachment had crept in slowly, quietly, and for a long time, you had tried to ignore it.

But now, with a baby on the way and the delicate balance of your secret relationship on the verge of shifting, there was no denying it any longer.

Tony had been unusually quiet after the rush of emotions had faded, after you both had settled into your shared space on the couch, your legs tangled beneath a blanket. You’d both exchanged small touches, playful nudges, and soft words of reassurance, but as the night wore on, the air between you thickened again, and you both knew what was coming.

Tony wasn’t the type to shy away from hard conversations, especially not when it came to the things that mattered most to him. And now, with the future of your relationship hanging in the balance, he had to know: where do you two stand?

“Y/N,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence that had wrapped itself around the two of you, his voice low, hesitant. “We need to talk about… us.”

You glance up at him, your heart picking up speed at the seriousness in his tone. He’s not looking at you now, not like before, when his eyes had been filled with a bright, carefree joy. No, now his gaze is intense, studying you in a way that makes you feel exposed. Vulnerable.

“I know,” you reply softly, the words almost a whisper, your fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket. You’re nervous now, your chest tight, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. After everything that’s happened, after the whirlwind of emotions surrounding the pregnancy, now comes the quiet storm that you’ve been avoiding. The talk about what your relationship is—what it could be.

Tony shifts, his body language tense. “We’ve been doing this for a while now—casual, no strings, no commitment. But now… this changes everything.” He lets out a breath, rubbing his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away the uncertainty. “I can’t help but wonder if we’ve been fooling ourselves, pretending we’re just two people with a little arrangement. I need to know if you feel the same way I do.”

Your stomach flips at the sincerity in his voice. The seriousness of it all hits you in a way you weren’t expecting. You’ve always been good at keeping things light, at pretending that this thing between you both was just about fun, just about the thrill of being together without the complications of a real relationship. But now, with the baby coming, everything has changed.

Tony continues, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t know about you, but… I’m not just some guy you hook up with and then move on from. That’s not what I want anymore. I never thought I’d say this, but I—I want more than that with you. I think I’ve wanted more for a long time, even before we got here, and now… with the baby, I don’t know how to act like we’re just two friends. I can’t.”

You swallow, the knot in your throat tightening, making it harder to speak. You want to say the right thing, but you don’t even know what that is anymore. For so long, you’ve kept the walls up, kept yourself detached from him, from the idea of ever needing more than just him in your bed, in your life.

But now, after everything that’s happened—the broken condom, the shock of the pregnancy test, the tenderness of his touch, the way he looks at you now—you can’t pretend anymore. You know what you feel. You’ve known for a while.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. You can’t stop the truth from slipping out, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself be honest with him. “I’ve been so scared, Tony. I was scared to let myself feel more than just… this. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I didn’t want to fall for you, but I did. And now, with this… I don’t know what that means for us.”

He leans in, his hand coming to rest gently on your knee, grounding you with the warmth of his touch. “It means we figure it out. Together.”

You meet his gaze then, really look at him, and for the first time since all of this started, you feel the fear melt away, replaced by something that feels like hope, like relief. Maybe it’s too soon to figure everything out—maybe the fear will still be there tomorrow, when you wake up and face the reality of being parents together. But right now, in this moment, you realize that whatever comes next, you’re not alone.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than this,” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want us, Y/N. I want this—whatever it is—if it’s with you.”

Tears well in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “Are you sure? Because, Tony, this is… a lot. We’re talking about everything changing. Our whole lives—”

“I know,” he interrupts, cutting you off softly. “But that’s the thing, Y/N. It’s supposed to change. It’s supposed to be big. And it’s gonna be scary. But I’d rather be scared with you than pretend we’re okay with something less.”

You smile, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks, but they’re not tears of fear anymore. They’re tears of relief, of joy. “I feel the same,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anything else either. I want us.”

The air shifts around you both. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid, the uncertainty, the fear, all of it starts to dissipate in the wake of your words. In the silence that follows, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you, something unspoken but deep. You’re not just two friends anymore. You’re something more. Something real. Something that might still be terrifying, but you’re willing to take that step together.

Tony leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “We’re gonna figure this out, Y/N. We’ll do it together, okay? All of it. No more running from it. No more pretending.”

You nod, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the peace of knowing that he feels the same way. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to guard yourself, to hold back. Whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it with him by your side.

And for the first time in months, you allow yourself to feel the hope that the future might not be so terrifying after all.

“Together,” you whisper back, your voice full of resolve.

“Together,” Tony agrees, his smile softening as he leans back into the couch beside you. You both sit there for a long moment, the world outside forgotten, the future uncertain but no longer so intimidating. With each other, you feel ready for whatever comes next.

The decision to tell the Avengers comes surprisingly easy, though Tony initially overcomplicates it—as is his style. He drafts no fewer than six different ways to break the news, each one more elaborate than the last, from a staged press conference to a spontaneous "Oops, did we drop a clue?" moment during dinner. Ultimately, it’s you who insists on something simple: just sitting everyone down and saying it outright.

The team gathers in the common area after a particularly grueling mission briefing. Steve sits on one side, arms crossed in casual curiosity, while Natasha and Clint exchange knowing looks, as if they’ve already pieced together whatever you’re about to say. Thor leans back with an air of amused disinterest, and Bruce glances between you and Tony with a subtle frown, clearly trying to deduce what’s happening.

Tony clears his throat, standing with his hands shoved into his pockets—a nervous habit you’ve grown to recognize. You sit beside him, trying not to laugh at the way he fidgets like a kid preparing to confess he’s broken something.

“So,” Tony begins, his voice smooth but a little too loud, “we’ve got some news. Something big, something life-altering. Not world-ending, don’t worry—though it is arguably more exciting than an alien invasion or a helicarrier falling out of the sky.”

“Get to the point,” Natasha cuts in, raising an eyebrow, though her smirk betrays her amusement.

Tony glances at you, and you take his hand, offering him a reassuring squeeze. You look at the group, your heart racing but a soft smile playing on your lips. “We’re together,” you say simply, “and… we’re having a baby.”

The room falls silent for a beat, and then chaos ensues.

Clint immediately lets out a loud, theatrical “Called it!” while Thor booms a congratulatory cheer, clapping Tony on the back so hard he almost topples forward. Natasha simply smirks, her sharp eyes flickering with something close to approval. Steve blinks once, then twice, before nodding with a small smile. “Well,” he says, “it’s about time.”

Bruce, for his part, is the most measured. “Congratulations,” he says warmly, his expression soft as he looks between the two of you. “That’s… big news. You’ll both be great parents.”

Tony, who thrives on reactions, looks around at the mix of responses, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Wait, that’s it? No one’s shocked? No dramatic gasps? No ‘Tony Stark, settling down, what has the world come to?’”

Natasha tilts her head. “We’re not blind, Tony.”

“And you’re not exactly subtle,” Clint adds with a laugh. “The sneaking around was cute at first, but come on. The looks? The way you guys act around each other? It was only a matter of time.”

You laugh, leaning into Tony’s side as he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t care if they saw it coming—he only cares that you’re here, by his side, sharing this moment with him.

As the weeks pass and your belly starts to grow, Tony’s excitement becomes something of a full-time personality trait. He’s protective in a way that sometimes makes you laugh and sometimes makes you roll your eyes—like when he insists on scanning the ingredients of every snack you eat or hovering too closely while you climb the stairs.

“Tony, I’m pregnant, not fragile,” you remind him one evening when he’s fussing over your attempt to carry a laundry basket up from the bedroom.

“Yeah, well, you’re carrying my kid,” he retorts, taking the basket from your hands with a flourish. “And I’m not taking any chances.”

But it’s not just the protectiveness. There’s something else, something deeper. Every day, he seems more in love—not just with you, but with the idea of the life you’re building together. He tells you often how beautiful you are, how the so-called “pregnancy glow” makes you shine brighter than any reactor core he’s ever built. And when he’s not busy marveling at you, he’s completely, utterly enchanted by the baby growing inside you.

Tony spends hours talking to your belly, as if the baby can already hear and understand him. He lays his head against your stomach whenever he can, his voice soft and full of wonder as he murmurs stories about the world, about your life together, about the adventures waiting for the little one.

“You know,” he says one evening, his hand resting gently on your belly as he leans in close, “you’ve got it pretty good in there, kid. Mom’s amazing. She’s brilliant, and funny, and stubborn as hell—you’ll learn that soon enough. And me? Well, I’m not so bad either. We’re gonna be a great team, the three of us.”

You watch him, your heart swelling at the sight of the man who, not so long ago, had been the epitome of carefree, refusing to be tied down. Now, he’s the man who can’t wait to be a dad, who looks at you like you’re his entire world.

“I think they’ll be lucky to have you,” you say softly, running your fingers through his hair as he continues to talk to your belly.

Tony looks up at you, his expression tender. “Nah,” he replies, his voice teasing but warm. “They’ll be lucky to have you. I’m just along for the ride.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him, and he smiles against your lips, his hand never leaving your belly. Moments like this are becoming your new normal—quiet, intimate, filled with the kind of love that feels like it’s been there all along, waiting for the right time to bloom.

As the baby kicks for the first time a few weeks later, Tony’s excitement is nothing short of infectious. He whoops loudly, startling you for a moment before his hand immediately presses against your stomach again, his grin wide and boyish.

“Did you feel that?” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

You nod, tears springing to your eyes as you smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, your hand covering his. “I felt it.”

“That’s my kid,” he says proudly, leaning down to kiss your belly. “Already making an entrance.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart full to bursting. In moments like this, it’s hard to remember why you ever doubted this—why you ever doubted him. Tony Stark, for all his flaws, is everything you never knew you needed. And now, as you prepare to welcome the biggest adventure of your lives together, you know one thing for sure: you’re in this together, every step of the way.

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lurkingshan · 1 day ago

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Japanese QL Corner

We have officially entered another bangers only era for Japanese queer media; I am loving all of these currently airing shows. These are all streaming on Gaga or provided via fansub (feel free to ask if you don’t know where to find them).

Our Youth

This show is killing me with the quiet yearning and the push and pull and Hirukawa's whole entire deal. The way Hirukawa and Minase keep drawing closer together before stepping back. The way they have created their own little bubble in Minase's home, and how they can't be that way together in other spaces. The way Hirukawa is so desperate to be close to Minase and Minase clearly wants it too, but doesn't really understand himself yet and so keeps rejecting it. I was so sad when Hirukawa admitted he provoked his dad on purpose so that Minase would let him back in; I hope Minase will ease off on the barriers from here on out. I know something bad is coming and I just want them to have a little bit of happiness before we get there.

Love is Like a Poison

The battle couple was tested this week as we finally found out Haruto's connection to this case with an assist from the lady restaurant owner, his past as a con artist was revealed to Shiba's employer, and Shiba's boss demanded that he cut ties. I was so very proud of Shiba when he did not waver about what is most important to him, and worried when Haruto took off and left his ring behind. I'm keeping the faith, though; I don't think Haruto is leaving Shiba.

Love in the Air Koi

Okay, first of all, let me get a scream out about that sex scene, because good god did they deliver. Nagumo Shoma is a gift to us all (I will be seeing that back roll in my dreams), and I thought their chemistry now that Rei has figured himself out was fantastic. The whole sequence from the time they left the race track was beautifully shot and performed, and the intimacy felt very real. Aside from the sex, one of the things I like most about this narrative is the belief that a relationship can be the reason you get your life together rather than a distraction from your goals. Rei has all the skills, but he's been lacking focus and drive, and that's exactly what Arashi is giving him. I really liked the way this episode weaved their different subplots together to show them both working toward something, and how their success brought them together in the end. They are good for each other! I also really loved all the Rei and Kai moments in this episode, and that Kai continues to be a perceptive and supportive friend. Kai's own story is coming soon, and we got our first glimpses of it at the end of today's episode. I'm impressed with how this adaptation has streamlined the story to cover every important beat in half the time without ever short changing the relationships.

The Fragrance You Inherit

This week Sakura was reunited with her long lost love via their scheming children, and I loved every minute. My favorite thing about this drama is the relationship writing. Sakura and Toki have such a lovely bond, and I like that he realized after surprising his mom with Mone that it may have been insensitive, and that he cared enough to check in with her about it. Sakura is also a great mom, supportive of his relationship and sensitive to his feelings even as she is grappling with her own shock at this reunion. I also really love that Sakura has such a good friend in Ryosuke (who continues to flag as queer to me). I'm excited to get to know Mone better as an adult and see where the story takes us. You can find the show here, with big thanks as always to @isaksbestpillow for providing English subs.

#our youth #miseinen #love is like a poison #doku koi: doku mo sugireba koi to naru #love in the air koi #love in the air japan #kimi no tsugu kaori wa #the fragrance you inherit #japanese bl #japanese gl #japanese ql corner #shan shouts into the void

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cryptic--writing · 3 days ago

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Hiya 👋🏻

It’s not really a kinktober request, but maybe you’ll consider doing it? No pressure though))

Ajaf era James, where he was drinking a lot. He understands that that affects him and turns him into a monster. He’s afraid he’s going to hurt reader, but he can’t break up with her for her safety, he loves her too much. So he comes up with stupid plan of making her break up with him because of his behavior? So he starts to undermine her efforts, e.g. the meals she cooks “could have been better”; makes fun of her simple 9-5 job , saying that’s she lucky she can have a relaxed job cause he’s earning most of the money and covering the bills. Although she’s hurt, she is staying as she loves him and thinks it’s the alcohol talking. James, realizing his plan doesn’t work, makes the final move: after they have sex one evening, he tells her that groupies do a much better job. That’s too much for her to take so she leaves him.

Unfortunately, after break up he feels even worse. Lars is worried so he interrogates him, and drunken James confesses. So Lars finds reader and locks her in the studio with James for them to reconcile (can we have smut here)?

Few weeks later when they start recording black album, James plays her a song (which will become nothing else matters), saying that it’s his way of telling everyone how much she means to him?

I’m sorry I can’t write short asks 🥲🥲🥹🥹

You are a great writer so I really hope this will become a story 🙏🏻

hihi!

and omg its here. took me 9 days to write it lmao but yeah

i cant explain how much I loved this idea pls marry me annon

also ~~~ means POV change (yes there is James and reader pov)

this fic has legit everything so I hope y'all enjoy it bc I busted my ass on it

some parts may be confusing idk

anyways

word count: 10623

warnings: mentions of achohol/drugs, death is mentioned, toxic relationship, break up, angst, smut, fluff, I'm prob forgetting smth

OR SO I THOUGHT (1989)

It had been a rough couple months with James. I felt determined to help him with his only worsening alcoholism, though he only continued to shut me out. I could feel the guilt when he was around, but it didn't make him stop. I tried, I really did, encouraging him to talk to me, to help me help him.

It was the same sad scene every night. James would come home, probably around midnight, and I couldn't sleep without him next to me, so I was up, all those hours, wondering as I tossed and turned as to where he might be. All I knew is I was in for a scary time when he got back, but I eventually grew tough skin to deal with this. Understood that this wasn't safe for me, or him, and I stressed that so, so much to him, but James never understood. Well, he never told me he did. Maybe there was more going on in his heart I never knew about. But, of course, I could never discover as he would always close himself off so much.

It was another day where the cycle would repeat. I woke up at three am to the sound of James stumbling in, mumbling something under his breath before he plopped down on the bed beside me, and I knew well enough to hold my tongue, to not provoke him. I pretended I was asleep, which he believed, trying, or at least I think he was trying, to snuggly up next to me, but he had his back to me. His arms weren't around me. Maybe that's all I yearn for now, to be loved and held.

Once I could finally go back to sleep, I was awoken not much later by the sound of my blaring alarm. It was seven am, time to get ready for work. James is a heavy sleeper, he never woke up from my alarms, though I always rushed to turn them off, just in case they would wake him. Slipping out of bed with a groan, I observed his sprawled out body, his shoes still on. I'm glad he made it to the bed this night, as others he would end up on the couch, or in his car, or somewhere I had no idea of.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, like a mother caring for her ill son on a school day. I slipped off his shoes, trying to get him more comfortable. I scurried towards the closet to grab my work clothes for the day before getting changed in the bathroom and rummaging through our medicine cabinet, finding some pain killers and then getting him a cold glass of water, leaving the items on our bedside table. I paused to watch over him as he slept, his slow, steady breaths that rose and fell from his chest. I loved him too much to change this lifestyle. I loved every part of him, and if this was part of him, then so be it. I'll help him get better. He loves every part of me, no matter what, right?

Or so I thought.

I slipped on my heels, walking into our messy kitchen, the sink filled with unwashed dishes James was supposed to do. But, he isn't well, so I must do them for him. After washing the dishes, I brewed coffee, poured myself a cup and left some for him and began to make breakfast. James had been off lately, different to how he already was off, but that slowly became part of our normal, so one new change did not stick out too much, but this one did. I don't know what it is. He just felt… lifeless, cold, I guess. I decided to make one of his favorite breakfast meals, a nice, warm and fluffy stack of pancakes with eggs and bacon, cooked just the way he liked it. I spent extra time trying to make it the best I had. I knew they would probably be cold by the time he woke up, but hopefully he'd appreciate my effort. I ate some eggs before scrambling for a notepad, getting a pen to write him a sweet good morning note, explaining I was at work, when I'd be home, how much I loved him, and where the other meds were if he needed them. I wrote these notes almost daily, but this one I made longer and more love filled. I figured he would want my love.

Or so I thought.

I came home around six pm, the evening traffic being worse than usual. Instead of seeing James' car out of the driveway and the house dark, he was still home. The soft sound of the TV buzzing was easy to hear as I unlocked the door, walking in to see him on the couch, leaning against the couch arm and holding his head up with his hand. He was too engrossed in whatever he was watching to nice me walk in, so I tried to have him notice my presence.

“Im back, Jamie,” I said softly to not startle him, my voice filled with love as I moved to sit next to him, he looked over at me, like a confused puppy. “How are you feeling?” I asked, gently stroking his back, though he moved from my touch.

“Oh, hi. Yeah, I'm fine. Busy right now, yeah?” He mumbled as a response as he resumed watching TV once more, brushing me off with his simple, cold words. I knew I had to respect his space and not probe at him, so I just nodded with a sigh and got up, slipping off my shoes and setting my bags down,

“Are you hungry?” I asked, digging through the fridge to get things to make dinner. He didn't answer. “James, are you hungry? I can make dinner,” I offered again, noticing the cleared plate that I had made him for breakfast, the note missing. I assumed he threw it away, just like the others. I never saw them in the trash cans, but after everything piles up, you can just assume. I heard James sigh from the couch, “Uh, yeah, sure, whatever. Breakfast was cold, so I threw most of it away anyways,” He admitted, and I felt a small ache in my heart. I thought he liked the dish since there was none left on his plate, but clearly he proved me different. Why I even put effort in these things, I don't know. THats a lie, I do. I love him, and want him to know it, to feel it. I should’ve been doing this as part of my own insecurities, but to make sure he knows I'm there for him, always.

I thought of what to make for dinner, seeing if he had eaten anything since breakfast, only finding empty beer bottles and a half eaten bag of chips. It was probably only the alcohol making him act like this. I decided to make steak with potatoes, something he normally liked and said I made pretty well. It was easy to make, and I know it was one of his favorites I made him, but normally I would wait for a bigger step in life, like celebrating something about the band, or something in my career, but I knew he deserved it still.

I finished after 45 minutes, preparing the plate to be gorgeous, something I wish I could hear from his lips for once. But, he loved me. I know he thinks I'm gorgeous, he wouldn't have to tell me. Right?

“Jamie, the food's ready, I made steak,” I said warmly with a smile, setting a dinner table for us. I didn't get a response, just a grunt as he stood from the couch and walked his near empty bottle of beer, finishing it off and grabbing another from the fridge. I sat at the table, waiting for him to come and join me. His eyes landed on the plate, pulling out the chair to sit down. I couldn't read his emotions, he didn't look too happy, but he didn't look mad. He just looked.. plain. James grabbed his fork and began to eat, the metal scraping against the porcelain plate, waiting for his nod of approval. It never came. He didn't talk, but not in a way like he was mad. He just didn't speak. But he didn't need to, he didn't need to say the things I knew already. I took a breath and began to eat, and it might've been one of the best I had cooked in awhile. Perfect tenderness, juiciness, seasoning, and cooked perfectly, something you could get at a restaurant, now in our home.

“What do you think, baby? I think it's pretty good, no?” I inquired, seeking the validation I craved from him. He just shrugged.

“It's fine, I guess. It could've been better.”

It shouldn't have hurt. It really shouldn't. He just didn't like the dinner I cooked. The dinner I poured my time into. The dinner I made was special. Special for him. But, what did I know? I doubt he meant it. That's why it definitely shouldn't have hurt. He was drinking. ITs just the alcohol making him act like this. He would never say something like that to me. Why did tears prick at my eyes. Why did it actually hurt?

“Oh, uhm…. I'm sorry, I'll do better next time, do you want me to make you something else..?” I choked out, fighting back my tears.

“No, don't waste your time making something mediocre, yeah?” James insisted, insulting me bitterly once again.

I took a shaky breath, another sting to my heart. Hes. Drunk. This can't be what he means, right?

Or so I thought.

“Alright, uh, do you wanna cuddle on the couch..? We can watch anything you want? Or not watch anything, just sit together.” I offered again, pleading to get love from my partner.

“I was probably gonna go to bed. You mind cleaning up?” He pushed me away again, and every word stung. I want him to see me, to notice me, just to love me. But I reminded myself again and again, he's drunk, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it. I'm just being sensitive and pathetic. Maybe it's just my hormones.

I nodded, forcing a smile, “Sure, yeah, go ahead and go to bed, I'll clean up and join you in a bit, ok?” I informed him and he just nodded and got up, walking to the bedroom, still carrying his battle with him. My eyes stung, and once he was out of sight, I felt tears streak my face, but I continued to fight them away. I quickly got up to clear James’ and my own plate, then cleaning the kitchen, washing everything with great care to keep it tidy.

I came into the bedroom, James half asleep under the sheets. His hair was astray as he slept near the edge, his limbs tight together. The now empty beer bottle sat on the nightstand, another reminder of James’ habits. I glanced around before getting changed into my sleep clothes, a nice little night dress James had gotten me for Valentines Day earlier that year. It was nice and pink with some fluffy pieces at the bottom and lace dancing across it. It flowed nicely and hugged my body in the right places, going down to a bit above my knees. It had some other pieces, like stockings and a garter. In reality, it was more so lingerie than a bed set. But, it was one of James’ favorites for me to wear. Maybe this would make him open up more, or just show me the love I'm craving. I crawled in beside him, though I doubt he noticed the weight accompanying him, trying to cuddle closer, pressing myself against his back.

“Jamie?” I asked softly, kissing the back of his head.

“Hm.” James answered in a sleepy tone, barely aware of my presence.

“You doing ok? You've been acting differently…” I kept a quiet tone, my hands gently running down his arms and back as I pondered on what may be hurting him so much.

He took a deep and large breath, sighing, “Yeah, I'm fine… why do you ask..?” James mumbled in response.

“Nothing, you just seem off, I guess,” I rushed out. I didn't want to upset him, but he just seemed so soft and sweet, something I hadn't seen from him awhile.

“Oh, well, alright then… love you..” He mumbled out, slowly succumbing to sleep after saying the words I knew were true.

Or so I thought.

The office today was exhausting. Absurdly exhausting. And infuriating. A stuck up and snotty boss whos full of himself ordering me around to do his mundane dirty work, my co workers giving me side glances of judgment for my more rushed than normal appearance, not having as much time this morning as I had to help James with yet another hangover, getting him to the bathroom in time before he painted our bed green in vomit, making him some foods to keep him comfortable and having to buy more pain killers, my 3rd trip this month, all before heading to work. All I wanted was to come home, sleep, relax, and be held by the love of my life.

As simple as an office job 9-5 may seem, how it is not. No one else wants to do their own work, always needing some kind of assistance, and of course, I none the wiser, agree to help them.

It was another late evening with heavy traffic, not allowing me to come home until seven, again. I had stopped at the market, grabbing food and other supplies we were running low on. And more beer.

The door to the house was locked, something that had been happening more and more as I came home, only growing worries on James' worsening habits, the idea of drugs coming to mind, but I tried to shake it from my head, just wanting a nice time at home.

I unlocked the door, the house quiet except for the soft strum of a guitar in James’ mini studio, which was just an extra bedroom we had turned into a spot for him to store his instruments and for his practeing. We hoped one day for it to become a nursery, a room for our future child.

I followed the music, the half open door allowing me to peek at James, hunched over one of his explorers, fiddling with the strings as he danced around the fretboard with his talented fingers. I smiled at the sweet sight, slowly entering the room.

“Whatcha working on?” I asked, announcing my arrival home. James looked up at me, at first a smile on his face, but he quickly dropped it. His actions only confused me further.

“Uhm, not much, just… a couple riffs and stuff for the new album..” He answered, still picking at the strings with something unreadable in his eyes.

I nodded, smiling at him, “It sounds good, I'm excited to hear it,” I responded before speaking again, “Work was so exhausting today, I don't know how I put up with it anymore,” I said with a laughy sigh, trying to lighten the statement.

James just shrugged. “I mean, I don't really see how a nine to five can really be that tiring,” He disputed, but his tone sounded unsure, shaky like how it did when we first met. But there was a force, an anger of some kind.

I was even more lost with his shift in attitude, “Well, what do you mean? You don't work one, you wouldn't know,” I argued back with more aggression than I meant.

“Yeah, I don't work one. Your job is light and relaxing feather work compared to the shit I do. You are out doing twelve hours a day for months on end at a studio, being out for a year just to tour and shit, you don't make anything working that job, I'm the one paying the bills with my money.” James spat, cold and bitter. His words rung in my ears, repeating each syllable like a painful stab. My brain scrambled for reasons to understand his reaction and response to my complaint of work.

James' piercing blue eyes still starred up and me, my mouth agape in shock. Why would he act like this? He loved me. He just told me he did the other week before we went to bed. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. What is wrong in his life that I don't know about, that he wont tell me about.

My eyes scanned the room, searching for anything that might explain this behavior of his. Truly, anything that would help explain such a swift and sudden change in his mood, but deep down ZI knew, I was just looking for bottles, cans, cups, glasses, anything that would contain the fizzy and bitter liquid he loved. The only thing I could find was a half empty bottle, freshly opened next to the chair he sat in. That's it, that's why he's acting like this. He's just drunk. He doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it.

Or so I thought.

Even with my new found reasoning, his words still hurt a great amount, the pain struggling to leave. A simple insult, just telling me how I don't work as hard as him, that my job isn't as crucial as his. I took a breath, trying to control and reign in my emotions before I could meltdown in front of him for such a stupid reason. Drunken words, not filled or backed by any true thoughts. Right?

But they do say drunk words are sober thoughts.

“I- well,” I tried to speak, but I couldn't come up with the words. What would I say? I didn't want to make him any more upset than he seemed to be, but I didn't want to submit to him so easily, especially after such disrespect. But I knew better. I don't lash out, I keep him happy. We will work this out together, we have to.

“I'm just gonna go to bed,” I muttered under my breath, fighting back tears that needed to spill out, James rude comments only adding fuel to the fire that had been burning in me all day. Not a fire of anger, passion or desire, but a fire of hurt. Once I shut the bedroom door behind me silently, I broke. The bottle shattered, and my tears overflowed my face, covering my mouth as I cried, trying to calm myself down as I got ready for bed at such an early hour, even forgetting to make James something for dinner.

It was my day off, a relaxing Saturday I could use to have some me time, as James was gonna be out with the band all day as the brainstormed for the new album, which was still taking its baby steps into production, nowhere near any concept for songs yet. At Least that I knew of.

James had been really tense this week, and I had tried everything to get him to relax and cheer up. Taking him out to his favorite restaurants after I came home, making him home cooked meals, getting him gifts and all things. Though there was one thing I hadn't tried. Sex.

I spent all day dolling myself up, wanting to be as bare and beautiful as possible for James. I shaved everywhere, leaving not a single trace of hair anywhere except for my head,, of course. I scrubbed every nook and cranny of my body, putting on James’ favorite set we bought together, doing my makeup just the way he liked it, lighting the candles he got for my birthday, and dousing myself in his favorite perfume I owned. All the lights were out, except for the lowlights of the candles in the bedroom. I laid on the mattress, waiting for James to come home, hoping this would finally get him to unwind from his stress.

I heard James’ keys jingle in the door, and I could feel myself getting more and more excited for his arrival. This would be one of the few times I would have him sober, as when they worked on material they rarely drank or did anything crazy, thankfully. His shoes thudded on the wooden floors, a sigh escaping his lips as I heard him slowly walk towards the bedroom.

“Are you home?” He called out to me before approaching the bedroom door, taking in the sight of me and the room I had spent the evening preparing for this moment.

“Hey baby,” I mused with a smirk, looking up at him with loving eyes. His eyes met mine, looking warm for the first time in awhile.

“What's all this for?” He asked, still taking in the well decorated bedroom and my sexy form.

“Wanted to help you relax… you've been so stressed,” I replied, grabbing his hand to try and bring him closer, to get into the bed with me.

It didn't take much more conniving, and James had given in pretty quickly to my offer. He was being more loud than normal, probably because we hadn't had the chance to be intimate like this in awhile. I loved this so much. Well, I loved being close to James again. He wasn't hitting the right spots or focussing on pleasuring me much, but that's fine, he's the one who needed to relax anyways, and I have enough time on my hands if I wanted to please myself, I guess. It didn't take long for him to come, pulling out and painting himself on my abdomen and my breath labored, coming down from…. Well, not an orgasm, but being close to one. James was beat after that, and I don't blame him for that. He had been so busy recently, I was happy we just got to share a moment like this together again.

I laid close to him under the sheets as we both recovered, James already half asleep. I had his hand in mine, kissing each knuckle of his and more, pouting all of my love into that moment. I looked up, having felt James’ eyes on me for a while. I met his blues, and there was a slight guilt in them, a gestation and regret. But, it didn't last long as he blinked it all away, taking another breath.

“How are you feeling now? Did it make it any better?” I asked, my voice heavy with sleep as I lazily continued to press kisses to his hand.

“I mean, yeah, I guess… It wasn't like, amazing though… I've had better, normally the groupies can do a bit more than that, y’know?” James said cooly, acting as if the words he just said didn't mean anything and had no weight to them.

“What?” Was all I could muster out, the tears already filling my eyes as I tried to process all of this.

“You heard me, the groupies normally do better.”

The words came so normally from his mouth, as if he was just telling me the date and time. But no, he was comparing me to prostitutes, previous women he has slept with. I began to cry, not just out of hurt and sadness, but this time anger. How could he say something like that to me?

And then the worst part hit.

He was sober.

Something I would've wanted more than anything else just a few days ago is now what is causing this experience to be even worse than it is with the horrible comparison and insults James had spewn at me. He meant it. Alcohol was toying with his brain, making him into the aggravated man I had grown to know quite well over the years.

“Are… are you serious? After everything? I put myself through hell to deal with this, to go to work, to do EVERYTHING for you! I have tried so hard James. And Yet you still compare me to them?! Sluts with prices on their heads?!” I cried, anger and hurt filling the fire in my eyes, and I could swear I saw Jamw\es’ cold attitude falter for just a moment. Maybe it was what I was hoping for, that it was all an act, that he truly did love me deep down, but maybe he didn't. Maybe this is the truth I had been hiding from all these months.

James didn't res;ond, just sighing with a shrug.

That's what pushed me over the edge.

“Are you fucki ng serious? You're not even gonna try and fight for this? Get out of here! We're done. Since you don't appreciate anything I do for you nowadays, I don't want you in here anymore. Pack your shit and leave.” I cursed at him as I continued to sob, processing the moments that passed, feeling as if the earth was slowing, each second hitting me hard and heavy.

I could see a slight guilt in James’ eyes, and as much I wanted to believe it was true, I couldn't give it in myself to do that anymore. I couldn't keep living this lie. He nodded, staying silent as I cried, slipping on his clothes and grabbing some things he'd need for the night.

“I loved you because you loved me, or so I thought you loved me, truly you don't give a shit!” I called out again, hearing James breath hitch at my harsh words, but he just left. No goodbye, the final words spoken to us only filled with hate and hurt, though millions went unspoken.

— —- — —> A FEW MONTHS LATER…

Not a lot has happened since I broke up with James, but a lot has changed. Maybe for the better. I miss him terribly, but a lot of weight is off of my shoulders now. I'm no longer worrying about having to make elaborate meals for him, or to do everything in my power to make him happy as [possible, watching my words at all times to make sure I wont say anything that might upset him. It was a large change. The house is still cold like how it was with him, but its a different kind of cold. There is no warmth of another body. Its quiet, no more TV static and laughter or guitar. Work had only gotten more tiring, but I had recently gotten promoted, something I had wanted for a long, long time.

I haven't spoken to James since we broke up. I know he had come by the next day, as when he left that night he only took clothes to last him the night, and when I came home from work, all of his belongings were gone, and his spare key was left on the counter, all of his music gear out of the house, leaving me a now empty room, not to house his guitars, and no longer holding the hopes and dreams of a future child.

Or so I thought all of his stuff was gone.

I came home after work, the house dark and silent, turning on the lights before going into the former music room, which had now become my office for the time being, as I needed one for the promotion, to be able to have a comfortable spot where I could do other work tasks from home. I set down my purse, sitting in my computer chair and sliding off my heels. I saw something in the corner of my eye, something that somehow had never caught my eye all these months.

An ashtray, repurposed to hold James’ many guitar picks. It was behind a lamp that was in the corner of the room on an end table. There was more than just guitar pics, but one of his rings. Like the ones he always wore on stage, the cool reflective metal that shone brightly under the spotlight. I paused, only having gotten one heel off, so confused as to how I never noticed. I sat in this same chair, facing the same direction, taking my heels off the same each day. I quickly got the other off before walking towards the table, picking up the ashtray, having remnants of cigarette butts and ash, some of which covered the pics. There had to be at least 20 of those pics, I don't know how James could forget such a thing, along with one of his more favorite rings. He wore it when we met, but I never made the connection as to that being the reason he left it. I missed him, yes, but having these almost made it worse. Like the world was teasing me that he is gone, that I won't be able to be held by him again, because he doesnt love me anymore. How I still love him, I don't know. Part of me still wants to believe he never meant any of it, but the chances of that being true is slim now. But, I didn't have the heart to call him, to return them to him. He would have come to get them by now, right?

I picked up the cold metal, holding it in my hand before slipping it on my ring finger. It was too large, slipping off quite easily. I tried the next, my middle finger, and it fit well enough to not fall off. It felt so wrong to wear, but it made me feel closer to him. I hated it, but I loved it. A little piece of him to be with me always. ‘God, I sound like a wife mourning her husband who died in a war.’ Was all I could think to myself, setting back down the ash tray and taking off the ring before sitting back down in my office chair, trying to shake my head of the matter so I could focus on the important task at hand, work.

I spent about two hours on the assignment before finishing it among other things, now exhausted even further. I stumbled towards the bedroom, changing into my pajama pants and a sleep shirt. Since the break up, I have refused to wear or even look at the clothes sJames had bought me. I didn't feel any desire to wear those things now that I knew he would be the one to see me in them. I never really wanted to wear clothes like that, but knowing he liked it made me like it. Now that he's gone, so is that enjoyment. I layed down on the mattress, sinking down as it swallowed me and the day whole. I had gotten used to the loneliness of sleeping alone, even after having a body next to me for the last four years. Maybe it was an easier adjustment as towards the end it was like sleeping next to no one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last few months are hard to describe. I can't explain it, I really can't. I've never been more lonely in my life, drowning all of my sorrows in the bitter bottles that wasted away each night and day. I've tried putting my energy elsewhere, focusing more on the band than I was earlier, trying to pour my emotions into guitar and lyrics, but nothing works. Nothing matches what I once had. What I threw away. What I ruined. Though, all my life, through all my struggles, there was one thing I learned.

Mask your emotions, hide your turmoil. It's something I had quickly gotten good at from a young age.

Or so I thought.

I went out for drinks with Lars to discuss lyrics and other parts of music for the record, as we normally had for our other productions and everything. We had another few weeks before we went into the studio, where we planned to record for many months, wanting this release to be the best we ever had.

Before I had even gone out to the bar with Lars, I had already had a few bars at home, or what I had tried to make into my home. It was a home, yeah, but it didn't feel homey. There was no warmth or touch to it to make it seem whimsical or joyful. I know I have a problem, but what is there I can do.

When I got there, Lars’s car was already outside, and I knew I was late by thirty minutes, having to build up the motivation to leave the house for a reason other than food, so trying to get up and socialize and talk about important stuff was not on my top choices to do.

I trudged in, my eyes darting around for the Danish, who was never that hard to find. And as I expected, I found him somewhat quickly, taking a seat next to him and ordering a drink for myself.

“Hey man, where the fock have you been? Been waiting here ages for ya,” Lars commented with his laugh, sipping on his own drink.

I just shrugged, “Sorry man, there was just…” I tried to think of a reasonable excuse, but none could come to mind. “Traffic, y’know, it gets bad around five or six, all those people getting off of work,” I explained, thinking I was an expert at this facade.

“Alright, whatever you say. Let's get to work now, yeah?” Lars tried to believe me, but it was clear he knew there was something more to what I said.

I just nodded, “Yeah,” I answered, and Lars took out his notepad where he already had some ideas for songs. The mask was as strong as stone, no way to see in.

Or so I thought.

Lars looked back to me, a thought popping back in his mind, “Traffic? There's normally not much in this area, I mean before you moved out of that place, shit, traffic was bad, but here? No way,” Lars questioned me, no longer believing a word I had said.

“Well, I guess it was just different today…” I muttered, “Let's just start now, leave it be,”. Lars agreed reluctantly, and soon we were sharing ideas sas I jotted down lyrics, Lars taking turns as we debated on the new project.

Of course, as we worked, we were drinking. Me more than him, and it was getting me tipsy, and then drunk. Normally we wouldn't get drunk during lyric writing, just a bit.. Wobbly, I guess. We were just reviewing the lyrics for the third song we were jotting up and I had ordered another drink.

“Jesus man, you only focused on drinking? We got shit to do!” Lars complained to me, and I just shrugged. “Sorry, got my priorities here…” I joked, and Lars only gave a pity laugh.

“Is something up? You've been acting weird as hell for the last few months. We barely see you anymore, and when we do, you're late.” He informed me firmly, clearly not wanting to put up with my demeanor much longer.

“I'm fine, didn't I already tell you that?” I responded, and at this point I just wanted to go home. “Well, you can tell me it a million fuckin’ times and that doesnyt mean Ill believe you,” He rebuttled, and I sighed. “So, what's up with you?”

I didn't want to answer, well sober me would've deflected. But drunk me? He doesn't have much of a filter. Who does when they're drunk anyways?

“Nothings up with me, just dealing with shit…” I answered, taking another sip of my drink.

“Ok, well dealing with what?”

“The breakup, and everything,” I answered, my eyes avoiding Lars’s own.

“Ohh, yeah, I see. What happened anyways? You never went into detail, just saying she kicked you out in the middle of the night. The fuck did you do to her?” He laughed, but the sting of the memories still remained.

“I.. well, I told her she was a shit cook, lazy, didnt work as hard me, and that groupies fuck better,” I admitted. Lars' face changed from a small smile to a look of shock.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah”

“What would make you say something like that?! That's totally messed up!” I knew this would be shocking, especially coming from me to say something like that. But I didn't expect him to be this shocked.

“No, I did it for a reason, I'm not just some asshole! I didn't want to break up with her, and I didnt want her to break up with me, but I knew I had to get her to break up with me. I keep drinking, and it makes me into… I don't know, I'm a different person and I don't want to hurt her. The only option was to force her to break up with me.” I tried to explain, but Lars was quick to respond.

“Only option?! Have you heard of rehab? Getting help? Did she just let you waste away?”

“I didn't want to go to rehab either, and no, she did try to help, but I don't want help…” It was getting embarrassing at this point, showing how weak I had become.

“James, not everything is about what you want! There's things you need to do, but you don't want to. Those are just as important.” He paused, hoping my worlds would process through me as he thought of an idea. “How about this, clean up your act a bit and I'll get her back over here and you can go back to paradise, alright?” Lars offered and I perked up a bit.

“How the hell do you expect her to come back to me after all of that?”

“I never said she'd come back to you, I said I can get her over here, make you guys talk or something.” He corrected me, and I just rolled my eyes.

“Well how are you gonna get her to come here? She probably hates me at this point,”

“I have my ways, we were closer friends than you probably remember,” Lars’ words didn't help. He could never explain his plan, and that's what always ticked me off about him.

“Fine, whatever, work your midget magic or something,” I muttered under my breath.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Nothing, nothing, just do whatever it is, alright?”

“Fine.”

— — — — > A WEEK LATER…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time moves slow these days. But not in a bad way, it was nice that life was hitting the breaks a bit instead of the pedal. Though, that joy wouldn't last long.

I sat in my office chair at work, working on some papers my boss had handed me a few minutes ago. He was giving me stack after stack after stack of papers today, all coming with my promotion I got a bit back. More money means more work, and more work means more money, so I guess it isn't all too bad in the long run. I glanced up from my paper, eyeing the now double repurposed ashtray, one being made for the intents of cigarette butts, then guitar pics, and now it held my keys and some other trinkets, including one singular guitar pic of James, one of his favorites.

I was startled out of my thoughts by hearing the office phone ring, quickly reaching to grab it, assuming it was a customer call.

“Hi, this is Capital Advisors, how can I help you?” I offered in a cheery tone, but the voice I heard response was not what I had expected.

“Hey man, look, it's Lars, something happened to James, you mind heading down to the studio?”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sure, Lars and I were close, but we haven't talked much since James and I’s break up. My words caught in my throat, processing the second half. “Something happened to James? What happened? Is he ok?” Even though he proved himself worthy of a break up, I still couldn't shake my love and worry for him.

“Uhhhh, yeah, no, sure he's fine, but you just needa come to the studio?” Lars rambled, not sure how to keep up his lie.

“Ok, yeah, of course, when do I need to be there?” My mind was racing, Lars wasn't being direct with what happened, so my mind could only think of the worst. He always poland things off to make them not seem as bad as they were. What if James fell and hurt himself? Overdosed on something? Only darker thoughts hit my mind.

“Like, now, this can't wait,” Lars demanded, and I had no choice but to agree.

“Yeah, I will be there as soon as I can, ok? Tell him I’ll be there soon, I don't want him to worry,” I gave in and then Lars thanked me and hung up.

Now I don't know what to do. My boss wasn't the type of person to just let me leave whenever I want, and I had already promised to Lars I would be there immediately. Though, my worries got the best of me and I quickly began to gather my stuff together. I grabbed my keys and my purse, quickly heading to my boss's office.

I always hated going in here, it was freezing since the AC was always blasted, and it reeked of musty air freshener. I gently knocked on the door before I heard his baritone voice respond, telling me to come in. I entered, seeing him sitting there, filing papers.

“Can I help you?” He said in a monotone voice, opening and shutting cabinets.

“Yes, I need to leave, like right now. ITs an emergency, family matter,” I tried to briefly explain, but it didn't take long for him to come up with a new response.

“Emergency? Of what? Is someone dying?” His eyes looked up from his papers, meeting mine as he waited for an answer.

“I… Well, I don't know,” I muttered, and it was true, I really didn't. With Lars’ vagueness, I tru;y didn't have a reason to not assume James was already on his deathbed.

“How can you not know?” He questioned me as if I was stupid, then noticing my pale and shaky look of true worry, “Fine, yes, you can go, but you're leaving three hours early. I want you working those hours back tomorrow. Understood?” He finally made an offer, and I quickly accepted without hesitation.

“Yes, thank you, and I'm sorry,” I responded with a smile and a nod, quickly leaving the office and getting to my car as fast as possible. Lars never specified where exactly the studio was, but I had been there a few times with James to hear them practice and record. I did my best to remember the way there, speeding in some places and having to make a couple U turns to figure out the exact spot. The whole time my head was buzzing, I could not think of one normal reason as to why James would want me there. He clearly didn’t like me much towards the end, even though I still like to think he never meant it and that it was only the alcohol talking, but I was probably wrong. Why did I still care so much after being so wrongfully disrespected? Part of me still loved him. Still wanted to wake up next to him every morning, hear the faint strumming of a guitar whenever I came home from work. Now those days were gone, and never looked like they would return. I still worried for the worst for James, endless horrid possibilities arising in my brain, all trying to piece the puzzle together.

When I finally pulled up, I saw two other cars out in front, not seeing James’ car, assuming Lars gave him a ride and KIrk giving Jason one. No cop cars or ambulances or fire trucks, so he isn't dying, or maybe they already left. Maybe I was too late?

I quickly got out of the car, almost running to the studio door, knocking until Lars came and opened it for me.

“Hey! There you are, took ya long eno-” Lars was quickly cut off by my own anxieties.

“Where is he? Is he ok? Was I not fast enough?” I quickly voiced out, my eyes darting around the inside and searching for him.

“Yeah, relax. He's fine. He's inside-”

“If he's fine then why did you make me come here from work?! I thought he was dying or something crazy,” I cut him off, questioning his efforts.

“No, none of that, you worry too much. He just wants to talk with you,” Lars answered, and my previous worries and a new suspicion grew in me.

“Just want to talk? Last time I talked with him he was critiquing me! He hates me! He doesn't want anything to do with me!” I voiced the feelings that had been clawing at me for months, never having anyone to tell them to.

“Or so you think. Look, just talk to him, that's all this is, ok?” Lars grew tired of my attitude and clearly I would have to give in soon.

“I want to, I want to talk to him, but I doubt he wants to talk to me,” I responded, trying to further explain my hesitations.

“I just told you that he wants to talk to you! Go in there, please!” Lars pleaded with me, and I sighed, finally agreeing.

“Ok, ok, I will,” I answered, beginning to head into the studio.

“Thank you! He's just down the hall, in that room with the sound equipment and everything,” Lars informed me, and I followed him, seeing James hunched over a table, scribbling down on a piece of paper. My heart was racing now. I hadn't seen him since that night. I didn't know what I would say to him, I was worried what he would say to me.

Then he looked up at me.

His cold, piercing blue eyes, a newfound softness in them as our eyes met. I avoided his eyes, but felt his lingering on me. Lars guided me in, shutting the door behind himself, leaving us alone. I was unsure of what to say, my eyes lingering on the floor, hearing James set down his pen.

“Uh… hi…” He started, probably just as unsure as I was.

“Hi,” I responded back shyly, avoiding his gaze, though I could still feel his own on me. The sound of footsteps approached me, instantly recognizing them as James’, and then I heard a click. Lars had locked us in here, now forced to talk.

“I.. I'm sorry, I really am,” He mumbled, and I looked up at him, seeing a true guilt in his eyes, “I wish I didn't do it, that I didn't say those things, that I didn't make you hurt so much like that… I should’ve been much more, well, mature about it. I feel like shit for everything,” James explained to me, but this only caused me to have more and more questions.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice still a hushed whisper as a wave of various emotions crashed down on me. “I had reasons for what I did, I just wish I went about it differently. I wish I had listened to you when you had offered me help. I didn't want to hurt you with my habits, and I couldn't break up with you, I didn't want to be the one to do that, so… so I tried to make you break up with me, and you did. Everything I said, it was a lie. I never meant it. You're a great cook, you work hard, you're just… you're amazing, you're too good for me.” James confessed, and I could feel a bit of the cold melt away, though still a hurt in my heart.

“Then why make me come and tell me all of this? This would only pour salt in that wound, no?” I was still confused at why he would make such an effort, but I still found it touching.

“Because I still love you. I want things back the way they were. I swear on everything, I've changed. I miss you more than anything-” I cut him off with a sweet kiss to his lips, and he melted into me, wrapping his arms around me in a comforting and loving embrace.

After James pulled away, he looked me in my eyes, “How could you forgive me for saying all of that to you?” He began, “Id think you would just… hate me, I was a total jerk,”

“Or so you'd think. I still love you and miss you more than you could imagine,” I responded with a small smile, and James matched mine, kissing me again. “Can… can I show you how much I've missed you?” James asked in a mumbled tone, clearly a bit embarrassed. My cheeks heated up at his offer and I giggled, nodding as our lips met a third time, a new hunger and desire now displayed. Slowly, he walked me to the table until I had backed up into it, his hands trailing up my sides until we broke away, his lips now going down my neck, eliciting a needy whine from the back of my throat, my hands pulling him closer, snaking under his shirt to trace his skin.

James’s fingers slipped under my shirt, working to get it off of my head, leaving my neck for only a second to remove the fabric before attaching himself to my sensitive flesh, feeling him suck and nibble, definitely leaving bruises. He gave a more harsh bite, causing me to whimper, then soothing it over with his tongue before pulling away. Soon his gaze focused on my breasts, still confined with my bra. His eyes met mine again, “Can I take it off?” He asked ,already reaching around my back to work on the clasp, which had become an easy task for him. I nodded, and soon the garment was now on the floor with my shirt. The cold air caused my nipples to erect immediately, and James’ eyes were locked on them, cupping the in his hands as he squeezed them and pinched at my nipples, making me make high needy sounds, causing him to smirk, kissing around the soft flesh, teasing me with every movement he made.

I began to claw at his shirt, trying to take it off of him, so he reluctantly pulled away from my chest, removing his own shirt, giving me a view I had missed more than I care to admit. My eyes dragged slowly over the newly exposed skin, and his lips crashed down on mine again, pushing me back so far I was now laying down on the table, the cold wood causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. I tugged at James’ pants, feeling myself grow wetter at the moment. He slipped down his pants, leaving him in only his boxers as you pulled down my skirt, leaving me in only my panties. I could see the bulge in his final layer grow at the new sight, and then he got on his knees, gripping the sides of my aunties and taking them off in a swift motion, leaving my glistening folds exposed to his hungry view.. His warm lips teased my thighs, kissing around the area I needed him most, making me writhe with desire. Eventually, his tongue found my center, giving it soft licks at first, parting my folds with his tongue. A moan escaped my throat, and James took it as his sign to keep going, burying his face between my thighs. He licked and sucked at my hole, probing at it with his tongue as his nose nudged my sensitive clit. My hand snaked into his long blonde locks, gripping his scalp tightly as I pulled him closer. I could hear him groan into my flesh, causing a vibration to coarse through me, making me moan again as I came closer to my first high. Eventually James moved further up, giving more attention to my aching clit, giving it gentle licks first to tease me before sucking it into his mouth, biting it softly, making me squeal from his ministrations.

“Jamei, fuck, Im gonna cum,” I whined out, tugging on hair harder, causing him to let out another low groan as he continued to feast on me. “Cum for me pretty girl,” He mumbled into my flesh, and like that my orgasm washed over me, a breathy moan falling my lips, feeling my core pulsate , releasing my grip on James’ head, allowing him to pull back.

James chin was drenched in my essence and his spit, some caught in his facial hair, wiping it off on the back of his hand. I dont think Ive seen anything hotter. His eyes landed on mine, and I noticed a lustful darkness in them, kissing me again as our tongues tangled in a battle for dominance, James winning in the end, and soon his boxers were on the ground, both of us bare in front of each other again.

JAmes broke the kiss, trailing his lips down my neck, leaving new hickeys and bruises in his wake as they now peppered my neck. I felt his tip at my entrance and I squirmed, his lips leaving my bruised flesh. “You ready, baby?” He asked, taking my hand in his, and I nodded, feeling him slowly push into me, the stretching sensation stinging my insides, a delicious stretch my body had missed as I tried to accommodate his size. Once he was to the hilt, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, squeezing his hand tightly.

I gave him a look of a need, and he gook note, slowly beginning to pump his hips, untwining our fingers as he positioned himself with better support, placing his arms on either side of my head. With every thrust a moan escaped my throat, tears pricking at my eyes from the pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so tight… haven't had anything since me, hmmm?” James whispered to me, and I could only whine in response, his calloused fingers sneaking down to my clit, brushing the bud lightly with the pad of thumb, and I began to squirm around his cock, feeling his thrusts increase with speed, more grunts falling from James.

The table I laid on creaked beneath from our frevorus movements of need, completely forgetting we were still in the studio. The band was still in that studio. This room wasn't for recording, very little sound blockers. Anyone in this building could hear us. The thought didn't pass my mind once throughout the whole experience, only focused and becoming closer with James once again, not just in body, but in our connection reforming with every minstration from either of us.

James' thrusts grew relentless, only increasing the pleasure for both of us as he chased his own high, helping me with mine, continuing to toy with and stroke my clit, moans and whines leaving me with any movement he made. “So pretty like this, baby, taking me so well,” He groaned, his small grunts and moans filling my ears like sweet music. I began to buck my hips, knowing that my orgasm was approaching, James not far behind, his vocal expression of pleasure growing in number and volume, mixing with my own mewls and moans, that and the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, my nails clawing his back.

My eyes began to roll back, James’ name falling from my lips a thousand times as my legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him deeper to finally bring me to edge. James noticed and thrusted harder, hitting that special spot with every movement, making me have to cover my mouth with my hand, the unholy noises escaping me growing too loud for us to stay secret. James disapproved, “Mmmm, don't do that baby, let me hear you cum around my cock,” He cooed, and that was all the encouragement I needed to come over the edge, a high pitched moan coming from me, feeling my walls clamp down on James’ length, pulsating as waves of pleasure cascaded over me. James helped me ride through it, still rubbing my sensitive nub, his thrusts losing rhythm as he approached his own high.

“Fuck, sweetie, gonna cum inside you…” He grunted, his pace increasing as his movement became erratic with pleasure. “Take it, take it like a good girl, baby,” He moaned, his load shooting deep inside of me and painting my walls white with his seed. His hips sputtered, bucking into me as he collapsed on top of me, our sweaty foreheads clinging together as we both recovered from the intense orgasms, trying to catch our breath. James pressed soft, lazy kisses around my face, reminding me how much he loved me and how he'd never hurt me again if given the chance.

After a moment, we both had come down from our highs, James’ softening member sliding out of me with a pop. He looked down at the mess between my thighs, all evidence of our pleasure with each other. “Youre fuckin’ perfect,” He muttered, his eyes dragging over me.

“Are the groupies still better?” I teased him, remembering our bickering that was one real, or so I thought it was real fighting.

“Oh, hell no, they don't stand a chance to this,” He responded with a smile, and I smiled back.

We cleaned up, slipping back on our clothes so we were somewhat presentable. Only now did the realization that we were never once alone in this studio and the rest of the band was outside had hit me. A wave of embarrassment flowed over me, my cheeks flushing even more than they were before given the previous activities. Both James and I looked quite disheveled, our hair a mess and clothes wrinkled. I tried to shake off whatever nervousness I had in me as James put his arm around me. We went to reach for the door handle, only to find out it was still locked. Now it would be even more awkward. James knocked on the door from the inside, calling out to Lars, or anyone else in the studio.

“Guys? Lars? Can someone unlock the door?” And it wasn't long before footsteps approached, hearing a key click as the door swung open, Lars, more curious than ever eyed both my own and James’ appearance, noticing the hickeys, the slight wobble I gave, and any other imperfections that we might have displayed.

“I take it you two worked things out?”

— — — — > A FEW WEEKS LATER…

It had taken some time, a lot of talking, and more than just one hook up for James and I to work out any other issues that we had with each other. We met up a lot in the recent weeks after that, discussing different ways on how to help James with his drinking, and just trying to regain eachothers trust.

Soon enough though, James had moved back in with me. I kept my office space, but now the room was split in two halves. I worked in one half, while James did his guitar work in the other half. It was a fairly large room, so we both had our own spaces and rarely bothered each other. If I had a work call or anything that required silence, James would just migrate to the living room.

It was the same old schedule we had all those months ago, and I was now returning from work. It was Friday, now I would have plenty of time to relax and be with James. I pulled into the driveway, parking and getting out of my car as I walked up to the porch, the click of my heels following my steps on the cement. The lights were on, the door unlocked. I could hear a faint strumming coming from inside, meaning James was hard at work on new material for the album. It was my favorite thing to listen to while doing work assignments at home.

I walked in with a huff, setting down my purse and keys on the counter before heading to the shared office space. James wasn't playing much, just sounded like scales and chords for his warm ups. “How was work, baby?” James greeted me, still focused on his guitar. “It was a bit tiring, but it was good. I think my boss is starting to like me,” I answered, settling into my chair. He nodded in response, going back to fiddling with the strings.

It wasn't until a little later a soft, sweet and melodic tune had hit my ears. Much different than what Metallica normally plates. James hummed along to it, almost like he had lyrics already written out. But knowing him, he probably did.

“What are you playing? It sounds really nice,” I started, listening to a few more notes before continuing, “It's not what you guys normally play,” I commented, and James let out a deep hum in response. “Just something new I'm working on,” He replied, and I nodded, getting back to work.

Only this time, I couldn't focus. Normally James’s music helped me to focus, becoming a comforting background noise. This time though, I couldn't get my mind off of that melody. He kept going, and each second I kept getting more and more captivated by it.

“That songs really pretty, I like it,” I said, scribbling down whatever notes I couldnt on a piece of paper. “Thanks, it's actually, uhm..” He trailed off, and I knew something was up. I spun around in my chair, going to face him. “It's what?” I asked, confused by his shy demeanor.

“It's called ‘Nothing Else Matters’,” He stated, finally stopping picking at the strings. “Nothing Else Matters?” I repeated, connecting whatever the lyrics might be in my head to the melody. Normally their slower, melodic songs were dark and heavy topics, so I expected the same with this one.

“Yeah,” James answered, “I wrote the lyrics about you, actually,” He muttered softly, though I still picked it up. “About me?” I questioned, slightly shocked. “Yeah… I've thought a lot about, well, everything recently. Ever since that point a few months back I've reflected and everything… Rumors spread, and I just want everyone out there to get the right idea,” He paused, searching for the right words, “I want people out there to know that you're all I care about, you mean more than the world to me, and I want everyone to know that,” He stated, his tone true and emotional. I had never heard him say sweeter words to me, and I knew that he was speaking nothing other than the truth, I could see it in his eyes, there's a way to read people, and James wasn't easy to read, but you soon could learn the lingo.

“That means a lot to me, Jamie,” I answered, smiling at him. I got up from my chair to sit next to him on the couch, leaning against him. “Thank you,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “You don't need to thank me, sweetheart,” James responded, wrapping his arm around me.

And now, I knew my whole world was whole again. What was once hatred, or so I thought was hatred, was once again love, everything as it should be.

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