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omgeto · 2 years ago

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☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR PROFESSOR — NANAMI, TOJI, GETO, GOJO.

summary: you have sex with your professor. for many different reasons.

wc: 4.2k (each of these were meant to be 500 words long so idk what happened)

cw: smutty smut afab!reader who's in university, mutual masturbation, spanking, semi public sex, toji is not a professor but a gym coach who rails you in a supply closet, but theres a lot of sex on a lot of desks so mdni.

an: theres actually a smidge of plot in this just a tiny bit if you do a deep squint, but the smut id personally say is my best yet. so give it a chance people, but come for the smut stay for the dialogue. hope you enjoy! not proofread ignore mistakes pls

☆ NANAMI

nanami kento, was the strictest teacher you have ever had. you couldn’t get away with your usual tricks that you did with some of your other professors — strutting past their office during office hours in your skimpiest clothes to get a better grade. it was as if nanami was immune to all your devices.

but with a big exam coming up, you knew you had to make something happen since studying was not your forte. so you were prepared to do anything to get that A.

“come in," his deep voice calls from inside.

as you enter his office, you are met with the sight of your professor, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, reviewing a stack of papers. he glances up at you briefly before returning his attention to his work.

"what can I help you with?" he ask, his tone professional.

“i wanted to see if we could talk about the exam you set for us tomorrow,” you start to say, his eyes still focused on his papers, not sparing you a glance. “i was thinking we could figure out a way for me to get extra credit… sir.”

you had his attention now. technically you’ve always had his attention — yes nanami was different to all the other professors you’ve ever had but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a man at the end of the day.

he always noticed the way you’d sit in his classroom, your pouty mouth always gnawing at your pencil as you never had a clue what was going on. nanami always had to hide his dick feeling tight in his trousers whenever you walk into his classroom. little did you know that you actually would’ve failed his class a long time ago, but because he just couldn’t let go of the sight of how your pretty tits bounce everytime you raise your hand, he always made you pass.

“well what are you willing to do for that extra credit?” he says, his tone slightly amused.

“whatever you want” you respond a bit too eagerly, you were coming onto him hard. but it was working, you could already see the crack in his usual stoic facade. “c’mon professor nanami, i need to pass this class,” you practically beg.

“oh yeah, you definitely need to pass this exam, you’re one more failed exam to flunking my whole class,” he affirms — lying through his teeth. “so i think you should come sit up here, and show me what you’re willing to do huh.”

suddenly, you start to feel nervous. usually you’d have control of the situation, you’d flaunt your ass, fuck your teacher and get an A, easily. but this time, you could see in nanami’s eyes that from when you entered his office — that he was running the show.

you saunter over his desk, and he pushes his seat back allowing you to have room to perch on his desk in front of him. “take off your shirt,” he commands, and you’re quick to fling off your top — that was barely covering anything anyways, “wow no bra, why am i not surprised.” he stares at your hardened nipples smirking as he continues to say, “you know i see your nipples peeking at me through your shit all the time in class.”

“really?” you question coyly.

“you don’t think i see how you practically fuck yourself in your seat when i’m doing a reading,” he continues, his arms folding as if he was telling you off, “a bit disrespectful, right?”

“no i-it’s just i really like the sound of your voice,” you stammer, embarrassed at him calling you out. you couldn’t deny that your professor was hot, everybody thought so and you hated school the only thing that got you through your classes was your day dreams of him fucking you.

“oh really, well i wanna see you get off to it for real this time.”

“wha—”

“touch yourself,” he demands with a grin, “fuck yourself on your fingers, put on a show for me,” he loosens his tie, and unbuttons his cuffs, ready to watch you perform for him, “and if you do well, then we could talk about your extra credit.”

you take off your pants, your hands moving directly to your throbbing pussy — since of course you had no panties on. you press your thumb down on your clit as your fingers work their way into your cunt. you were already soaked, just from hearing your professor speak to you, so it was easy to slide your digits in and out of you.

nanami’s grin grows wider, loving the way your work your pussy, “you not gonna play with your tits?” and you take his hint, your other hand sliding up to cup one of your boobs, your fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. “good girl,” he praises.

you add another finger inside of you, writhing down hard on his desk against your digits. you quicken your pace, rubbing your thumb vigorously against your clit. his gaze on you served as an encouragement, your ultimate goal was shifted, at this point you didn’t care whether he passed or failed you — you just wanted to put on a good show for him.

“you gonna cum for me?” he taunts, the sound of your pussy squelching around your fingers as you drive them in is like music to his ears. you barely even noticed him fisting his dick, stroking it hard — matching the pace of your fingers hammers your cunt. “you gonna make a big mess for me all over my desk?”

“professor i-” you whine, wanting more than just your own fingers inside of you, “please i need—”

“professor? what was it that you called me earlier?” he teases, “remind me of that and then maybe i’ll give you what you’re begging for.”

“s-sir please,” you sputter, barely being able to string a sentence together. you could feel you were about to cum hard. your fingers were still drilling into your pussy, and your hands were still suctioned on your tit and nanami's dick was taunting you. “i need you.”

“you need me hmm?” he mocks, his eyebrow tilting as he stares at your fucked out face.

“yeah p-please i need your dick,” you beg, your pussy was gushing all over your fingers, as your strokes got sloppier, “i need you i-in me.”

“oh really?” he asks with a smirk, a slight chuckle as you nod eagerly, “well too bad.”

“wha—”

“you really thought i’d put my dick in a slutty student that’s not even smart enough to even pass my class?” he lectures, he tuts his teeth, shaking his head, “now finish off for me and leave office hours end in a few minutes.”

“f-fuck,” you moan out, you could barely even process his words, too busy focused on cumming all over your fingers to think about how he just denied you of what you really wanted, your hand falls off your tit, your head jerking back as your release over his desk. he’s quick to cum too, biting down on his fist to surpress the loud moan threatening to come out

“you really made a mess for me huh,” he observes, swiping his fingers across the pool of cum you left on his desk and bringing it into his mouth, “sweet.” you were at a loss for words, you were just coached through one of the best orgasms you ever had from your professor — and he didn’t even touch you — yet you still don’t know whether he’s gonna pass you or not.

“so about that exam…?” you voice trails, as you put back on your shirt, hopping of his desk.

“i’ll think about it, sit the exam first and i’ll see what i can do,” his voice turns serious, and he nods his head in the direction for you to leave indicating for you to get up out of his office. but just before you're about to leave the room he calls out to you, “oi.”

“thanks for the live show.”

☆ TOJI

“why do we always have to fuck in such awkward spaces,” you complain nearly tripping on a basketball as toji holds you upright.

“you know you love it baby,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your cheek, thrusting up into you further.

you were in the gym supply closet, having your weekly sex with your university's gym teacher. you don’t even know how your little routine came about but once he started to hammer into you every friday after basketball practice, you’ve never missed a meet up.

“don’t call me that,” you groan out at the use of his pet name.

“why not?” he grumbles, cupping your tits with his hands as he stands behind you, “aren’t you students s’pposed to listen to your teachers and all that.”

you take a sharp inhale as his large hands smother your boobs, his thick things toy with your nipples, “but y-you aren’t a real teacher, in case you forgot.”

“am too,” he mutters like a child.

“a-are not,” you spit back just as childishly.

“am, too,” he persists, thrusting into you hard. pushing you down by your nape, forcing your hands to grip onto some random gym apparatus. he uses his foot to spread your legs apart wider so he can fit right behind you. fucking into you with something to prove.

“you teach gym to a bunch of brain dead j-jocks, wouldn’t say that classifies as being an actual professor toji.” you continue riling him up, biting your lip as his hammers into you harder. “you’re more like a glorified personal trainer than a teacher.”

he drives into you deeper, “oh and your just an uppity bitch, who still ended up fucking this ‘personal teacher,’ in a gym closet,” his mouth moves close to your ear, as he whispers, “so what does that say about you baby?” he presses a kiss underneath your ear lobe, before lightly sucking on it.

his words go straight to your core, him calling you an ‘uppity bitch’ had the exact effect he intended them to have — you throwing your ass on his dick, fucking him back as hard as he was fucking you.

he sends a smack to your ass, biting his lip as it ripples at the contact of his palm. his slaps were merciless, having you scream out every time he hits your cheek. “how’s this for a glorified personal trainer huh?” he coos in your ear, feeling dignified as you rut against him more feigning for more of his dick in your throbbing pussy.

“ah you f-fill me up s-so so good,” you mewl out, as his dick pumps in and out of you stuffing you with every thrust. his mouth latches onto the nape of your neck, sucking on it as he ploughs into you deeper, hitting your spot with pinpoint accuracy.

“i know i do baby, i always stuff you good don’t i?” he groans out, your pussy was a vice grip on his dick, had him suppressing his moans whenever you clenched around him, “don’t know why you fuck around with these lame ass boys in your classes, they can’t fuck you like i do. do they?”

“well…” you voice trails in a teasing tone.

“dont f-fucking play with me,” he sputters, feeling himself about to bust all inside of you, “i’m the only one you fucking right,” when he doesn’t hear an immediate answer, he shoves himself into you his hips pushing right against your ass, “right?”

“y-yes fuck, right,” you sigh rolling your eyes at his act of possessiveness — ignoring how you pussy got even wetter at his words. “you’re the b-best i ever had, toji.”

“you’re damn right i am,” he scoffs out giving your ass one final slap as he says, “you going finish all over my dick, c’mon baby coat my dick with your sweet sweet,” and you do just that. you cum with a cry, releasing all over toji, as he shoots into you a loud groan leaving his mouth.

“aww i forgot how loud you get for me,” you tease him as he pulls out of you, turning to look at him with a grin, which he huffs out, “anyways what did i tell you about cumming in me, i'm not one of those cheerleaders you run around with,” you fuss swatting at his chest.

“yeah you aren’t one of the cheerleaders i run around with,” he repeats, “hence why i can cum in you, you know you’re my favourite fuck out of all my students”

“ugh you’re so gross.”

“you say that with my cum running down your legs,” he says, giving you a pointed look, his eyes staring down at your thighs, “i do have another hour till my next class i gotta teach, so i could clean it up for you?” he offers, already going down to his knees, knowing that was a suggestion you would not deny.

“if you insist.”

he starts to suck against your thighs as you lean against the wall, sandwiched between a goal post and a hockey stick, but just before his lips latch onto your pussy, he looks up to you with a pout, “do you really think gym coaches aren’t teachers?”

“oh shut up toji,” you mutter, pushing his head to your cunt.

☆ GETO

you storm into your professors office, pissed off. professor geto was the worst teacher you’ve ever had. he was cocky, arrogant and most of the time he didn’t have a clue what he was teaching.

“ah miss know it all,” he muses, his personal nickname he created for you during his first semester of being your professor, “to what do i owe the pleasure this time.” you were no stranger to geto’s office, you were practically the only student that actually used his office hours. geto didn’t mind it though. the unplanned visits, your impoliteness — he was amused by it.

“could you explain why you gave me a B, on my last paper?” you interrogate, waving said essay in his face furiously, “when we both know that this is easily worth an A.”

“i just think you could do better,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “i just think you haven’t harnessed your true potential, that’s all.” geto knew you were smart, the smartest person he’s ever taught. he just needed to get you in his office. and he knew a below average grade on an essay, that didn’t even matter, was the way to do that.

“and what do you know about potential?” you mutter, more to yourself than anything, “i don’t even know how you managed to get this job.”

he rolls his eyes at your comments, “do you really want this A?”

"of course i want the stupid A," you reply, your tone determined. "i've put in the effort, and i've met all the requirements for this paper. there's no reason for you to give me a B except for your own personal bias against me."

“personal bias? some may argue that you’re actually my favourite?” geto leans back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. "but alright, then. here's the deal," he says, folding his arms. "if you can convince me right now, in this very moment, that you deserve an A for this paper, i'll change your grade. but you'll have to persuade me.”

“persuade you?” you retort, “what you want me to do a powerpoint presentation or something…?”

he chuckles, shaking his head at your naivety, for someone so smart you somehow lack social awareness, “no i wanna see if you taste as good as you look.”

“you mean…” your voice trails, finally catching on to what he was getting at.

“come lay down on my desk,” he says casually as if this was a usual ordeal between the two of you. he could see you hesitating, “you do want that A right?”

your feet were stuck in the ground, you never wanted to be one of those girls — ones that had to fuck a teacher just to get through university. but, regardless of your below A grade, you were more curious about what it would actually be like. especially with a professor that looked like geto.

you lay down on his desk, nervous, you could feel his breath on your stomach as he slides down your jeans. he was kneeling down, his face at the same level as your pussy. he toys with your underwear, pulling at it and snapping it against your skin, giving you a smile of approval in your choice of panties. but just before he pulls them off you he asks, “you sure you want to do it smarty? you can run back to your dorm if you want?”

“anything to get the A,” you grit out, basically lying, since getting your grade improved was the last thing on your mind as he pulls off your underwear.

he takes his hair — that was usually tied up in bun — down, releasing his long hair, “just in case you need something to pull on,” he smirks.

his fingers slide across your wet slit, spreading your lips. he presses a kiss on your clit, slightly nibbling on it before working his mouth down to your pussy. you gasp at the contact as he latches his mouth on you, his tongue darting into your cunt at a quick pace.

geto hums in satisfaction as you hands immediately go to grab his hair, pulling at it as his tongue gives you long strokes, lapping up all the juices already spilling out of you. “i didn’t think my star student would be this needy, if only the class could see you now.” he taunts lifting his head up, “i guess they wouldn’t be surprised though, your as hungry for my tongue as you are to answer questions in class,” he finishes with a chuckle pressing a kiss to your thigh.

but you’re quick to silence him, clenching your thighs against his head, “s-shut up,” you whine, thrusting your hips up in his face to meet his tongue. your head was swirling, you could barely remember how you ended up on your professors desk in the first place. but all you were focused on was clawing your fingers through his scalp as he slurps and sucks on your pussy.

“oh m-my god,” you murmur, soaking his face. he could tell by the way you pushing his face deeper into your cunt, his nose forced into your arousal that you were close.

“ready to let me taste you” he asks, his voice sending vibrations over your pussy, “wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

“fuck d-didn’t think it’ll be this g-good,” you whine out. he brings his thumb to you clit rubbing it as fast as he could taking you over the edge. you moan out, practically squealing, as you squirt all over his face. he smirks, trying to get as much as it as he can.

“i didn’t know my star student could squirt,” he teases, his mouth glistening with evidence of you, “or should i call you my star squirter.”

“haha, very funny…” you deadpan, becoming slightly shy at seeing him lick his lips wiping the last remains of you off of him.

“i guess my theory was right,” he concludes.

“what theory?” you ask, puzzled, forgetting the whole reason you let him eat you out in the first place.

“you do taste as good as you look,” he comments with a pleased grin, already reminiscing about you squirting all over his face.

“so about my A?” you ask pulling up your jeans, and collecting your things.

“yeah i’ll expect your rewrite on my desk by friday,” he shrugs, going back to his nonchalant persona.

“rewrite? did you not promise me an A if i can ‘persuade you,’ at how badly i want it?” you question, going back to your original state of being pissed off, “did i not persuade you mr ‘you do taste as good as you look.’ this is so unfair”

“ask me if i care about fairness?” he smirks, a laugh leaving his lips as he watches you storm out of his office, “hey! you left your underwear,” he calls out behind you, his laugh growing as you say nothing, putting up your middle finger at him and slamming his door shut.

☆ GOJO

“do you want to lose your job?” you chastise, “shut the fuck up.”

“but i can’t help it,” he purrs, nuzzling into your neck to suppress his non stop moans and whines that he was doing as he pushed his dick in you, “your pussy’s just too good.”

you were leaning against the desk of your professor gojo’s lecture hall, your legs wrapped around his bag as he hoisted you up, grinding his body against yours as his dick drives in your pussy.

it was after hours, and gojo forgot to lock his classroom doors. as soon as your peers left the room he was quick to put his lips on yours, throwing all the stationary on his desk on the floor in the most dramatic fashion ever.

you don’t know how you got entangled in a relationship with your teacher. since you didn’t actually benefit from it, and he was needier and clingier than an actual student your age. but the mind blowing orgasms he gave you every now and again made you forget all of his ‘bad qualities.’

“c’mon don’t tell me it’s not making you feel wetter,” he murmurs in between kisses, “the idea of someone walking in on me fucking your pretty little pussy.” you ignore him, your arms tightening around his neck as you bounce on his dick. “tell me that doesn’t make you hot,” he eases his dick out of you slightly, drawing both of your attention to his member already covered in your juices. his eyebrows raise when you look back at him as if he’s just proved his point.

“whatever, i guess the idea of us getting caught isn’t that bad,” you lie, knowing it was causing you to get better, “but if we do get caught then it's your ass gojo.”

“aww you’re so thoughtful,” he coos, “you really care about me and my job, will you miss me if i get fired?”

“well i’ll miss my on campus dick,” you mutter, scratching at his back, as he thrusts into you deeper, “but i’ll be able to replace you quickly i guess.”

“oh how you wound me,” he mocks, pulling you into a deep kiss, desperate to taste you. that was gojo’s favourite thing to do to you, of course your pussy was great, but your lips were his favourite thing. sometimes he’d even drag you out of the hallway into his office —not a care in the world if anyone was around— and pull you into his lap just shove his tongue into your mouth and fondle your tits.

for a lousy professor, gojo sure knew your body well. he knew every spot to hit, every place to kiss, every stroke to make and you loved it. the scratches you were giving him on his back, encouraging him to go deeper, stuffing you to the brim. “f-fuckk you take me so so well,” he moans in your ear, whining and grunting as you tighten your hold around him.

“i’m close,” he mutters, his pace slowing. he lowers you down so your back is laying on the desk and he swoops his mouth down to your tits. enveloping your left breast with his mouth, greedily suckling at it.

“wow already?” you taunt, “you’ve really lost your touch professor, when i was an undergrad we could go at it for days.” his mouth pauses, as he looks up at you with a pointed look that reads as ‘girl really? as if you aren’t close.’ he wasn’t wrong, from his deep long strokes in your pussy, and his tongue twisting on your nipples, you were ready to cum all over him.

“gojo shit,” you curse, your hand coming down to your clit, flicking at it fast to speed up your orgasm. but gojo slaps your hand away, almost offended that you would try to cum off of something other than his hands and mouth. he bites down on your nipple, punishingly and that sends you overboard. you let out a shriek as you cum all over his dick, your hand quickly coming over your mouth to suppress your whines.

“what happened to being quiet huh?” he mocks your warning from earlier, “don’t want to get caught, do we now?” but he’s quick to let out a deep moan, as he releases into you, spraying your walls with all your cum. he slumps over you, exhausted, and wanting to just feel you — gojo was always needy after sex.

after you both come down from your highs and clean up — thankful that nobody stumbled across you. gojo pulls you into his lap, dabbing kisses all over your neck, “so when you gonna let me take you out, outside the classroom?”

“y’know that’s not allowed right?” you remind him, looking at your professor as if he’s lost his mind, “what we’re doing now isn’t allowed, but out in public is a no go, gojo.”

“not allowed?” he retorts, as if it’s news to him, “i thought it was just heavily frowned upon?!”

an: sooo what did you think? which one was your favourite. me personal lame gym coach toji really did it for me. tagging my girl @jabamin mainly just for nanami. but yes ALSO IDK WHY I MADE THE READER DUMB IN THE NANAMI FIC, but I juxtaposed it by making you super smart in the geto fic so it balances it out. anyways lmk what you thought, thanks for reading!! DONT USE MY DIVIDERS

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #toji x reader #toji smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fic #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento x reader

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fear-is-truth · 6 months ago

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𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋 part II — nicholas alexander chavez.

summary — 80’s au. popular, rich pretty boy nicholas alexander chavez has laid claim on you / wc: 1.0k

tags — f! reader. mentions of alcohol. nic being a lil tipsy n cute. teensy moment between cooper & reader but platonic

read part I here

The pool party had spilled well into the evening, and the once-golden sunlight had been replaced by the soft glow of string lights scattered around the patio. The music still played, and the air was warm, thick with the scent of chlorine, alcohol and the buzz of laughter.

Nicholas, a little tipsy by now, had dragged you onto one of the lounge chairs near the pool, insisting that you sit with him. You were perched sideways on his lap, head resting against his chest, his arm slung protectively around your waist. He was laughing loudly, completely unbothered as he took in the scene around him. From where you sat, you could see a couple of girls near the edge of the pool, throwing side glances your way—obviously irritated. One of them flipped her hair and whispered something to her friend, both of them glaring as if they could will you out of Nic’s lap and into the pool. But he didn’t seem to notice nor care, as his attention was solely fixated on you. He just chuckled, thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“You’re the best part of this whole party, you know?” he murmured against your skin, voice low and a bit slurred from the drinks he’d had. You tilted your head to look at him, brushing his curls from his forehead.

“That the booze talking?”

“Nope,” he replied, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, before pointing to the place where his heart was. Then, as if making some grand announcement, Nicholas straightened up slightly, cupping his hands around his mouth to form a megaphone. “Hey people! See this hot babe right here? That’s my girl!” he hollered to no one in particular, pointing at you. People turned to look, some laughing, some raising their glasses in response. A loud wolf whistle from the crowd. You groaned, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh my God, Nic.”

He laughed, tipping his head back, and it was impossible to stay mad at him when he was like this. “Just telling it like it is,” he said, squeezing your waist affectionately.

“You’re mine, and I’m all yours.”

“Sappy.”

As much as you were enjoying it, you could tell Nicholas was a little too far gone with the alcohol, and he could probably use some water. You extricated yourself from his embrace, standing up as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m gonna grab you some water,” you said, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Be right back.”

You slipped inside the kitchen, the muffled sounds of the pool party fading as you sought a break from the noise. As you rounded the corner, you didn’t notice Cooper standing near the fridge, and before you knew it, you bumped straight into his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” his hands gently landing on your shoulders to steady you. You blinked up at him, bewildered, then laughed in embarrassment.

“Sorry… didn’t see you.”

“Always in a hurry, huh?” He teased, his grip light but steady before he let go and stepped back.

“Just grabbing some water for Nic,” you replied, moving toward the fridge. “He’s getting a little too enthusiastic out there.” Cooper chuckled, nodding toward the lounge area visible through the glass doors. “Yeah, I heard him. So did the whole neighbourhood, probably.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling. “Yeah, well, you know him. Subtlety isn’t his forte.”

“Nope,” Cooper agreed, pushing off the counter and opening the fridge for you. “But hey, put any other guy were in his shoes, they’d wanna let the world know too.”

“Well, how ‘bout you?” you teased, grabbing a bottled water from the fridge before closing the door. “Sure I would.” He replied matter-of-factly, his expression softening before adding thoughtfully, “If I was bisexual, though. But I’d probably make less of a scene.”

There was another pause, but this one felt different. You both just stood there, sharing the space, and it was… comfortable. Cooper, for all his teasing, had always been the steady one in your life— a permanent fixture. It wasn’t something either of you ever really acknowledged out loud, but in moments like this, the quiet between you said more than enough. You both burst into simultaneous laughter, you doubling over in stitches. Chortling, he reached out, giving your shoulder a light pat.

“You better get back out there before your man does something stupid, I don’t wanna be the one to haul his ass out of the pool again.”

As you turned to leave, Cooper’s voice called out one last time. “But hey, if he ever fucks up—” his voice took on a playful edge, though there was a hint of seriousness in it, “—I’ll kick his ass. No questions asked.”

“Thanks, Coop.”

“Anytime.”

His words stayed with you, lingering in the back of your mind, but as soon as you stepped onto the patio, your focus shifted completely. Nic’s eyes immediately found yours from across the pool, his whole face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “There she is,” he crowed, reaching out with grabby hands as soon as you got close. You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling as you handed him the bottle of water. He didn’t take it, though—instead, he tugged you back onto his lap, pulling you into his arms like he’d never intended to let you go.

“Missed you so much, baby,” Nicholas mumbled into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I was gone for like five minutes,” you laughed, leaning back against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the way his hands lazily trailed up your sides. He grinned down at you, brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Five minutes too long.”

You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and raised it to his lips, but Nic turned his head to the side, pouting.

“Nah, where’s my kiss first?”

You rolled your eyes but leaned in anyway, pressing your lips to his. As soon as you did, you tasted the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. When you pulled back to catch your breath, you giggled, wiping the edge of his mouth with your thumb. You raised the bottle again, and this time, he took a long sip, still watching you with that tipsy, adoring look in his eyes. “Better?” you asked, brushing your fingers through his slightly damp hair.

“Much better,”

#nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #Nicholas Chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #jackie writes ⟢

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hottiesforhockey · 24 days ago

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quinn hughes wit the prompt “i just really wish you’d fuck me” !!!

The tension had been building for weeks. Maybe months. It simmered beneath the surface, manifesting in lingering touches, stolen glances, and the way Quinn looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. It wasn’t just the way his fingers would brush yours when he handed you something, or the way he always found an excuse to be near you—it was the heat in his eyes, the way his breath would hitch when you leaned in too close.

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the night he pulled you onto his lap while the rest of the group was playing cards, murmuring something about there not being enough chairs. Maybe it was the night you caught him staring, his pupils blown wide with something unspoken, only for him to shake his head and force a smile. Or maybe it had always been there, humming beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to be brave enough to acknowledge it.

Casual relationships were never your forte. You weren’t someone who tiptoed around desire, who played the long game of waiting for the perfect moment. But Quinn? He was careful, calculated. Always holding back.

Tonight, though, you were done waiting.

Quinn was sitting on the couch, legs sprawled out, one hand resting on his thigh while the other scrolled mindlessly on his phone. He looked relaxed, but you knew better. There was an edge to him, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased all night. You swallowed, nerves tightening in your stomach as you stepped closer.

“Quinn,” you murmured, voice softer than you intended.

His eyes flicked up, locking onto yours instantly. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering about something.”

“Oh?” he responded, watching as you rounded the side of the couch, perching on a cushion next to him, your fingers fiddling in your lap as your top teeth caught your bottom lip.

“I’m not really good with these casual relationships, and I’m just a little confused.” You began, watching as one of his eyebrows raised in question.

“Casual?” he questioned, his head tilting slightly, his focus entirely on you now. The air between you thickened, a charged silence settling in as you hesitated for a second, suddenly aware of the way his gaze dropped to your lips, the way his fingers curled slightly against his thigh like he was restraining himself. The air in the room seemed to shift, charged with something neither of you had dared to name aloud.

You took a slow breath and then, before you could talk yourself out of it, the words slipped past your lips.

“I just really wish you’d fuck me.”

Silence.

Quinn’s phone slipped from his fingers, landing on the couch with a soft thud. His mouth parted slightly, his expression shifting from confusion to something darker, something hungry. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you saw the moment restraint snapped.

“Fuck,” he breathed, turning towards you so quickly it startled you. His eyes were locked on yours so intently you couldn’t help but glance away, your confidence wavering for half a second before his hand slipped under your jaw, lifting your head back up towards him with gentle but firm insistence.

“I'm going to need you to say that again.”

Your breath hitched. His voice had dropped, rough with desire, and it sent a shiver down your spine. The weight of his stare alone made your pulse race, made heat pool in your stomach in a way that was almost unbearable.

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze, and whispered, “I want you to fuck me, Quinn.”

A low groan escaped his lips, and then his mouth was on yours—hot, insistent, devouring. He kissed you like he was starving, like he had been holding back for far too long and finally let himself indulge. His lips moved against yours with a slow, intoxicating pressure, teasing, coaxing, until your knees felt weak. His tongue traced along your bottom lip before sliding past, deepening the kiss, pulling you under his spell. The taste of him—warm, addictive—made your breath hitch, made your fingers clutch at his shirt as if letting go would be unbearable.

Quinn groaned into your mouth, his hands roaming, sliding down your back, gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him as he leaned you back against the cushion. The heat of his body, the way he melded against you, sent a spark of need straight to your core. His fingers trailed under the hem of your shirt, grazing bare skin, setting fire to every nerve he touched.

His mouth left yours only long enough to trail slow, lingering kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. Each press of his lips sent tiny shocks of pleasure down your spine, your head tipping back to give him more access as he worked his way lower, his breath hot against your skin. He was unraveling you piece by piece, his hands mapping the curves of your body like he was memorising every dip, every reaction.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with want, his lips brushing just beneath your ear. “You think I haven’t been waiting for this?”

You barely had time to answer before his mouth was on yours again, hungrier this time, all restraint gone. His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, parting them wider as he pressed himself even closer. The weight of him, the heat of his skin, the way he whispered your name like a prayer—it was everything. Overwhelming, intoxicating, perfect.

“This is what you want?” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and teasing.

You nodded, barely able to think with the way his hands were moving, the way he was looking at you like he was ready to worship every inch of your body. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I need you.”

Quinn groaned again, pressing his forehead to yours for a beat before his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, parting them wider. “Then I guess I better make it worth the wait.”

#nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nhl fic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fanfic #prompt game #quinn hughes drabble

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thesecondhandwoman · 5 months ago

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HEXED HEART

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Recently, Piltover has fallen weak ever since the hexcore stopped working, and the scientists who may have been able to fix it (Heimerdinger, Jayce, Viktor) had disappeared, leaving Ambessa frustrated. However, when she heard news of you, an intelligent scientist, possibly having the skills to fix it, she immediately took action. Even if it meant using a hint of sweet manipulation.

The remnants of Piltover smoldered under the weight of its own hubris. The once-bustling City of Progress was a shadow of itself, its streets quieter, its golden spires tarnished. The Hexcore had faltered, leaving the city vulnerable, its famed defenses useless.

In her laboratory perched high above the city, you worked tirelessly. The other brilliant minds—Heimerdinger, Jayce, Viktor—had all disappeared, leaving you to hold the fort. You were the last hope of Piltover, though the burden had grown suffocating. Every attempt to stabilize the Hexcore had failed. You stared at the latest iteration of your work, frustration and exhaustion gnawing at your edges.

The heavy thud of boots startled you from your thoughts. You turned to see soldiers, clad in Noxian red and black, entering your lab. At their helm was her. Ambessa Medarda, the warlord who cast a shadow wherever she walked. She was as commanding as the stories claimed—tall, statuesque, and radiating an aura of power that seemed to fill every inch of your lab.

She appraised you with sharp, calculating eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk but edged with steel. “Piltover’s lone genius. Working herself into the ground to save this broken city.”

You squared your shoulders, attempting to summon the confidence that exhaustion had stripped away. “If you’ve come to ridicule me, I assure you, I don’t have the time.”

“Oh, I didn’t come to mock you,” she said, stepping closer. Her soldiers fanned out, blocking any potential escape routes. “I came because Piltover’s failures can serve Noxus. You can serve Noxus.”

Your blood chilled. “I don’t serve anyone.”

Ambessa chuckled, low and amused. “Not yet.” She closed the distance between you in a few strides, her imposing figure towering over yours. “But you will.”

Before you could retort, she reached out, her gloved hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was startlingly gentle, disarming. You stiffened, but Ambessa merely tilted her head, her gaze softening, her smile turning warmer.

“You’re exhausted,” she murmured, her tone shifting to something softer, almost tender. “This city doesn’t deserve you. They’ve wrung you dry, haven’t they? And still, no thanks. No progress.”

Her words hit a nerve, and she saw it in the flicker of your expression.

“I—” you began, but her fingers against your jaw silenced you.

“You deserve better,” she said, her voice a near whisper now. Her thumb traced the line of your jaw, her touch featherlight. “A mind like yours shouldn’t be wasted on people who only know how to take. I can offer you more, darling. Resources. Freedom. Respect.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze pinning you in place. It was intoxicating, the way she looked at you—not with disdain or pity, but with something that felt dangerously like admiration.

“You just want to use me,” you said, though the words came out weaker than intended.

Ambessa smiled, a sly curve of her lips. “Of course, I do. But I’ll give you what Piltover never could. I’ll make you feel like the treasure you are.”

Her hand slid from your jaw to your neck, her thumb brushing over your pulse. You were hyper-aware of her closeness, the warmth radiating from her as she leaned in. Her lips grazed the corner of your mouth, a ghost of a kiss, before trailing along your cheek to your ear.

“Do you feel it?” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “The power we could wield together?”

You shivered despite yourself, torn between resistance and the allure of her promises. She was weaving a net around you, each touch, each word drawing you tighter.

Her hand slid down to your shoulder, her fingers kneading gently, soothing the tension that had built from days—no, weeks—of relentless pressure. You hated how easily she read you, how her touch seemed to draw out the ache you’d buried beneath sheer determination.

“I don’t… I can’t just abandon Piltover,” you stammered, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

Ambessa chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that sent a shiver down your spine. She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her expression equal parts understanding and predatory.

“Who said anything about abandoning them?” she cooed, tracing her fingers along the edge of your collarbone. “Think of it as… redirecting your efforts. Piltover has taken everything from you. Why not take something back?”

Her lips ghosted over your temple, and you felt a strange, heady mix of indignation and desire. Every instinct screamed to resist, to fight back against her intoxicating manipulation. But her words had rooted themselves in your mind, growing like thorns around your resolve.

She pressed closer, her presence overwhelming as her other hand cupped your cheek. Her thumb brushed over your skin with a tenderness that contradicted the raw power she emanated.

“I see the brilliance in you,” she murmured. “The kind of brilliance that could reshape the world. But brilliance needs the right soil to grow, and Piltover has done nothing but starve you.”

Her lips found your jawline, a soft, lingering kiss that left your heart pounding. You hated how your breath hitched, how her words sank deeper, wrapping themselves around your doubts and frustrations like a vice.

“I could give you everything,” she whispered, her voice dripping with promise. “Imagine a lab equipped with anything you could dream of. Resources, soldiers to protect you, and the freedom to create without petty councils and politics dragging you down.”

You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind. “And what would you demand in return?”

Ambessa leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, her smirk sharp but her eyes still softened with that feigned tenderness. “Only your cooperation. Your brilliance, dedicated to something greater than this dying city.” Her hand slid down your arm, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “And, of course, you—with all your fire and passion. A partner. An ally.”

Her lips found your wrist, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there. It was such an intimate gesture that it left you reeling.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Ambessa smiled again, her confidence unshaken. “I never lie, darling. I may manipulate, I may seduce, but I always tell the truth.” She lifted your hand to her lips, brushing another kiss over your knuckles. “You’ll see. The only chains you’ll wear with me are the ones you choose.”

You trembled, torn between the iron will you’d cultivated in solitude and the dangerous allure of her promises. Her every touch, every word, was carefully calculated, but there was a kernel of sincerity in her eyes that was impossible to ignore.

And then, her tone shifted, low and husky, her lips brushing against your ear. “Or you can stay here,” she murmured, her voice laced with a mockery so subtle it felt like silk slipping over a blade. “Alone. Frustrated. Watching this city crumble around you while you waste away in obscurity.”

The weight of her words settled over you like a storm cloud. The enormity of your failure, the futility of your work, pressed down harder than ever.

Ambessa saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes and leaned in, her lips brushing over your cheek again, her hands sliding to your waist. “Don’t think of it as surrender,” she whispered. “Think of it as liberation.”

Her lips finally found yours, soft and coaxing, her hands firm yet tender as they held you in place. For a moment, the world around you faded, leaving only the intoxicating warmth of her touch, the relentless pull of her presence.

When she finally pulled back, her smirk returned, triumphant but still laced with that maddening, feigned care.

“Take your time,” she said, stepping away as if to give you the illusion of choice. “But know this—I won’t wait forever. And neither will Piltover.”

She turned, her soldiers falling into step behind her, and the door shut with an ominous finality, leaving you alone in the silence of your lab.

Your knees buckled as you leaned against the nearest table, your mind spinning. You hated her, hated how easily she unraveled you. But you couldn’t deny the truth in her words.

And deep down, you wondered if the world Ambessa promised might be worth the price of your pride.

The silence of your lab was suffocating in the wake of her departure. You stood there, still trembling, your hand resting against the edge of your desk as if it might hold you together. You could still feel her touch, lingering like a brand on your skin, a reminder of the impossible decision she had presented.

Stay… or go?

You hadn’t realized how much you had needed an escape, how desperately you had longed for someone to see you beyond your failures. Ambessa had touched that part of you with ruthless precision. She had peeled away your pride, exposed the vulnerability that you’d spent so long burying beneath equations and inventions.

And now, you stood at the precipice of something you had once sworn to avoid.

The thought of continuing alone in Piltover, watching everything you had worked for crumble—your research, your hopes—seemed unbearable. The weight of it all crashed down on you like a ton of stone. Ambessa’s words, laced with promises of power, resources, and recognition, were beginning to sound like the only way out.

You closed your eyes, feeling your resolve slip through your fingers like sand.

Her touch had been gentle. Too gentle, and that had terrified you. She was a master at breaking down walls, and the way she had looked at you, with a mixture of admiration and something darker, had set your pulse racing. You had wanted her to touch you.

No, you needed her to touch you.

No more endless days in solitude. No more futile attempts at saving a city that didn’t care.

With a shaky breath, you made your decision.

Later that night, you stood before the door to Ambessa’s private quarters, your hands clammy, heart hammering. You’d walked here with purpose, though the journey had felt like an eternity. Every step had only brought you closer to the inevitable—an alliance forged in the heat of desperation. You knocked once, and the door opened before you could even pull your hand back.

Ambessa stood there, her expression unreadable as her eyes traveled over you.

“You’ve come.” Her voice was steady, but there was a gleam in her eyes that hinted at the satisfaction of a predator about to claim its prize.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but you refused to let it show. “I’m here,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt, “because I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Ambessa stepped aside, her lips curling into a smile. “I knew you would come around.”

As you entered, the lavish, dimly lit room seemed almost too luxurious for someone like you, but there was something intoxicating about it. The rich silks, the scent of something sweet and foreign in the air—everything spoke of power and control, the very things you had been so desperate to grasp.

Ambessa closed the door behind you with a soft click, and then she turned to face you, her eyes now intense with anticipation. “Tell me, darling… what is it you truly desire?” she asked, her voice low and coaxing.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then the truth spilled from your lips. “I want to be… seen.”

Ambessa stepped toward you, a predatory smile playing on her lips. “Oh, I see you,” she purred. “I see you more clearly than anyone ever has.” She reached out, her fingers grazing your cheek with deliberate slowness, as though savoring the moment. “And now, I’ll make sure you’re never unseen again.”

She cupped your face gently, tilting your chin upward, and her gaze softened, as though she were savoring the power of the moment. “You were always meant for something greater than this city. But you needed a catalyst… someone to help you realize your true potential.”

Her touch was almost tender, but the undercurrent of control never left. She leaned in, her lips brushing your forehead with a softness that contrasted the fire in her eyes.

“I can give you everything,” she whispered, her voice filled with honeyed persuasion.

A heat bloomed in your chest, rising to your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the burning spark of surrender. Every part of you that had been torn between resistance and the seductive pull of her power now bent toward the inevitable.

You nodded, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession, “I’ll help...”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a triumphant, almost possessive smile. “Good.” She leaned in, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both commanding and consuming. It was gentle at first, a slow burn that deepened with every press of her lips, every brush of her tongue. She held you with an intensity that made your knees weak, her hands roaming with practiced care, tracing your sides, your back, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of her body against yours.

When she pulled back, breathless but satisfied, her fingers trailed down your spine, sending shivers of anticipation through you. “You belong to me now,” she said softly, her voice wrapped in a possessive sweetness. “And I’ll make sure you never regret it.”

You trembled, feeling the weight of her words settle over you, and for the first time in a long while, you realized you didn’t mind. You were hers. Completely.

In her arms, under her gaze, you were no longer the scientist who had failed. You were a tool—her tool—ready to be shaped and molded into something greater, something powerful. You had agreed, out of weakness, yes—but in that weakness, you had found something that felt like freedom.

And as Ambessa’s lips met your skin once more, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw, you wondered if this, this was what it meant to truly be seen.

#ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #ambessa fanfic #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa #arcane #arance season two #lesbian fanfic #fanfic #fanfic writing #lesbian

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scriptseekstories · 23 days ago

Text

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 2- Bee in a Wasp Nest

A/N: Okay, so things will pick up next chapter, just have to set up relationships and personality for Bee!Reader and other characters. And more fort as to what your mother’s research actually does and what she did.

Kinda made yall like Mirabel from Encanto and Laios from Delicious in Dungeon ngl

~Years Later~

Bees were your friend. They work with each other and protect their home. When you had another rough day of school and a torment from Damien, you could always count on the hive planted on your window to keep you company. They had always been your friend.

Sure you had human friends at school who are weird as you, but they just don’t know you like bees. They comforted you at low times, watched over you when you slept, and gave you so. Much. Honey.

The days were somewhat better after years since you were first taken in by the Waynes, but you wouldn’t never say your life got better. You were still pushed aside but your so called siblings, ignored by your father unless you were in trouble, and tormented by your demon brother Damien.

The harsh words, the aggressive shoves, the brutal chases away from his dog Titus, you didn’t know if being mugged was better than living with him. You even considered the other’s snarky comments about you whenever you bumped into them were more bearable.

“Don’t they have anything else better to do than bother us?” You once heard Tim scoffed when you wanted a seat from the kitchen while they had dinner, Stephanie humming in agreement as Dick laughed it off while others didn’t even answer him. Yeah… they all had dinner together while you were in your room eating alone.

Buzzzzz

My mistake, you never ate alone.

“Hey, my beauties,” You slid your window up carefully to avoid crushing any bees that were too slow. You clutched the flower pot in your hands as you stared at at their strong hive, seeing that honey is almost ready.

“I got you some flowers,” You spoke as if the bees understood you, but maybe they do understand you. They never stung you, they always perched on your nose or hand, and they always seem to make your day a little brighter.

“Today we have Lotus flowers on the menu,” You sighed while resting your cheek on your hand, watching the bees snuggle into the petals and collect the pollen. You adored your grown hive, tending to your little creatures for years as you seen generations after generations of bees live past.

Each Queen bee you’ve seen are as beautiful as the last, and you adored how hard she keeps her drones and workers happy. ‘Wish I was your worker bee,’ You hummed deeply before checking your phone to see that it was only 3.

You had time, so you quickly shut the window, apologizing to the bees who were startled before grabbing your travel bag and wallet, stumbling out of your room and racing down the long stairs, where your favorite butler was cleaning the couches.

“I’ll be back Alfred!” You called out to the butler as you attempted to fight your coat into staying on you. Alfred smiled before wincing when you accidentally slid on the carpet and crashed into the umbrella stand.

You had always been a klutz, crashing into objects, tripping over air, even one time accidentally taking out half Gotham’s power. (GCPD and Batman assumed it was an attack by a villain, and Alfred had the love for you to not narc)

“I’m okay!” You called out while stumbling to stand up and attempting to fix the umbrella stand, finally having your coat on before shutting the door behind you. Alfred merely shook his head and smiled softly while truly fixing up the stand as you left all the hats and umbrellas on the floor.

“May Master (Name) always have that bright smile,” He mumbled, before going back to cleaning the couches, just as he quietly check on the carefully written list full of your birthday wishes he had in his pocket, smiling.

You inhaled a deep breath of the Gotham air, which may sound disgusting but since you lived in the rich part of the city, the air was cleaner than most. That thought made you sad for reasons involving people and insects, not much are capable of fixing the air in order to thrive in.

Which is why you must do what you need to do.

Looking around, you concluded none of the family were outside, so you took that chance and crouch around the bushes in the front, and pulled out your skates. Why would you hide them outside instead of your room? Simple, there’s just not enough space in your room.

You replaced your bed frame with a hammock so you could fit your desk for school, you had a small closet boxed with childhood accomplishments and awards, and walls completely covered in posters and research papers.

Yet it didn’t bother you one bit, for it was your safe space, your haven in a house that wasn’t your home. You shoved your foot into your skates, wobbly standing up and securing your ground before rolling down the driveway.

You pushed yourself down into the big city of Gotham, avoiding walking pedestrians and taking turns left and right. Each person you passed by, you always greeted with a bright smile and waved at them, to which they couldn’t help but smile back.

In a place like Gotham, it’s rare to have genuine smiles and kindness that you apparently had. You decided it was best to still show a smile to all even though your life wasn’t that great either.

Why let the darkness and grim life consume you when you could still bring a light to others? That’s what your mother taught you. Sure, it was hard to keep on showing that sweet smile of yours day after day being neglected and tormented by the Waynes, yet you had to.

For your mother.

Each street you rolled into, the less citizens were present. That was due to the fact you were skating right into the heavy crime side of Gotham City. Yet you didn’t stop, in fact, your smile grew as you now saw the figures of the neighbors who all were familiar on the news.

“Good evening, child,” “Though you bit the dust already, kid!” “Avoid that pothole, (Name),” The various voices you heard as you skated pass them, where you stumbled upon the banged on concrete and avoided the destroyed roads that even the toughest tires would get deflated.

“Hi, Dr. Crane!” “Still kicking, Mr. Dent!” “Sharp as always, Miss Kyle!” Each calls towards a villain may have civilians run for the hills, however you on the other hand was either not afraid of these top baddies, or stupid to know your life could be in danger.

It might’ve been the latter, as your anxious personality prevented you from reacting like a normal person. So instead when you first stumbled upon the villain side of Gotham, you didn’t run away. Instead, you used all the fake confidence you had and strutted inside, greeting each criminal, thug, villain, or henchman with a smile.

Needless to say, some were baffled, others were amused, they wanted to see if you would still smile after witnessing them take your teeth out. But alas, there was one particular criminal that had them all to back off, dare they try to harm you they would have to answer to-

Ding

You pushed the door to a shady rundown flower shop, the tiny bell ringing to indicate your presence. Digging into your bag, you pulled out a wad of cash Alfred provided you ever since middle school since you needed permission from jobs to work, and you didn’t dare ask Bruce, so Alfred provided.

“My sweet little Bumblebee~” You looked up with a smile at the sight of the woman who provided you with flowers. Her rose red hair always stood out amongst the plants and flowers, her pale skin kissed with hues of green, and her dark green outfit flowed and tangled with the vines lowering her down from the shadows of the flower shop.

“Hi Miss Ivy!” You held out the bills for her as she lowered herself down and gracefully grabbed them. She placed her feet on the floorboards and leaned against the counter, counting the money with a grin.

“Glad to hear that my flowers are being praised by your little creatures,” She sighed, sensing all the plants you bought being tended to by the bees and other insects who craved the sweet aroma of her plants.

“Miss Ivy, you think you could pre-stock some marigolds for me around a week in advance? I think I actually might have gotten a breakthrough! Just on time for my birthday!” You excited rambled off, jumping in one place like a child as Ivy handed you a bag of seeds just as you paid for.

“Really now?” She grinned, “Well, here I give you a special treat for an early birthday gift~” Using her vines, it reached deep into the hall behind the counter that was suspiciously covered in shadows before it emerged with a box.

“Thank you, Miss Ivy,” It was a nice steal box, knowing Ivy would never use wood for anything. It had carved bees on it and honeycomb patterns. You were about to open it when Ivy placed her green hands over yours, giving you a wink. Right, open it on your birthday.

“Like I said, anything for my little Bumblebee,” She cooed while booping your nose, “It’s only fair to assist the bee’s savior, which also extends you being the flower’s savior too~” Her vines curled at her words, sliding up to you in an attempt to pet you, to which you backed away quickly.

“Ha ha ha…” You let out a nervous laugh, voice cracking midway which made you wanna internally die when you heard Ivy cackle as you walked out of the door, skating down and almost hitting Bane.

Being so deep into the crime filled side of Gotham, Ivy believed you to be stupid and had a death wish when you first came into her cover store. She decided to spare your life when all she saw in you was a clumsy and pathetic ridden teenager who just wanted to actually buy flowers from her.

You amuse her so much. The moment you ate shit in front of her little shop had her hooked immediately, and she fell in love with you the moment you rambled on about the relationship between bees and flowers.

You skated along the roughed up sidewalk, waving goodbye to the residents of this crime filled area. Never actually saw crime here, as you guess Batman had them on a leash.

‘Batman… why couldn’t you have saved her,’ You held to resentment towards the Dark Knight, yet you weren’t a fan of him either. He was just… someone who couldn’t save your mother.

You finally made it to your location, just as the sun shined perfectly down into the building you worked so hard inside.

An abandoned warehouse just right at the edge of Crime Alley. The warehouse that your mother worked in with her team before it was attacked by a crime boss. You moved all her papers and results inside to avoid questions from Alfred or the others.

You grunted while pushing the collapsed door to crawl under, before grasping a power generator and jerked it around. With a simple puff of smoke, the whole place lit up with dim lighting and additional fairy lights you added for personal touch.

“Right, time to get started,” The closer you walked through the warehouse, the louder a buzzing can be heard. Sunlight peering through a skylight, in the middle of the building lay a garden, with flowers planted by Poison Ivy herself and a garden gate built in by Scarecrow.

Inside the garden? Your mother’s bees. The ones that she nurtured for her researched, the genetically modified creatures that made it through everything. You smiled with pride at the fact you kept them alive for this long, generations of bees lived in your care.

Digging through your bag, you pulled out your laptop and an empty jar, where you set them down on a lab table. On the table sat an old tv with a VHS player. Grabbing a tape from the top, you inserted it in and opened your laptop as the video began to play.

“Project: Honey. This research study may very will be the next step in animal kingdom history. We are here to investigate the potential for genetic modification to enhance the physical capabilities of the honeybees, rendering them more resilient to climate challenges and better suited for urban environments to grow our managed earth,” the static voice of your mother rung out in the warehouse, causing the bees to buzz in an almost harmonious way.

“For years, we have concluded that our genetically modified bees are able to gain more muscle mass that not only increase their flight, but their defenses, speed, and strength. Our results have tested our bees to collect 35% more nectar than the average bee, and provide more pollen over a whole continent!” The excitement in her voice made you smile. You really do miss her.

You turned on bunsen burners, tubes filled with essences of the hive and honey made from the bees, listening to each VHS tapes that your mother recorded. Just like what you’ve been doing since you turned 10, you realized you had to do more than tend to the genetic bees.

You had to continue her work.

“However, the side effects to potentially playing god among the bees are a serious risk to take for the better of world. We just need to-,” Yet a harsh SSSSHHHHH sound popped up as the final tape wasn’t fully finished, and it cut off while only playing static.

You turned it off after hours of work, stretching your limps with a satisfied feeling. You rested your arms on the table and turned a picture frame that held a photo of you on your fifth birthday, with your mother in her lab coat holding you in her arms, both of you happy.

“Just one more week, and I’ll finally complete your dream Mama,” You smiled softly at the photo, gently kissing your fingertips and placed them over her face. Everything you’re doing, all the hard work, it was all for her.

She may be gone, but you’re still here. You’ll complete Project: Honey and help humanity your own way. You’ll be a hero, just like what your mother would’ve wanted, be more of a hero to the world like Batman is to Gotham.

It was currently 10, and you had to hurry home before Alfred came up stairs to check on you. You decided to take a cab home and after a solid 20 minutes, you made it home than you usually do when on skates.

You slid your skates under the bush, made sure your jar of honey made by the genetic bees were sealed in your bag, and opened the door. You saw Alfred serving your plate, yet you knew it wasn’t going to be set on the table with the others.

You walked closer to the dining area, seeing that all of the family were together, eating and talking amongst themselves while smiles on their faces.

“Hey… don’t mind me…” You awkwardly shuffled to the side, slowly reaching for a honeydew, then your plate Alfred gave with a sad smile, before mumbling a “sorry” and running back your room, cringing at the interaction. It was as if they forgot you lived here and are uncomfortable with the thought of seeing you.

Just as well, you were just as uncomfortable making small talk to them as they are even looking at you. You didn’t care, right? Yet you still felt your heart ache with hurt. They never seem happy to have you talking to them.

You opened your door, setting the box Ivy gave you on your desk and the jar of honey down as well. You sliced the honeydew into slices and took one to the window, sliding it open to see the bees perching on the sill, almost like they were waiting for you.

“Hello my loyal royal subjects!” You joked with a proud look on your face, though the way the bees didn’t buzz at you, they weren’t impress with your humor. You gave an awkward laugh before placing a slice of honeydew on the windowsill, where the bees practically burrowed into the fresh sweet fruit.

You smiled with joy. Today wasn’t that bad, yet it still wasn’t enough to have you reassured yourself that you belonged here.

The next day you needed another ripe honeydew that Alfred bought you. You peaked from the stairs and nodded when no one was present in the kitchen. Taking long strides from the stairs to the kitchen so you could get back upstairs faster, you grasped onto the fruit when a tsk was heard.

“You don’t belong here, you know that, right?” Dropping the honeydew due to the familiar voice, you dreaded turning around to see Damien, arms crossed and leaning back against the kitchen island. It seemed he was eager to mock me and waited for me to come down like a weird predator.

“Yeah… don’t need to mention it every single day…” You nervously nodded, crouching down to grab the dropped fruit, hoping it would still be fresh enough for your beloved bees.

“I should, because it doesn’t seem that you got it through your inferior mind,” He scoffed, grabbing the honeydew before you could retreat, “You’re not special. You’re nothing but mundane and simple, not worthy to be on the same stone as us,” That damn smug look on his face made you wanna shove that honeydew up his-

“Right, and you supposedly are with your cool sword skills and emo energy,” You muttered, snickering to yourself as if you said something cool. Which you did, of course! However Damien didn’t find it funny as he scowled you suddenly felt pain on your stomach. You hissed in pain when he threw the honeydew at you.

“Watch your mouth, inferior! I am the perfect offspring of the Al Ghul and a Wayne! You don’t belong in the Wayne title!” He snapped, hands twitching as if he was ready to call Titus on you. Fear shot up your spine, making him smirk at the look in your eyes. But what he said, about being a Wayne, anger took over your fear of his damn dog.

“Well, good news, brat! I don’t want a title that makes me as egotistical and stuck up as you guys!” Your voice might’ve been shaky, but this was the most confrontational you’ve ever been towards anyone, it caught Damien off guard with how offended and angry you actually sounded.

“I’m not a Wayne! I’m a Raine, and I don’t need a brat like you destroying what I have left!” Grabbing the now bruised honeydew, you pushed Damien hard. It may not have actually made him fall down, but he didn’t fully expect you to physically touch him, so he stumbled back a little.

He looked at you like you had the audacity to put your hands as valuable as him. His eyes darkened as he didn’t bother to call for Titus, he let out a shout before lunging at you.

You both fell, you pushing his face away with one hand as you held onto the honeydew so Damien wouldn’t use it to slam it against your stomach again. Alfred heard the stumbling of chairs being pushed and shouts in the kitchen, causing him to race in just in time to see Damien scratched your eyes.

“Master Damien!!” He was appalled at the sight, quickly pulling you out of his reach. In a flash, Dick, who was right behind Alfred, held onto Damien and pulled him away as he cursed at you and struggled like an angry cat. A mangy, ugly looking cat.

Dick managed to calm Damien down, but then gave a disappointed sigh before looking at you, giving you a look as if you were the one causing problems and he was tired with you. As if he even had the time to know you and get tired with you.

“You shouldn’t have talk to Damien like that, he doesn’t know better, (M/N)!” He scolded you with a tsk, where you didn’t even bother to mention that he completely butchered your name, “You have be apologize,” You stared at Dick in utter disbelief.

You? Apologize to Damien?! You let out a scoff as you stumbled to stand up, seeing the now ruined honeydew crushed by Jason who gave you an unimpressed look, crossing his arms which added more humiliation.

“L-Like hell would ever apologize to a stuck up baby! He started it!” You stammered, voice cracking in a way that didn’t help your situation as you saw a grin on Steph’s face, about to mock you. Cass merely gave you a look like silently saying that you were to blame.

“Stuck up baby? Look in the mirror,” Tim remarked, nudging Duke, who looked uncomfortable and was about to speak up, but deep footsteps made everyone freeze. Bruce stared at Damien, who was being held back by Dick, and then you, who quickly avoided eye contact and clutched onto Alfred’s hand tighter.

It might have been foolish, stupid even, to think that Bruce would come to your aid, to comfort you and scold Damien for attacking you. But you knew the truth. You never mattered to him.

“Go to your room,” He demanded with his sharp eyes staring at you. “Now,” You felt awful, sick. Every time you get in a tussle with one of them, Bruce will always come in defense to them. Every time you get blamed, you would be sent to your room alone. And every time you see his eyes, they’re always filled with nothing but annoyance and disappointment.

As if you were the one causing a nuisance in their perfect family, as if you were the intruder insect that invaded their hive, as if you were nothing but an obligation. Slipping your fingers out of Alfred’s hands, you tried not to cry.

“Fine,” You whispered, legs pulling my body up the stairs, not daring to look back to see Damien’s stupid smug smirk and the disappointing head shakes from Dick or the snickering from the others.

Your room felt smaller, more closed off than the other rooms. Why did you choose it again? Right, it was because you weren’t wanted by the family, hence you didn’t deserve being in the family hall.

You heart your heart twist with hurt and anger, as if you could open your mouth and vomit all the hate and rage building up inside you. Sliding up your window, you watched the sunset from over the garden, where the bees began to settle down and perch over your hand.

Alfred will be coming up to give you your dinner and stay with you. But even with the company of Alfred, he wasn’t strong enough to get through the family, he wasn’t enough to bring the love you craved for years. Despite it all, he was still a bee that works for Bruce.

You concluded a long time ago that this wasn’t a beehive, and you weren’t an invasive insect. No…

This was a wasp’s nest, and you were the bee they taken for consumption.

Buzzzzz

At least your hive will free you one day.

A/N: Yep, you in fact do have villain friends. Yet they don’t know your current situation since you referred to yourself as Raine, never Wayne.

Hopefully they would help you when things get low. They may be evil, but they’re not monsters (just ignore the comic accurate villains lol. And joker)

Taglist: @jellystar-star @moom0goddess @pix-stuff @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @bad4amficideas @degenerates-posts @deathbynarcisstick

#yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #yandere dc #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere stephanie brown #yandere batfam

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primepaginequotidiani · 1 month ago

Photo

PRIMA PAGINA Avvenire di Oggi venerdì, 28 febbraio 2025

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lowkeyrobin · 8 months ago

Note

hawk x reader (theyre dating) and he asks about her scars? (theyre from sh) maybe it can be titled you drew stars around my scars? idk! if youre noit comfortable with this im so so sorry!

ooo sure yeah! ; and dw I'm cool w this kinda stuff, sometimes I just don't do it cause I can't think of a proper idea and stuff lol i can never make them super long or anything so i apologize ; but thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; also I do only do gn / they/them readers so everyone feels included/ that's what I'm comfortable with just as an fyi

HAWK MOSKOWITZ ; you drew stars around my scars

summary ; after finding your scars, eli draws stars around your scars

warnings ; language, self harm / relapse

word count ; 522

masterlist

You stand beside Hawk in your Miyagi-Fang / Eagle-Do / whatever the fuck gi, hands behind your back as you listen to Mr. LaRusso and Johnny ramble on and on about the Sekai Taikai. You'd zoned out after a while, not being interested on going to Spain for some karate championship. You couldn't even get into the All Valley, whoever thought you were tough enough to take on the world was mentally deranged.

You already knew who was going, the core four, Miguel, Sam, Robby, and Tory, Hawk, and one lucky other candidate, probably Kenny or Devon, maybe Demetri. You didn't mind knowing you weren't going to go, but felt bad to not be there for Eli. You knew this meant a lot to him, at least, as karate always meant everything to him after he picked it up.

After the conversation ended, you head to the side with Eli as he wanted to spend some time with you while practicing. You were on defense while he worked on offense.

You work with a straight face, off in another world while your boyfriend threw moves at you that you half ass blocked. Eli notices something concerning, plus your half assed moves and your zoned out look, quickly stopping with a worried look.

God damn gi was so loose on your arms.

"Y/n? You okay?"

You quickly blink and nod, definitely not reassuring to him at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yup"

As you sit down in the car with Eli, you stare out the window, waiting for him to take you home. You were quiet and distant, having barely spoken a word to your boyfriend.

You'd been growing distant for a while, the lack of sleep, the urge to hurt yourself again. It ate away at you like a parasite, a leech sucking away your energy and positivity.

As he sits down in the drivers seat, he looks at you, a soft, concerned look upon his face.

"Are you okay?"

You nod, pulling your sleeves down over your arms.

"Did you relapse?" He asks quickly but softly, worried about your health.

You stay silent, knowing you couldn't admit the truth but also couldn't lie to him.

"Y/n..." He softly rests his hand over your arm, pulling your sleeve up. You stay silent and limp, giving in to him. "How- Why?"

You shrug. "They're scars. They're old."

"How old?" He asks, wondering how long he'd gone without noticing.

"Months" You reply, leaning your head on your hand, elbow perched on the arm rest on the door.

He calmly grabs a red Sharpie from his console, opening it before grabbing your forearm carefully. He presses the marker to your skin, causing you to look over with a raised eyebrow.

"What're you doing, Eli?"

He smiles, continuing to draw little doodles around your scars.

"Drawing stars and shit, making it look all nice for my favorite person"

Your solemn expression morphs to a smile as you watch him draw little stars and hearts and flowers around your scars. Drawing wasn't his forte, but it was the thought that counted.

"I love you"

"Love you too, Moskowitz"

#lowkeyrobin #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader #hawk moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk x reader #cobra kai x reader #jacob bertrand x reader

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joelsrose · 4 months ago

Text

Good Neighbours: Chapter 2

previous chapter

no warnings - slow burn, joel is a major tease and flirt

The kitchen was warm, the smell of melted chocolate lingering in the air as you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead, glancing down at the recipe in front of you. It was one you’d made a hundred times before—a rich, decadent chocolate cake that had won over countless friends back in Chicago. Even your ex had loved it.

You grimaced at the memory, shaking it off with a shudder before dipping a finger into the bowl for a taste. The sweet, velvety flavor spread across your tongue, momentarily satisfying.

Uncle Ray had mentioned earlier that he’d invited Sarah and Joel over to watch the game. Your heart gave a nervous thud at the thought of Joel being in your house. He had this way of commanding a room with his quiet confidence, and you weren’t sure you were ready to be in such close proximity to him for an entire evening.

Ray had promised to take care of dinner, leaving you in charge of dessert. A fair trade, you supposed, since cooking wasn’t exactly his forte. You focused on the cake, pouring the batter into the pan, when the doorbell rang.

You wiped your hands on a towel and walked to the door, smoothing your hair nervously before opening it.

There he was—Joel. His hair was damp and slicked back, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His patchy beard was trimmed just enough to keep that rugged edge, and his brown eyes held a quiet warmth, deep and rich like coffee.

The scent of him hit you next—clean and woodsy, mixed with a faint trace of something spiced that made your knees feel a little weaker.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, his voice warm and familiar, that unmistakable Southern drawl curling around the word and sending a shiver straight through you.

"Hi, Joel," you managed, your voice softer than you intended as you stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Come on in."

He stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the hardwood floor, the sound grounding you as you tried not to stare too long.

His eyes roamed the hallway, pausing on a framed photo perched on the console table. Reaching out, he picked it up with a curious smile.

"Who's this cutie?" he asked, holding the picture up slightly.

You moved closer, your shoulder nearly brushing his as you glanced at the image. It was an old photo of you as a kid, sandwiched between your dad and Ray.

The memory bubbled up faintly—how you’d been wearing an oversized life jacket, grinning despite being terrified of the fish your dad had caught.

"Oh," you said, a small laugh escaping as you brushed your hair back nervously. "That’s me. My dad and Uncle Ray took me fishing that day. I remember being scared out of my mind when Dad reeled in this huge fish—it was flopping around everywhere."

Joel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked back at the photo, his thumb brushing over the glass as if committing it to memory.

"Damn cute," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. Then he glanced at you, his smile softening into something deeper, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. "Still are," he added, his eyes holding yours for just a moment longer than necessary.

Your cheeks burned, the compliment settling into your chest like a warm glow. "Thanks," you said, barely above a whisper, unsure of what else to say under the weight of his gaze.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stand being alone with Joel.

His presence was magnetic, and every look, every word he said, felt charged—but was it? Was he flirting, or was this just how he was with everyone?

Maybe it was just some Texas charm you weren’t used to. You needed to steady yourself, needed to change the subject.

"So, uh," you said, forcing a casual tone as you cleared your throat. "Where’s Sarah?"

Joel’s lips curved into a faint smirk, like he knew exactly what you were doing, but he let you have the out. "She’s runnin’ late," he said, placing the photo back down on the table with care. "Still finishing up work, but she’ll be here soon."

You nodded, swallowing hard as the reality of the situation hit you—you were alone with Joel. The thought made your pulse quicken, a nervous energy buzzing under your skin. "Uh, well," you said, gesturing toward the living room. "Ray’s out grabbing dinner. You can, um, make yourself comfortable until he gets back."

Joel tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. It made your breath hitch, the intensity in his eyes somehow grounding and overwhelming all at once. Then he gave you that crooked smile, the one that made your stomach flip.

"Alright," he said simply, moving toward the couch with an easy confidence that only made the room feel smaller. You watched him settle in, his broad shoulders stretching out as he leaned back, completely at ease while you stood there, feeling anything but.

Joel sat down with a sigh, his broad shoulders sinking into the couch as he leaned back and ran a hand through his damp hair, the motion pulling your attention to the way his shirt clung to him just right.

"It’s damn hot today," he said, his voice low and rough, like the heat had taken the edge off his usual drawl. His legs were spread comfortably, his presence filling the space with an effortless ease that only made you feel more out of place.

"You’d think after all these years, I’d be used to it."

You hovered near the doorway, arms folding across your chest as you tried to decide whether to sit or stay standing. The indecision made you feel awkward, and you cursed yourself for being so flustered around him.

"It’s even worse upstairs," you finally said, forcing a light tone. "The fan in my room stopped working a few days ago—it’s like a sauna in there."

Joel straightened a little, his brows knitting together in concern. "Really? You poor thing." His gaze softened as he looked at you, and the way he said it made something twist low in your stomach. "I could take a look at it for you, if you want."

The offer caught you off guard, your mind scrambling as you processed his words.

Oh, right—Ray had mentioned Joel was in construction. Maybe he knew how to fix a fan.

It made sense—the truck, the boots, the rough calloused hands that had clearly seen their share of hard work. The thought made your throat tighten.

Your mind stumbled at the thought of Joel in your room, his presence alone enough to make your pulse race. "Oh, you don’t have to—" you started, your voice higher than usual, betraying your nerves.

Joel stood, cutting you off with that low, smooth drawl. "Don’t want you spendin’ all night awake, hot and bothered," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The insinuation in his words wasn’t lost on you, and it hit you like a jolt of electricity, your breath catching in your chest. "Not when I could help ya out," he added casually, his tone as warm and rich as molasses.

You felt the heat bloom across your cheeks, spreading down your neck as you stammered, "Uh, sure. It’s upstairs."

You turned, leading him toward the staircase, but the sound of his boots following close behind only made your heart hammer harder. You tried to focus on anything but him—your hand brushing against the banister, the quiet creak of the steps beneath your weight—but you could feel him, warm and solid at your back, his quiet presence filling the space.

Joel’s eyes, however, weren’t on the stairs or the hallway ahead. His gaze drifted lower, lingering on the way your hips swayed naturally with each step, the curve of your ass accentuated by the snug fit of your jeans. He swallowed hard, biting back a low curse.

Lord help me, he thought, dragging his hand through his hair to distract himself.

You reached the top and glanced back over your shoulder, catching the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something that made the air feel heavier between you. "Here we are," you said softly, pushing open the door to your room and stepping aside to let him in.

Joel brushed past you as he stepped into your room, his presence warm and grounding, sending a faint shiver down your spine. His gaze wandered, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail—the photos of friends and family pinned lovingly to a corkboard, the necklaces and rings strewn across your dresser in a charming, haphazard way.

You were sweet, Joel thought, and that sweetness radiated from the room itself, from the cozy blankets draped over your bed to the faint, familiar scent that was uniquely you.

But then, his eyes caught on the bed—more specifically, on the pile of clothes you’d tossed there earlier. A flimsy thong rested on top of the heap, the delicate lace catching the soft light from the window.

Joel’s throat went dry, and he dragged a hand over his jaw, his mind racing with thoughts he had no right entertaining. He forced himself to look away, jaw tightening as he focused on the fan across the room, pretending he hadn’t seen it.

"Shit," you murmured, suddenly noticing his brief hesitation. Your cheeks flared with heat as you rushed to the bed, scooping up the pile and clutching it against your chest. "Sorry for the mess," you said, your voice tight with embarrassment.

Joel shook his head quickly, schooling his features into something easy and reassuring. "No problem," he said, his voice steady but a little rough around the edges. He let out a small chuckle, hoping to ease your nerves. "You should see Sarah’s room sometimes. I swear that girl keeps it a mess just to piss me off."

You forced a laugh, still mortified, as you hurried to stuff the clothes into your closet. Joel kept his gaze fixed on the fan now, determined to act normal, but his mind was spinning. The image of the lace had seared itself into his thoughts, and he had to fight to push it away, to remind himself to focus.

Clearing his throat, Joel gestured toward the fan. "Alright," he said, rolling his sleeves up further, exposing his strong forearms. "Let’s see if we can get this thing workin’ for ya." His voice was calm, even gentle, but his thoughts were anything but.

Joel crouched by the fan, examining it with a thoughtful furrow in his brow. His calloused fingers brushed over the edges as he fiddled with a few screws, testing the rotation. After a moment, he straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans and glancing over at you.

"Looks like it’s somethin’ electrical," he said, his voice calm but reassuring. "I got a buddy who’s an electrician. I’ll have him come by and take care of it for ya—free of charge."

Your cheeks warmed at the thoughtfulness behind his words, but it was hard to focus with the way the sweat on his brow glistened in the afternoon light, his shirt clinging just a little to his chest and back. "Oh," you managed, nodding dumbly. "That’d be great. Thanks, Joel."

"Anytime, sweetheart," he said, his voice softening. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer before the sound of the front door opening downstairs broke the spell.

"Hey!" Ray called, his voice booming through the house. "You up there?"

You cleared your throat, straightening slightly. "We should head down," you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended.

"Yeah," Joel said, his tone low as he turned back to you. His gaze lingered for just a moment, his eyes flicking to your bed before a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, like he was filing the scene away for later, a thought he wasn’t quite ready to share.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice steady but tinged with something unspoken.

As you led the way downstairs, Joel followed closely, his presence a warm and steady weight just behind you. The quiet tension from upstairs hadn’t dissipated—it still hummed faintly between you, palpable in the air. Every step down felt slower, more deliberate, like the atmosphere itself was thick with the unsaid, pressing you closer to something neither of you was ready to name.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The game was in full swing—football, of course, a local rivalry that had Joel and Ray glued to the screen. Every so often, one of them would groan or cheer, depending on how their team fared, their voices loud enough to rattle the windows.

You and Sarah exchanged amused looks from your spot on the couch, shaking your heads as the two grown men acted like teenagers.

"Do they always get this intense?" you whispered to Sarah, biting back a laugh.

"Every. Single. Time," she replied, rolling her eyes with a grin. "It’s like watching kids at a theme park—if theme parks had beer and yelling."

You giggled, leaning back against the couch as Sarah launched into stories about her dad and Ray’s past football antics, complete with dramatized impressions. But even as you laughed with her, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Joel’s gaze on you.

Every so often, when the others were too distracted by the game, you caught him sneaking glances your way—subtle, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. He’d quickly turn back to the TV each time, but the ghost of his gaze lingered, making it impossible to ignore.

When the game finally ended, Ray threw up his hands in frustration. "Ridiculous," he grumbled, leaning back on the couch. "They should’ve benched that quarterback weeks ago."

Joel nodded in agreement, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "If they’d just gone for the run in the third, it could’ve turned things around."

"Right?!" Ray added, shaking his head. "Some people just don’t know how to coach."

"Oh, darling," Ray started, his tone fond as he suddenly perked up, pointing a finger in your direction. "You made a cake or somethin’, hey? Just remembered. Don’t tell me you’re hiding it from us!"

You blinked, suddenly remembering the cake you’d carefully baked and iced that morning. "Oh, right! It’s in the fridge," you said, standing up.

"You guys wanna try it?" Ray asked, grinning. "She’s a hell of a baker."

"Um, yes," Sarah replied enthusiastically, already sitting up straighter.

Joel leaned back, his eyes still on you. "Would love to," he said, but the way he said it, low and tender, made your breath hitch. His gaze didn’t leave yours, and the warmth in it sent a flush creeping up your neck.

You nodded quickly, escaping to the kitchen to grab the cake. Balancing it on a stand with a few plates and forks, you returned to the living room, feeling all too aware of Joel’s eyes following you. Placing the cake on the coffee table, you carefully cut everyone a piece, the rich chocolate scent filling the room.

"Hope it’s alright," you said nervously, watching as everyone took a bite.

Sarah’s eyes widened dramatically as she chewed, muffling an enthusiastic, "Oh my god, this is the best cake I’ve ever had!" through a mouthful of chocolate.

Ray nodded in approval, already going in for another bite. "You’ve outdone yourself, kid. This is damn good."

Your eyes flicked to Joel, waiting anxiously for his reaction. He had already finished his piece, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. Then, slowly, he brought his hand up, sucking the remnants of chocolate off two fingers in a deliberate motion that felt… intimate.

"Well done, angel," he said, his voice low and smooth. "That was amazing."

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively and you felt your panties growing wet under the watch of his gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth a telltale sign of his awareness.

That bastard.

"Th-thanks," you managed, tearing your gaze away and focusing on cutting yourself a piece of cake to distract from the wildfire spreading through you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

As the evening wound down, you walked with Ray to see Sarah and Joel to the door. The air outside was cooler now, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees as Sarah looped her arm through her dad’s, yawning dramatically.

"Thanks for having us," she said brightly, giving Ray a quick hug. "Dinner was great—and the cake was unreal."

Ray chuckled, patting her back. "Always good to have you two over. Don’t be strangers, now."

Joel lingered a step behind, his eyes on you as you stood quietly to the side. "You’re welcome anytime," Ray said, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. Joel nodded, murmuring his thanks, but his gaze flicked back to you almost immediately, softer now in the dim porch light.

Sarah yawned again, tugging her dad toward the footpath. "C’mon, old man, I’m beat. Let’s go."

"Alright, alright," Joel said, chuckling. But before he followed her, he turned back, his hand brushing lightly against yours in a way so subtle it could’ve been accidental—but it wasn’t. His fingers lingered for the briefest moment, his touch warm and deliberate.

Joel took one step closer to you, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Save me another piece of that cake next time," he said, his eyes holding yours. "I’m already thinkin’ about it."

The way he said it made your breath hitch, the words laced with something unspoken. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he turned and headed to his house, leaving you standing on the porch with your heart pounding and your mind racing.

Ray didn’t notice anything, but you did—and so did Joel.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You and Sarah were halfway through The Longest Ride, laughter bubbling up as you playfully tossed popcorn at each other during one of the slower scenes. She had texted you a few days after the game, asking if you wanted to hang out, and you’d eagerly agreed.

The warm, golden glow of the living room lamps mixed with the soft flicker of the TV, wrapping the room in a cocoon of cozy chaos that muffled the storm’s furious howls outside. The rain lashed against the windows, but you hardly noticed, caught up in the moment. You were so absorbed in the film, neither of you heard the door creak open or the unmistakable sound of boots hitting the floor.

"Fucking hell," a deep voice growled from the hallway as the door slammed shut, caught by the gusting wind.

Both of you turned instinctively, startled, to find Joel standing in the entryway, drenched from head to toe. His hair was plastered to his forehead, stray raindrops tracing along the sharp line of his jaw.

Water trickled in rivulets down his neck, soaking into a shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders in a way that made your breath catch. His boots, caked with mud, squelched audibly as he yanked them off with a sharp, frustrated tug.

"Dad, are you okay?" Sarah asked, sitting up straighter. "I thought you were going to Uncle Tommy’s."

"I was," Joel grumbled, shaking out his jacket and tossing it over a nearby chair. "Got halfway there and had to turn back. It’s like a goddamn monsoon out there."

Joel hadn’t even glanced toward the living room, too preoccupied with muttering under his breath about the weather and hastily mopping up the puddle beneath him with a towel. His broad shoulders tensed as he wrung out the fabric, each motion deliberate and rough.

But when he finally looked up, his movements stilled. His expression shifted, the hard edges of his frustration melting away. His gaze softened as it landed on you, curled up on the couch beside Sarah, a blanket tucked over your lap.

"Hey, darlin’," he said, his voice low and smoother now, the rough edge from moments ago replaced with something calmer. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, pushing it back from his face as droplets fell to the floor. "Didn’t know you were comin’ over," he added.

You managed a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, we’re just watching a movie."

Joel’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You didn’t miss the way his gaze flicked briefly to the blanket draped over your legs—the same couch he’d no doubt spent countless nights on.

Something about the thought made your stomach flutter.

Sarah broke the moment, turning to you with a wide grin. "You should just stay over tonight. Ray wouldn’t mind, right?"

You blinked, startled by the sudden suggestion. "Well, I don’t think so, but—"

"Yeah, stay," Joel said before you could finish, his tone leaving little room for argument. "Don’t want you headin’ out in this storm."

You thought again about how your house was literally right next door. But the way Joel said it, his voice firm but edged with quiet concern, left you nodding before you could think better of it.

"You girls eaten?" Joel asked, heading toward the kitchen. The fridge door swung open, giving you a view of his back. His soaked shirt clung to him, highlighting the broad line of his shoulders and the muscles shifting beneath the fabric.

You caught yourself staring, heat rising to your cheeks as you quickly redirected your gaze to Sarah, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

"Yeah, pizza," Sarah said through a mouthful of popcorn, her attention already back on the TV.

Joel glanced back over his shoulder, his damp hair falling into his eyes as he gave you a brief nod. "Good," he said, his voice rumbling softly. "Storm’s supposed to last a while. Y’all need anything, just let me know."

You managed a quiet "thanks" as he closed the fridge and leaned against the counter, running a hand through his wet hair. The domesticity of it all—the three of you here, Joel casually moving around his kitchen—felt oddly intimate.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed the way your eyes kept flicking toward him, if he felt the same quiet pull that had been buzzing between you since the moment you’d met.

As Joel left the kitchen, heading upstairs toward what you assumed was his room to dry off, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The rain outside was relentless, hammering against the windows with a steady rhythm that made the night feel darker, heavier. You lay in Sarah’s bed, her soft snores filling the room, a gentle counterpoint to the chaos of the storm.

You’d texted Uncle Ray during the movie to let him know you were staying over, and his quick response—No worries, kid. I’ll see you in the morning—had put you at ease, but sleep still evaded you.

You turned onto your side again, then your back, cringing at how much noise you were making on the mattress. The last thing you wanted was to wake Sarah, but restlessness clawed at you. The glowing red digits of the alarm clock on her bedside table mocked you: 12:43 a.m.

With a soft sigh, you pushed the blanket aside and stood, the borrowed pajama shorts and singlet clinging to your skin in the stifling warmth of the room. The storm outside raged on, yet the living room felt almost oppressively hot, the flicker of the TV adding to the heavy air.

The house was eerily quiet as you made your way down the hall, the muffled sound of the storm your only company. You hesitated for a moment when you passed a door—the one you assumed was Joel’s.

It was shut, the faint light spilling out from beneath it casting a soft glow on the hardwood floor. You stared at it for a beat longer than necessary, your breath catching at the thought of him just on the other side.

Shaking your head, you tore your gaze away and continued down the stairs, the old wood creaking softly beneath your steps. The kitchen was dimly lit by a single light above the stove, and you found yourself drawn to the soft hum of the refrigerator. Opening it, you grabbed the carton of milk and poured yourself a glass, the cold liquid a small comfort against the heaviness of the storm.

Leaning against the counter, you sipped slowly, letting the chill settle in your chest as you stared out at the rain streaking the darkened windows. The quiet of the house wrapped around you, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the stillness, the way the chaos outside felt so far away.

You turned to put the milk back in the fridge when a shadow moved in the corner of your vision, a figure emerging into the dimly lit kitchen. You squealed, nearly dropping the carton, your heart lurching into your throat.

"Shit!" you gasped, clutching your chest.

Joel lingered in the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the faint glow spilling in from the hallway. His hair was still slightly damp from the earlier rain, tousled in a way that made your heart flutter. He’d changed into a plain t-shirt and sweatpants that clung to him in a way that felt almost unfair, the casual simplicity doing little to downplay his presence.

"You scared me, Joel!"

He raised his hands slightly in mock surrender, a hint of a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his gaze warm and just a little apologetic.

"Sorry ’bout that," he said, his voice rough from the late hour. "Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya. Thought i heard someone down here, you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry I didn't mean to wake you," you said, still a little breathless. "I couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe some milk would help." You gestured toward the glass on the counter, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze.

"Don’t apologize," he said, his voice softer now, almost tender. There was a sweetness in the way he said it, unhurried and deliberate. As you leaned against the counter, sipping your milk, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, the shadows of the dimly lit kitchen casting an almost imperceptible veil over his gaze, but you didn’t miss it—the deliberate way he looked at you, slow and assessing.

Your pulse quickened as you suddenly became aware of yourself—the borrowed pajama shorts and singlet you were wearing, the way the hem of the shorts brushed against your thighs, and how the fabric of the singlet clung just a little too snugly in the humid air. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you feel exposed under the quiet intensity of his eyes.

You shifted awkwardly, the cool countertop pressing against your palms as goosebumps prickled along your arms. "Couldn’t sleep either?" you asked, breaking the tense quiet. Your eyes followed Joel as he poured himself a glass of water, his movements unhurried but purposeful.

"Nah," he replied, his voice low, almost distant as he leaned against the counter opposite you, crossing his arms. "Storm’s loud as hell. Plus… hard to turn your brain off sometimes, y’know?"

You nodded, the weight of his words settling over you. "Yeah. I know." And you did—too well, in fact. Your curiosity flickered: what kept him up tonight? What thoughts chased him through the storm?

Joel broke the stillness first, his voice softer now, almost careful. "Glad you stayed over tonight. Safer that way," he said with a small nod, as though reassuring himself as much as you.

There was something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or something deeper—that made your chest feel impossibly tight.

"Thanks for having me," you murmured, your voice quieter than you’d intended, unsure why the words felt so necessary to say.

Joel shook his head slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. "Anytime," he replied, the simplicity of his tone somehow making it feel more sincere.

His gaze flicked toward the empty glass in your hand, and he nodded toward it. "You think that did the trick?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "Nope. Not even close."

Joel’s smile widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought that might be the end of it. But then he glanced toward the dimly lit living room, the faint glow of the TV still visible from where you stood.

"Wanna watch a bit of TV?" he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "See if that helps?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. There was something about the way he said it—so casual, yet laced with something else—that made your stomach flip.

"Sure," you said softly, setting your glass in the sink before following him into the living room.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Joel grabbed the remote and settled onto the couch, the faint creak of the cushions breaking the quiet. He stretched out, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, the other resting on his thigh.

When he motioned for you to sit, you hesitated only for a moment before sinking down beside him, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep it comfortable—or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence impossible to ignore. His arm rested along the back of the couch, strong and relaxed, the effortless way he stretched out only drawing more attention to the empty space at his side. The thought crept in unbidden—how easy it would be to slip into that spot, to feel the solid warmth of him against you.

Your gaze drifted downward, almost of its own accord, settling on his thighs. They were spread apart in that effortless way he always seemed to sit, relaxed and confident, the fabric of his sweatpants stretched over them.

You swallowed hard, the sheer size of him suddenly overwhelming, the way his presence filled the space making you acutely aware of how small you felt by comparison. The thought sent a rush of heat to your face, your cheeks burning as your mind betrayed you with images you quickly tried to push away.

You shifted slightly, pressing your palms into your lap as if to ground yourself, but it didn’t help—his casual ease, the way he seemed completely unaware of the effect he had, only made it worse. Your heart thudded unevenly, and you forced your gaze back to the screen, praying he hadn’t noticed your flustered state.

He flipped through the channels before settling on an old movie. The name escaped you, but the grainy black-and-white film felt fitting for the quiet hum of the storm outside.

Joel started explaining something about the movie—how it was one of his favorites growing up, or maybe something about the actor. You nodded along, murmuring the occasional "oh" or "yeah," though your attention was split between his voice and the way his presence seemed to fill the space beside you.

Somehow, over the course of the movie, the space between you and Joel had disappeared. Your knees brushed at first—a light, fleeting touch that neither of you acknowledged. But as the minutes ticked by, your thighs pressed together, the warmth of him seeping into your skin in a way that made it impossible to focus on the screen.

You tried, though—eyes fixed on the TV, even as your heart raced. When you let out a small yawn, Joel’s attention shifted to you. He smirked, tapping your thigh lightly, his touch lingering just a second too long.

"Careful there, sweetheart," he teased, his voice low and warm. "You’re gonna miss the best part."

You blinked your eyes open wider, determined to shake off the haze of sleep. "I’m watching," you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

His knee pressed against yours a little more firmly, the gesture subtle but deliberate. The proximity, the teasing, the quiet intimacy of it all—it was enough to make you forget the movie entirely.

Eventually, the warmth of his voice, low and steady, became a gentle lullaby, weaving its way through the room. The steady patter of rain against the windows only added to the softness of the moment, a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the deep timbre of Joel’s voice.

Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, despite your best efforts to fight it. You blinked hard, forcing yourself to stay present, but it was no use.

Joel didn’t even notice at first when your responses faded, replaced by the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing. It wasn’t until he felt the faint pressure of your head against his side that he froze.

His arm, which had been draped lazily along the back of the couch, went rigid, his fingers curling instinctively as his gaze dropped to you. There you were, nestled against him, your head resting lightly on his side, your face softened in sleep. The sight pulled something taut in him, a mix of tenderness and hesitation that he didn’t quite know how to navigate.

Joel swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he grappled with what to do. The warmth of you against him was inescapable, the steady rise and fall of your chest matching the slow cadence of your breathing. It made him acutely aware of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

He flicked his eyes back to the TV, but the movie had long since blurred into the background. His thoughts were consumed by the quiet intimacy of the moment, by the way you’d drifted so trustingly against him, unguarded and close in a way that made his chest ache.

Slowly, carefully, he let his arm relax, resting it just behind you, close enough to shield but not too close to wake you, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

What the hell are you doin’, Joel? he thought, his heartbeat louder than it should’ve been. He could’ve moved you, gently eased you back into your spot—but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he let himself sit there, unmoving, his body tense with the awareness of you. He told himself it was nothing—that it didn’t mean anything—but the way his gaze lingered on the curve of your face, the way his breath hitched when you shifted slightly against him, betrayed him.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, golden and warm, casting a serene glow over the room. The storm from the night before felt like a distant memory now, the quiet chirping of birds outside replacing the relentless drum of rain. Joel stirred, his body reluctant to wake, comforted by a rare warmth that made him hesitate to open his eyes.

For a moment, he stayed still, his mind caught in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness.

Something felt… different.

His arm was draped across something soft, and the faintest scent of something sweet—was it your shampoo?—lingered in the air. His brow furrowed slightly, his body stiffening as he became aware of the gentle weight pressed against him.

When Joel finally opened his eyes, blinking against the soft morning light, the realization hit him.

There you were, curled into him, your head tucked against his chest, one arm draped across his stomach like it belonged there. His arm, despite his best efforts to keep his distance the night before, had somehow found its way around your back, holding you close. Your legs were tangled with his, the blanket half draped over the both of you.

Joel froze, his heart thudding loudly in his chest as he tried to process the situation. How the hell had this happened?

Christ, he thought, his jaw tightening as he glanced down at you. The sight of you like this—so unguarded, so peaceful—did something to him he couldn’t quite name, something that gnawed at the edges of his carefully constructed walls.

His chest tightened with a mix of emotions he wasn’t ready to face, a part of him feeling uncomfortably exposed in the stillness of the moment.

Guilt crept in, sharp and biting. What the hell are you doing, Joel? he thought bitterly. Here he was, a man two decades older than you, sitting frozen while you rested so trustingly against him. He felt like a damn pervert.

This wasn’t just friendly. He knew that. And it wasn’t about the warmth of your body against his or the way your head fit so perfectly in the curve of his side. It was something deeper, more dangerous, something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Joel’s gaze lingered on your face for a moment longer than it should have, his throat tightening as he took in the way the morning light danced across your features. He swallowed hard, his hand twitching as if to pull away, but instead, his fingers brushed lightly against your back, a touch so soft it barely registered.

The sound of birds chirping outside pulled him out of his thoughts, and he finally forced himself to shift. The movement was small, careful, but enough to jostle you slightly.

Your brows furrowed, and for a moment, Joel thought he’d woken you. But then you murmured something unintelligible, snuggling closer into him, your hand tightening its hold on his shirt.

Joel let out a quiet breath, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared up at the ceiling. He was in trouble—he knew that much. Whatever mental line he thought he’d drawn had been obliterated in the span of a single night.

But as the morning light filled the room and your soft breaths continued to lull him, Joel couldn’t bring himself to move. Not yet. Not when the weight of you against him felt like the one thing he didn’t want to let go of.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

You woke on the couch alone, the soft morning light streaming through the curtains and warming the room. Rubbing your face, you reached for your phone on the coffee table and checked the time—8:30 a.m.

You must’ve fallen asleep during the movie. Stretching your legs out, you glanced around.

Joel was nowhere to be seen, and you figured he must’ve gone upstairs sometime during the night. Hell, you thought, I must’ve been a heavier sleeper than I realized.

Footsteps thudded softly on the stairs, and Sarah appeared, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She yawned as she shuffled into the living room. "Where’d you go last night?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.

"Couldn’t sleep," you replied with a shrug, stretching your arms above your head. "Ended up watching some TV for a bit."

She nodded, yawning again as she glanced out the window. "Oh, look at that—storm’s gone, and it’s gorgeous out. Feels like it never even happened."

Her gaze shifted toward the stairs. "Where’s Dad? He’s usually run a marathon or something by now. "

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "Haven't see him this morning. Maybe he decided to sleep in."

Sarah snorted, making her way toward the kitchen. "Yeah, right. That man doesn’t know how to sleep in. I bet he’s already up and out doing something."

She walked over to you, balancing a bagel in her mouth while rifling through a cabinet with one hand. "I’m gonna head upstairs to shower," Sarah said, her words muffled around the bite she’d taken. With her free hand, she pulled out a neatly folded set of towels and handed them to you. "Here—so you can use the downstairs one."

"Sounds good," you replied, taking the towels from her with a small smile. She flashed you a quick grin before heading upstairs, the sound of her footsteps disappearing as she retreated to her room.

You lingered for a moment, glancing at the towels in your hands, before stepping into the bathroom. The soft click of the door shutting behind you felt strangely loud, the space quiet except for the faint hum of the water pipes as you turned on the shower.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The hot water cascaded over your body, soothing the restless ache left from the night before. The heat seeped into your muscles, loosening the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Steam curled around you, fogging up the glass as you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of the water drown out everything else. For a moment, it was just you, the warmth, and the faint sound of droplets hitting the tiles.

But your thoughts wouldn’t stay quiet. They wandered back to last night, to Joel, to the way you’d both sat on the couch, your legs pressed against each other in a way that felt so natural, so easy.

The memory of his warmth beside you, the slight weight of his presence, made your chest tighten. You wondered when he’d gone upstairs, and a pang of regret settled in your stomach.

A part of you wished you hadn’t fallen asleep, that you’d stayed awake just a little longer—stolen a few more moments with him.

Those moments with Joel always felt fleeting, precious, as though the world conspired to keep them rare. The thought lingered in your mind until a faint sound jolted you back to reality—the distant buzz of your phone ringing.

"Shit," you muttered, realizing you’d left it on the kitchen counter. The water continued to run over you as you hesitated, your hands hovering mid-air, water dripping from your fingertips as you debated.

Leave it? The logical side of you argued it’d probably stop ringing by the time you turned off the shower, got out, and threw something on. But then again… what if it’s important?

You groaned softly, torn. The steam curled around you, the bathroom growing warmer as your mind raced. Finally, you turned off the water with a decisive twist, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself hurriedly. Better safe than sorry, you reasoned, stepping out of the shower and heading toward the kitchen, water trailing in your wake.

If Joel’s still asleep and Sarah’s upstairs, it’s fine, you told yourself as you cracked the door open, peeking out.

You stepped into the kitchen, your footsteps soft against the cool tiles, and immediately froze.

Joel stood at the stove, his broad frame dominating the small space, one hand gripping a spatula as he expertly flipped something golden and round in the pan. Pancakes. The rich scent of butter and batter filled the air, making your stomach tighten despite the whirlwind of emotions lingering from the night before.

His t-shirt stretched snugly across his shoulders, every shift of his muscles evident beneath the soft fabric. The hem lifted just slightly as he moved, revealing the faintest glimpse of tan skin and the subtle indent of his back dimples. It was such a small, fleeting detail, but it struck you like a lightning bolt, your breath catching as you took in the sight.

Your stomach dropped. Fuck. The phone had already stopped ringing, making your rush utterly pointless. You froze in place, gripping the towel tighter around yourself as your heart hammered in your chest. Just turn around, you told yourself, get back to the bathroom before—

But before you could move, Joel turned.

“Good mornin’—” he started, his voice low and easy, before his words died on his lips as his eyes landed on you.

His eyebrows shot up, his expression faltering for a split second. His gaze dropped, flicking over your body in a way that wasn’t intentional, but you caught it anyway. The towel was just a little too short, revealing more than you would’ve liked, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it, the roughness of the word sent a shiver through you anyway. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the spatula like he was trying to steady himself.

You tightened your hold on the towel, your cheeks burning as you felt his eyes dart back to your face.

Say something, you thought desperately, your voice coming out uneven and breathless.

"I—I thought you were asleep," you stammered, shifting on your feet. "My phone was ringing, and I thought I’d just…" You gestured vaguely toward the counter, the words falling flat under the weight of the moment.

Joel turned back slightly, his movements slow and deliberate as if he was trying not to startle you—or himself. His gaze stayed polite now, carefully fixed on your face, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something dark and unspoken that made the air between you feel heavier, charged.

“Oh, no worries,” he said finally, clearing his throat and reaching to rub the nape of his neck. His fingers lingered there, the movement almost nervous—a rare sight for someone usually so steady. His voice was lower than usual, gravelly, like it took effort to keep it even. "Hope you slept alright last night."

"Yeah," you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I did. Thanks."

The silence stretched for a beat too long, the tension thrumming between you like a current you couldn’t escape.

You stepped forward, snatching your phone off the counter as quickly as you could, your hands trembling slightly. "I’ll just… grab this and get out of your way," you murmured, your voice thick with embarrassment.

Joel didn’t move, but you could feel the weight of his eyes on your back as you turned to leave. "Alright," he said softly, almost too softly, his voice carrying something you couldn’t quite place.

You bolted back toward the bathroom, your heart pounding as you shut the door behind you. The steam from your shower still clung to the air, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your chest.

Pressing your phone to your chest, you let out a shaky breath, your mind replaying every detail of the encounter. The way his eyes had lingered, the rough edge to his voice, the tension that had filled the room like a tangible thing. You tried to shake it off, telling yourself it was nothing—but the way your pulse refused to settle betrayed you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Joel stood in the kitchen, one palm pressed flat against the counter, the other rubbing at his eyes as he let out a slow, measured breath. The room was quiet now, save for the faint sizzle of the pancake batter still cooking in the pan, but his thoughts were anything but calm.

You’re gonna be the death of me, he thought, his jaw tightening as he leaned into the counter.

Joel could still see you, the image burned into his mind no matter how much he tried to focus on the task at hand. Fresh from the shower, the towel clinging to your damp skin, outlining every curve in a way that left very little to the imagination.

The dip of your breast where the fabric didn’t quite meet your skin, the faint sheen of water droplets catching the light as they slid from your shoulders down to your thighs—it was impossible to look away, even as he forced himself to.

And then there was the way you’d stammered, your voice breathless and soft, tinged with embarrassment. It made his cock throb - a mix of guilt and desire that he couldn’t quite shake.

He shouldn’t have looked as long as he had, shouldn’t still be thinking about the way your hair dripped onto your shoulders or how your cheeks flushed pink under his gaze. But damn, it was all he could think about.

Joel had always prided himself on his self-control, on his ability to keep things steady and measured, but you were shaking the foundation he’d built so carefully.

"Christ," he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, his jaw tight with frustration. He should’ve known better—should’ve stopped his thoughts from spiraling the moment they started.

But here he was, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he strode upstairs to his room, his hand already working at the button of his jeans before the door even clicked shut.

The strain in his pants was unbearable, every ounce of tension caused by you.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

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borkunlimited · 1 month ago

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Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 7

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey

TW: Trauma, Implied Sexual Harassment, Implied Sexual Assault, Guns, Mentions of Violence

Chapter Summary: The trees have fully shed their leaves, a sign to a new season and with that, he gives in to one of your little favors, no matter how peculiar the reasons behind them.

Author's Note: Life has been long! Finally got new batteries for my pen so I am off to drawing a fanart for this on top of the drawings I actually need to do. Enjoy the chapter!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

7: My Dearest, Troubled

The tree in front of your shop has lost most of its leaves, a herald to autumn finally coming to an end and a new season arriving.

“Close the shop?”, you asked, confused while you watch your father put on his coat.

“Take it slow for today, twig,” your father smiled, giving himself a once over. The last train station to the city from N109 zone this morning would leave in an hour and he has to catch it to go to the hospital. “You had a long day yesterday.”

“But why?”

“You’re already ahead of schedule. You might crash out if you do too much.”

“Alright but just today though. Mister Sewing Machine wouldn’t like it if I am gone too long.”

“Mister Sewing Machine will understand, twig,” your father replied, amused at how you treat every item inside your studio as if it is a living thing but it makes sense, he did raise you to look after and take good care of the objects that ensure your livelihood.

“Daisy and I will hold the fort then!”, you answered cheerfully and your crow friend also let out a beep.

Your father smiled at you and briefly glanced at the crow who always used your antlers at a perch. Most of Sylus’ business associates had expressed unease towards this odd friend of yours who always quietly assesses them every time they converse with you in your studio.

Every word this mechanical crow hears will also reach Sylus’ ears.

He wouldn’t deny that he used to be also uncomfortable under its observant gaze.

Yet, with time comes familiarity and your father admitted to himself last night that Sylus proved to be a gentleman around you, completely different to how the people around him paint him to be, especially when he watched the dragon hybrid carry you upstairs as if you are the most fragile treasure he ever held.

That dragon isn’t as bad as people claimed and you were the first person to see past rumors and his rough exterior.

Your father, the first person you managed to convince.

Still, he still can’t help but worry about this recent development. He is sure word has spread fast after hearing from neighbors that Sylus had taken a time-off yesterday just for you.

Which is in fact, a very, very rare occurrence.

“Twig, one last thing,” he said slowly, and he looked at your crow friend then back at you, holding both of your arms gently, “Just in case. I put Mister Louis’-”, he took a deep breath then continued, “- gift at the first drawer of the front desk.”

With Sylus’ watchful eyes, your father knows that no one would dare try to come near you with any malicious intent and he doesn’t doubt that the dragon hybrid would be here before anything bad happens.

But it will only just take a few seconds before something irreversible happens.

You looked down on your shoes and he grimaced. He knows you tend to be very touchy at the subject, initially very apprehensive on the thought behind the present and the implication of the words that the young deer hybrid left.

Louis, despite his wealthy upbringing, tends to be too straightforward, too protective of the other prey hybrids that settled in this area and your father knows Louis left the same gift to other households.

“Skye isn’t a bad person-”

“I know he isn’t. I have complete faith in him.”

“Then why do we still keep it?”

“I have no doubts about your favorite visitor, twig,” he insisted gently, hoping to correct the assumptions already forming in your head, “But he is a very influential man.”

And many people would do anything to snatch the crown from its bearer.

The gaze of your crow friend is heavy but your father maintained his eyes towards you until you nodded slowly, “Okay, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Your father let out a sigh of relief, letting go of you, then patting your shoulder.

“I’ll catch the first train on the way back then we will have dinner together, is that good?”

“Alright, can you bring me something from the bakery when you get back?”

“Your favorite?”

You nodded and your father ruffled your hair before stepping out, making sure the sign says ‘Closed’.

It is not the first time your father left you by your lonesome here in the shop and usually, sewing keeps you preoccupied that you don’t even notice he is gone but his simple request of taking a break is quite foreign.

“What do you do when you are taking breaks, Daisy?”, you asked your crow friend who is busy preening the braid on the side of your face.

Mephisto tilted its head and if you can understand it, it is telling you right now that visiting you is break time, a privilege it takes advantage of too often.

“Organize your treasures?”

That is usually scheduled at the end of the month so again, it shakes its head.

“Catch up with your crow friends?”

Mephisto decided to not do that for now, especially when the largest crow in the group tried to pull the ribbon you made for it off its neck.

“Do you clean your nest?”

It knows it has to give you an answer because you will keep asking, not that it minds.

So, Mephisto nods.

“Really now? I do enjoy looking after the house as well,” you smiled, folding your sleeves until your shoulders and putting your hair up. “Where should we start?”

You follow Mephisto, carrying a broom and laughing gently when it leads you to your studio, perching at the handle while it waits for you to give your verdict on its choice.

“Am I that messy, Daisy?”

It lets out a beep, which you took as a yes, and then opened the door.

“You are a very honest crow,” you chuckled and Mephisto wagged its tail.

It doesn’t think you are messy, no, not at all. It is because out of all the rooms inside your shop, this is where you and it spends time the most.

It only makes sense that you both start cleaning its nest first.

────────────────────

Sylus woke up earlier than expected, mostly because he is looking forward to checking if you managed to pick up the hint he left last night.

The chimes at the entrance of your shop announced his entry and while he didn’t expect you to come and greet him, he certainly did not expect your studio to be empty.

Boxes are scattered around, clearly a sign you are in the middle of organizing fabrics and sewing materials. Spools of threads in the middle of being shifted and arranged from darkest to lightest, assortment of buttons that got lost are reunited one by one to their siblings.

It was clear you are doing a quick sweep, a break, he assumed, but where are you?

“Sweetie?”, he called out.

There was no response except for a chirp.

It was Mephisto, diligently lifting blankets that covered the mannequins one by one as if looking for someone.

Or, looking for you.

It only took him moments to realize that in the middle of cleaning up, you and Mephisto had your attention diverted and now playing a game of hide and seek.

What even made it more amusing is you don’t know there is a new player joining in. For now.

“Where is she?”, he asked, watching as Mephisto perched on his shoulder and tilted its head, as if repeating the same question he asked albeit sarcastically.

If crows can shrug, Mephisto certainly did but it knows you haven’t stepped outside the shop, a rule both of you set before starting the game.

“Electric wires that connect the shop to the grid are not a hiding place!”, you quickly added earlier before running away when Mephisto started chirping with pause in between, a countdown.

Sylus rolled his eyes. Of course, he can immediately find where you are. He just had to shift through the scents, old and new, that lingered on your shop and follow it but where is the fun in that?

“No hints?”

Mephisto shook its head.

Sylus heard a giggle from behind him, the scent of cotton and wildflowers that is unmistakably yours hung briefly in the air but then faded away together with your soft footsteps padding further from him.

You already know he is here through the gap of the half-opened studio door.

Smart girl.

The familiar click of the heels of your shoes are gone, clearly having taken them off and carried them to not make a noise.

“Now, miss seamstress, is this how you welcome a new player in your game?”, he called out, making sure his voice was carried from your studio to every room of your house until to the very corners and crevices you may have thought were safe hiding spots.

Of course, Sylus did not expect you to reply but he took his time, walking casually and aimlessly at items that decorated your home, making sure his footsteps are loud.

Each step calculated, a movement under the pretense he is exploring rather than actively searching for you. He doesn’t have to close his eyes to know you clearly climbed up the stairs, hearing you gasp softly when you accidentally stepped on the fifth step that always creaked.

“I am starting to think you don’t actually want me to find you, sweetheart.”

Every living thing emits a certain scent when being hunted down and prey hybrids have the most potent ones but there is not even a trace of it in you.

In fact, Sylus can only pick up excitement.

Anticipation.

You are clearly happy he still came over to visit you even when you and him had spent the entire day together yesterday.

You can’t help but smile when you peeked from the second floor and saw the tip of Skye’s tail passing by. Daisy glanced up but you put a finger on your lips, a gesture that it is you and your crow friend against the dragon hybrid.

Will Mephisto choose you over Sylus any day? An absurd question.

It decided to buy more time for you, flying towards the receiving area, pretending to check if you were under the front desk.

“You’re a little traitor, do you know that?”, Sylus chuckled, crossing his arms while Mephisto feigned indifference.

The bird is clearly siding with you, he already knows when Mephisto’s gaze lingered on the top of the steps for a second too long.

One of the doors upstairs bang loudly followed by another carefully opened, a clear misdirection.

Daisy can only buy you a little time and you know Skye is bound to find you soon.

Predator hybrids have outstanding senses, that’s what you were told by others. They can hear the beating of your heart. They do not need your name, your scent alone is already a unique identifier.

You haven’t really asked Skye how true it is, if you already lost the game the moment he stepped inside your home but you don’t care much how different you both are, if he already had the edge between the two of you.

In this little corner of the N109 zone, all the rules your kind had imposed upon you are forgotten.

You held your knees close to your chest inside the floor of the cabinet, your ears twitching and listening to his footsteps. The fifth stepped creak and and his silhouette passed by briefly to your room only for it to return immediately after checking your father’s room.

“I know you’re in there, sweetheart.”

You put your hands on your mouth, stifling your giggles.

“I’ll give you a headstart to change your hiding spot before I come in, darling deer.”

There was no sound, no movement. You stayed where you are and if that’s your decision, then Sylus would take it.

Every person in every room Sylus steps inside would immediately avert their eyes to avoid his gaze but there will always be a handful who will lock eyes with him with subtle defiance and Sylus would always pick up the scent of fear, even the slightest ounce.

Narrow it down further and among the handful, there is only person that will meet his eyes, a vast ocean he will always come back to.

And that person is-

“Found you.”

The cabinet door opened, and there you were, hugging your knees and a shy smile on your lips as you looked up at him.

“Hello, Skye.”

“Hello, sweetheart.”

He crouched down to your height, slowly reaching out to you to play with the small braid on the side of your face and his eyes flickered on one of your antlers.

Tied around it is the red good luck ribbon he had left last night.

You leaned towards his hand, smiling.

“How did you find me, Mister Dragon?”

“I’ll always find you, Miss Deer.”

────────────────────

At first, you find Mister Louis quite rude.

You don’t have to open his gift to know what is inside. Everyone who enters your studio just to watch you always carries one of various sizes.

They usually keep it hidden behind their coats while others carry suspiciously long boxes, the wooden floor creaking every time they put it down on their feet before looking around your studio, making conversation with you.

Cold. Heavy. Powerful.

You only get to hold one when the twins come over, Luke carrying a rifle and Kieran, its case. They let you take a peek at the scope once when they saw two rival groups about to tear each other’s throats just past the boundaries set by the boss himself to all the denizens of the N109 zone.

“Have you ever held one before, Miss Deer?”

Kieran asked you before, noticing your fascination when they let you examine the rifle, making sure the safety is on.

You shook your head, focused on the little fight that was about to unfold between Mister Louis’ pride of lion hybrids and a pack of wolf hybrids.

The two chuckled, their tails wagging.

“I don’t think the miss needs to. She already has us and the boss looking after her.”

They never referred to Skye using his real name.

They always call him ‘boss’.

The distant gunshots rattled the utensils you have brought with your favorite visitor upstairs in the small rooftop garden you keep, the tea making small waves against the walls of your porcelain cups.

“It looks like the neighbors are being rowdy today, Skye,” you chuckled softly but Sylus did not miss the slight tremble when you took a piece of your favorite cake.

The entirety of N109 zone isn’t paradise, that Sylus knows.

Yet, he is very specific to everyone living here to not even dare cause not even a single ruckus within 500 meters of your shop.

“They just don’t know how to behave, do they?”, he mused, adding more strawberry macarons on your plate.

Your eyes fell on his hands. It was clear that he is familiar with defending himself using his fists. His hands were rough, the skin on his knuckles stretched tight against the bone.

As always, he checks the cut on your finger and your eyes trace the calluses on his palm and the finger he uses to pull the trigger.

With his pointed horns, a powerful tail, and senses so sharp, he doesn’t have to worry much about anyone hurting him.

“I have a request,” you started slowly, your eyes watching the last leaf of the tree land on your tea, floating quietly.

You have always welcomed each season with open arms but the end of autumn means it will only be weeks until you say goodbye to your antlers.

With them gone comes the feeling of defenselessness, of terror, and each distant gunshot reminds you that your kind-

-Really is pitiful.

“What is it that my sweetheart wishes for?”

“You can turn me down, alright?”

“Let me hear you out first, miss seamstress, then I’ll make the call.”

“I want to learn how to shoot,” you replied, and you immediately averted your gaze, looking down at your lap.

You know he uses one but he always keeps it on his back, covered by the coat he hangs on his shoulder but you always spot it when he shifts closer to you to study your work.

Sylus was expecting you to bring up your many plans of tying bows on his horns and tails but certainly not this. He had always told himself you don’t need to wield a weapon. Not because he thinks you are completely fragile but because holding one means you are pointing it to another person.

Your hands, they weren’t made to destroy.

They were meant to create.

“That’s not a small request, little doe, are you sure?”

“If it is fine with you?”

“Why do you want to learn, sweetie?”

“I am going to lose my antlers soon,” you admitted sadly, your ears drooping and Sylus’ gaze softened when he realized the cause of your anxiety.

The red ribbon tied on your antler sway gently against the autumn breeze together with the good luck ribbon on his horn.

It is hard to say no when his favorite deer is looking at him as if he ate her last macaron.

Sylus already knows he is a goner.

Still, he relished that you chose to ask him this favor over Luke and Kieran and he chuckled, his resolve gone.

“You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, do you know that, sweetie?”

You know Skye’s services do not come cheap. He already did so much for you, carrying favors and messages so it is only fair you compensate him just as before when he helped you.

“Here,” you said, tapping your right cheek, “My downpayment.”

“You’re quite a charmer, aren’t you, little doe,” he whispered, reaching out to lean closer to you then pressed his lips on your cheek.

If Sylus has it his way, he would be demanding more, to shower you kisses. Will you be blushing madly when he does? Or will you just laugh and tell him he missed a spot?

As much as he wants his answers to those questions that come while he waits for sleep to come, he will take what he can have right now as long as it is from you.

“Downpayment received,” he murmured softly in your ear and you caught the red tints of his ears.

Among the quiet rustling of the dried leaves on the floor of your garden and the sounds of ceramic pots and bottles being lined up, he can only hope that his wishes carried by the autumn breeze will be heard.

────────────────────

Daisy gave you another reassuring nuzzle on your cheek, sensing your frustration and embarrassment.

Sylus knows you are clearly upset and he knows exactly why.

Thirty bullets in and your chances of hitting a target should be at least greater than before but every time you pull a trigger, it is as if the bullet ricochets itself and hits the wall.

Is this the universe's way of telling him that his precious deer shouldn’t wield a firearm? He is starting to think it is.

“Skye, they kept missing,” you sighed, your ears drooping, and he had to stifle a chuckle because even with tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you just look so adorable.

“Sweetie, it takes time handling a firearm,” he began, stepping closer with his thumb wiping a tear on the corner of your eye, “Just like when you were learning how to use your sewing needles.”

“Did it also take you years to learn how to use them?”

“Not years but it took practice and patience.”

“Don’t rush it, sweetie,” he murmured against your ear, standing behind you, his chest brushing against your back, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

One.

An erratic heartbeat.

It isn’t the quiet and steady rhythm you have. A tune trying to sync itself against the conductor’s lead but ahead by one note.

“Breathe for me,” he said quietly and your ears brushed his cheek, flicking. Your shoulders relaxed against him followed by a sharp intake of breath, an attempt to match the cadence of his heart.

Two.

Trembling hands.

The gun, a foreign object, your body’s natural reaction to push it away from you but your determination supersedes, holding on.

“Eyes forward,” Sylus continued, his warm breath fanning against your neck, soft but firm. His other hand moved from your waist to grip your wrist, a stable guide.

Three.

Shaky aim.

Every time you pull the trigger, the close sounds of the gun unloading startles you. The sound, much different, compared to the distant firing of the rowdy citizens of the N109 zone. Your deer instinct takes precedence over everything, telling you to flee.

“Ignore everything else.”

His hand holding your wrist rested on top of yours, his finger on the trigger with you. His voice a low, soothing rumble as he rested his chin against your shoulder.

You are as much a human as you are a deer.

The last bullet inside the firearm discharged, the golden casing shining against the afternoon sun until it finally met its target, the pieces of the old ceramic pot shattering.

Sylus was watching you closely, your stunned expression of finally hitting one of the targets both of you set up slowly replaced by a wide smile, relief and triumph.

Victory .

A small one but a victory nonetheless.

“That’s my girl,” he praised you, his hands moving around your waist to pull you closer against his chest.

“Did you see that, Skye?”, you asked, looking up at him, your nose brushing against his in the process.

“I did, sweetheart, I did.”

“You’re a good teacher.”

“And I have a willing student.”

“I supposed I should pay you in full now for the lesson,” you smiled, then pointing at your right cheek, “Here.”

Sylus is sure the twins and even Mephisto had a hand at this. The three of them most likely made you assume that little favors are to be paid by hugs and kisses, always seeking affection from you just like he does.

Unbelievable but it worked.

He chuckled softly, his lips hovering just above your skin before he planted a lingering kiss on the spot you pointed.

“Payment accepted, sweetie.”

Sylus had already given himself the role to be your protector and he knows what it takes to be one.

To you, he is your dragon, always yearning for your touch, content.

To others, he is the big, bad and will always be bad dragon and if he has to take, bite, and claw at every single being that is a threat to your small forest, then so be it.

────────────────────

Evening comes by too fast, the breeze entering the open windows of your shop becoming colder and stronger and you know it is time for your favorite visitor to go when he glances at his watch and lets out a heavy sigh.

The passage of time always picks up speed every time he is here and his shoulder slumps just slightly when he sets one of the boxes he is helping you move on one of the tables.

“Duty calls?”, you asked, his frown turning to a smile when you peek to check on him.

He nodded, “It’s time for me to go.”

You observed him thoughtfully, studying him and your eyes lingered on his watch, a new one, clearly expensive. He always wears a different one every time he comes over.

There is a question that you put at the back of your head when morning came where you were met with an unexpected surprise after you removed the wreath that Skye made for you.

“What is it like to be Mr. Sylus’ bodyguard?”, you asked, accompanying him to the door of your shop.

“It’s a demanding job but it pays well.”

“Does it also include making sure that not a lot of people know what Mr. Sylus looks like?”

“That’s one of the job requirements, sweetie.”

“If I tell you I now know what he looks like, what would you do?”, you asked, tilting your head with a knowing smile.

Who would have thought a little hint is all you need to piece together who is the man in front of you?

This is the face of someone close to solving a puzzle, a breakthrough. You have a question in your mind slowly taking shape.

All Sylus needs now is for the words to come from your lips.

A confirmation and there is only one correct answer.

“That depends, sweetie. Prove it to me and I’ll take you to him,” he replied playfully.

“You will?”, you asked, wagging your tail, “Really?”

“Really,” he affirmed, and his tail flicked in excitement, “We’ll go straight to the base if you give me the right answer.”

You paused for a moment, your eyes looking at your shoes and the dusty clothes you are wearing then you chuckled softly, “Tomorrow. I want to look my best when we meet Mr. Sylus.”

You want to doll up for him.

You want to be presentable.

He wanted to tell you that you don’t need to, that all he needs is for you to call him by his real name.

“You already look cute just the way you are, if you ask me,” he said, pinching your cheek one last time before opening the door and he was about to step out when you reached out to hold the end of his coat hanging on his shoulders.

“Miss me already, sweetie? Don’t we have an appointment set tomorrow?”

“You forgot something.”

“Did I?”, Sylus answered, a slow smile spreading on his face while he pretended to pat his pockets and scan his clothes, “I supposed I did.”

Late autumn.

His car parked just outside your shop at the front in this corner of the N109 zone while the lone tree standing tall near the curb had finally completely shed its leaves. Your wool cardigan rustles gently, the wooden floor creaking when you stand on your tiptoes.

This time, your lips finally hit the mark, right on his cheek.

A small noise, he doesn’t know if it is his, yours, or maybe both but it is clear that it is for your ears and his only, an intangible treasure, a song that will always play in repeat, forever sought.

Small memories, so small, but even then, all the precious gems are.

After he waved goodbye, Sylus had tucked the stray leaf on the dashboard of his car that day.

Tomorrow can’t come any sooner.

────────────────────

A classical tune filled the room, the papers and record books shuffling while you pile them up together for your father who is running late.

Your eyes occasionally land on the door, hoping you will see the familiar antlers and the package from your favorite bakery that makes the best strawberry shortcake, a little treat he promised from earlier and also, most likely to make up with you..

The chimes rang.

“Welcome home-”

“I always loved those antlers of yours, branches.”

Every part of your body froze, and your wool cardigan suddenly was not enough to keep you warm.

How long was it when you heard that voice? Your mind was close to putting a number to the distance you and your father had put between that voice but before you could even come up with an answer, you stopped.

Every cell that makes you up refuses to acknowledge his presence, no, his existence .

There is no person in front of you, the chimes did not announce a visitor. Maybe it did not ring at all and it is just you and Daisy in this shop, waiting for your father’s return.

But there is.

He is a human, that one you are sure.

No tail.

No horns.

Normal ears.

His voice?

A broken record, too many scratches but it still plays a distorted song, the lyrics a horrid amalgamation of disjointed tracks.

His face?

A mess of black threads all tied against each other, there is no way to tell where it began and it started. It is as if they have been there ever since and will always be there.

“Who would have thought that the deer Sylus is keeping for himself is you? I have been looking for you everywhere.”

One.

Two.

Three.

Three strides. It also takes him the same number of steps from the store front of your old shop to stand beside you in the front desk when you used to be the one greeting customers.

You keep your eyes on your shoes, your hands behind your back and even when you try to move at least an inch, your body refuses.

Deers must stay still under the gaze of a predator.

An actual predator.

Humans.

Predator hybrids.

Prey hybrids.

Put all three of it in a diagram and you will find that you are as much as capable of harming each other.

The only question is- Will you?

Can you?

“It looks like he knows how to look after livestock,” the human continued, and your lips trembled when his breath was a little closer to your neck.

His name? What was his name?

Your mind refuses to cooperate. Do not put a name on this tangled mess of black threads that he calls a face.

Names only make them more real.

How does it even speak? No, there is certainly a face underneath it but if you even try to pull a loose thread, it will only just unravel itself further.

You might get caught in it too if you do.

“Lost your voice? But you were just talking to Sylus earlier,” he prodded further and your gaze moved from your feet to the drawer of the front desk. “Gave him a kiss too.”

Breathe for me.

Skye’s words echoed and his voice, always so gentle, is now distant.

“Too bad your little league isn’t here anymore,” the human continued then he gazed at the crow.

He clearly recognized this one. Its appearance is the reason why Sylus suddenly left a very important negotiation back then and who would have known, that beast really does keep an eye over you.

Oh, you aren’t Sylus’ emergency ration.

Not a feast either.

You are so much more to that dragon, alright.

Sylus is going to regret crossing a human.

────────────────────

“Hey boss, the packages have arrived.”

The twins weave their way towards him through the maze of boxes and crates scattered inside the main hallway of the base and more are waiting to be brought in outside the double doors of his home.

Weapons.

Experimental drugs.

Documents.

The whole nine yards, waiting to be opened by him one by one and all of it will fetch a hefty sum as long as it is sold to the most eager buyer.

Who would have known he will be doing a similar clean-up here at the base as well?

“Let’s get started. Time is money.”

It was the usual routine, Luke will hand him a package to open while Kieran continues to put everything inside.

The blade cuts across the tape holding the flaps and each item inside promising.

Sylus always notes the senders, these are from business associates after all. How the product performs is a test, an evaluation to know if the venture is a worthy pursuit or not.

“Say, boss, I thought you had that group blacklisted,” Kieran said slowly, approaching his desk and carrying a box.

A cardboard box.

No sender details.

Yet, it was faint, very faint, but Sylus knows why Kieran asked.

The box holds a faint stench of the black market that deals with prey hybrid meat.

“I did,” he frowned. He was clear to those sick bastards he had no intentions of dealing with their wares, “Open it.”

“I wonder if they are sending those vials again. That was creepy,” Luke said, standing closer to Kieran while he watched his brother rip the old parchment paper wrapping the box.

“Or those horns. That was nasty.”

“Or a bomb.”

“What? Nah, this box has been sitting outside for a while.”

“Let’s get this over,” Sylus said, sighing heavily, already thinking how he would dispose of these ‘samples’ as those people called it.

Sylus has always been decisive when giving orders and every decision comes with consequences, both good and bad.

Yet, there are many times that the universe is quick to remind him that he isn’t invincible as he thinks he is even if it gifted him the prowess to assert his claim against those who stand his way.

And right now, the universe is pointing at a chink on his scales.

Pictures.

The box is full of photos of you, all circled with a red marker.

His eyes traced the antlers decorated with threads, then at the crown of flowers and finally-

-At the glassy eyes of a taxidermized head of a deer resting on the white linen holding a note in its mouth.

And it says-

“Boss?”, Luke said slowly.

“Boss, what does it say?”, Kieran asked, the usual calmness in his voice slowly overcome by nervousness.

Pretty little deer.

Sylus had never been much dependent on fate. Every action is calculated, all variables considered and every odds must be in his favor.

But tonight, when he and the twins raced back to your shop, never he expected the day would come his car would roar on the highway as he stepped on the accelerator.

Let this be a sick prank.

Let this be an empty threat.

Let this be a cruel joke.

God, please.

────────────────────

Author's Note:

Do you know that part in the rollercoaster before you plunge at the speed of 80kph or more? Yeah, this chapter is that chapter. See you next Thursday!

My inbox is open~ (If you wanted to be mutuals, I will be happy!) I am still navigating how fandom etiquette is since it is my first time being active in one here in Tumblr.

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #hybrid au #lads hybrid au #lads #lads sylus

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the-californicationist · 3 months ago

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Brisance (1/2)

When Johnny MacTavish finds the woman of his dreams, he didn't expect her to be strapped with ten pounds of C-4... but he kinda likes it. Or: How Johnny MacTavish learned to stop worrying and love the bombmaker...

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Brisance

— August —

Ghost sighed, knocking his bootheel on the edge of the desk where he was perched, smoking his last cigarette, and scrolling through Reddit threads, bored to death and letting everyone know about it.

“I can hear ye, Ghostie. I’ll jus’ be a wee bit longer,” Johnny called out over his shoulder.

His masked lieutenant sighed audibly. He thought Soap looked ridiculous in that lighted, magnifying headset, the plastic lenses making his big blue eyes look like saucers. The sergeant had been hunched over an inert explosive device and its mechanical guts for the better part of four hours now, inspecting every inch of the thing, commenting on technical mambo jumbo that Simon hadn’t ever heard - or cared - about. Bombs were not his forte. He knew how to set one, and he knew how to avoid them, but that was about it.

Soap let out a low whistle of admiration, and Ghost rolled his eyes, knowing some brainy quip was coming next about the “detonation velocity” or the “elastomer bonding” or whatever demolitionist jargon he was moved to speak on.

“Innit tha’ the bonniest thing there ever was, mate?” Johnny crooned, sounding like a proud father.

“Does this one kill us real special-like?” Ghost snarled, tired of Soap’s preening exploration of this device.

“You dinnae understand, LT. This is… well, it’s the bloody Mona Lisa of IEDs.”

“Come off it.”

“No, I’m serious. Come see,” Johnny moved his chair over to show off the open, black box where the device’s innards were housed, pointing to a series of tightly-strung wires and cables, “Ye ken how the last one cut through three layers of concrete at the Kadurin silos?”

“Aye,” Simon sauntered over, peering into the mess of wires, trying to divine what his sergeant was seeing.

“See this block here? It would take ten times the RDX to get a high enough brisance to pound through all three layers at once,” Soap sounded like a kid at Christmas, “But, look at how this bastard staggered his fuse layers. He used a visco fuse, cut it like a flying fish, and only had to send one electric match to charge it! Bloody fuckin’ brilliant.”

“English, MacTavish,” Ghost groaned, “Please…”

“This wee box survived because it contains the initial housing, but the bomb itself was in the fuckin’ room, not the detonation package.”

The lieutenant furrowed his brow, taking one last drag of his cigarette, and begging Johnny to clarify,

“So, you’re sayin’ that the bomber was in the cafe before the device was planted?”

“Aye,” Johnny’s eyes got even wider, comical when set behind his magnified lenses, “And tha’s not it. They made this box to last. Someone is sendin’ us a message.”

“What does it say?” Ghost looked back into the wires, expecting them to spell out H-E-L-L-O or F-U-C-K-O-F-F.

“I dinnae ken. Not yet. But, I think he left me a clue.”

“A clue? The fuck…”

“See this? This is a visco fuse alright, but it’s Cordtex, and its got traces of collodion.”

Johnny was waiting on the edge of his seat, buzzing with anticipation, praying for Ghost to have the same, nearly-orgasmic eureka moment that he was. And yet, bored dark eyes glared down at him, waiting for the punchline. So, Soap gave it to him,

“He’s makin’ these from scratch. And,” Soap ripped off the headset and stared down into the box in amazement, “I think he’s a Brit. He could’ve just used any old visco fuse, but he didn’t. He went bloody far out of his way to make these, and I wonder…”

The headset slid back on and Johnny returned to the device, picking around the mechanisms like a dog hunting for a treat, sniffing his way around for anything to chew on.

“British,” Simon hummed, “Hm, I’ll tell Cap. Maybe he can get Laswell to send it off for testing.”

Soap didn’t respond. As Ghost left the room, he called back over his shoulder,

“Don’t stay up all night, Johnny. Got PT at 0430.”

“Mm-hm…” Soap replied, not bothering to look up when Ghost finally made his exit, too busy making eyes at his one true love: a beautifully crafted bomb.

— October —

The ticking was the worst part, but as he stared down into the blackness of a rigged, plastic tote, Johnny almost wished he would have something to keep him company, even some of that infernal ticking sound that should be happening. But, it wasn’t. The room was silent like the grave, and if Johnny made one wrong move, it would become his own.

A voice crackled through his headset,

“Five minutes, thirty seconds.”

Gaz was keeping count for him, checking in at regular intervals, his voice trembling from the stress. Johnny wished he wouldn’t worry. This was a timebomb, yes, but it needed input. Someone was waiting for something, and if he could figure out what, maybe he could stop it.

“Aye, any movement from overwatch?”

A short pause and then his lieutenant’s voice came through,

“Negative.”

This bomb was truly a piece of work. There was no indicator, and in fact, no traceable fuse. All of the ignition was internal to the RDX modules, and there were eight of them altogether, each with its own unique housing. Johnny had disarmed five of the eight, and he was working on number six as quickly as he could.

The bombmaker had a great deal of skill, but so did Soap, and it was less of a race than it was a fluid, complicated, one-sided conversation. With every choice in material and fuse design and chemical agent, the bombmaker was telling Johnny all about himself.

The Semex block and guncotton in housing three, wrapped in flash paper and copper-coated fuse links? This bloke had access to high-quality chemicals. The wooden housing and saltpeter dusting in number five? When he didn’t have access to those high-quality chemicals, he was resourceful enough to know how to make do without them. The way the fuse line lay independent from the center of each housing, and yet initiated from different grafting points? Making bombs was more than just a hobby. The bastard was designing these devices like challenges, giving Johnny puzzle after puzzle, testing his abilities.

Soap should have been angry, but he wasn’t. In fact, this particular model of IED hadn’t taken a single life. The bombed buildings were strategically placed against Makarov’s forces, almost as if this terrorist was on a mission of rebellious freedom. The Russian oligarch’s people were fighting back against their own leader, rejecting his authority. This was the work of a highly intelligent man out for justice, not a simple murderer.

Johnny had spent the last two months discovering more and more about this particular insurgent, and now that he could see the pattern of his behavior, Soap was more likely to label him as a true freedom fighter. Laswell didn’t seem to care about labels, but Johnny felt like he almost had the captain convinced.

“This might be someone we could pull to our side, Cap’n,” Johnny had suggested.

“Just make sure you end the day with all your fingers still fuckin’ attached, lad. How about that?” Price had sniped, but it was toothless. Johnny knew he was starting to see the pattern, too.

Staring down at his hands, all ten fingers still hard at work, he marveled at the commitment to craft in everything from the fuses to the housing shells. The sergeant cut through blocks of C-4 in cubes six and seven before Gaz had given him a seven-minute warning. As he inspected housing number eight, Johnny almost felt disappointed that he and the maker of these bombs would never meet. The things he could learn from an artist like this…

A green laser trembled and danced in front of his face, pointing directly to the bottom of the eighth block. Johnny’s eyes shot up, finding the source right away. Through the window, a cloaked figure crouched on the roof, dressed all in black, tucked behind an air vent, their eyes pinned to him as he gaped in disbelief.

It was him. The bombmaker was here.

“Overwatch, target at eleven o’clock, south rooftop, copy,” Johnny’s voice gave away their position, and as soon as he heard the confirmation from Ghost, his ears also picked up on a soft, almost delicate ticking sound. Gunshots popped wildly outside, and the bombmaker disappeared, his body lithe and quick, avoiding danger and leaving Johnny to die at the hands of his creation.

As quick as he could, Johnny cut through the eighth housing, searching for the fuse. But, he came up empty. Then, he remembered where the laser had been pointing. He turned the dark layer over and saw a hole in the RDX material. On nothing but instinct, he cut down into it and hit something solid. The housing broke open to reveal a wristwatch.

There was no fuse. And all of the other housings had been rendered inert, so there was no danger.

Why would the bombmaker start the timer without anything to blow? Johnny’s mind swam with possibilities, and then he turned the watch over to inspect the back. Written in big, bold pen, Soap saw the letters JFM on the dull metal. His initials. John Fergus MacTavish. Not even Ghost knew his middle name.

Suddenly, Johnny heard more ticking. It sounded like a collection of clocks had just come to life. He dug around in the box, finding it empty, but he discovered the final clue too late. A small lip on the edge of the crate hinted at another layer of explosive material, hidden from plain sight.

“Shite! Fall back!” He shouted.

There was a false bottom, and when Johnny pulled it up, he discovered ten more tightly-packed Semex blocks that were fused up together with that same Cordtex line, ready to explode. All over the plasticine blocks, the letters JFM were cut into the material, recurring like an endless pattern. As he looked down at his initials littering the bomb he was trying to diffuse, his head swam with confusion. But, there was no time for that.

Johnny slammed the lid shut and bolted, running for cover. His legs burned as they hauled him out of the stone building, his feet sinking into the dirt and sand outside of the door. Soap could see the cover wall, and he dug in, using every bit of strength he had to reach it and scale it before he was just a stain on the dirt. He barely made it, and as he tumbled behind the sturdy wall, he could feel the searing heat of the blast on his back and legs. It felt like needles were stinging his skin; it was so hot.

A few moments went by, and although the world was quiet for Johnny, he knew that was just the hearing loss. In fact, he understood that the reality was quite the opposite. As he looked up, he saw Price stomping over to him. The captain was yelling something, but his voice couldn’t reach his ears. All he could see was the bearded man hollering and carrying on with a wrathful look on his face. Then, bits and pieces came through.

“... could’ve… killed… fuck.. thinkin’... Johnny?!”

Price tried again, pulling his sergeant up from the floor by his gear vest,

“Do you hear me? What the fuck was that? Almost lost you, boy. Jesus Christ!” Captain Price sounded like he was underwater, but at least the words were coming through.

“Sorry, sir. But, I needed to find the last clue,” Johnny held up the watch as if it was his well-deserved trophy.

“You were almost the last clue, you bloody idiot,” Price ran his hand through his hair and knocked his boonie hat onto his shoulders, totally exasperated.

Soap knew he should feel guilty, or at least a little fearful, but everything was different, now. After the realization that the bombs were designed specifically for him, Johnny found himself actually looking forward to the next one.

— November —

The mission had gone sideways right from the start. Their comms had been nothing but staticky garbage while they were clearing out the Kotovo Blocs, trying their best to evacuate civilians while simultaneously managing Makarov’s squadrons. It was a crapshoot every time they opened another door. Half the time, a mother and her children rushed out screaming, and the other half, they were greeted by bullets.

Even worse, they’d been separated by a particularly nasty collection of smoke-filled pipe bombs. It was nothing nasty, but it was enough of a hindrance that they’d lost formation. The plan was to regroup at an abandoned fueling station one klick southeast of their current position, and that’s where Johnny was heading. He tried to connect on comms again, but all he got was soft static.

“Ghost, Gaz come in! Bravo-seven to Bravo-actual. Do you copy?”

No one replied. He was flying solo. His senses were on high alert, and all of his movements were carefully calculated, measured, and aligned to his new mission: survive.

Luckily, Makarov’s men had been retreating, and there was enough gunfire to scare off most of the civilians, but it was still a long way to the fuel station.

Suddenly, in his ears, he heard a voice loud and clear.

“Bravo-seven, huh? I think we both know that’s not your name, soldier.”

Johnny’s mind reeled. It was a woman’s voice. She had a sort of blended accent, something he’d heard all of Laswell’s spies use so that no one would be able to tell where they were from.

“Who is this?” He asked, checking his six and making sure to stay tucked below the window ledge. It would make moving through the bloc much slower, but if someone was in a sniper position, he couldn’t take any chances.

“Mm,” she whined, “You wound me, Mr. MacTavish. I thought you’d know me by now, especially after I left you that little gift basket in Levin.”

Soap stopped in his tracks, whispering even though he was very much alone,

“It’s you…”

Her voice turned sinister,

“Vladimir is mine. Stay out of Kotovo. You’re too handsome to be in more than one piece.”

The noise in his headset went dead and he knew that she was gone. When he saw movement out of the corner of his eye – a flash of a black cloak, tattered and torn like a destitute comic book hero – Soap looked to the rooftop to find her.

The moment his eyes met her face, she pulled back her hood to reveal her eyes, piercing and furious, and a full, pouting mouth. When she caught him gaping at her, crouching far out of cover and in a state of pure shock, her lips turned up into a slight smile before she jumped down the opposite side of the bloc building, disappearing into the pelting snow.

“... –vish! Co– … John– where ar– … Johnny!”

“LT?” Johnny tried to listen in to his comms, ducking back under the window and rushing out of the building, “I found her. In pursuit west north west to the docks.”

“What? Soap, we need to RV at the fueling st–”

“There’s no time! I cannae let her get away.”

“Wha’dya mean her?” Gaz asked, interrupting their back and forth, “The terrorist is a fuckin’ bird?”

“Aye,” Johnny panted, running flat out through the thick snowfall, chasing her across the parking lot of the bloc complex, “Bonnie as fuck, too.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, MacTavish?! Get the fuck back to RV. Tha’s a bloody order!” The captain demanded.

“Aye, sir. Be there in two shakes.”

Johnny muted his mic and ignored the protests from the other end of the comm line. They were coming for him, predictably, so if things did go south, he knew he’d have some backup.

Suddenly, just as his wee birdie was making her way down the main road to the docks, gunfire popped across her path. On instinct Johnny raised his weapon and returned fire, getting her attention. She peered over her shoulder at him, surprised that he was not shooting at her instead, and pulled her handgun to help him take down the small group of Makarov’s men who were advancing on their position.

Enemy squads were in direct pursuit, and it was hard to tell if Soap or the bombmaker was their main target. It didn’t matter, in the end. Johnny took out the first squad in a matter of moments, barely reducing his speed to return fire, but there were two stragglers from the second squad, hidden behind a small electrical shed, popping off stray shots in her direction.

He altered his course, but she stopped him in his tracks. She’d shot at the ground right in front of him, keeping him away from the shed. Soap slowed, but he changed back to his original path, not understanding her motive. It wasn’t until he saw a blinding, golden blaze of fire erupt out of the electrical housing and felt the shockwave of her bomb rattle around in his chest that he understood why she had stopped him.

“Holy fuck…” he breathed.

Her teasing voice cut through his comms, silencing the chatter from the 141,

“Did ya like that, baby?”

Soap peeled his gaze away from the fiery explosion and found her perched behind a shipping container about fifty meters ahead of him. She was breathing hard, and her body was tense, but she was looking straight at him, a clever smile pasted across her mouth.

He smiled back,

“Tha’ was bloody beautiful, lass.”

Then, her eyes left him, turning back to her path towards the boat slips, and her tone became resigned,

“You can’t come with me, soldier.”

The line went dark. She had cut his entire communication. He couldn’t even hear Price barking orders anymore. Soap peeled the buds out of his ears and let them hang down by his throat mic. Still, he pursued her. He wasn’t going to give up that easy.

He was also gaining on her. She was trying her best to weave between shipping crates and huge piles of knotted ropes, but it was no use. He was faster, stronger, and by the time he was ten paces away, she knew she was caught. Suddenly, she ducked into a rundown storage building and disappeared into the room.

Johnny followed right behind, ignoring his training to stop, assess, and plan his ingress.

He came into a large, nearly empty room. At the far end, the ceiling was missing from the roof and it cast pale sunshine down into the open area. It illuminated two large wooden crates where his fiery little bird was sitting, waiting for him. The floor was covered in sand and snow, and he couldn’t see the boards beneath his boots. It was like there was no floor at all. The outside was inside, and the destroyed roof let in the wilderness where there should have been cold, clean civilization.

Johnny stopped in his tracks, holding his gun at the ready position, staring up at her like she was the winged Nike, shaken by her power and amazed by her beauty. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Her lips were pillowy and expressive, her eyes full of her sharp intellect, her body soft with curves yet heavy with muscle… to mix her stunning appearance with her phenomenal talent with demolition engineering seemed almost blasphemous. No one woman could be so perfect, and yet…

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Her voice was soft like rain, and it hit his skin in the same way, leaving little drops of its effect behind to remind him of it.

“Why?” He asked, standing very still as if any movement might scare her off again.

“I’m going to a place where no one ever comes back from. Alone. Vladimir Makarov killed my sister, and he has to pay for that. I will make him pay.”

As she finished her explanation, she smiled in a sorrowful, resigned way, understanding that she was on a suicide mission but unwilling to change her course.

“He will, bonnie. We willnae let him get away this time. You have my word,” Johnny promised her, earnestly.

“My hero,” she teased. Then, after a short pause, she asked, “Do you have a sister, Mr. MacTavish?”

“Aye. Three wildlings, in fact,” he had taken no truth serum and yet it came pouring out of him anyway.

“Bridgette, Maggie, and Jenny…” She reported back, “All older than you, right?”

Johnny’s heart stopped in his chest,

“How’d you –”

“When a handsome, young, black ops soldier comes in and defuses a sixteen stage daisycutter that I designed myself, I make sure to learn a thing or two about him. And,” she unzipped her jacket and began to pull it off of her shoulders, “I also know that a man like that, a man with sisters… is not the kind of man who just gives up.”

“No, lass. I willnae give up. Let me help you. If we… oh, Christ,” Johnny watched in horror as she pulled the jacket the rest of the way off to reveal an intricately woven vest packed with explosives with perfectly laid Cordtex wires winding in and out of each of the housings, live and ready to blow.

“Hands up!” Price’s voice echoed through the empty room as he, Gaz, and Ghost filled in the space behind their sergeant, guns pointed right at her, their red laser sights dancing on her chest like fireflies.

Johnny held out his hand with the signal to halt, and everyone froze. She, however, slid off of the crate and walked over to him, little white flecks of snow sticking to her hair and cheeks, taking each step slowly and deliberately. As she got closer and closer, Soap could smell her sweat, heady and musky, and he could hear her breaths, hanging on each of her exhales like it was some heavenly edict, memorizing the pace of them like it would unlock all of the world’s many secrets, a passcode to the truth.

She whispered, inches from his open mouth,

“You can help me,” she put her hands on his neck, using her thumbs to rub against the scruff of his five o’clock shadow, letting the stiff hairs burn under her touch, “By staying the fuck out of my way.”

Despite the warning timbre of her voice, she was open and pliant for him, letting her lips hang open slightly, like she was expecting his kiss. Johnny leaned toward her, his mouth slotting across hers, tasting her on his tongue and moving his body into her space. He ignored the danger, well aware of the fact that she was strapped with enough Semtex to blow a city block into a dirty crater, and he kissed her deeply, as if they had been lovers for years, as if this was not their first touch.

She stepped back, pulling away from him, and he took a step forward to follow.

Click.

Time stopped. Johnny’s skin flashed hot and then cold, all of the adrenaline he had left flooding his system.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” She chided him, backing away while he remained frozen in place, “Sit… stay…” Then, that same sad smile, “Good boy.”

She climbed up on the crate and escaped through the hole in the roof before any of them could react to what had just happened.

Captain Price gave an order to Gaz,

“Go after her!”

“No!” Johnny protested, “All of you, get the fuck out of this room. I stepped on a wee mine, and if I know her, this whole dock will be at the bottom of the bloody ocean the moment I lift my boot.”

Ghost came up behind him, shifting his feet carefully through the sand, searching for secondary devices. Then, he used his pneumatic tool to blow the snow away from Johnny’s left foot to reveal the device.

“Well, she got you fair and square, didn’t she, Johnny? I’ll tell your mum you died a hero’s death,” there was a joking tone in Ghost’s voice that made Soap peer down at the toe of his boot.

He had stepped on an empty soda can.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Johnny sighed, feeling the tingle of relief skitter through his limbs.

Then, panic again as Price’s voice growled darkly behind him,

“I should send you on the first flight back to Glasgow with your papers in your fuckin’ hand, boy. What the hell are you doin’, MacTavish? You’ve got one fuckin’ chance to explain yourself before I replace you with a damn bomb robot. At least then I won’t have to write a letter home when he gets blown to bits.”

“I put a tag in her pocket, Cap’n. Should be able to watch her on the SAT-NAV now. She already mapped where Makarov’ll be next. I think we should help her.”

“What’s your deal with her? Are you…” Gaz asked, bewildered by his friend’s unusually careless behavior.

“I dinnae ken how to explain it, but I need to see this through.”

Price’s exhausted sigh was the only response he received, but Johnny knew that the silence was a form of assent. They would help him, and he would help her, if only he could get to her before she did anything too permanent.

Chapter 2

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