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ceruleanchillin · 1 year ago

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But is she really yours? (141 x Reader)

Note(s) -

It's long, so be warned.

The guys are doing a little of what we like to call Dirty Mackin, and yes, I think this is something they’d all do in their own way.

Still working on getting those accents to come through, while not stepping into cringe/wrong territory.

I apologize, this is a very messy format (borderline stream of consciousness), and I’m trying to figure out a cleaner way to do this. I hope it doesn’t hurt the reading experience.

And I am the only one who kinda wants to see the reverse scenario, where Reader tries to get the guys away from their trash gfs? 👀Thanks to @bunnyreaper for the idea, it wrote itself as I read that.

Simon:

Annoying. That was the first thing Simon thought of you. So of course you had to work at the only cafe near his flat that made tea the way he liked.

You were always on your phone, arguing with someone (he guessed a boyfriend), and he hated getting stuck at your register. The calls clearly distressed you, and he didn’t know why you kept taking them. Especially on the job.

You’d gotten his order wrong more times than he could count, and you were always having to turn around and ask him to repeat the things he wanted. It got to the point where he waited until the other barista’s line was open.

Unfortunately, other customers had done the same, and it was causing a backup.

Then there was the day. His day started as it always did on his off time. The three S’s, and then he was at the gym to get his time in when he knew it was mostly empty. Then finally, his black tea.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the wait before he entered. As expected, there was a line.

You were there, and you appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation with the only person at your counter.

He was surprised to see you had a customer. ‘Must not be a regular.’

As he got closer to the counter, he could overhear the whispered argument. The man wasn’t a customer at all, he presumed he was the boyfriend from the phone calls. Based on the things the two of you were saying, that made the most sense.

‘Great. Getting the live version today.’ Simon had to wonder how you kept this job. Were you the boss's daughter? Did you own a share? Could he steal enough of the signature black tea blend and go into hiding until he had to ship out again?

You looked exasperated, and your co-worker stepped over to your side, coming to your aid.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Simon groaned, realizing the wait would be longer.

He stepped outside for a cigarette, making the mental decision that if by the time he was done with it there was still a line, he would forgo his drink that day.

He chose the alley on the side of the shop, not liking the openness of the sidewalk, and staked out against the opposite building’s wall.

He was halfway past the tip of his cigarette when the side door he’d been eyeing warily opened, and out came you.

You looked frustrated, anxious, and maybe a little embarrassed. He didn’t think you noticed him, instead, walking over to the dumpster and kicking it, hard. It sent a loud, tinny groan echoing through the alley. He narrowed his eyes, feeling that itch of frustration under his skin.

You noticed him finally, and stopped angrily muttering to yourself. Instead, you started talking to him. It was mostly an uninterrupted stream of dialogue for two minutes straight (he timed it), before he could finally understand you.

“Mandatory break! That’s the second one this week, can you believe that?”

He started to say yes, and that he hoped the third one won you a prize: getting fired. He kept his mouth shut though.

“It’s not even me, it’s my boyfriend. He means well, but he just…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” You were searching for something in your apron, but he couldn’t tell what, out of the corner of his eye.

Simon flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing until the shop’s logo mural was a blur. You found it, and walked closer to him until he turned both eyes to you.

“Can I get a light?” You gestured with the unlit cigarette between your fingers to the one burning between his lips.

“Bloody. Fuckin’. Hell, Bird! S’not enough you keep half the fuckin’ place backed up on a good day, but then you prance your arse out here to annoy me some fuckin’ more? Fuck off.” He jabbed his pointer finger at the door you’d come out of.

The alley echoed his baritone, and somehow made his outburst sharper.

You stared at him like he’d taken his head off, instead of having bitten off yours. Eyes wide, bottom lip trembling, he thought you might cry, and he began to feel guilt grow in the pit of his stomach. He’d forgotten, in the midst of you stirring up similar agitation, that he wasn’t on base talking to some recruit dumped on him.

You did cry, but once you started talking, he suspected it was more due to anger. “Fuck you! You fuck off, I work here!”

He ignored the small voice telling him ‘stop’, and fired back. “Work?” He snorted. “Real fuckin’ rich that is. Don’t confuse work with your million mandatory breaks.”

You clenched your fists, eyes wild with adrenaline and voice shrill with anger. “Go to hell. You’re just some freak in an alley who can’t remember when Halloween is. You don’t know me.”

You angrily wiped at your tears to no avail, as more quickly took their place, and then you started sobbing.

Simon sighed, feeling like shit and wishing he’d held it together just a little more. “Alright. Alright. ‘Nuff of that now.”

“I’m not crying *hic* because of you…” you huffed, trying to get your voice under control. “Just go back to your cigarette. I hope you suck it up and *hic* choke!”

He chuckled, you were the first person in a while who’d lashed back out at his harsh disposition. At least to his face. “Was uglier than I should’ve been, but won’t pretend there wasn’t some truth to it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re a shit barista, wanna form a band?” His lips quirked into a smirk around his near-stub cigarette.

For a beat there was silence, until the two of you burst into laughter. Yours a raucous peal of giggles, and his, raspy chuckles.

“Well, you earned that light. Got more balls then a lot of soldiers I know.”

The two of you stayed in that alley for thirty minutes just riffing off different topics. It ended with Simon giving you the friendly (read: rough) advice to not let your boyfriend cost you your job.

That’s not how he saw his day going. Having the most interesting conversation he’d had in a while with the woman who annoyed the piss out of him for the better part of his leave.

You were no longer annoying, you’d been upgraded to interesting, and that was the second thing Simon thought about you.

After your talk in the alley, Simon was pleasantly surprised to find that you’d taken his advice and stepped your skills up. It turned out, you were distracted by your boyfriend, but Simon had come to see why. He was obsessed with knowing where you were, and if you were thinking of him, and wondering if he should drop by.

Simon felt more guilt for being so impatient, and he decided no matter what, he would pick your line. That was the only reason too. It certainly wasn’t because he couldn’t stop thinking about you after your last conversation.

Sometimes you would take your breaks with him now, exhibiting that same forward nature from the alley, but it no longer annoyed him. He’d tease you about whether or not that break was mandatory, but he looked forward to it all the same.

You talked about anything and everything, from where you were from, to Simon having to explain the delicate ins and outs of football to you. (He was pretty sure you were pushing him to have a heart attack by pretending you forgot a different detail every time you talked).

It was an unstated, but mutually understood, thing that your time together fulfilled something missing for both of you. For him it was cutting into his habit of cutting off socialization until he was back on base or a mission, and for you, it was a break from your relationship.

He liked to think that you looked forward to your talks as much as he did, if your expression every time you saw him was an indicator.

Unlike him, you were an open book, so you did most of the talking. Simon soaked up everything you told him, filing it away. You were funny, and fascinating.

On his end, he was careful about some of what he shared, and nervous about other things. He had more dark or restricted anecdotes than humourous or endearing ones, and he didn’t want to bring you down. After all, you had more than enough of that to deal with.

The boyfriend. He was a nightmare of obsession and insecurity. It was perhaps your fourth break-hangout that Simon saw it completely for himself. He’d all but dragged you out of your seat, which made Simon rise from his so quickly, it almost toppled over behind him. He wasn’t unaware of his size, nor was he afraid to use it on the shorter man, but you assured him it was fine until he sat down.

Your boyfriend was panicking, wondering why you were keeping someone like him company. He wanted to know what it meant for the two of you, and Simon hated seeing you in an endless loop of begging the pathetic prick to believe you loved him. All of your humor and your cute little habits disappeared as he forced you to become a helicopter girlfriend, concerned only with his fears.

Simon decided then he would sway you away from him. He didn’t deserve you, and Simon may not have known you long, but he couldn’t stand to see you withering under him and his emotional blackmail. No one ever accused Simon of being sane.

You would be his, and that was the third thing Simon thought about you.

If he said so himself, he was slick about it. He’d forgotten about the amount of energy it took to pursue a relationship with someone, and why he limited his romantic interactions to hookups with women he found interesting.

You weren’t just interesting, he was fully infatuated with you by the time he started to actively move towards getting you away from that neurotic dumpster. You were worth the effort.

It started with seeing you outside of the cafe in a way that seemed natural. He thought about it for a while, before he settled on inviting you to a football game. He couldn’t believe he’d worried that you’d say no, your ‘yes’ came out before he was even done asking.

You were impressed with his timing, confessing that the night before, your boyfriend had thoroughly embarrassed you at a party, and you needed a fun day.

Simon had smiled tightly all through your hurried explanation that everything was fine, and that he had apologized once you got home with him.

The day of the game, you were absolutely adorable when he picked you up. Giddily introducing him to your roommate. She eyed him with approval, and even congratulated you for trading up.

Before you could correct her, he slipped in his answer. “That remains to be seen. Depends on if she embarrasses me at the game.”

You snorted, launching into that now familiar peal of giggles. “I promise I won’t. Now, which of these soccer teams is yours again? The Manfordshire Mermaids?”

“You wanna ride there on the roof?”

The trip was a better investment than he thought. You were enthralled with what was going on, the hype of the crowd, the skill of the players, and just being there in person. However, you had to rely on him to translate this new world to you, and that left you literally clinging to him in interest. Simon was your whole world in that stadium, and he locked that feeling down tightly for motivation.

Step one had gone off without a hitch, and now it was on to step two.

Outings with you became a series. Simon encouraged as many as possible in order to trigger the response he wanted.

He knew it wouldn’t be long until your boyfriend started getting antsy, and insecure again. You were going out twice as much as you had before you started hanging out with Simon outside of the cafe.

To push the matter, Simon told you his work schedule was getting hectic. It was a half truth, the training period before the announcement of a deployment had commenced, and Simon planned on having a girlfriend to come home to this time. Namely you.

He used the excuse to create later meetups. Dinners, movies, wandering the street and stumbling into things to do. All the while getting you hooked on his touch. Simon wasn’t a touchy-feely person by nature, and this was something everyone who knew him picked up on quickly. You picked up on it too, but he wanted to touch you. He didn’t though, at least not often.

Starting off with little touches that could be confused as an accident, he increased the pressure but kept the frequency low so you became addicted to his rare touches. He wanted you to feel special that someone like him indulged you in that way, so that you’d seek out more, even though HE was the one who felt blessed every time he felt your skin on his.

When you were together, he made sure things were about you. He didn’t imagine your boyfriend left much room for that with his paranoia, but he wanted to show you what you were in for once you were together.

One night, Simon kept you out later than usual. He’d stayed away from you for two weeks, which wasn’t hard, work was starting to pick up. He could’ve carved out a day or two though, but he wanted to make you crave his time like he did yours.

It worked. He scheduled a late dinner at an upscale restaurant, letting you fill him in on all that he missed. Namely, you missed being with him. You weren’t the type to keep your feelings to yourself, and you’d inevitably vented to your boyfriend about missing your friend. He didn’t like that label at all, but he liked what would come from your actions.

Periodically throughout the dinner, your phone rang, increasing in frequency as the night wore on.

You had to excuse yourself multiple times, and Simon pretended to be annoyed. In reality, he anticipated that. Each time the phone rang, you cringed and looked at him apologetically.

On what had to be the tenth time, Simon said. “Go on then, run off to pamper the pathetic bastard. Powder his arse too this time.”

Your face screwed up in objection to his barbed words. “He’s just worried…”

He shrugged. “Don’t owe me an explanation lovie. S’just a mystery why you’re in such a rush to be a nursemaid.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the table. “I’m in a rush to be a good girlfriend thank you. Stop being an ass, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“S’go,” he downed the last of his bourbon before he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll pay the tab and take you home.”

“What? We’re supposed to have dessert, and then maybe a movie.”

Simon watched your distressed body language and expression with mild amusement, and he was proud of being able to hide it, even though he’d forgone his mask that night. “You’ve gotta tuck in your kid. S’not on me you won’t date a man.”

You pouted and sat back down. “If I put my phone away, you put your wallet away. You promised me dessert.”

He smirked, refusing to hide it now. This was the first time, since he’d met you, that you’d ignored your boyfriend, and it said a lot.

You did it once, so Simon was able to turn it into a habit. Your boyfriend looked increasingly unhinged as Simon made sure you starved him of your attention.

The ugly voicemails and text messages began soon after. He didn’t like that at all, and he had to remind himself the time to deal with your boyfriend would come, but he did appreciate that you were becoming less tolerant of him.

Every time you returned to Simon after having to soothe your boyfriend’s ego, and stop his tantrums, Simon made your life easier. He worshiped you in subtle ways, reminding you of what a man was, compared to a child.

There was guilt on your part, but it felt so good to be taken care of for once. To not have to worry about Simon bursting into a fit of insecurity that made you completely responsible for his feelings, and left little to no room for anything else.

When he touched you, it lit your nerve endings on fire. You knew that the touches were bordering on inappropriate, since you were still taken, but you also knew that your brain went numb with good vibrations with even just a brush of his fingertips.

Simon still kept it light, almost questionable as to whether it even happened, and you finally began to seek it out. Wearing backless tops so that his fingertips would brush your bare skin, sitting next to him in diner booths so a thick thigh was always brushing your own, going for things in high places so he’d steady you by your waist.

He never seemed to miss a beat on when and where to touch you, but it wasn’t enough.

The breaking point came when he invited you to a dinner Price was holding as a goodbye to civilian life until next leave. The verbal invitation was the most valuable thing to you in a while. Not only because you were increasingly becoming addicted to him, but because for someone like Simon to invite you into that part of his life, it meant that he was in deep with you too.

All of Simon’s friends were funny, inviting, and very taken by you. They were so polite to you, complimenting you, and telling you as much as they could about their work, trying to impress you.

You were having fun trying to keep up, but you got the impression that Simon inviting a woman he was seeing to meet them was a new thing, and they didn’t know the protocol.

You were surprised to find he went by Ghost in his field, and they were unused to hearing Simon. You shared how the two of you met, and how polite he wasn’t in your first conversation, and they weren’t surprised.

You were enjoying your time with them, the conversation never stopped, and you would venture to say Simon looked fond at times. Though, as each man became more flirtatious, his expression would change. It became an unspoken game between you and his team to try and make him speak up about it. He didn’t take the bait.

Then came the topic of your boyfriend.

“Come now love, you’re a smart girl. Why do you wanna waste your time with that bellend?” - Price

“I don’t ken what the situation here is, but if Ghost and the other one don’t appreciate you, I promise I will.” Soap

“I had a girl once, who used to follow me in her friend’s car, sit outside my apartment, and call me from different phones to test me. You’re fit as hell love, dump him.” - Gaz

It was a little embarrassing, and you were slightly annoyed that Simon had told them, but your mind kept shortening it to ‘he talked about me to his team.’

During dinner, you excused yourself to the bathroom. While you were washing your hands, Simon slipped into the room, making you jump.

Your eyes met in the mirror, where Simon just glared.

“Have fun with the boys, bird?”

“Have fun broadcasting my business?” You raised an eyebrow, but your tone held no anger to it.

Simon chuckled, locking the door. “S’not my business is it?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slowly.

He trapped you between the sink and himself, hands locking onto the counter on either side of you.

“Let’s fix that.” His lips pressed to the pulse point on the side of your neck, speaking his command against it. “Get rid of him lovie, and come home where you belong.”

You tried to do just that, but for the first time that you could recall, your boyfriend wasn’t taking your calls.

Simon watched you while he packed, tucked beneath his sheets where you belonged, bare. It’d been a week since you took that next step in his captain’s guest bathroom, and you’d been trying to inform your ex he was now in fact, your ex.

You gingerly rolled over to face him, mindful of all the reminders that he loved you he left your body. “Si, he’s still not picking up. I don’t want to do it over the phone, but…”

“Don’t get worked up. Maybe he got the message already...”

Kyle:

He’d re-visited Chicago on his downtime, and met you in a club. Unknown to him at the time, your boyfriend had stood you up for the third time that month, and you decided not to waste the night. It’d made you so free and enthralling to watch, he couldn’t look away.

Gaz spent the entire night with you, glad he’d ignored the jet lag, even when you took him to all the best after-hours spots.

The only problem was your boyfriend, Keith, who Gaz personally believed formed in the bottom of a toilet, and sought life elsewhere. His team thought he was delusional, and/or giving you too much thought.

“You hitting the States again then? Don’t get in the kind of trouble that you can’t get out of because you’re jealous.” - Price

“Garrick! Get your fuckin’ head off your cock, and on the exercise, before I shove my boot down your throat!” - Ghost (after he fumbled a training exercise twice)

Except for Soap, Soap backed his delusions %1,000. “She let you charge your phone when hers needed it more? That’s wedding bells lad, and I wanna be best man.”

Then there was the relentless teasing every time he spent his leave with you, but Gaz didn’t care. He couldn’t bother being embarrassed when you were waiting for him. Your grin was for him, your excited laughter was for him, and your hug was for him. The one he always held longer than friends do, his heart racing when you relaxed in his hold. Smirking when he felt your nose brush over chest quickly. You were sheepish when he grinned down at you, realizing what you were doing.

You’d gotten him cologne on his first (date) daytime hangout with you. You’d been strolling through the mall, Gaz trying to make you forget about the ugly scene he’d walked into between you and your boyfriend when he arrived at your place.

You’d been so sad, and it didn’t suit you at all. He just wanted to take you out of that environment, and let your real-self blossom again.

His hand brushed with yours, pinkies locking and unlocking so he could feel his stomach dip again and again.

He was able to slowly bring you back, into a little world of inside jokes and friendly culture clashes. Gaz fully had you back by the time he stopped in front of an expensive looking fragrance shop and said:

“You know what? I need a new aftershave, but I’m clueless about shopping for that stuff.”

“Uh, aftershave?” you’d looked puzzled, peering into the store window. “Do they even sell that here?”

He let out a confused laugh, pointing at the bottles on the glass shelf. “We’re looking at it, so I’d guess yes.”

“You mean cologne?” you gave him your first real smile since you’d gotten there, and Gaz forgave yet another correction in favor of it.

“Get in here, and help me find an aftershave.”

He proposed that you guys find the perfect scent for the other and buy it as a gift. The two of you spent the better part of thirty minutes teasing and sniffing each other. Every time Gaz lifted a part of your arm or wrist to his nose, he let his lips brush across your skin accidentally.

“Kyyylee..” you whined every time, making him stir in the right places at the wrong time.

Eventually you both settled on something for the other, but Kyle slyly placed himself in the position of paying for both. The thought of you paying never having been a real thing in his mind.

“You’ll get it next time, love.”

He treasured that scent, you’d specifically picked it out for him, and he’d savored the look you gave him when you’d finally found it. Now he was in front of you again.

“Yeah, it’s the one you bought me. Did me a good turn with that. I get compliments like they get paid to give ‘em.”

“Who’s complimenting you?” you asked, your wince revealing it’d probably come out sharper than you meant for it to.

Gaz didn’t mind, he liked you as jealous as he was.

He chuckled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Just..other girls with good taste.”

Your pout and sharp head turn went right on display in the mental gallery he had of you. He couldn’t resist teasing you again.

“Are you wearing the one I picked.” he leaned down hovering just over your neck where he knew you could feel the soft puffs of breath on your neck. He heard your breath hitch when he hummed, confirming that you were.

“I am, and don’t worry about who’s complimenting it, since you have sooo many of your own.”

Gaz laughed as you yanked him after you with a huff. If he was delusional, you weren’t helping.

This visit was going how he imagined it, and he intended to end it exactly that way too. Finally getting that bastard out of a picture he should’ve never been a part of.

When clubbing, Kyle kept you close. You both loved to dance, and every song that came on seemed out to prove that your bodies were built to fit together like a puzzle.

He took an interest in your life, wanting to see what you got up to when he wasn’t there. You’d resisted, thinking it’d bore him. It did not.

He enjoyed meeting your co-workers, and eating at the cafe you loved a block from your job. You even took him to spend an afternoon with your family. Every time he scored a point with them, you gave him this dreamy expression he was determined to see for the rest of his life.

When he suggested making plans with your friends, so they didn’t feel like you were ignoring them while he was there, you were thrilled at how considerate he was, and he got the pleasure of overhearing you hype him up to your friends while you invited them out to do something.

It was you blocking your girlfriends every time one of them tried to push the flirtation with him too far, that let him know it was time.

He decided he would make his move when the two of you were having a movie night at your place. It wasn’t ideal, because that piece of shit was lingering around the place. Kyle hated that you lived together, but wouldn’t let that interfere. He had work to do.

“Kyyyleee.” you giggled, dragging his name out the way he loved when he ran a finger down your cheek to your neck, complimenting your skin.

“Just admiring your skin routine. You’ve gotta share.”

Or, when he shivered, and you instinctively extended your blanket to him. He took it without question, trying not to think about all of the things you could do under a shared blanket. Although, your boyfriend walking in and out of the room, pretending he had things to get out of the kitchen, made the thought more enticing.

You’d invited him to watch in earnest, and he’d just cut you down in a way that made Kyle quickly remind him he was in your apartment, because he’d lost his job, and had nowhere else to go. That you’d sweetly taken him in, and that he should remember that.

He enjoyed kicking him down while raising you up.

Your boyfriend finally just sat at the kitchen table in the dark, fuming. The living room was visible to him from there, but Kyle was glad to have him as an audience to him reminding you of your worth.

You two exchanged snacks and commentary, easily ignoring the unwanted third party.

“No offense love, but beer here is straight piss.”

You laughed, stealing one of the cookies left on his plate. “Beer tastes like that in general.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been anywhere.” your boyfriend snapped at you nastily, from where he’d been glaring at the two of you for an hour. “And why don't you go back to jolly old England if you hate it so much?”

Gaz lazily rolled his head in his direction, body language shouting how much he didn’t respect him. “Mate, you’re being a right prick right now. It’s not like you bought the beer, or anything else you’ve been shoving in that hole.”

Your boyfriend leapt to his feet, fast enough to knock over the chair. “Come over here and repeat that teacup.”

“Blud, that’s not what you want.”

“Kyle don’t, he’s just drunk and embarrassed. Ignore him when he’s like this.” you quickly passed a hand over the back of his, but he just gave you a soft smile instead.

“That’s his problem, he embarrassed himself. Why don’t you go in the back and find something to do.” He was so effortlessly dismissive, that your boyfriend mistook this for being unprepared to fight.

Kyle’s one rule for his plan was that he wouldn’t physically handle your boyfriend unless he got physical with you. He’d planned to show you how you should be loved, and let a smart girl like you do the rest. That went out the window.

He kept it clean, the other man was stocky, but didn’t stand a chance against his training. If you hadn’t been there, he might’ve taken it further, grinding his hatred of him into harsher blows. Instead, he gave him quick, almost surgically effective, blows to put him down. He was too intoxicated and unskilled to retaliate.

“See, he just needed a nap.” Gaz tried to lighten the mood.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you whispered. “I don’t know why he’s always like this now. He didn’t use to be. I just want this to stop.”

Kyle shushed you, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. You’ve been dealing with this for too long.”

“I’m so tired.” you admitted, clutching his soft shirt, and inhaling his scent (your scent, that you gave him) that made your eyes roll back in your head. He was so solid, warm, and a darker word popped into your mind, ‘mine.’

“You’ve been so good to everyone, too good. Let me take care of you.” he whispered, hands roaming from your lower back to cup your ass.

He heard the hybrid of a whimper-moan, and it had him at attention before you were done.

“I’d be just like him…” you trailed off weakly.

“That’s not possible.” He lowered his lips to yours, giving you the first kiss from him that couldn’t possibly be mistaken as platonic. You kissed back without any hesitation, not even willing to pull away when he started to lead you to the back. To your room.

Hate him as he did, Gaz noted somewhere in his mind how dark the scenario was. The location, and situation, in which he was about to fulfill the second-to-last step of his plan was kind of fucked.

He cupped your jaw in both hands,“Babe…we can go back to my room at the hotel.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to erase any trace of him here, starting in your room. He wanted you everywhere he could have you in the apartment, and he wanted him to come to just enough to hear it.

“Makes no sense. Too far. Here.” you murmured, pupils blown wide.

Gaz didn’t need to be told twice. You were barely able to string a sentence together, and it was top three one of the hottest things he’d ever heard.

“Yes ma'am.”

Kyle didn’t doubt you’d complete the final step in the morning, and officially dump the forgotten man on the floor.

Johnny:

You and Johnny met through social media. He thought you were gorgeous and, being John “Soap” MacTavish, couldn’t leave your profile without letting you know. Though he threw in some playful critique.

You responded with a thanks, and a challenge for him to do the picture better. It resulted in a months-long photo battle that quickly became a real friendship.

Late phone calls, video calls, and constant strings of texting built a whole world between the two of you.

You were the highlight of his day sometimes, especially when he’d been gone awhile. You helped him reconnect with the world after shutting it out to defend it.

The only problem was your boyfriend. Johnny prided himself on being able to get along with all kinds of people. It was just in his nature. Hate was so rarely felt by him, that he always had trouble identifying it when he felt it.

He felt hate for your boyfriend, and it didn’t take him long to figure that out. He thought he didn’t deserve you. He was always talking to you reckless, like he didn’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in his life. Johnny wouldn’t talk to you like that, he wouldn’t have time to even consider it for all the worshiping of you he’d be doing.

He’d cheated, only to make you feel like that was on you, and you took him back.

When Johnny heard your pained sobs for the first time, he’d been halfway through texting Simon to ask for help with a dark favor before he was able to talk himself down.

It was then Johnny realized how much you’d come to mean to him, and that only made him hate your boyfriend more.

Your conversations ranged from anything to everything, but they always ended with you venting, and Johnny comforting. He didn’t mind it, in fact, most times he initiated it.

He realized, he must mean a good deal to you too, because you got all your comfort from him. Johnny’s thoughts mattered to you, and you sought his advice all the time. He hated what for, but he loved that you did.

“He didn’t even like the dress Johnny. I told him you thought of it, and he accused me of wanting to wear it for you.” your screen shook violently as you stomped into your bedroom, sending said garment sailing through the air.

“M’sorry to hear that. I meant what I said when you showed it to me in the shop. Any guy that doesn’t lose it to you in that dress deserves to be committed.”

You sniffed, choking out a humorless chuckle. “I’m glad you liked it at least.”

“Oh, you don’t ken how much sweetheart. In fact, put it on for me again.”

Six months into the friendship, he convinced you to come visit him in Scotland. You’d been having more trouble with your boyfriend than usual, living with him didn’t exactly give you a lot of places to take a breather.

Once Johnny confirmed he hadn’t hurt you physically, he’d switched to coaxing you into coming to see him for a couple of weeks.

“C’mon bonnie, I’ve been stateside more times than I can count. You haven’t been here once.” He watched you do your bedtime routine, as the sun came up in the windows behind him.

He loved how despite being countries away, the moment felt as intimate as if you were with him. In his home, getting ready to come to bed with him. Except if you were, he’d tell you not to bother brushing your hair. You’d just have to do it again later.

You laughed as you ran a comb through your hair. “It’s not like you came here for me Johnny. We didn’t even know each other the last time you were here.”

“So…you’ll return the favor later. Be my pretty tour guide.”

You wound up in Scotland barely a week later. A suitcase full of clothes haphazardly thrown into it.

“I don’t even know what I packed, it's a mess!”

Cue Johnny, who can’t quit hugging you, and they feel less and less platonic. “Don’t worry ‘bout it bon. I’ll find somewhere for it all to go.”

Somewhere turns out to be designated drawers and shelves, that he’d cleared in advance, for your clothes and bath products. Johnny putting them away himself like the simp for you he is. All the while distracting you from stating how you wouldn’t be there long, and you don’t need all that space.

“We’ll see.”

Johnny had been coaxing less and less innocent behaviors out of you all week, and just worshiping you when he wasn’t. You were a worked up hybrid of desperation, and restored self-confidence. It was addictive, and you started to lean into Johnny’s touches and kisses. You pretended you didn’t hear his murmured dirty statements so he’d have to try again and again.

It came to a head when you finally accepted a video call from your pathetic boyfriend.

You were in Johnny’s living room, wearing his favorite football jersey, with him behind you, absolutely refusing to make himself scarce. You didn’t want to take the call anyway, but Johnny convinced you it’d be good for closure.

Your boyfriend started going off, yelling about how you didn’t respect him or your relationship, and demanding that ‘you bring your ass home’.

“The thing of it is lad, there’s not really anything about this relationship to respect.” Johnny slipped around to your side, tilting your head up to press his lips to yours.

You hummed in surprise, but all of his gentle touches and sweet kisses over the week had you pliant. You immediately responded, squeezing his arm when he slipped his tongue into your mouth as a tease.

He pulled away, looking way too smug, and looking all the more impossibly-handsome for it. “Say bye to your ex-boyfriend then bon. The rest of this isn’t for him.”

You gurgled something like goodbye as you slammed the lid on your laptop, attention still fully on Johnny.

John Price:

Price thought your fiance should crawl in a fire and stay there. Yeah. He wasn’t ashamed.

The man was garbage, and hardly worth you giving him a glance, let alone this much sacrifice. You’d moved countries for him, happy to make your home with him because of his job. He treated it as though that should’ve been a given.

That’s how Price had gotten to know you. You lived in the apartment across the hall from him, and the first moment you smiled at him, John was a goner.

You introduced yourself with a smile, your pretty little hand extended out towards him. He’d stood there, wishing he hadn’t worn his ratty sweatshirt with his old football team logo in fading letters. You looked gorgeous, hair framing your face, slightly out of breath from lugging in your things.

He’d stumbled in his mind until he finally remembered proper social protocol. “Price…Captain John.” He cleared his throat. “Captain John Price.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’, you were visibly intrigued.“Captain? You’re in the military.”

“Yes.”

“Well…thank you for your service.”

Normally, John didn’t react to that line as expected. He’d heard it enough times to wish he had a pound for every time, but that was about it. He didn’t do his job for thanks, and sometimes felt they shouldn’t be for him anyways.

Coming from you however, it was different. He had the reaction he knew most people wanted. He knew from the heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, they were red.

Your fiancé, who’d appeared in the doorway behind you, stole his chance to answer.

“Yeah, thanks or whatever. (Y/N), come in here and figure out where you want your hair crap to go. I’m just going to toss it anywhere in a moment.”

“Oh, you could’ve just put it under the sink.”

“You should be getting ready anyways, we have a dinner engagement.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs, eyeing John like he was picturing ways he could kill him.

John wanted to see him try just one.

“Bye John,” you gave a wave, a soft smile on your lips. “I’ll see you.”

You disappeared inside, leaving the two men in a stare down. There was a silent conversation at play, what your fiancé wanted to say was stated without a word. How much John cared about that was conveyed in the same manner.

Your fiancé broke first, slamming the door behind him.

“We’ll see if I’ll stay away.” He muttered, going into his own place.

Over that first month, you two got to know each other well. Your fiance was often at work, and you turned to John with your questions as you tried to settle into your new home. You had no one else there, and even though John had planned to decompress in complete isolation, he couldn’t do that to you. Didn’t have a part of his being that wanted to.

However, as John got to know you, he got to know your fiance too. Enough to know if he was ever going to murder someone outside of work, it’d be him.

It started with small things like what takeout you should go for, or which grocery store did he use? It seemed your fiance was useless.

One day, you needed help putting together your beauty table. You’d come to John, clearly embarrassed, and something told him you’d debated on asking him for a while. Your fiance refused, because you hadn’t paid attention when you were checking out, and didn’t select the construction help option.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me love. You mean to tell me that he never made a mistake?” John was already coming out of his apartment, ready to help.

“It’s stupid, but I don’t feel like arguing with him over it. We’re in an ok place right now.” you laughed awkwardly, leading him inside.

“Ok probably isn’t a place you want to be when you’re headed for the church.” it came out of his mouth before he could think about how it wasn’t his place.

He was so used to being blunt, and dealing out cold, hard facts or opinions. It always took him a minute to readjust to what was appropriate, but by then he was back on duty.

You looked stunned, clearly not expecting that from him. Your arms crossed defensively, giving him a side glance while you mulled over responding.

He meant what he said, but he never would’ve delivered it to you that way, or at all, if he had thought two seconds more.

“‘M sorry. It’s really not my place is it?” he gestured to the back of the apartment. “Where do you need me?”

There were many more opportunities to spend time with you, and with them, opportunities to point out the toxicity he was seeing. It wasn’t in John’s nature to ignore obvious problems, he got paid to do the opposite. He had to resign himself every time so he didn’t upset you.

With every time he gave you directions, or answered a local cultural difference that confused you, you two lingered in each other’s presence a little longer. He wasn’t going to spoil that.

Your requests started to leave the territory of furniture building and directions, and started to cross more into trying a new recipe, and how you could do better at fitting into your new home. Your conversations started to get deeper, more information about each other being shared.

There were times where you dropped off food, having made too much, or your fiance didn’t want what you cooked. John loved your cooking as it was, he normally lived off whatever he could grab and nuke, but he threw in extra enthusiasm for spite and your pretty smile.

Sometimes John found reasons to come over to your place.

“Share a cake love? Don’t get excited, I picked it up at the shops.” “Just bringing back your bowl.” “I can take a look at that window if maintenance is still laying about.”

And without fail, you made him stay every time. You got lonely, and you still knew very few people in the area outside of him. Your fiance didn’t seem to care, he felt he’d set you up with plenty of friends in his circle. John called them posh knobheads, and you couldn’t agree more. You had nothing in common with them, and you always wound up back with John to vent.

He found it easier to talk to you than he had anybody else, and from the never ending conversation between you two, he guessed you felt the same. The topic of the nature of your relationship was verboten, but that was fine by him. By that point, he was more interested in making you forget you even had a fiance. He really hadn’t even made an effort to do it, it just tilted that way, and he leaned into it.

You weren’t exactly stopping his flirtatious comments, in fact, you seemed to light up in ways he hadn’t seen until then.

Then came the outings. As your fiance got more negligent, you got bolder. It started with you taking a chance to invite John to a movie when you two bumped into each other in the mailroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the cinema, and he couldn’t say what was playing if someone held a gun to his head, but ‘don’t see why not’ fell out of his mouth with no resistance.

Then it was shopping together, or you dragging him to a museum and him bullshitting his art knowledge to make you laugh. He didn’t normally spend his time off being this active socially. He decompressed, and prepared for the next assignment. Maybe he’d meet a woman at a pub and bang out some release before getting back into formation.

He’d wondered if he would regret doing things differently on his next deployment, but that stopped the first time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. That alone would’ve been enough for him to keep his delusions (that he definitely did not have) going, but it was the fact that you didn’t correct them. It happened again, and if he thought he imagined things, he hadn’t. You never corrected the person, just gave a coy smile and accepted the compliment.

Well if you didn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to.

The final time that John could say he only found you attractive, instead of wanting you completely, you’d come to him to ask him if he could drive you to a little farmer’s market outside of the city. Things hadn’t been going well with you and your fiance.

You didn’t have to tell John, he could attest to that himself. He’d heard your arguments in his place, and between the noise level, and trying to make sure it didn't go to a place where you weren’t safe, he wasn’t getting much sleep.

Your plan was to cook your fiance a favorite meal from his childhood, using nothing but farm fresh ingredients. You figured that all you needed to get things on track was a quiet night in, focused on reminding each other why you were engaged. John nearly bit through his tongue to keep himself from bringing up the fact that it seemed the workload on maintaining the relationship fell solely on your shoulders.

Instead, he shoved his bucket hat on his head, and lied about needing to head out that way anyways.

The car ride started out quiet on his part, with you filling in the conversation. Price may have flexed his fingertips in jealousy more times than he could count, but you were so goddamn beautiful when you were excited. It almost hurt to look at you head on, so he gave you side glances to show he was listening.

At the market, your excitement didn’t die down. In fact, it turned into infectious playfulness. You two teased each other, engaged in playful scams to get more samples, and dared each other to come up with crazier and crazier stories about yourselves for the owner of each stall you visited.

Price would die twice before he admitted that he imagined you were on a date a couple times during the day. You never brought your fiance up, and he had to remind you to check your grocery list more than once.

It was late afternoon when you returned to the car, laden with goodies and constructing inside jokes. John was enjoying his time with you so much, he almost forgot he had to tell you he was shipping out the following week. He didn’t know if you’d care so much as to need an announcement in advance, but he felt he should.

He was worried about you, and he would think of you wherever he was bound to wind up, hoping you’d come to your senses and leave the garbage behind. Of course, he’d miss you…and he certainly wasn’t under any delusion that when you’d taken out the trash, maybe you’d consider him.

“Why’re you so quiet?” you’d squeezed his bicep to get his attention, and he instinctively pushed his arm into your hands, encouraging the touch.

It was quiet for a moment, before you slowly uncurled your fingertips, and placed your hands in your lap. His face flooded with embarrassed warmth.

Had he gone too far by leaning into the physical?

Price white-knuckle-gripped the steering wheel, swallowing down what he thought was a rejection he had no right to be hurt about, and cleared his throat. “Right. I’m heading out next week, and it won’t be short. Just thought you should know.”

Whatever reaction he expected from you, it wasn’t the one you gave.

“What?” You placed a hand on your chest, and then rolled your eyes. “Well that’s great.”

John gave you a bewildered expression, and it must've shown, because you quickly straightened up and faced forward.

“I don’t know about great, but it is my job. The one I was quite clear about when we first met.”

“Pull over.” you said so quickly, he wasn’t even sure you’d heard his response.

“What? Why? Are you feeling il-”

“No..just..please.” you gestured to the side of the road.

He obliged, brows drawn tight and carrying all of his questions. “Your boy is going to be home soon, and we still have a bit of a drive ahead of us. What-”

“I wanted to come here because of you.” you breathed out, still facing forward, your posture almost impossibly rigid.

“Me? You’re not making much sense (Y/N).”

You huffed, and when you turned to him, your expression took his breath away. In that moment he could read every thought you were thinking, and it would’ve bowled him over if he wasn’t sitting.

He felt electricity beneath his skin, the feeling he got any time he was about to do something drastic and dangerous.

It was the little hidden thing in your eyes that he couldn’t place that gave him pause.

“I came here, because I wanted to get away with you for today. I needed to.” you turned your whole body to him. “I don’t give a fuck about fresh ingredients for him, he probably won’t eat it anyways.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “We agreed to start over. And I’m going to try, I really am, but…I still can’t stop feeling need.”

In the looming silence, all John could do was scratch his beard, and try not to look as stupid as he was sure he did. He knew what you were saying, what you were toeing at, but surely you were just venting. You couldn’t-

“S’not right love.” Now it was his turn to look ahead. “Not for him, fuck him. For you. You’re upset and you’re scared, and you're raw.”

“And I need this.” you breathed. “If you’re trying to protect me, stop. If you don’t want me in that way..ok, I’m a big gi-”

“Oooh,” his voice came from deep in his chest, baritone thrumming through the car. “That’s not it. I promise you, that’s.not.it.”

Your fingertips gently pulled his face in your direction. “You’re leaving me…and when you get back things are going to have to be different.”

There it was. John swallowed, hard.

“I’m being selfish, but..I thought I’d have a little more time with you before..” Your eyes watered. “It’d be one thing if you really were just my friend, but that’s not right is it?”

John wiped at your eyes with his thumb before cupping his cheek in his hand. “No, it’s not.”

“Just one time.”

It was a struggle to say no to you, and that didn’t stop now. He pulled your mouth to his, hands gripping your shoulders in a subconscious effort to prove this was happening. You were in front of him, kissing him back as hard as he was kissing you.

He unbuckled you, and pulled you into his lap, sliding the seat back.

“I’m gonna miss you.” you were crying now, and neither one of you did anything about the tears.

His hands cupped the back of your head, fingers gently threading through your hair. “Oh, sweet girl. Why didn’t you meet me sooner?”

What transpired after was the most bittersweet moment he could recall. He had heartbreaks and troubled relationships before, but he’d never had to have a breakup with a woman he wasn’t sure he’d been seeing in the first place, but knew that he loved.

He took you twice in his car, before finally, the two of you could no longer ignore the setting sun and had to return home.

John remembered why he preferred to take a girl somewhere quickly, and then spend the rest of his leave in solitude, occasionally seeing a trusted friend. It wasn’t as fulfilling as what he had with you, but it didn’t hurt this deeply either.

He sat in his apartment for hours after he watched you disappear into your own. He didn’t even bother turning on a light when it got too dark, he just sat there, continuing to contemplate how things had gotten to be such a mess. How could he continue to pride himself on being the logical leader he thought he was, when he’d made such a mess of himself so quickly?

How was he supposed to forget you? How was he supposed to forget that he loved you, and that you loved him with another man’s ring on your finger?

The thought of seeing you, carrying your fiance’s child, and looking miserable during what should’ve been one of the happiest times of your life made Price leap from the couch. That familiar electricity raising every hair on his person to a point.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he was going to say, but he was moving like he’d planned it for months.

When he stepped into the hall, he paused.

You were sitting on the plush hall couch, eyes puffy, with a death grip on a pyrex dish. Your hair was perfectly styled, and you were wearing a low-cut silken dress that made him want to fall to his knees now that he knew what lay beneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, trying to curb your sniffles.

“I was right, he wouldn’t eat it. He got mad and left.”

“You should’ve made him wear it instead.” John’s fist clenched at his side, itching to do what he wanted from the moment he first saw him get short with you.

You shook your head, rising to your feet. “I don’t blame him this time. I didn’t make it for him, anymore than I shopped for it with him in mind, and I told him so.”

You held up the dish, and John saw it was his favorite. His idea of a perfect Sunday roast in one pot. Your meaning was clear.

“I just kept thinking, it shouldn’t be this hard. I mean, it shouldn’t be, right?” you stepped forward.

“No, it shouldn’t be.” He also took a step forward.

“It’s not that way with you.” Another step.

“I would hope not.” he also took another step

You stopped when all that separated the two of you was the dish.

“So this belongs to me then?” he was staring at the dish, but his hands gently grasped your wrists.

You, however, were looking directly at him when you breathed out. “Yes.”

#141 x reader #cod #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reader insert #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #Soap #soap x reader #tf 141 x reader #fem reader

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theemporium · 5 months ago

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[3.1k] after a spell goes wrong, you and lando are forced to hide the fact that oscar isn't quite himself during media day at the british grand prix. it goes about as well as you would expect ft. mediocre magic, a surprised max verstappen and a cute black cat.

[find other fright night specials here]

There was a lot more to being a witch than people expected.

It wasn’t all hocus pocus, waving a wand and standing around a bubbling cauldron whilst chanting in an ancient language under the moonlight. Don’t get it twisted, that was still a part of it. But there was more than cliches and stereotypes, things were a lot more complicated than reading from a spellbook and swishing a stick around.

It was hard.

Sometimes, it felt like that one subject in school that just never clicked. You were reading the textbooks, doing the homework and listening to the teacher but, no matter what, you couldn’t seem to get it quite right. Sometimes, you would eventually get it.

And sometimes, you were left in situations quite like this one.

Ideally—at least in the eyes of your grandmother—you would have done what every other young witch did at your age. You would have finished school, joined a coven and trained under the watchful eyes of the elders until you had successfully and safely mastered your magic. Upon reaching adulthood, a witch’s magic became more volatile, more unpredictable, more potent. It was vital for her to learn to control it before it overtook her.

Unfortunately for your grandmother’s sake, you didn’t want to settle down in a coven. You wanted to explore the world. You wanted to learn to control your magic through experience, not through old scrolls and grimoires. You wanted to live, not just survive and learn.

You did not want to be chained down by ancient rules and practices.

However, as much as it pained for you to admit it, you kind of wish you had listened to your grandmother around about now.

It was a funny series of events that led you to meet the two Mclaren drivers. It was somewhere during two race weekends a year ago, a meeting that happened by chance but changed the trajectory of all three of your lives. It was instant connections, late nights spent in hotels and a passion that was far from fizzling after your two weeks together were over.

And it bloomed.

You wanted to travel the world and they wanted to show you the world. You wanted to experience life beyond a witch’s expectations and they wanted to share that experience with you. You wanted someone to share your heart with and they wanted to be the ones you trusted with it.

It felt like the planets aligned, the stars shone and the universe worked its magic to help you cross paths with Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri. It felt the invisible string of fate weaving its way through your hearts to bring you together, to keep you together, to intertwine your lives to this very point.

And, despite the stories whispered in young witch’s ears about the taboos of humans, Lando and Oscar accepted you for who you were, they loved you for who you were. The tales of humans hating and despising and disapproving of witches were squished by your boys in seconds. In fact, they were your biggest supporters in your journey to learn and control your magic.

Maybe sometimes a little too supportive.

“Oh my god.”

“Lando—”

“Oh my god!”

“Stop panicking!”

“How can I not fucking panic?! Oscar is a fucking—”

“Shhh!” You hissed, slapping your hand over your boyfriend’s mouth before he altered the whole McLaren hospitality. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the bubbling of feeling of ‘oh, I fucked up’ becoming more and more prominent. “Just…calm down for a second.”

Lando let out a squeak of disbelief as he gestured towards the orange cat blinking up at the both of you, sitting in the spot where Oscar had been standing moments ago.

“Fuck,” you whispered, staring at the orange cat. “Oscar?”

The cat meowed in response.

“Oh my god,” Lando wheezed, his eyes comically wide. “I can’t believe you turned him into an orange cat. He is definitely more of a black cat, if anything.”

You glared at the Brit. “Oh, sorry, let me just remember that for the next time I turn our boyfriend into a fucking cat!”

Lando’s mouth parted. “Uh, babe—”

“What?”

Lando only nodded back towards the cat, only to find Oscar the orange cat now very much black.

“What the fuck?” You breathed out, the panic starting to resurface.

“Change him back!” Lando hissed.

“Okay, okay!” You rolled your shoulders, eyes narrowing slightly in determination as you stared at the black cat in front of you. “This is fine. I turned you into a cat, I can turn you back into a human.”

“Ideally soon,” Lando added, staring at the cat with a suspicious glare. Like he didn’t quite believe it was really Oscar. “It’s Thursday. The media team is gonna want us to start filming stuff soon.”

So, no pressure.

…

Sometimes, you wondered if your grandmother placed a small, inconvenient curse on you to punish you for not listening to her advice about joining a coven straight after school.

Because that was the only explanation you could come up with behind your horrendously, inconveniently timed bad luck that would be turning one of your boyfriends into a cat on media day of the British Grand Prix—arguably one of the most important for the team and the boys in the racing calendar.

It was a purely unpurposeful accident that led to you accidentally turning Oscar into a cat, but you thought you had a little more skill and experience to be able to change him back with the same ease. However, forty minutes later and three breakdowns later—all from Lando, thank you very much—told you that accidental magic was a lot harder to fix than one would expect.

Or, at least, than you expected.

“This is pointless!”

“Babe,” you sighed but the boy was already pacing the small driver’s room already.

“He’s stuck forever! We will never see that stupid swoop ever again! We will never hear him say ‘Webbah’ ever again!”

“Lando,” you tried again.

“Oh my god, we have to tell Mark! We have to tell everyone! How the fuck are we going to tell everyone?!”

“Lando!”

The boy’s mouth quickly snapped shut, his wide eyes staring back at you as you pushed yourself up from your spot on the couch, crossing the room and gently cupping his face. Your thumbs soothed over his cheeks, feeling him relax a little under your touch.

“Relax, baby,” you whispered softly, your lips twitching upwards as he took a deep breath. “This isn’t ideal but I have messaged my grandmother. She will call back and help us sort out this mess and nobody has to know.”

“What about the team?” Lando questioned, his brows furrowing together. “They are gonna notice—”

“We will just have to cover up until Oscar is human again,” you said with a determined nod. “It can’t be too hard, right?”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Lando nodded. “Except for one minor problem.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Oscar is gone.”

Your head snapped around, expecting to turn and see the black cat curled up where he was less than a few minutes ago. But he was nowhere to be seen, the driver room now empty apart from the two of you and the door out to the rest of the paddock somehow wiggled open.

“Fuck.”

…

“If I were a cat, where would I be?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“I’m just trying to get into the mindset of Oscar right now,” Lando murmured in response, his lips turned downwards as he rubbed the spot of his arm you just slapped. “If he’s even Oscar anymore. What if he’s stuck with a cat brain forever?”

You rolled your eyes. “Magic can’t do that. He’s still Oscar. Just…Oscar with very strong cat-like urges.”

The two of you had managed to sneak out of Lando’s driver room without alerting anyone else on the team that something was wrong. None of them questioned where Oscar was, just simply waving at the two of you walking past as Lando panic-babbled some bullshit about wanting to go see Carlos in the Ferrari hospitality to sort out some details for a golf day before the McLaren media team stole them away for the rest of the day.

Fortunately, they bought it.

Unfortunately, it’s a lot harder to look for a cat in a paddock when no one can know you are looking for a cat.

“Should we get treats?” Lando questioned, keeping his voice low. “Or like…a laser?”

“Yeah, because that will be real subtle,” you murmured with a snort.

“We need to get into the mindset of a cat,” Lando said with an odd sense of certainty.

“He would probably be somewhere warm,” you pointed out, tilting your head back to look up at the grey clouds starting to cover the sky. “But that's more of an Oscar thing than a cat thing.”

“Oscar did say the other day he was going to hog the tire warmer blankets if the weekend had shit weather,” Lando suggested, his brows furrowing together. “What are the chances he’s just…sleeping there?”

You glanced down at his watch, your frown deepening. “Let’s hope high.”

…

“Pspspsps!”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Lando glanced up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Trying to make him feel relaxed, you know? Like we are one of his people.”

You raised your brows, taking in the sight of him crawling through the stacks of tires on all fours before shaking your head, deciding it was easier to just leave it rather than ask any questions.

Your grandmother hadn’t responded to any of the messages, the team were starting to blow up Lando’s phone and the two of you have had to dodge a handful of McLaren employees scouting the paddock for their drivers.

Safe to say your plan wasn’t working the way you intended.

“Oscar!” You called out, crouched down as you joined Lando in searching amongst the tires. “Oscar! Come on! We have fish!”

“Ew, we do?”

You shot the boy a look.

“Uh, yeah!” Lando quickly cleared his throat. “We have a lovely piece of salmon just for you!”

“Fuck, maybe we should have brought some fish,” you murmured under your breath.

“What the fuck are the both of you doing?”

You let out a noise of surprise as your head snapped up, your eyes widening a little at the sight of Max Verstappen standing a few feet away from you. But more surprisingly, the sight of a familiar black cat curled up in his arms.

“Osc—” You winced when Lando nudged your side with elbow. “Cat! You found him!”

Max blinked. “Did you just call him Oscat?”

You smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

“Odd name choice,” Max commented, lightly scratching the cat underneath his chin. “I didn’t know you got a cat.”

“He’s new,” Lando retorted, quickly scrambling to stand up and brush his knees off. “Uh, where did you find him?”

“I heard meowing behind the motorhome and found this little guy trying to puncture some spare tires,” Max grinned, cooing at the black cat. “He’s a menace, isn’t he?”

“Tell me about it,” Lando grumbled before clearing his throat. “I mean, thanks for finding him! But we will take it from here!”

“You should bring him over some time,” Max said as he handed the black cat off to Lando. “Sassy probably won’t like him but Jimmy might—”

The cat let out a god-awful screech before he could be placed in Lando’s arms.

“Bastard,” Lando glared at the cat.

“We’ll think about it!” You quickly spoke up, ignoring Max’s odd expression as you quickly took Oscar in your arms. You didn’t miss the way Lando’s glare hardened when the black cat easily curled into your arms, purring away like nothing was wrong. “But we have to go.”

“Media duties,” Lando supplied with a grim smile.

“Tell Oscar I said hi.”

Lando only hummed, glaring at the black cat once more before the two of you headed back towards the McLaren garage.

…

Lando was pretty sure his team were going to think he had food poisoning again considering he had told them he had needed to go to the bathroom before they started filming.

And the fact that had been forty minutes ago.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Lando muttered, staring at the black cat curled up on his hoodie. Despite refusing to be held by the Brit, Oscar seemed happy to nap amongst his clothes. Lando was trying not to take it personally.

“I know, I know,” you sighed, frowning as you flipped through your notebook. It was no grimoire, but it had little notes and lessons and spells you had learnt over the years. Your grandmother insisted it was pertinent for a witch to record her progress properly, to take extensive notes to pass on to the witches after her. You were starting to see her point now. “Why have I never turned a person into a cat before?!”

Lando paused. “Was that question rhetorical or…?”

You lifted your head to shoot him a look.

“Rhetorical it is,” he nodded, slouching back against the couch. “What if you just abracadabra your hands at him until something eventually happens?”

“Other than the fact that is an incredibly stupid and idiotic idea?” You retorted before sighing, flashing him an apologetic smile at your biting tone. “It wouldn’t be safe for him or me. I don’t know what spell I would be adding onto and we don’t know what effects it could have on Oscar. For all we know, it could make this change…permanent.”

The black cat lifted his head to meow in response.

“He doesn’t seem like a fan of that idea either,” you added, your lips twitching at the way Oscar managed to look so judgemental even in cat form.

“He doesn’t have much of a brain right now,” Lando grumbled, shuffling away when Oscar hissed at him in response.

“Stop antagonising him,” you chastised.

“He’s the one who won’t let me pet him!” Lando huffed in response. “He’s my boyfriend too.”

“Is this about Max holding him?” You deadpanned.

“Yes!”

“Well,” you started, quickly turning back towards your notebook. “In his defence, it was your fault that he got turned into a cat.”

Lando blinked. “How?”

“You were the one who kept pushing me to make you an ice lolly!”

“And you were the one who fucked up the spell!”

“And that was because you kept tickling me—”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The room fell dead silent as the three of you stared at the door.

“Lando? Is Oscar with you? The press conference starts in five minutes, you’re both needed right now.”

The Brit turned to you with a panicked look.

“Go,” you whispered with wide eyes. “Stall them. I’ll work on Oscar.”

Lando’s brows furrowed together. “Are you sure? I can—”

“Go, we’ll be okay,” you assured him, quickly leaning in to peck his lips. “Promise, baby.”

“Okay, okay,” he nodded, swallowing harshly. “I can distract them. I can hold them off.”

That was perfectly possible and capable.

…

It was not, in fact, possible or capable.

The journalists were like vultures the second they realised the second McLaren driver was nowhere to be seen. Lando assumed his presence and the three other Brits on the couch would be more than enough for the media, especially for Silverstone weekend. It turns out he was wrong.

So very wrong.

“Question for Lando!”

The boy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead slumping further back the couch in hopes it would open up and eat him alive. He noticed Alex and George sat to his left, snickering away with their microphones sitting beside them considering they hadn’t been asked a question in the last ten minutes.

“With Oscar out of contention for the weekend, are we to expect McLaren will be focusing on your standing in the championship?”

Lando frowned. “Oscar isn’t out for the weekend.”

“No one has given us a reason for his absence in this conference,” the journalists retorted. “We assumed he was unwell. Do we have reason to believe he isn’t here for another reason?”

Lando bit his tongue.

“He was seen this morning arriving in the paddock,” another journalist added.

“Then I’m sure you saw he was here and well,” Lando said, a fake and forced smile on his face.

“Hey, if you need a driver for that second McLaren,” Alex spoke up as he tried to divert the attention away from Lando—because bless his heart, he is a good friend—after picking up his microphone for the first time in the conference. “I know a guy.”

Lando’s smile felt a little more genuine this time. “Yeah? There’s a few qualifications he needs to meet.”

“Be slower than you?” Alex guessed, a few chuckles breaking out amongst the crowd.

“Yeah, if he could hold everyone back, that would be great,” Lando grinned. “Just swipe everyone out whilst I just zoom off.”

Alex cackled, leaning into George as he shook his head fondly.

“Lando!” A journalist called out and Lando felt his whole body tense up. “Do you think Oscar’s absence shows a lack of commitment to the team?”

Lando could feel his face scrunch up. He knew his emotions were probably written very clearly across his face if the bubbling anger inside him was telling enough. But before he could lift his microphone and say something that would have the PR team sighing deeply at his snarkiness, the door to the conference room slammed open as someone came running in.

“Sorry, sorry!”

Lando’s anger quickly melted away, replaced with something quite like knee-buckling relief at the sight of Oscar settling onto the couch beside him, his cheeks flushed and his hair dishevelled on his head. But he was there and he was human and that was all Lando needed to know right now.

At least, he tried to tell himself that as Oscar supplied the journalists with some very vague excuse as to why he was late.

“How?” Lando muttered under his breath, leaning into Oscar so the microphones wouldn’t pick up on their voices.

“Grandma messaged back,” Oscar said with a small smile. “She seems confident it worked fine. But she was also three drinks deep into happy hour so, take it with a pinch of salt.”

Lando raised his brows. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah, Grandma said there shouldn’t be any lingering side effects,” Oscar assured him, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m fine. Promise. I’ll explain later.”

Lando only nodded in response, shuffling a little closer to Oscar until their knees were nudging against each other. Oscar was there and he was human and he was touching him now, and that was what mattered. He could wait another fifteen minutes before finding out more, before wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and muttering about needing to buy a black cat before Max texted him with more questions.

Oscar was fine now and nobody knew the mess they had accidentally created.

“Next question is for Oscar: did you just meow?”

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mistymisfit · 7 months ago

Text

How he shows he loves you

Summary: 3 short blurbs on how Jason shows reader he loves them.

warnings: mentions of reader being kidnapped, but descriptions are very vague lol.

wc: 2k

a/n: This isn't edited at all, but it has been sitting on y drafts for wayyyy too long

Jokes

Disappointment is not the initial reaction he hoped for when he came in through your front door. Shock would've been a more appropriate response, since your music was too loud and you didn't hear him come in. He decided to pull a prank and scare you, silently making his way to the kitchen where you were having a karaoke session. Which given how quiet he could be when he wanted to, it was not that hard at all. Now Jason tries to hold back his laugh, a boyish grin plastered across his features that he wouldn't be able to suppress even if he tried.

"What are you making?" He whispers next to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. If he was being honest, he'd say he is concerned about how long it takes you to notice there's someone else in your apartment. But right now, he's too caught up in the bliss of being in your presence that he can't bring himself to care.

"Oh, you're early." You say after the scream you let out when he comes up behind you, seemingly out of nowhere to whisper in your ear.

"Why? You're mad?" He replies, hiding his insecurity behind sass. What if you didn't want him there? What if he's overstayed his welcome? But before he can come up with some convoluted reason for why you don't want him anymore, you're stopping him.

"I just wanted to have this done by the time you got here" You signal back at the food with your head. And he looks over, finally realizing you were cooking his favorite meal.

"What's the special occasion?"

"Nothing," You blush "Can't a girl just cook for her boyfriend?"

"Not unless she wants me to make her my wife," He teases, you roll your eyes, growing accustomed to these types of jokes. Once he reached a certain level of domesticity and was comfortable enough in the relationship, he started to talk about how he was gonna marry you. Jason would even jokingly refer to you as his wife. At first, he made you blush, now it was just the usual routine.

You would lie if you said it didn't excite you and make your feelings all mushy when he did that, your heart felt warmer when he showed how committed he was to you. You felt giddy whenever he said "When we get married", he never said if we get married, he was very certain about wanting to spend the rest of his life with you. Your heart skipped a beat whenever he'd drop a detail of his dream wedding, "We're having a chocolate cake, like the one in Matilda" or "I'm kissing the fuck out of you on that altar". One time he said: "If you liked that, imagine what our honeymoon would be", that one got him a soft slap on his chest as you chuckled.

"How did you get here anyways?" You change the subject, going back to your cooking.

"Used the front door" He answers with a smirk, arms wrapping around your waist as he steps closer to you.

"Really? How?"

"Cause I'm your boyfriend," He replies like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is, but he didn't need to say it like that. "I have been for a while, and you gave me your keys"

"Damn, my doorman just lets anyone in these days" You joke and you can hear the little "tsk" that comes from his mouth as he lets go of you.

"I can leave and come back from your window" He's kidding, but you know him well enough to know he's willing to follow through just for the sake of doing a bit. Instead, you hold his arm, pulling him back to you in between giggles.

"Please, I finally have boot imprint-free windowsills"

He laughs, it's real laughter, not his usual chuckle. It makes your heart work overtime as you watch his smile reach his eyes so much that he ends up closing them. He pulls you in for a kiss before he lets you go to finish the dinner you worked so hard on. The food that when he takes a bite from has him asking:"You want a summer or spring wedding?"

Touch

Even if he's less inclined to admit this, Jason knew that before you met he was touch starved. And now he can't get enough of it, he's constantly on your side or with his hands on you in any way, shape or form. It came as a shock--to him-- how badly he needed you sometimes, he never felt this about anyone before. He swears he's not usually this clingy.

You are walking down the street and suddenly you're not holding his hand or bicep and he's grabbing your hand and putting it back. He could never be one of those boyfriends who don't notice when their partner stops holding their hand, if you ever so that he's immediately holding your hand again and asking what's wrong.

Sometimes his touch is protective. You are going through a crowded space and he has his hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you and making sure nothing ever happens to you. It turns a little too protective when another guy tries talking to you and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a kiss.

But most of the time, he's all alone with you, lying down on bed or a couch, and he's tracing shapes on your uncovered skin. He leans his head closer when you play with his hair or God forbid you touch his face, it has his knees giving out. He loves feeling your weight on top of him, loves feeling you're real and that you're with him and not going anywhere. Maybe he sneaks a hand under your clothes if he feels daring, and your attention doesn't shift. It amazes him how he's allowed this, how much access you give him. And over everything else, it doesn't have to be sexual. Casual skin to skin contact did not have to mean anything else; it was just that.

With you he's experienced that not every touch has violence behind it, not every contact has an ulterior motive. So he's so gentle with you, maybe he is not good with words, so he makes up for it. You know he shows his affection in action rather than words, he's not that far from worshiping the ground you walk on. He's specially kind when you know you're vulnerable; he presses kisses to your face as much as he can and to your shoulder blades when he can't. You know he's a big softy since you've pretended to be asleep multiple times as he played with your hair. An more than once you've heard him whisper hushed love confessions he never thought you'd hear. His hands are rough with criminals but you'd never be able to tell by how kind he's around you.

Priority

Jason wants you to know you can count on him for anything, he makes a point of it by telling you multiple times. You ran out of milk? He's buying it on his way to your place Your apartment needs fixing and your landlord won't help? Problem's solved within the hour. Maybe you got terrible cramps, he's there to help you however you want him to. So it's no surprise to you or anyone that the second you're in danger he drops everything else. You're his number one priority.

"Where is she?" He pushes Bruce for information, which he was adamant in not telling him. Knowing Jason, he'd end up acting before he thinks it through, he'd show up unprepared and end up causing a disaster. Or at least that is what Bruce thinks about the son who plotted his revenge against him for years to the last minute detail.

"Jason" He mutters under his breath.

"I swear to God if I find out someone touched a hair in her head because you wasted time-"

"You go with me or you don't" He threatens "at all."

And Jason loves you so much, he's willing to agree to work with him in a heartbeat. He puts all his resentment aside when he thinks it will help you, if it meant working with the bat and abiding by his rules, then so be it. He'll track down the poor fucker who took you and kill him later. He didn't like being around him, it made him feel tense due to the incredibly strained relationship between the two of them. Bruce loved Jason, but sadly his way of showing it translated quite the opposite way in the younger one's eyes.

Bruce was being too quiet about what happened to you. All he knew was that he couldn't reach you, you were not at any of the usual places, and your friends had no idea where you were either. He checked your apartment and things were perfectly placed, no one had broken in--other than him. Then when he tracked your phone, which he only promised to do in extreme situations like today, he found it inside your purse thrown in some dirty alleyway. That's when his panic hit its peak and turned back to get his red hood gear and ask the bats if they knew anything about you.

He got to a warehouse, standing next to Bruce he decides to push him a bit more to get anything out of him. His mind was killing him with questions, were you okay? what happened? how did he know? and couldn't bear another second next to the stoic figure not willing to tell him anything.

"It's Mad Hatter, he's been taking people off the streets for-"

"Is she okay?" He cuts off, he has no space in his mind for whatever crazy thing he had planned against Batman or the city. Not when he's not sure you're safe, when Bruce won't even tell him if you're alive.

"She should be" He gives in "I'll take care of him, you handle hostages"

That's all he needs, he braces himself before following after Bruce, watching every step he made as it could make the difference between losing you or saving you. Jason's a bit pissed he's relegated to hostages much like he was during his time as Robin but decides against questioning for now. He steps and breathes as quietly as he can while he makes his way past the sign that reads "Wonderland". He silently signals to Bruce that they should split and cover more ground, to which he agreed with a curt nod. His masks allows him to have a better vision in the dark, so he can see how filthy the place was and how worn down the wonderland decorations were. He doesn't know if the man was there, but knowing Bruce he sent him on a path he wasn't likely to find him alone.

He finally finds some of his hostages, two twins laying unconscious on the floor. He tried waking them up to no success; he saw their chests move up and down as they breathed, so he knew he could worry about that later. Moving further, he sees a couple more people, all dressed up as characters like the twins were, in the same state. He then moves to the tea party, where another two kids dressed as the animals in the book sat with their heads on the table. He picks one of them up and rests them in a more comfortable position on the floor using what he could to make a cushion for their head, then does the same with the other kid. He thinks it's the least he could do if he couldn't wake them up. After a nerve-wracking walk through Lewis Caroll's nightmare he finds you, he feels his soul getting back to his body when his eyes finally land on you.

You lay on a floor that resembles a chessboard wearing a white dress and a crown, a little blonde girl with a light blue dress is cuddled up on your arms. He kneels down next to you, whispering your name and grabbing your shoulder to shake you in an almost desperate attempt to wake you.

"Please, please" He's sure if someone could hear how pathetic he sounded, his reputation would be ruined forever.

"Jay?" You manage to mutter under your breath, still not opening your eyes.

"Yes, I'll get you out of here"

"Hm, hats" you hummed, he doubted you were even aware of anything.

"I know, baby"

"off" Your voice was low and it seemed to him that you were fighting to stay awake and losing.

He took off the crown from your head and the headband from "Alice's". Listening to your advice, even if you were barely conscious. Once he confirmed you were okay, he carried you out. Then he came back for the little girl next to you, and so on until everyone was out and hat free. By that time police had arrived, and Batman was handing Jervis' ass to the cops to begin the cycle once more. He holds back, watching from afar to avoid getting caught. He watched as Batman shared a few words with Gordon, then Barbara tuned in to let him know which hospital they were taking you to.

When you wake up he is next to you, holding your hand and with the biggest eye-bags you've ever seen him with. He almost starts crying when you call his name in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm okay,"You whisper, wrapping your arms tightly around him. The scene is too touching as you see someone put a hand on his shoulder and tell him something.

"I'll go tell the doctors you woke up" He excused himself, reluctant even to let go of your hand, much less entertained by the idea of being separated from you too long.

You didn't see him as Jason's frame covered the man behind him but now you notice the one and only Bruce Wayne standing in your hospital room. It was too much to take in.

"Oh, Jason must really love me if he was willing to work with you"

#im so bad at titles 😭😭😭😭😭#btw if you see any mistake no you don't #ill edit tomorrow if i feel like it #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader fluff #red hood x reader #w: jason #jason todd fluff

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bobbyfloyd · 1 month ago

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HONEYMOON BOB. He's rented y'all a nice, secluded lake house so he can fuck you out on the deck!!!!

you sent this in october...whoops lol. can't believe i never answered this gem.

when bob booked your honeymoon, he was very intentional about making sure the place you were staying was very secluded. he didn't want any prying eyes to catch a glimpse of what the two of you were up to. it was his honeymoon, for goodness’ sake. if he wanted to make love to his wife out on the gorgeous wraparound deck, then that was his prerogative!

naturally, that was exactly what he did. it seemed that becoming husband and wife had made him a little more brazen. he never thought he had a wife kink until he proposed to you and got used to the idea of making you his wife. after that, it was in full force. and once he officially said his vows to you, it was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind. he couldn't keep his hands off of you. certainly not when you looked so beautiful and relaxed, happy that the stress of wedding planning was over, allowing you time to relax with your new husband. much of that relaxing turned into the two of you having intense sex on every surface of the quaint lake house he had rented. including on the deck.

you hadn't curled up in his lap that morning with ulterior motives. you had really just come out to enjoy a cup of coffee with him and breathe in the morning air. but one thing led to another, and soon, his hands were wandering your body, sneaking beneath the little négligée you wore. it barely concealed a thing, and it allowed him easy access. especially when you weren't wearing any panties, which was what had started this in the first place.

he was only in his boxers, the thin layer of fabric doing little to lessen the feeling of your bare cunt. you were positioned just right, so that you were able to rut against his cock. it didn't take him long to get hard. in fact, his blood had gone rushing south from the moment you walked outside, nipples peaked under your nightie, body on display. it had grown increasingly difficult to hide. he didn't try, either, because it wasn't something he had to conceal. there was no one around for miles. if you wanted to have sex on the deck, who were you to deny yourselves?

that was how you found yourself sinking down onto your husband's thick cock, inch by satisfying inch, all while bob held the hem of your nightie and watched the way your anatomy stretched to accomodate him. "there ya go, honey. just a little more. that's it." and once you had lowered yourself fully, he gazed up at you with overwhelming intensity in his eyes. "look at you. taking every inch of me like the good little wife you are." his statement pulled a desirous whimper from you, and you surged forward to kiss him, hips rocking slightly, growing accustomed to being full.

his large hands came up to grip your hips. "let me guide you, sweetheart. don't want you doin' all the work." he slowly eased you into a rhythm, moaning brazenly as you began to ride him, pussy tightening around him with each movement. god, he was obsessed with your body. he yanked your négligée down even further, exposing your breasts, as if offended that the silky fabric was hiding them from him.

he leaned in to latch onto one of your nipples, and you whined, your own hands coming up to tangle in his sandy locks, soft and ungelled and a little longer than usual, because he didn't have to cut his hair while on leave. "you're perfect," he gasped against your chest, "all for me. my perfect wife. how'd i get so lucky?" his praise made your heart sing, and drove you to quicken your movements, eager to please. but he slowed you. "no need to rush now, honey. we've got all day. ride it nice and slow. 'at's it, just like that. let me savor this sweet little pussy."

#asks #bob musings #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut

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noxturnalmoth · 29 days ago

Text

What Could Have Been

Summary: Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Warnings: Canon violence

Word Count: 15, 463

Masterlist: here

Chapter 6 - Catharsis and Ruination

After the meeting with Sevika, Silco had been more relaxed than you've ever seen him. A huge weight taken off of his shoulder after having poured all of his feelings out, and also at knowing his daughter was safe and cared for, building a life for herself out of the noise and healing. And that in turn made you so very happy, because his happiness was becoming your number one priority as time passed while sharing your life with him. Which was probably because of your ever growing feelings, but you'd ignore these until Silco inevitably notices.

Until he notices the stares, lengthening in duration, and the adoration coating each and everyone of them.

But how could you not admire him, not only his beauty but his strength as he carries your heavy components to spare you the extra work and save you time. His resilience, still managing to stand up and live even after all that he had survived, still managing to fight for what he thought was right. How controlled and composed he could be even if he was possessed by an all consuming storm, deep down in the abysses he refused to show anyone. But what you loved the most was how he placed himself in your hands when he was broken, choosing to heal instead of continue his stubborn and desperate ways. Broken shards of crystal put so gently in your hands, cutting you as you pieced him back together, but you didn't mind.

Not when he grew more gentle and kind, letting you peek at who Silco truly was. Not when your shared banter soothed your hard days, not when you proudly executed your plans of working Piltover's forces to the ground. Especially not when you fell asleep to his warmth in your bed, cradling you, hands brushing your hair.

But you had to hide it. For his sake.

He was rebuilding himself, a new life opening itself to him. And one day, he'd probably want his own space, be his own man without your help. And as much as it hurt, you resigned yourself to swallow it all down because being a friend was all you could really hope for, you were only a transitory period after all.

And if that's what you'd have to be, then so be it.

As the constant clinking of your hammer dictated the rhythm of your day, you find yourself working later than usual, letting Silco leave before you like many nights for the past two weeks. Creating molds, writing blueprints to carve intricate designs on metal, soldering articulations and mechanisms to escape the confines of your own mind, all to loud with infatuation.

Now that your dear friend isn't here the air is easier to breathe, mind clearer for but a moment before it spirals again. Both distance and proximity not helping with the tumultuous waters clashing in your heart.

The hammer is harshly brought down on the anvil, metal clashing against metal and shaping the red hot sheet. Your form leaning over it panting from the heat, exhertion and the constant emotional turmoil you've been facing for months now.

Sevika's arm was coming together, balanced to her body weight and size unlike the one Jinx had made her, the oxydized copper and dark, gunmetal steel entertwining in the distinct Zaunite designs you've grown up with. Harsh and industrial in their material and edges, jutting forward to cut at anything approaching, yet organic in shape, gothic and intricate.

It was nearly done, the outer plating was completed and only needed to be covered in the metal lace you've spent so many sleepless nights working on. The clawed fingers only needed to be assembled, the wrist joint soon to be attached while the plating of each knuckle is doubled with more lattice.

"You should rest."

Your body tenses at the touch on your shoulder as you direct the chisel currently in your hand towards the noise, quick and calculated although the movement itself was instinctual.

"Fuck, Silco. Give a little warning next time."

"I did, called out to you but you were unresponsive. I get that you want to help Sevika with her arm but something else is at play here."

His form approaches, looking at you with soft worry, as if scared you'd run away.

"Sorry, I've been in my head a lot lately."

"I've noticed, do you want to talk?"

You grab your soldering machine, your goggles brought down on your face by your other hand as sparks begin to fly about, fireworks in the palms of your hands as you pull the arm together.

"I guess that with the thing at Vander's statue and the talk with Sevika I've been...Realizing how close we're getting to a full on civil war."

"Does it frighten you?"

"Only a fool would feel no fear at something like this."

Your voice mumbles as joints, plates and intricate metal lace are interwoven, pieced together like a puzzle. And for a while it was silent, your thoughts sinking back into the dark recesses of your mind.

"And what's this?"

You turn around to find Silco holding a blueprint, one you've made with the hex crystal in mind. A circular pedestal with a round indent at the center, some grooves leading from it to the arches creating a dome over the contraption. A crank and button were linked to the main component on a smaller rectangular piece, to activate the machine and change the positions of each of the six wheels. On each of those were mirrors, small and circular in shape, that would be engraved with a rune yet you knew not which one just yet. Held up by four long pins was a cylindrical sheath, meant for a shimmer vial, placed right above the hex crystal's resting place.

"It's for Samira, gave her the arcane stone we found and she said she could maybe use it for treatments because it seems to help with certain mollecules. So I'm helping her channel it."

He nods, thumbs caressing the paper as he observed each intricacies, your writing thoroughly analyzed as he whispered each word scratched on the large page.

"Did you get started on it?"

You nod looking towards the side table and Silco walks towards it, the sheet covering the intricate machine soon taken off to reveal it half done.

"I just need to solder the parts together and find the right runes. Unfortunately I know no one capable of helping and going topside would be bad right now, especially since Jayce Talis disappeared and he was the only one capable of helping."

You mumble, the arm slowly yet surely taking shape between your expert hands. The calouses covering them being followed my more recent scars, some of them from today, crusted over by blood, soot and sweat.

"Two weeks."

You turn to Silco confused, the cloth at your hip used to wipe your sweaty face as he walks towards you, pushing your goggles up.

"You've been working, going on missions and doing all of this for two weeks."

"I'm fine."

"You look dreary. Do not lie to me."

You sigh as he grabs your chin, dehydrated and exhausted you couldn't help your head from lolling just a bit, leaning into his warm touch.

"Let me finish this at least, please Silco. I just need to put the elbow pieces together."

He huffs a soft breath, your chin freed from his grasp as he pulls your goggles back over your eyes, pushing your sweaty hair back from your forehead afterwards. His head nods to your workspace, prompting you to finish the soldering, moving the arm around and bending every joint to see if everything was up to standard. And with a groan you stretch, arms and back popping before you rip your goggles way, letting them hang around your neck.

"Let's go home, you grump."

"I'm only a grump because you're working too hard."

"Now, you're one to talk Mr.I've been a revolutionary since my teen years."

"Dove."

His voice thunders dangerously and you freeze in the doorway, shaking your head to get your control back yet grateful that the colored neon lights of Zaun hide the red flush of your face. You begin walking as he closes up, long strides easily letting him catch up with you

"What? I finished Sevika's arm, I'll have less work now."

"Now." He points out. "It still doesn't erase the fact you've spent even your days off at work. What about this project you told me about?"

"It's a part of it. The new contraption I mean. There are so many diseases stemming from Piltover's chemicals we could heal with something like that, Silco. Sump resistant plants are needed, and moss doesn't nearly make enough sap. But with enough of it and this crystal, we could create a healthcare system for Zaun."

"You are resting this weekend, I will not take no for an answer."

"I have to see Sami-"

"She can wait."

Silco's tone was flat, indicated he would indeed not accept any debate on his choice. When you two get to bed that night it feels heavy, the ever growing sentimentality you feel for him, your exhaustion overtaking you as you enter his embrace. You didn't even have time to caress his hair before you were dragged to the abyss of sleep, drowning in nightmares that felt more and more distant as Silco held you.

"Have you been to the northern fissures?"

He asks when you nearly crawl out of bed and to the table in your small kitchen, the bed way too good after barely sleeping for the past two weeks. Your already small nights smaller and your days off spent slaving away at the forge.

The only answer he gets is an unceremonial grunt as you slide in your chair, your breakfast soon put in front of you.

"Is that a no or a yes?"

"No." You sigh happily as you savour the flatbread and sautéed squid, spiced and seasoned to perfection as always. "I wasn't here when they were still open."

"Would you like to go?"

His question surprises you and you think before swallowing your bite with coffee, your cup prepared to your taste. Your eating habits engrained within Silco's clever mind from the time you two spent together.

"I'm up for it." And before your next question can pass the threshold of your lips realization lights your eyes up like the neons illuminating Zaun. "That's where you worked before, wasn't it?"

"Indeed."

"And you want me to come?"

"Not just to the mines. It's more...a specific place within it."

"An old haunt?"

He huffs softly, head bouncing in a soft nod while his hair follows the movement, untied and silky. And although you've always kept yourself from being intimate unless it was when the sun came down, in the alcove or in your bed, today your body moved before you could scold yourself into staying still. Body leaning forward held by your left hand, the right one brushing through his hair before pulling it behind his ear. And he looks at you like you brought air filtration to Zaun, your own lip worried between your teeth as you tried to keep his hair from falling back, making it as perfect as you could, his silence broken when he clears his throat.

"Something like that, yes."

He sounds breathless and you tilt your head in confusion before he nods to your plate, his good eye back to its usual half lidded nonchalance while he motions to your cooling breakfast.

"Sure, why not. Last time you brought me to a special spot to you we became friends, I wonder what will happen now."

You smile up to him, cheeks full of food while he scoffs, entertwining his hands as his elbows hold his arms up on the table and his face is hidden behind them, his eyes looking to the side.

"It's not that special."

He nearly mumbles, sound smothered by his hands.

"Is that place special to you?"

"Very."

"Then it is that special. And I'm glad you see me as worthy enough to share such an important place."

Silence settles between the two of you and you point to his plate the same way he had pointed to yours.

"You are."

Rings after a while, the sound bouncing off the walls.

"What?"

"Worthy. You are worthy, to me."

Your eyes gloss over, goosebumps lifting each hairs on your body, and your heart pumps your blood at inhuman speeds within your veins, skin becoming too hot too quickly. Your thoughts stopped and freezed into place, soon enough becoming blank. The small sweet sentence enough to force your whole being into a reboot for the exception of your heart, which was thrumming in elation at the words.

The only thing you can answer with, a smile stretching across your face slowly, before you two leave is something small and quiet. Demure enough in its dictation and cadence that it would have sounded like the Janna's blessing cutting through Zaun's narrow streets if it weren't for the utter silence in the room.

"You're worthy to me too."

The trek there was spent in relative silence, the busy streets serving as back drop until the noise faded into mechanical whirrs and soft whistling. The structures of the northern fissures abandonned and the houses less populated and quieter the closer you got to the mines.

The strong smell of metal, rust and humidity dampening your senses as you enter the dark cave, taking apart some planks and pulling them back in place, the light from outside disappearing and leaving you and Silco in the dark. That's when you jump, a loud clap bouncing off of the walls and illuminating the stone path, your friend looking at you smugly.

"What?" The light dims again and this time you clap, revelling in the way the fungi around you glow, crouching to pat one in wonder. "I've never seen those before!"

Silco is right behind you, bending at the waist to look over your shoulder, as he chuckles, voice sweet and gravelly as he looks fondly to the mine's tunnel.

"They only grow in the mines, the chemicals bond with some of the metals here and fungi gain this bioluminescent quality to them."

You pick a few of the big bulbous mushrooms and put them in your satchel, wiping your now slimy hands on yourself while Silco sighs.

"What? I need to bring back more plant samples to Samira and those seem full of sap. I can't work on y-" You stumble over your words quickly. "-the first type of antidote, without a good enough amount of this. Although I don't know if it'll work, but it's better than nothing, trial and error and all that."

You get back up and turn to Silco who has his eyebrows raised inquisitively and you pray to Janna that your rant made him forget about your little slip up. Your hands clap and you two continue to make your way, further and further down the winding paths.

That's when you notice.

"Silco, is anything still happening in those mines?"

"No, they're abandonned, why?"

You point to your right, claw marks littering the wall and ground. Your eyes follow them and you clap louder.

"Is that where we need to go?"

He nods, face grave and good eye narrowed. There were no grand signs of panic coming from him yet you could see the tension in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw and his hands clenching and unclenching as if preparing for a fight.

"Let's go."

"It could be dangerous. I wouldn't want to risk-" He takes a sharp breath and shakes his head. "We don't have to go."

"Well, I want to. This place is important to you, so let's go."

You take his hand, his whole form rattling in surprise at the touch. Whenever the lights dimmed, you would make a small noise, loud enough to make the fungi glow with life, not enough to bounce off of the cavernous walls and start a headache. And after a moment of walking, Silco now back to leading you while his hand remained in yours, you gained an idea.

You knew that miners were superstitious to a certain extent, believing in the goddess Janna more than most along with those from the Sump. And growing up you would hear chants, now engraved in your heart you thought it to be a better way to illuminate the plants leading your way instead of ringing noises.

"Bey'fet ihru ga, Ahuni lek'cho."

The way lights up.

Beyond these walls, the Storm's fury grows.

Silco's hand squeezes yours, a small nostalgic smile growing on his face as you look at him. So you squeeze back, eyes observing the growing beastly marks on the surfaces of the tunnels as lights dimmed.

"Bey'un habbab, Ahuni lek'cho."

Albeit the growing concern of the ruined tunnel, clawed left and right, you two advance, steps assured yet hands clasped to one another's in comfort.

Over the seas (and land), the Storm's fury grows.

It was strange how the sound of the chant ricoché'd in the long stone corridor, sounding almost like you weren't alone singing, like this place was not nearly as quiet as you thought it was.

What was also strange was how you weren't scared and neither was Silco, his form more relaxed than when you had first observed the claw marks and so were you. Was it the song, reminiscent of something real and concrete that could root you back into reality. Or maybe it was Silco's presence. You knew your lack of fear could be attributed to the latter, the former only exacerbating the effects of it. Yet you couldn't help but hope deep down that you were the cause for his comfort too.

"Suhbi al naa yih.."

Rings when the dark swallows the two of you, Silco's voice soft and nearly whispered, a soft rhythm cadencing his words into a song.

The blue bird exists and thus...

The tunnel illuminates, the smile on Silco's face growing and showcasing chipped crooked teeth, watered by your own surprised expression also morphing in a toothy smile. His eyes, shining with mirth and something more tender, were still trained forward to a quickly approaching wooden door. Yet you could see them leaving the path to observe you, the lights dimming as your cheeks flushing red.

"..Kha aademas auja."

I fear nothing.

You answer, lighter in tone, the lights around you shining only dimly, enough for you two to walk to the doorway. That's when you notice the small golden glow from inside, your hands gripping one another's tighter before separating. Your own reaching for your Noxian knuckle blades, the same ones that you had been using for nearly a year now, polished and sharpened to perfection. While Silco takes two daggers in hand, he nods to the door and you step back, knocking it down with a heavy kick.

You immediately zero in on the now black haired girl, eyes blazing in anger at the recognition.

"I told you not to come back here girl!"

Her eyes widen as your body staddles her, blades at her throat, body tensing.

"I'm sorry, I promise I have a good reason!"

That's when two metallic clanks resound in the room, a choking breath, then a shaking sob following them. You glare at Violet as you turn, Silco was standing straight with a long blue haired girl gripping him tightly. The small brown haired child from the revolt at the Lanes, her locks now changed from a soft brown to a bright yet patchy blue, looking confused between the two displays.

"You can let her go."

Silco breathes out, arms reaching around his daughter and you sigh, getting off of the older sister and sheathing your blades back in your belts. You show your hand to her, beckoning her to take it so you could help her up.

"Looks like you're good for now, Violet."

"How-"

"Later."

You nod at her before moving to the child, remembering her name from your meeting with Sevika. You crouch with a friendly smile and take her mining helmet away, ruffling her hair before placing the hard hat back on her small head, the kid laughing at the ministration.

"You must be Isha, are you alright kiddo? You've pulled quite the stunt last time at the reunion."

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion before nodding, a grin stretching across her face, her arms embracing you softly and quickly before she pulls back.

"Dad, how...how did you survive?"

"Let's sit down for that, poppet."

And sit down you all did, Jinx looking at you suspiciously while you settle down next to her father, Isha on her lap as she sits and Vi to her side leaning against the wall.

"You're alive.."

"I am."

"Why didn't you come back to me? I thought I-" Jinx trembles, her eyes glossing over as she gazes at Silco's hand reaching around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him.

"Because I have learnt that I had caused too much damage, too much death. And that killing is a cycle that only walking away can break." He sighs, his thumb rubbing your shoulder as his other hand reaches for his daughter's face. "I have hurt you, you know that?"

"I know but, you were-"

"The best father I could be with the way I am. I know poppet. But I have made you a weapon, I aided in ruining your already fractured mind. Although I gave you a roof and as much love as I could, I dragged you down with me as I sank into my very own abyss. I'm sorry Jinx."

"You abandonned your dream! You left Sevika and I to pick up the pieces of your empire, the one you built and burnt to the ground yourself!"

Jinx's face leans into Silco's hand, yet her lips tremble, confusion and anger, sadness and fear tainting her face.

"I have left the empire I built as the Eye of Zaun, yes. But I haven't abandonned my dream of a Nation for all of us. My friend and I have been quietly working towards it, her for longer than I have, and I just followed in her steps."

Everyone's eyes shift to you and you nod as a greeting, your name slipping from your lips, preferring Silco to talk in this situation.

"She was there when it all happened, and saved me from the goodness of her heart. She helped me heal, in more ways than one, even when I was more than undeserving of it. She gave me a place to stay, and honest insight into my own mistakes. She's welcomed me in her life, in her work and in her rebellion. I would not be here now if it wasn't for her."

"That doesn't make you a good man." Scoffs Vi, Silco takes his hand away from Jinx and nods solemnly.

"Indeed, and I do not pretend to be. All I can do is be better. If I didn't, I know she would have been the first to set me back on the right path." Silco's voice rumbles. "Or to beat me into it."

You chuckle, the sound calling his eyes to you, the ever so soft gaze melting you as it always does. It seems to shock Jinx and Vi who look to one another with amused yet distraught faces.

"You bet I would have, you fossil."

His laugh rings in the shabby wooden room.

"Are you two..In charge of the Children of Zaun then?"

"Yes, Vi. Are you still an enforcer?" You answer back, eyebrows raised and gaze trained to the giant mechanical gauntlets behind her.

She scoffs. "No, turns out stopping Cait from shooting through Isha to get to Jinx is good enough of a reason for her to go Noxian dictator on us."

"That was the reason?"

She nods sadly, the affection in her eyes broken by such pain that you knew exactly what had happened.

"The things we do for love, right kid?"

"You can say that again."

"The things w-"

Silco takes the hand around your shoulders to your mouth and you snort, the room's tension dissipating as everyone followed you. You take the hand off, entertwining your fingers with Silco's. A gesture to calm yourself and be closer to him, hoping to Janna he would let you be so intimate, yet also that he'd build distance between you two to not let you fall into delusions. He lets it happen, squeezing once, your heart replicating the movement in shackled adoration.

"And you Jinx, how have you been?"

The girl's pink eyes snap to yours curiously, a pinch in her eyebrows showing shock at your care towards her.

"I've been...alright, better."

"So I've heard. Your dad's been really worried about you, you know? But we saw Sevika two weeks ago, she told us little bunny over there has been helping you." You scrunch your face at Isha who giggles. "I'm glad you found someone to live for, everyone needs something to push them forward."

"And you've been helping, dada."

She mumbles and you smile at her, one hand reaching to ruffle her hair.

"To the best of my ability, you know how your old man is kiddo."

"Commanding?"

"I was going more for cantankerous, stubborn and annoying. But why not?" You smirk and she cackles, your hand retracting to push away Silco's that escaped yours, pinching at your waist. Yet it remained there, softly soothing the bite it had delivered.

"I'm not all that bad anymore, am I, dove?"

Your lips twitch and you turn your head away, shaking it as if you were disappointed simply to hide your blush.

"You're a confident one."

"Oh shut up." He barks a laugh.

Jinx and Vi tense at the noise, eyes widening at Silco before looking at you like you grew two more heads.

"Where is Silco and what have you done to him?"

"What the f-"

You raise your eyebrows at the older girl. "Language."

She purses her lips before shaking her head incredulously, Jinx giggling, reaching to you both with a paper in hand and presenting it to Silco.

"I think you might want to read that, Silco."

"Yes, I...It's from Vander, from way back when..." The younger girl continues.

Your friend takes the letter, the hand at your waist squeezing as his eyes fly through the words.

Silence.

Even as his grip becomes borderline painful, you make no noise to disturb it.

Even as the letter crinkles in his grip.

"This..."

"Could've changed everything? Yeah, that's what we thought aswell."

"Why...?"

You gently take the paper from his grip and read it.

I’ve looked everywhere, but it’s clear you don’t want to be found. God I’m shit at this. I’m sorry. When she died…I lost my head. I told myself what I did to you was for the greater good, that you deserved it, but the dirt was on both our hands. Anyways, you know where to find me.

Blisters and bedrock.

Indeed, it could've changed everything. If Silco had found this back in the day, when he was still freshly hurt and untainted by his pain. No matter how clumsy the words are, they convey enough guilt that you knew Silco would have at least heard Vander out. Even if he wasn't forgiven. But after spending so much time with the man, and knowing how profoundly he loves, you know he would have.

So you fold the letter and put it in his pocket, turning towards him and cradling his face. Your breath shaking as you try to look into his eye.

"Do you need time?"

"I'll be fine, I simply-"

"Everything could have been different, but what point is there in drowning in what ifs, Silco? What's done is done, what happened, happened. You've forgiven Vander long ago, and I'm sure that he would have too, given the time. Seeing who you've become now."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain."

Your right thumb caresses his scarred cheek quickly, barely holding yourself back from embracing him with all the love you held for him, before returning to your place, Silco's hand softening around you.

"Why are you two girls here?" You question, leaving Silco to his thoughts.

"Vi here was ruining herself, drinking and fighting after Cait-"

"Jinx." The sister groans.

"And when Isha had been caught, Sev and I went to get her at Stillwater...But there was something there. A beast who killed and destroyed everything in its path. And I promise I'm not lying when I say it's Vander! He said my name! He called me Powder and got out of his murderous transe then he just left!"

The hand around you clenches yet again, Silco's breath shifting to a faster, more chopped cadence. Your hand covers his softly.

"A beast you say?"

"I know it sounds mad but I'm not lying! Something happened to him! I swear!"

"I trust you Jinx." She stops her panicked rambling, Isha holding her close for comfort and her eyes glazed over yet again.

"You do..?" She sounds fully disbelieving.

"Of course, I'm your father's friend and I trust him, so if he trusts you so do I. You're not a bad kid, you just did bad things and I know you regret them. Trust me, I'd know what being a monster is and you're far from being one."

Your smile relaxes her tensed body, Violet looking at you with a faraway look while her face softens into something akin to gratitude and nostalgia.

"So you came because...you thought Vander would come here when he broke out of whatever he was controlled by?"

Jinx nods, not trusting her words.

"And you wanted your sister to come, so you could both reunite with him?"

Her eyes trail to Violet who smiles softly.

"We've seen the claw marks in the tunnels, we trust you Jinx. Your father and I."

The girl sniffles and slides Isha off of her lap, the child walking towards you cautiously and setting herself on the table next to you with your help, hand momentarily leaving Silco's.

"And you?"

"I...wanted to show her this important part of my life." Finally speaks the man, his voice the slightest bit shaky yet reverting back to its controlled tone.

"She has become the most important person for me now, and after seeing and apologizing to Sevika it only felt right to bring her here."

Your heart clenches at his words, you knew he only meant that you were a close friend yet you couldn't help but find it in his tone that he could be more. A delusion perhaps, fueled by the time spent together and his vulnerability, yet something that you couldn't simply gloss over as your hand clenches around his.

"You apologized?"

Vi says incredulously and Silco nods solemnly.

"And I should apologize to you too Violet. I've made your life a living hell, and I know I can take none of it back. But if you ever need anything, consider it done. You don't have to forgive me, not now and not ever if you do not find it in your heart to. Just know that I'll spend the rest of my life atoning for my actions to you and allof those whom I've hurt."

"Wait. Does that mean you were there when the strike team.."

"Yes. Dove here was not only agressive because of what Kiramman did to our people but also because she was keeping you from finding me in the back. She was, once more, my shelter. I owe her my life and so much more, I believe it'd be impossible to repay it all."

You shake your head, elbowing him softly as you try to shake off the way you melted as he said the nickname that he's found for you.

"You already do more than enough Sil."

"I don't believe that's true."

"You don't have to. It's the truth."

You smile and Silco gently grins back, pushing his hips away from the wooden table, his hand caressing you as it leaves its spot on your waist and touches the table. You have half a mind to pursue his touch yet decide against it, body stiffening at the inner conflict. His svelte form approaches two jackets hung on the wall. Grabbing the smaller one he sighs, slowly taking off the one he wears before putting the dustier one on. It fits him perfectly, and you melt at the sight.

It was his old jacket.

He reaches to the other one, placing the one he wore prior on the hanger. Slowly, he turns and approaches the table once more before reaching for your shoulders. Your heart stammers in your ribcage as he slides your coat down your shoulders, your hands twitching and stare darting all over his face as he does so. And when it's off, he gently places the larger jacket on you.

"It fits you."

Silco's voice is nearly imperceptible and you almost swoon and jump into his arms, instead choosing to grab at the leather. The smell of humidity, metal and dirt clinging to it like seafoam on the shores of Ionia. Your eyes find his teal one, the burning orange still hidden behind its eyepatch, and you break just a bit at how he looked at you. It was chaotic, yet soft, something you couldn't decypher yet that had your stomach bursting with firelights, warming you from the inside.

"Guys, he's not here, let's just go."

The moment is broken by Vi and you nod, sighing both in relief and in dejection as Silco steps away. Isha jumped off the table and took your hand, dragging you towards the door and letting a huff of laughter leave your lips as you follow her, the two sisters behind you.

The two girls argue softly behind you, talking about how Jinx had lied again, about Vander's survival, and Jinx defending herself. The child at your side jumping between the sisters before Violet pushes her away, unknowingly throwing Isha to the ground, her small hand scraping against a rock.

"Are you okay little one?"

You ask, crouching next to her and observing her hand. She was bleeding a small bit, and without thinking much you pull a small bandage from one of your many pouches, kissing the small wound before putting the small plaster on it.

"There, all better."

Meanwhile Silco is trying to de-escalate the arguement, softly talking to the two stubborn girls and taking the side of neither. Showing just how much he's grown from an overprotective and blinded parent, to a responsible father even to the child he didn't raise. The older sister now his daughter by proxy from having been his best friend's child, then his brother's, but also Jinx's sibling.

That's when the you heard it, the faraway sound of something approaching. Something big. The lights dimming to nothing but pitch black as the sound gets closer.

You guide Isha behind you, hands reaching for your blades and Silco standing next to his daughter with a protective arm placed in front of her. Violet moved in front of all of you, gauntlets glowing with arcane energy as she gets ready to attack whatever rushes at you, your own form tensing behind her.

"I got your back Vi."

"Thanks, Mrs. Silco." She glances at you from over her shoulder.

You stammer and she smirks, turning back forward. Jinx calls out to her as red light appears in the tunnel, pleading her sister not to hurt the beast currently rushing towards you, snarling violently as if starved. And Vi punches him, you in tow using the knuckle parts of your Noxian blades to push the monster back.

"Don't hurt him!"

Yet as the beast zeroes in on Isha, Violet and you pushed pack with another flurry of punches. Your bodies thrown back at a violent sweep of his claws, you taking the blunt of it as you rushed in front of the girl. Silco holds you close in his arms from your crumpled position on the ground as the gauntlet wielding woman gets back into position.

"Vander!"

The monster closes in, and as you think the older girl will attack again, preferring to protect you all rather than bet your lives on a story, she drops her hands.

The room grows dark again, not even illuminated by the red of the beast's...you wouldn't even know what to describe what was on his back. Some sort of pump, full of a glowing crimson liquid. Probably an artificial heart to animate the, what was meant to be, dead man.

Silco holds you tighter.

"Are you okay, my dove?"

You nod in stupor, clinging to him as Jinx gets up, flicking a lighter on as she holds Isha close. Wandering in the dark, walking towards where Vi and Vander's ghost had been. Her breath is heavy and stuttering, searching for her sister and father in the dark. When the dust clears, you see it.

The beast glows green.

The violent red replaced by a peaceful tone reminiscent of Zaun's neons as Violet holds the monster's neck tight, the larger creature softening in her hold. A hand is over her back, cradling her neck protectively as she turns around, a hand held out invitingly.

"What are you waiting for? He's your dad too."

Jinx sobs, shaking in disbelief before dropping her lighter and rushing to Vander and Violet. You grunt, getting up with Silco's help before joining the girls, Isha clinging to you in fear and wonder at the sight in front of you as she seeks comfort in your touch.

The beast grows restless as it sees Silco, yet as it observes you held so gently at his side, it grows confused.

"It's been so long, brother." You hear from your friend, fear freezing you at the thought of Vander attacking, yet Silco's warmth melting it back.

"Hello Vander." Your voice is small. "I promise we'll explain everything."

Duochrome eyes dismantle the sight of you before his arms open wider and you smile, pushing Silco forward as you stayed back with Isha. The man stumbling in his old friend's grasp as sobs rack through him. Silent, yet strong enough for you to notice the shuddering of his back. Yet his hand grabs yours, pulling you and Isha in the embrace. The warmth of such unbridled love enough to have you crying too, included in a family you were never a part of yet were accepted into.

You don't know how much time was spent in each other's arms, crying, mumbling apologies and I love you's, before you pull away. Still holding onto Silco's hand you turn to the man, his hair out of his usual bun, face struck with so many emotions yet everyone of them was clear. Relief, sadness, guilt, shame.

"You were right." You hear from behind you.

"I know it sounded insane bu-"

"It doesn't matter, Jinx. You were right, and I'm sorry for doubting you. I'm sorry for everything."

Violet holds her sister tight and Vander's gaze turns to you and Isha once more.

"Vander, this is Isha. She was taken in by...Powder" You say the name softly, looking at the girl who nods, her eyes looking at you in approval. "She helped your daughter a lot and in turn your daughter helped her." You explain softly, smiling at the creature. "And I'm Silco's friend. I...Helped him back on the right track, you could say."

"She saved me from death, brother. And set me straight, made me a better man. I know you and Felicia would have loved her."

"I was way too young to know all of you back then, Sil."

He looks at you fondly, lips pursing back a smile.

"Perhaps, my dove."

He turns back to his brother in time for you to release a deep breath. Janna, this man didn't know what he was doing yet it seemed like he did. And you hated that you loved it, the self-satisfied yet kind look in his eyes as he said that word in his dulcet tone.

As all six of you make your way out of the mines your eyes trail off to the side, a large tarp covering an entrance to a branching tunnel and you get an idea. You walk towards it, hand leaving Silco's who looks at you in confusion, and rip it from its place in the wooden frame.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, do you want enforcers on our asses for dragging a gigantic man beast. Sorry Vander." You turn to him and nod in apology, the man huffing in acceptance. "So let's at least cover him. We'll bring you guys to my shop."

"You have a shop?" Jinx asks from behind Vander's hulking form.

"A forge, yes. There will be enough space to house him until we think about what to do."

You throw the large fabric over Vander, Violet helping you wrap it around him from the other side. The beast holding it close to himself and covering his head.

"Are you comfortable, Vander?" The man nods, another puff of air escaping him.

"We'll close up shop." You hear from behind you, Silco looking pensive. "She's overworked herself and was long overdue for a vacation."

You turn, an jokingly idignant look permeating your features.

"Hey if you're too old to work hard just say it Sil. Don't pin it on me." You tease as he scoffs.

"I'm not the one who woke up four hours later than usual and looked like death, this very morning."

You roll your eyes as he slips his hand in yours again, dragging you forward and the group following after.

The way to your shop was riddled with curious stares, yet as people saw Silco and you aswell as the blue haired girl, they nodded. Respect pouring from their forms as they turned away, blind to your group while you walked to the forge. Entering it and closing the metal blinds behind you, forge soon illuminated by the hearth's flame, Isha helping you haul wood there all too happily. Each time she would bring back a small bundle you'd pinch her cheek lovingly, a small kiss delivered to a new part of her face and she'd giggle on her way back to get more fuel.

In the back, Silco is sitting next to Vander, Violet on the other side of the bigger man and Jinx on the table in front of everyone, observing and quipping at times. The energy she was known for nowhere to be seen. Yet you can understand why, discovering two of the fathers she lost are still alive and that both have drastically changed, one more than the other. Along with her past and her newfound responsibilities as the face of Zaun's rebellion and parent to Isha, you could understand why she's changed so much from the loose canon she used to be.

You set yourself next to her, hips leaning against the table before bending to take Isha in your arms, the girl clinging to you and Jinx talking next to the both of you.

"All I'm saying is that there must be a way to change him back! Or at least to make him I don't know...Vander again! Without anymore of those freak outs!"

"We'd have to find the reason for those sudden changes, though." Silco leans back on the couch, arms draping over the back.

Isha shuffles around in your grasp and you get off of the table, placing her next to Jinx. That's when you look down at her hands, brushing yours against them, that you realize what the reason for Vander's rage could be.

"Blood." All eyes turn to you.

"Violet pushed Isha away while she was arguing with Jinx, and the kid scraped herself on a rock. She bled and it's only after that, that Vander rushed to the mines."

You show the child's injured hand, the bandage on there taken away so you could clean it again before you put a new wrap on it. The girl hugs you, her face nuzzling right under your chest. The older sister turns to you and you break from the embrace, going to lean against the wall.

"But we can't know for sure."

"We can."

You take Silco's dagger out of your pockets, the same one he had gifted you over a year ago, and flick it open, spining it between your fingers.

"No."

"Silco.

"Dove." He gets up from his spot to approach you, his pace panicked "I'm not letting you put yourself in danger, even if Vander is himself now, your method could work and tick him off and you could get gravely hurt. You will not try it."

"Then we'll never know! We need to know what triggers him to know what to avoid! I mean maybe my blood won't even work because so many people bleed at once, maybe only the blood spilled by people somehow important to him can get him angry!"

"For Janna's sake, you are important."

His voice bounces from every wall yet he doesn't yell, his words are harsh, clipped and hissed with the concern and care of his eyes softening his agression.

The room was so silent that Vander's deep breaths could be heard.

Violet is standing up from the couch, fists clenched and body tense as she seems to want to come and protect you. Jinx holding Isha with a soft gaze trained towards you, Vander's heterochromatic eyes looking at you in a similar fashion.

And for all the hope it gives you, at how concerned Silco is and at how everyone seems to react to it, you'd rather not imagine why their gazes are that way lest you fall into delusions again.

"Silco?"

"You are taking the week off, and you are not executing your little plan. Promise me."

"Sil-"

"Promise."

His voice grows more and more gentle, one hand sliding up from your shoulders to hold your chin and direct your gaze to his.

"Promise me, my dove."

And under his gaze you crumble, the touch, the nickname, the tone of voice and his form hiding yours from the others' inquisitive looks are enough to leave you flushed. Shaking you nod.

"With your words."

"Yes."

His eyebrow arches, lips pursing in discontent, the marred side of his face twitching.

"Yes, Silco."

And with that he sighs, his hand caressing your chin as he leaves the room under the excuse of going to buy dinner, and you breathe heavily, ragged and fast.

"So...how long have you two been together?"

"What?!" You turn to Violet, expression disbelieving.

"You're...not?"

"No! Why would he-" You purse your lips and straighten. "We're not together. We aren't. We're just friends. He's just changed, that's all."

A scoff is heard from the table, Jinx barely holding back a laugh. her blue hair moving with her like flowing water from the Frelljord.

"Well then he must be pretty stupid!"

"Jinx, that's your father."

"Riiiight, sorry mom."

You groan, dragging yourself to a chair and slumping on it, face on the table. Your blush spreading through you like wildfire, the teasing only making it worse.

"Let's just not."

"Even Vander thinks it."

"Well I can't hear him teasing me so that's fine by me. Sorry Vander." A huff answers you, almost sounding like a chuckle. "Oh f-.. shut it."

"Men are stupid. That's a given." A pat's given on your back, Violet's warmth seeping through the heavy miner's jacket.

"And women too apparently."

"You can say that again."

"And wom-" She smacks the back of your head and you sigh out a laugh, a hand raking through your hair as you sit up straight. "Really though, let's not."

"You're torturing yourself liking a man like that." And to your surprise Jinx nods along.

"I know girls, don't remind me."

A small hand pats your hair and you look forward to see Isha smiling at you, making humming noise and you grin back.

"How could we help Vander though?" Vi sets herself next to you.

"His body might not be salvageable. From what I know his death could very well have destroyed his body, so this may be what we have to work with." Jinx gazes towards where you are, Isha crawling into your lap from hers.

"But who could help?"

"Dada knew a man, Singed. Tall, burnt, very creepy. He made shimmer. He saved my life too, he could-"

Vander's growl stops her, all eyes pinning him like darts on a board, he looks restless and his eyes are swirling with so many feelings you couldn't even begin to fathom. Pure unbridled fear is what rolled out of him in waves, and so it was clear to all of you then that Singed was not an option.

Then you remember, so many rumors coming from clients, words whispered on the streets of a healer. Many refused to believe such a thing as you were in Zaun and a magical, kind being offering their help without demanding anything in return was bound to be a scam. At best, you would go back home naked, destitute of all your possessions. As for the worst? You would either have no home to come back to, or no life animating your body.

Miracles were a gamble, even more so in Zaun where you were ground 0 to test all of what seemed to cruel or inhumane to try on any other human.

Yet over the past year this mysterious healer had gained a following, apparently rallying and helping those in need where you originated from. The Sumps.

The lowest, poorest and most dangerous of the levels in the Undercity. Where those who have nothing live, praising Janna for a blessing that you now knew would never come.

Or would it?

People came back changed from this healer, or never came back again. Describing a kind, soft spoken man draped in dark blue, his long hair caressed as if he carried the Winds with him, a scepter of marble and gold held within his ethereal, indigo grasp. Eyes a kaleidoscope that could see through your very being, separate soul from body and pick apart every emotion, every atom, before pulling them back together, better than before.

You feared a cult, a hidden scheme, yet seeing Jinx and Violet now clinging to Vander as he held them close, Isha pulled along in the beast's lap; you couldn't help but want to believe. When you saw Silco's walls crashing down, sobbing in his brother's arms with abandon, his emotions seemingly less in his control.

You couldn't help but hope.

And hope was all a Zaunite could ever do with the life they were dealt with.

Hope for financial stability, a roof over their head, clothes on their back, food in their belly, love if life allowed them and a child if the gods were generous. Hope was all you could afford, fear was all you were awarded.

And on the cusp of a civil war, a revolution, you needed more than simple hope. You needed a concrete sign.

So when Silco comes back you propose your plan to smuggle Vander down to the Sumps, and meet this man. The Singed man not an option you could explore due to the man-beast's restlesness at the mention of him. And Silco looks conflicted, just like you imagining so many bad outcomes for his dear friend, this healer capable of bringing him back or take him away from the lithe man's grasp again, him and both sisters left behind like before.

Yet the more you talk and resonate, the more you see the gears and cogs of their minds turn, analysing and pondering every word flowing from your lips. You had nothing much to lose anymore and Vander needed to be stable, maybe then some of the ever growing tension that was generated by the inter-city conflict could be erased. Leaving your minds clear and ready for the approaching fight.

The war readying itself right under your eyes.

So food was quickly consumed, the afternoon having passed and the evening quickly rolling by.

"Vi and I will sleep here with Vander. You take Isha with you for a nice bath and a soft bed."

You nod at Jinx, and although it takes a bit more time to coax the little girl into coming with Silco and you, she eventually does. So you close up shop and bid goodnight to the two girls already holding their father close, a soft yet sad smile growing on your face, watered by the bittersweetness of the moment.

Isha holds your hand as you walk back home, jumping up and down yet slowing down until she comes to a stop, exhaustion overtaking her after such an eventful day.

"Come on darling, let's get some rest yeah?" She nods, your arms slipping around her as you carry her the rest of the way.

You wake her up for a bath, draping the girl in one of your shirts for the night, way too big for her tiny frame. And soon enough after both you and Silco were done with your routines you all got in bed. Isha softly held between the two of you, one of your hands cradling her to your chest and the other brushing through your friend's luscious, salt and pepper locks, sometimes switching so you can scratch at his scalp.

"You're good with children." His soft voice echoes in the dark room.

"I just give them what they deserve. What I haven't been given at their age. In Zaun a little goes a long way."

"Yet you go above and beyond, for children and adults alike."

"We all need respite, why deny kindness when it costs nothing?"

He chuckles, the arm over you and Isha tightening its grip at your waist. The one in your hair moving to caress his knuckles at your cheek for a moment.

"Thank you, for Vander, for Jinx. For everything."

"No thanks are needed. You're my friend Silco" You lie, yet the affection in your words is as true as it can be. "I would go to the ends of Runeterra if you so asked."

Your eyes grow heavy, head sinking deeper into your pillow as words are whispered to you, undecypherable because of the exhaustion putting your mind at rest.

The next morning you wake up to the sight of Isha holding a tray with a big smile on her face, Silco in tow with your mug in hand unwilling to let the girl hold hot liquid.

It all felt so homely, that you couldn't stop two tears from sliding down your cheeks.

Wiping at your face you joke that you cry sometimes when you're tired and kiss the child on the forehead, laying the tray on your legs as you sit up. Looking at the hearty breakfast then to the two people standing near you, Isha coming to curl up at your side while Silco sits by your legs.

"She insisted on bringing this up to you."

"Not you?" You tease, nodding in gratitude as you take the hot cup from him, humming at the aroma and taste of coffee.

"Should I start then, my dove? Mh?"

You nearly choke on the hot beverage in your hands and go to stuff your face, hoping to Janna he cannot see your blushing face in the dim room.

You learn that even though she can speak, Isha is indeed very persuasive and insistent. Taking your empty tray downstairs with a bounce in her step as she pointed to your small wardrobe with a jokingly stern look, probably excited to see Jinx again.

You pick breakfast on the way, and hesitate on what to get Vander. His new form far from human which makes you doubt anything concerning his eating habits, so you pick up something similar than for the rest of you hoping to Janna it'll fit him.

Breakfast is shared with everyone huddled in the back room, Isha cuddling Jinx and signing excitedly, probably to explain how her evening went. And your doubts seem confirmed when Jinx looks at you incredulously, whispering to her sister from the side while she hides her mouth from view. You roll your eyes jokingly and spare them a desperate pointed stare as Violet chokes on her pastry, Vander huffing as his ears pick up what is said.

"What are they planning?"

"You don't wanna know, Sil." The three girls laugh. "Trust me."

"I think I do."

"No you don't you fossil, now stop swirling your coffee mysteriously before I drink it myself."

"You wouldn't, it's too bitter."

"Don't try me."

Soon enough Vander is covered back with the tarp, fabric hiding his monstrous form. Violet puts on her gauntlets, Jinx holds Isha's hand and you all get out, Silco and you closing up shop.

The way to the Sump is not all that long, your small hole in the wall community being very near the limits of the Entresol level. Though the labyrinth of the lowest level is another story, the thin corridors nearing a prison sentence are hard to navigate through with the man-beast's hulking form, the group following you as you expertly make your way through the sullen streets. Filled to the brim with those who had less than nothing, the only reason they keep going being faith in Janna's return and her blessings.

"Excuse me, we wish to find the healer, I believe they call him the Herald. Would you be so kind to guide us?"

The small, frail woman you kneeled in front of trains her eyes to you, slowly, exhausted from hunger and the cold. You hand her a pastry, having bought extras to give to those in the Sump, and a handful of coins. Not quite bribing her, more like delivering a counter offer for her help.

She takes your hand with her shaky ones, and with soot draws a small map. The lines are scribbled, the map nearly unreadable, but as she puts down a couple of landmarks your brain ticks in understanding.

"Thank you ma'am. If you ever need help, come to my shop, it's near the Sump entrance on the east of the Entresol. Just ask for me."

You tell her your name and that she can spread the information to as many people as she can. A small, tired smile lights up her sunken face and she holds your shoulders gently, caressing them before letting you return to your group.

As you travel deeper into the Sump the tension within the group grows, not knowing what to expect of the Herald yet wishing to the Gods that he would be able to help.

On the way there you give the last of your pastries to some of the poor fellows down there, repeating what you had said to the woman so that they know they have a safe space to run to if they want it. And time passes, walking through the foul sump smelling streets, metallic groans and cries of pain haunting the very air you breathe, until the buildings become sparse.

As they become sparse you observe the way Isha clings to Jinx who is by Vander's side, Violet on the other, revelling at the sight of the family.

"Why don't you join them, Silco?" You ask softly, eyes trailing to the man walking next to you, steadfast in his position by your side since you offered him a new chance at life.

"They deserve to be a family, I'm the reason the girls lost their parents and even Vander, I hurt Jinx and Violet got imprisoned because of me. It wouldn't feel right."

"Yet you're Vander's brother and Jinx's father. You have as much of a place in this family as any of them."

"I think the only place I have left in this world is by your side."

You bite your cheek, a sigh escaping your lips as if it needed to leave you, to run away. You couldn't stop your heart from rushing everytime he talked to you so solemnly, looking at you as if you hung up the moon. Those words never helped, they made everything so much worse in fact.

This man had found his family once more.

You tell yourself.

He will leave even if he says otherwise.

You reason.

At least you try to, cutting your delusions down as you always do, knowing they'll come back with a revenge but unwilling to deal with them at the moment. They always do around him. His tender care like soil to the fragile seed of your heart, providing warmth and growth, his affection like the sun and the rain feeding your soul.

Around you the buildings make themselves sparce, the thin space of the ravine opening up to a clearing. The space in front of you which you knew to be filled with quaint tents to some inhabitants of the Sump now...a commune?

The sun shined down upon it from breaks in Piltover's metal plating over Zaun, like the Celestials shone down upon this small bit of paradise in the bedrock. What was the most surprising was not the organic shapes of the buildings, white like carved marble and ornate with gold and stained glass, although it was the second on your list. No, it was the field surrounding the small town.

Plants growing in the Undercity.

In the chemical soil, ruined by the upperside's arrogance, watered by toxic waters ruined by experimentations and so called "progress", grew flowers and grass, and you would wager food too if this commune was as self sufficient as it looked.

And it was beautiful.

Even more so as you approached, the grandeur of the place seeping into your bones, warth feeling you as you see...happiness. The crowd coming in along side you filled with hope.

"Vi. I hoped you might return."

Says a man in white, a member of the commune if you could judge by the way he was dressed and by the strange gilded scars on his face. But for all the man's gentleness, Vi stepped forward, tension and agression shaking her very being like you when you first saw her again.

"You filthy traitor."

"Yes, that was me at my worst. Simply awful." He glosses over her rage, acknowledging his past mistakes with nonchalance and welcoming other Zaunites into the gates. "But the Herald has freed me of my past self. He has given me a chance to make amends."

His voice softly fills the air, your body tense at the sheer spectacle of the place, his words heard yet not quite as engrained in you as the sight of heaven within hell.

"All are welcome but I must ask you to surrender your weapons, this is a place of peace."

Your fingers twitch at your side, gaze snapping at him, Vi and Jinx also disgruntled at the words the man just uttered. When you look to your right to find Silco, you find him looking quite similarly to you. Asking a Zaunite to surrender their means of protection was a big inquiry, yet as your eyes trailed to the commune, you can't help but sigh.

Your hands reach beneath your big coat, noxian blades unsheathing and stabbing them in the ground. You are surrendering only this much of your own comfort, Vander is important but you are still a Sumper and a Zaunite and grew up solely in violence. You aren't giving away your tools, and neither are you giving away the dagger currently brushing against your fingers in your jacket's pocket.

Jinx looks at you then at the greeter, her gun suddenly trained on him, the familiar hextech glow shining from within it. But then Violet abandons her gauntlets, the heavy machines slipping from her hands and smashing onto the ground, nodding at you as you follow her in.

You trust that the others would follow.

And they do.

Jinx gives away her gun, keeping the crystal that was stored within it, and Silco gives away two daggers. You smirk at him, knowing that the man was hiding at the very least three more on his person, and he gives you an innocent look. It turns into the usual self satisfied grin as he reaches you.

"Sneaky bastard."

"You're one to talk, minx."

The greeter takes your group to a hill in the commune, no one in the streets minding Vander until you pass by a blacksmith, the man quenching some hot metal and the noise agitating the beast. Yet no one seems to mind him, even as the tarp falls down, nothing but complete gentleness and understanding filling the gazes of the commune's inhabitants, albeit surprised at Vander's appearance.

You soon make your way to a hill, covered in sand and housing a singular, spheric building, from which comes out a man.

The Herald.

And for all of the praise you've heard about him, nothing could have prepared you for how...Ethereal he looked. Body metallic and purple, gilded in certain spots, lithe and tall while it's held up by his iridescent scepter. Yet his face still very human, gentle, the cheeks softly sunken in, his eyes like oilspills and his long hair greying from beneath.

"We hear you can heal people." Is all Vi says before the Herald steps forward, eyes trained on Vander as he stretches his hand towards the beast.

From besides you, you feel Silco moving, his hands already reaching for the hidden daggers he kept on himself.

"Silco, no."

And as you hold his hand, he tenses, the movement fully stopping at your ministration. He sighs and shakes his head in surrender.

That's when the healer reaches Vander, a swift instant passing where purple energy comes from his chest and spreads towards his outstretched hand on Vander's head. Then the man crumbles, seemingly in a daze.

"He is worth the risk." Resounds the Herald's accented, gentle yet almost mechanical voice.

He helps himself up, but as you think his analysis is done, he steps towards Silco, his hand taking the eyepatch away from your friend whose hand is already gripping yours tightly.

"Silco, it is...Strange, to see you here. As much as it isn't. No one truly seems to die anymore, do they?"

Says the healer, a hand outstretched towards your friend before Silco snatches his, his eyes widening, seemingly staring through your friend's soul.

"I'll be fine. We came here for Vander."

"Your eye is infected."

"It is my burden alone to bear, boy. There are more pressing matters at hand."

And the regal man steps back, a soft smile on his face as his eyes trail to you, twinkling with something unknown.

He leads you to a fountain, explaining how he saw within Vander's mind, his dreams, aspirations for Zaun and memories, described the affection the man felt for all of the three important people now reunited with him.

"Can you help him." Vi asks urgently as you set yourself next to her.

"I will do all in my power. However I have one condition."

"Looks like you got a couple." Jinx mumbles teasingly as she stops walking around the fountain.

"You have much to offer this commune..Powder."

Everyone looks at him, surprised at his knowledge of her birth name yet the word cementing his capabilities as true in all of your minds, the girl dropping a coin in the water out of shock.

"Your talents can be used to build instead of destroy." He reaches into the water for the metal circle.

"...I'll stick with what I know..Thanks."

"My condition is that he must be restrained at night. I've seen the harm of which he is capable."

Time passes and Violet looks to her sister.

"What do you think?"

"You...actually want my opinion?" The girl mutters to herself before sighing, getting off the fountain and taking Isha with her.

"I hate fortune cookies."

Violet bids goodbye to Vander and you let Silco do the same, the man holding his friend in a way you would he wish with you. Tightly, with abandon, his body melting into the embrace.

"Good luck, Herald. See you later, Vander." You nod your own farewell, tapping the beast on the shoulder as you walk away, going your own way. The events of the previous day, of the previous year even, catching up to you.

You find yourself welcomed by the inhabitants of the commune, your stomach full and thirst quenched as you walk past homes, the sound of happy chatter and giggling children filling the air. Your body firstly leading you to the blacksmith from earlier, asking to stay and help to occupy yourself, empty your mind of the whirlwind of thoughts finally breaking the dam you've imposed on yourself.

Soon enough, Vander's psyche would be healed, his body impossible to salvage as you had feared. Silco would probably return to him, possibly to his daughter now that she had healed, and perhaps even Violet would join them, Isha obviously coming as a package deal with the younger sister. That's what your mind told you, no matter how much it seemed like Silco would stay, no matter how much he acted like he wouldn't or said he'd be by your side, you doubted him.

And you hated it.

But it was impossible for your mind to change. You grew up, shackled like a feral animal, sent to the pit with no empathy. Whether you died or not didn't matter as long as you put up a good show and racked money. You saw other children die, day by day, you saw men and women bloodied on the ground as your hands clawed at the ground, nails caked in their flesh and the sand from the arena. And months passed, years passed, the red forever staining your hands in your mind's eye, and to escape you had to kill again. Rage overtaking your body as you ripped through skin, flesh and bone; you made a carnage, worse than any you've made in the pit. Survival bubbling with unrestrained anger as you left the premises silent. No spectators, no adversaries, no ring leader, no staff. Just metallic smelling, foul silence; the sound of death.

Yet as you dragged your body to the Entresol you could still hear a combination of elated yells and pained screams, bouncing around your head. And so you became louder than them.

You were taken in, and started working hard. Finding jobs louder than the previous one until you landed on the art of smithing. Loud enough to cover the screams, respected enough that you would be left alone, and social enough that you could help people.

And that is how you lived.

Hot metal beaten day in and day out, helping those in need. Yet you saw it all too quickly that you left one hell for another. Maybe you didn't have to kill everyday to survive, but you saw how Piltover treated Zaun, even how fellow Zaunites treated their own. Sitting on piled up riches made from death and hardwork while they remained lazy and self-righteous, working towards their own progress and not yours.

That's when your blood boiled again, disappointed at how the world was for those at the bottom. So you remembered. Remembered of those stories of miners uniting in a band of misfits, fighting back against the status quo. The Children of Zaun were the only reason you fought back in the pit, the only reason you even dared live, and the reason why you eventually escape.

You wanted to see the Nation of Zaun they were speaking of, wanted to work with them towards achieving it and hoping it would be your repentance for all of the blood you've shed.

And even if tragedy had struck and they had disbanded, you believed in their dream. So when you saw exactly why they dared what they had, you understood all too quickly.

Their vigor, their arrogance..it all made sense. And even if the movement was dead, you would be lying if you said that fighting back wasn't an idea that ate at you. So you did, and eventually it all culminated in you meeting Silco.

Your childhood hero, the driving force behind your own solitary fight. And even if he had fucked up, like hell you were going to let a Zaunite, let alone him, die. Not on your watch.

And you were glad you helped, you were glad you believed. Because beneath the ice cold façade, you saw it. The miner boy who grew to have a dream of freeing his people from oppression, the boy who grew to become a man of action and who got so hurt that his pain led him astray. Focusing his energy into his dream while forgoing the rest, including the very reason he fought.

It felt sweet to know you helped him.

If only these pesky feelings didn't get in the way, turning your friendship into a one way longing, growing into what you feared to be love. Yet as much as you loved him, you couldn't help to fear his departure, knowing a man like this would never settle for something like you. You shared so much in common, his affection so very true.

It just felt impossible for your feelings to be reciprocated.

He was the first person you let in this close, and you feared that even unknowingly he'd rip at your heart.

Days were spent in your own head smithing away and delivering around the commune, coming back in the evening and sharing a meal with your little group. Violet and Jinx seemingly growing closer, Isha included in their banter, Vander growing calmer and his eyes more gentle, Silco more relaxed yet his eyes looking so far away from here.

You shared a room, single bed, and when you looked at the Herald he had this glint in his eyes again. Yet you couldn't be anymore happy that he did. Knowing that you'd be getting no sleep without the soft scratching on your scalp and you scratching on Silco's. His soft hair flowing through your fingers like river water.

"You're not supposed to work."

He grumbles every night.

"If I stay here and don't help, I'll feel guilty."

You always answer back and he sighs, bringing you closer. The drum of his heart against your cheek enough to lull you to sleep.

Today is a day just like any other, where you share breakfast with Silco before going away, leaving him with his daughter and her sisters, Vander soon to be visited by the four of them.

"You work hard, I have to thank you for that." Your name is spoken so softly you nearly miss it under the sound of hammers on metal. Wiping your forehead with a rag you greet the Herald.

"Well, I couldn't bear the thought of staying here for free. Trenchers need to help one another, it's one of the rules."

"Walk with me?"

You look at him confused, then to the two men working alongside you. They smile, nodding to the healer before you step away and towards him, following wherever he needed to go.

"I actually had something to ask of you, Herald, if you'll hear me."

"Of course, what is it?"

"You have many plants here, I wish to take back some to a friend. We're working on an antidote for S-" You bite your lip and sigh.

"For Silco's infection. It's getting worse isn't it?" You nod dejectedly.

"We saw that sap from plants growing in Zaun, mixed with shimmer, could stop his infection. Moss doesn't make nearly enough, and here you grow so many different kinds of plants that...I wished to ask to take some to Samira."

"You may take as much as you need."

You freeze, stopping in your tracks.

"As easy as that?"

"I would have said yes anyways because of your noble intentions but you have been helping the commune, think of it as payment."

He settles himself on a rock overlooking the small slice of paradise he built and you sit next to him, slumping on your knees with your head in your hands.

"You're already doing more than enough for Vander and all of us, I think I'm the one repaying you."

He hums.

"Let's call it a mutually beneficial arrangement, then." You chuckle.

"You're stubborn."

"So are you, helping a man like Silco back on the right path is no easy feat, but you've accomplished it."

"I saved him because of admiration, he stayed because he proved himself capable of change and healing. All he has now is because he worked hard for it, I simply helped."

He chuckles and his cold hand finds yours, patting it gently, the metal feeting heavier despite his ease of movement.

"You're a healer, but do you know anything about applied magic?"

"What do you mean?" His face tilts.

"Something else Samira and I have discovered is that, a hex crystal like this." You hold up the blue marble after fishing it from your pocket. "Can enhance the serum's efficiency. Yet we don't know how to harness it. I've made a machine but I don't know runes for the life of me. Going up to Piltover would be way too dangerous especially since the only person left knowledgeable about runes has disappeared..."

The man freezes besides you, gripping his staff tighter before he slumps, your body turns towards him as he looks at you.

"Show me this machine. Can you write the blueprint for me?"

You nod and get up only to kneel on the ground, picking a tool from your many pouches as you draw shapes after shapes. Arches and annotations following one another in a nearly frenzied scribble.

"The centrifuge force exerced by the machine to mix the serum plus the crystal's energy yield better results than something done by hand, yet I know from previous encounters that Hextech has runes. I may not be a scientist but the stone is the energy source, the machine is the catalyst...yet all that without instructions is useless for optimal results, right?"

He kneels next to you, observing all that you had carved in the sand, one hand holding his chin as his eyes swirl in color. A small excited smile making its way to his face.

"This is genius." He mumbles. "And you've had no real experience in making Hextech before?"

"None, I'm a simple blacksmith." He shakes his head and clicks his tongue.

"There is nothing simple about this. You have engeneered an entirely new machine, from nothing with no previous knowledge of magic...Yes, of course I will help you."

"You know runes? I mean you're obviously a mage but..."

"How could I not, when I have fathered half of what has made the inspiration for all of this?" His hand shows your blueprint.

And silence rings loudly between the two of you and your eyes widened.

No one truly seems to die anymore, do they?

You remember him saying that the first day in the commune. And now you understood just how true it was. The man in front of you was the Zaunite who made it to the academy in Piltover, the one who Jayce Talis spoke so fondly of as his partner.

This was..

"Viktor."

You mumble, remembering his name from mourning his incredible mind that had been burried under Piltover's arrogance. No Zaunite could make it there, even one as amazing as him.

He nods and smiles, his eyes filled with sadness yet as they trail to your schematic it's replaced with determination. Your small notebook quickly taken from its place in one of your pouches, a pencil following it as you get ready to take notes.

He described runes to you, their effects and you two theorized which ones would be better for the job, which ones would work better together. And as the morning bled into the afternoon, the young Herald seemed less holy and more human. His usual poise and calm melting into excitement, ideas brightening his eyes, calculations and explanations flowing from his mouth, punctuated by his accent. One you could hear so much down here.

You could see in him, how he's made it so far as a scientist. His passion was unrivalled, the fire in his soul unable to be tamed and only growing stronger the more he learned about the world.

He was a good man.

A great man.

And he did all he could to help, no matter what it cost him.

So you took great care to listen, quipping in whenever you could when you couldn't understand, when you felt like you could add onto the discussion, and he seemed happier each time you did.

Soon you decide that you've worked enough, Viktor needing to return to Vander, and you home. Feeling exhausted from the way you've been pushing yourself. The man gets up and extends a hand towards you, slowly wrapping his fingers around yours as you let him help you up. You make a detour towards the green house so you can pick a few bulbous plants, full with enough sap that Samira could experiment for a while before you had to come back for more. You will give them to her tomorrow.

"Silco is lucky to have someone like you."

You groan.

"Please stop, everyone is saying shit like that and I cannot deal with it. He's found his family again, I'll be old news soon enough."

"I do not think so."

"Why?" You turn to him, an inquisitive look glazing your eyes along with the barely contained longing and Viktor has the gall to chuckle.

"You'll see soon enough. You have been avoiding him, haven't you?"

"I'm..Trying to stop all of these.." You gesture to your chest frantically, though your tone is calmer, yet filled to the brim with unsaid emotions. "..Feelings. I don't want to get hurt if he leaves and I don't want to take his friendship for granted. He deserves better."

"If, he leaves."

"If or when...I don't know, I would hope not but I'm not used to being cared for, to having something really good and not just...Whatever it is that my life always does."

"He won't, don't worry about that. But you will have to mention it sometime soon. Avoiding him will only make it worse, absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say, or it'll hurt the both of you. Take the rest of your time here off, please, I insist."

You sigh and nod at him, eyes trained towards the entrance to the commune as you see flashes of red. Noxian warriors, posted at the gate in their armors, the woman you know as General Ambessa talking to the Huck, the greeter from your first day here, talking to her.

"Viktor?"

"I can see."

"That bitch."

You didn't know the woman personally yet from all of what you've heard, Piltover's dictature was imposed under her watchful eye. Always in the back, planning, killing, manipulating; for what exactly, you didn't know. But you knew enough to understand that her being here isn't just out of the goodness of her heart. Especially after her army had killed and attacked so many of your people over the last year, your hands covered in enough of their warrior blood from defending Zaun. Your weapons, stolen from them, a tribute to your hatred at their belligenrency.

"The doctor.."

Whispers the Herald, a green figure clashing against the Noxian red.

"Go back to Vander, if Ambessa's here I'm sure only misery will follow."

"Very well, do stay safe."

"You too Viktor, take care."

The man nods and the sound of his cane behind you slowly fades away.

You spare one last hate fuelled glare to the gate before entering the tent. Silco is waiting for you there, eyes somber as he gazes at you.

"Out with the Herald, dove?"

"He had insight on the machine Samira and I are working on, he also let me take some of the plants for the sap." You sigh, sitting near him and he grunts.

"I know Sil, you're mad at me for not resting."

"Indeed."

You take his hand in yours.

"The Herald told me to rest, non negociable. I'll be with you the rest of our time here."

He relaxes, a soft sigh escaping him as his other hand undoes his bun, the locks flowing around his shoulders

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"Thought you'd prefer to spend time with your family."

"You are a part of it, dove."

You chuckle and shake your head.

"Come on now, I'm your friend yes, but family?"

"You are." His eyes grow more gentle. "Why do you keep on insisting that you matter less than you do?"

Your gaze slips from his and he holds your chin to bring it back.

"Why?"

"Because I know you'll leave when Vander's back for good. Jinx is here, Vander is here, Violet too. You have no reason to stay anymore. I knew you could leave anytime before but I guess I just chalked it to you not wanting to be alone. To you respecting me and being grateful. But now that all you've ever wanted is in the palm of your hand, there isn't much I could bring you."

He stands up, the hand holding your chin tilting your head up to follow his movement.

"Do you think so little of yourself?"

You startle. Expecting him to say "do you think so little of me", yet he pinpoints the source of all of this. You don't doubt him, you doubt yourself. Your usefulness. Your worth to him.

"I do."

His face all but crumples, pain evident in his features.

"For how long."

"Long enough. You can't blame someone that has never had anything good for feeling like they'll lose it all in the blink of an eye."

"For Janna's sake, I'm not blaming you. I'm not leaving. What else should I tell you to make you believe that I'll stay? I love Vander and Jinx, I care for Violet even after everything, yet it's not my place anymore."

Your breathing becomes shallow and you blink back tears, frantically fluttering your eyelashes before you squeeze them shut to force the tears away.

"What do you want Silco, really. I'm just, confused."

"What is there to be confused about? Have I not made my stance on this clear enough?"

"Perhaps not. I don't know what could help, I'm sorry Sil."

You did, yet you knew it would never come. This conversation was teetering on an edge you'd rather not cross because you know that you'd fall into an abyss of torment if you did.

I love you.

Those are the words you desperately wanted to hear, the thought of them squeezing your heart tight from within your chest.

"Look at me."

You breathe shakily, lower lashes covered in thick tears as the hand grabbing your chin suddenly shifts to cradle your face.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I don't know."

To be alone again. Without anyone close, anyone that knows the true me. Without you. Because I love you so much it hurts me to think of living without you by my side.

"Stop lying."

"I'm not."

"Then why are you hiding from me?" He calls out desperately, voice so soft you'd think he was talking to a terrified animal.

Your jaw sets, trying to regain control.

Then a loud, booming sound rings through the quaint town.

And the gentle silence of the evening changes into an echoing scream of pain, parasited by high pitched screeches that shook you to your core. You push yourself from Silco's grasp to rush outside.

Everybody is dropping like flies.

The gilded marks on their faces glowing as they drop boneless, mouths opened wide. No matter where you go, everyone is the same. And then there is the sound of marching, red flags and black armors shining in the dimming light as you make your way through the commune. Disgust filling your throat and anger bubbling beneath your skin as you see Noxians set their warpath into this place of safety and peace.

So you go to Huck's, silently appologizing to Viktor as you take back the weapons he had asked you to surrender. Silco hot on your trail taking his own daggers back. Your panicked rushing making it impossible for you to sheathe your weapons.

"Let's go get Vander and the others, quick!"

He nods and you sniffle as you run to the greenhouse, wiping at your tears with your sleeves before nearly crumbling at the sight in front of you.

Vander was...bleeding. Fire and magma escaping him instead of hemoglobin, growling and screaming as he frantically moves. Violet is standing near Caitlyn, which surprises you because of how much she's done to your people over the past year. Jinx is protecting Isha, one hand keeping the child away from the horrific sight and a Noxian warrior is posted near the man-beast, ready to fight.

Near you, you see Ambessa and her troops within the confines of the commune watching whom you could only theorize as the Kiramman girl, with sheer anger. Betrayal barely masked behind the ugliness of her rage.

The sight behind Vander was just as shocking, Viktor's home is broken. Bits of the stone and stained glass floating in the air as the sky darkens.

Your observation is cut short when Vander attacks the Noxian, beating the man to death with such a vicious ferocity you could only describe him as a monster.

That is when all hell breaks loose.

Ambessa delivers a war cry before she and her troops rush forward to Vander and the girls.

"Come on!" Silco screams, panicked and you follow him, heading straight into the fray.

"Go get the girls! I'll hold them back!"

"No!"

"Do as you're told Silco or there will be no more family to return to!"

Your body shakes in terror and your tears finally escape you freely, this could be the last time you see him. This could be the last time you see him, talk to him, feel him.

So you rush to Silco, your fear of losing him in war stronger than the fear of him leaving you. He reaches for you and your lips meet, the man wobbling back at the force of your embrace, breaths mingling and lips entertwining in a depserate kiss.

When you push back from him his good eye is wide open, the teal ocean cooling the raging blaze of your fears and the orange iris filling you with confident warmth.

"We'll talk later. Don't die out there, or I'll kill you."

And that's when you find yourself surrounded by Noxians, rushing into battle as Vander swipes madly and snarls, your attack not all too dissimilar from his. Desperation, anger, loss, all boiling into a dangerous culmination. Adrenalin stopping you from feeling the pain delivered to you by Ambessa's men as you cut and smash through them, doing as much damage as you can in the presence of a platoon.

Cut, cut, smash, cut, smash. You barely even think to defend yourself, preferring to act like a second distraction so your group could leave, escape, live.

Tears carve through the blood covering your face, your angry snarls nearly as terrifying as Vander's as you fight. In fear at those whom you care about dying, in fear at your dream of a free Zaun crumbling, in anger at how those people had stolen Vander's second chance at life.

Yet through the noise, all the screaming and fighting, you could hear Jinx's voice.

"Isha!"

Turning your head you see her reaching towards Vander, Violet holding her back, Isha under the beast with the blue haired girl's gun glowing bright blue.

Your lungs burn as you scream her name.

Your legs burn as you rush forward.

Your body burns from all the cuts and hits you've been dealt.

Your eyes burn as Silco calls out to you, his voice full of fear and panic, breaking in a way you've never heard before, even less from him.

But you don't stop.

As you push through hordes of Noxians, the weapon glows brighter and brighter, the girl holding it up towards Vander, her other hand shooting towards Jinx as she smiles at her.

And before the worst happens, you reach her.

You take the gun and you throw her away towards Silco, smiling tearfully as you see him scambling towards the child. And it's when you see him rush towards you next that everything goes black.

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queenshelby · 10 months ago

Text

Sweet Possession (Part 4)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

"What is going on, Tommy?" you asked when he came back inside, still feeling a little uneasy about what you had seen outside.

Thomas hesitated, his eyes darting around the room before settling on your face. "Just business, Love," he said dismissively, but there was a guarded look in his eyes that made you think he was hiding something.

"But what kind of business?" you pressed, your voice tight with apprehension.

"Business that I cannot discuss with you," Thomas replied, a hard edge to his voice.

You flinched at this, recoiling slightly from him. "Can't, or won't?" you asked, your eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Thomas sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. "Can't," he said firmly. "It's better that way."

But you couldn't let it go. Something in your gut was telling you that there was more to this than he was letting on, and you were determined to get to the bottom of it.

"I am your wife, Thomas. You made me a promise on our wedding day to always be honest with me. I deserve to know what's going on," you said, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive gesture.

Thomas sighed and walked over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He took a long sip before setting the glass back down on the table with a heavy thud. "I have been asked to export certain things on behalf of the Crown. Things that the Crown cannot itself be seen to be involved with," Thomas finally admitted, his voice tense and low.

Your eyes widened with shock as you absorbed his words. The Crown? Exporting things that they couldn't be seen to be involved with? What on earth could that mean?

"What kind of things?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Thomas hesitated before finally answering, "Weapons. Guns. Ammunition," Tommy explained, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Illegal things," you gasped, your heart twisting with a mix of fear and disappointment.

"Not illegal, just controversial," Thomas replied, his voice still low and tense. "And necessary. It helps fund our operations and the facilities we support, including the orphanage you want to work in," he told you and you stared at him, your mind reeling with the implications of his words.

"So, it is legitimate? Because you are doing this on behalf of the crown?" you asked, struggling to make sense of the information Tommy had just revealed to you.

Tommy nodded. "It's a delicate matter but, of course, I wouldn't do anything illegal. You know that, right?" Thomas asked, his eyes pleading for your understanding.

You nodded slowly, taking in the weight of this new information. "Of course. I trust you , Thomas," you finally whispered, albeit with some hesitation.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief at your words, pulling you into a tight embrace and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he murmured.

But as the night wore on, you couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was still amiss. The idea of Thomas being involved in such controversial and dangerous business left a bad taste in your mouth, and the thought of him endangering himself for the sake of others weighed heavily on your heart.

The following morning, however, you went on with your day as if nothing had happened. It was your first shift at the orphanage, to which you had agreed last minute as someone else had, apparently, called in sick.

Isiah, was again, tasked to drive you to the orphanage and, when you told him that he could simply drop you off and then pick you up later, he shook his head.

"No, I need to stay with you Mrs Shelby," he replied, his voice brooking no argument.

You sighed inwardly, not wanting to cause a fuss but also slightly annoyed at the thought of having your every move shadowed by Isiah.

You couldn't shake off the feeling that he was keeping tabs on you for Thomas.

But you swallowed your pride, knowing that it wouldn't be wise to defy Thomas given everything that had happened the previous night. You assumed that he was just being overprotective of you and this was kind of sweet, you thought.

The orphanage was buzzing when you arrived and a young man, around 25-years of age, greeted you in the grand hall of the big building. His name was James McKinnin , a well-known social worker of the city.

"Hi, it is so nice to meet you. I'm Y/N Shelby, Thomas' wife," you said with a smile, extending your hand towards him.

James clasped your hand firmly and shook it. "Mrs Shelby, of course. I heard that you we were coming," James told you , his voice full of enthusiasm. "Mr Shelby called me yesterday evening, at around midnight, to let me know that you would be joining us and it was quite a surprise, you know. Mr Shelby donates a lot of money to our organisation and I would not have expected his wife to volunteer with us as well," the man continued, his tone earnest as he led me down a long corridor.

"It's my pleasure and a little selfish really. I miss the work but, since I moved in with Thomas, I gave up my employment, so I have become rather bored," you said honestly and James smiled at my response.

"That's very commendable Mrs Shelby, but let me ask you, do you have any experience in a setting like this? Without meaning any disrespect, being Mr Shelby's wife, I had expected you to be a little older," James asked, his words laced with polite curiosity.

"No, but I am eager to learn, and I am certainly not afraid to do some hands-on work. Before meeting my husband, I worked in a factory and then in a pub, cleaning up after drunk men, so I am no stranger to hard labor," you replied with a small chuckle.

James smiled warmly at your response, clearly impressed by your determination and down-to-earth attitude. "That's fantastic, Mrs Shelby. I'm sure you'll be a great asset to our team. Let me give you a quick tour and introduce you to the other staff members," James said as he led you further into the orphanage. "Michael, one of our duty managers, will be looking after you and explain everything you need to know," he added as he spotted Michael in the distance.

Michael was a tall, slender man in his mid-twenties with short, curly brown hair and warm hazel eyes. He greeted you with a friendly smile and shook your hand firmly, welcoming you to the orphanage. He then gave you a brief orientation and introduced you to the other staff members, who were all friendly and welcoming as well.

As you worked there, you began to realize just how much need there was in the community and how much of a difference your husband's donations were making.

You felt proud to be a part of it, even in a small way.

That day, Michael showed you everything you needed to know in a commercial kitchen setting, which is where you wanted to work. It was your passion, cooking for others and Michael appeared to be an excellent source of information.

Isiah, however, always stood in the corner, observing your interactions with the tall man who, for his liking, occasionally came to close to you when working in the kitchen.

"Here, let me show you," Michael said on one occasion as he approached you from behind, taking the knife from your hands. "This is an easier way to prepare the herbs for the soup," he said, brushing your arm ever so slightly and causing Isiah to intervene.

"Everything alright here?" Isiah said, his tone stern and disapproving.

"Yes, of course," you replied, flustered at the intrusion. "Michael is just teaching me how to prepare the herbs for lunch," you added in an attempt to defuse the tension that had suddenly filled the air.

Michael nodded a greeting towards Isiah, who continued to glare at him with suspicion but nodded nonetheless.

Isiah then intervened a few more times over the next few hours, insinuating that Michael was getting too friendly and, eventually, you couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable with his presence.

Despite this, however, the day had been productive and fulfilling for you. You had made new friends, learned new skills, and felt a sense of purpose that had been missing in your life for quite some time.

As the sun began to set, Isiah drove you back to Thomas' luxurious home and, just after Frances greeted you and Isiah, you made your way to Tommy's office.

"You are late," was the first thing he said , not looking up from the documents in front of him. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling into the chair opposite him.

"I am sorry, I didn't realize the time," you answered with a small smile. "I was just so engrossed in what we were doing."

This seemed to appease him, and he looked up and smiled at you, reaching across the desk to take your hand in his. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said softly.

"I did," you answered, squeezing his hand.

"I really did. I never knew that working in a kitchen could be so fulfilling."

Thomas smiled at your enthusiasm, his eyes softening as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm glad," Tommy smiled before asking you for Isiah's whereabouts.

"He is downstairs," you said. "Shall I send him up?" you asked, your voice laced with a hint of caution. Thomas' demeanor had shifted again since that morning, and you couldn't quite put your finger on why.

"Yes, I have some business for him to take care of," Thomas replied, his tone curt and dismissive. You nodded and stood up from your chair, making your way to the door. But before you left, you turned back to Thomas and looked him in the eye.

"Is everything alright?" you asked, searching his face for any signs of distress.

"Yes Love," Tommy said, forcing a smile onto his face. "Everything is fine," he added, although his voice didn't quite ring true.

You frowned at his response, not entirely convinced. But you nodded anyway and made your way to the door, calling for Isiah to come upstairs and, unbeknownst to you, what Tommy really wanted from him was an update on your day.

"How was it?" Thomas thus asked as soon as Isiah walked into his office and closed the door behind him.

"It was fucking boring ," Isiah replied with a sigh, leaning against the door. "Just a bunch of kids and their annoying chatter," he explained to his boss who, of course, had some more questions.

"And what about the employees. Did they treat my wife with respect?" Tommy asked , his voice low and tense.

"Of course, they did," Isiah replied with a shrug. "They were all very friendly, although, one of them was a bit too friendly in my opinion," he went on to say , causing Thomas's eyes to narrow.

"How so, Isiah?" Thomas asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Just one of them kept getting a little too close to her," Isiah replied with a shrug.

"Too close how?" Tommy queried with a steely glint in his blue eyes. He didn't like the sound of some man invading your personal space after he had secretly made sure, for many years, that you were shielded from these kinds of advances. However, as Thomas pressed for more information, Isiah's response was casual and nonchalant.

"Just talking to her a lot, and touching her arm on occasion," Isiah finished, still leaning against the office door.

"He touched her?" Thomas repeated, his voice deceptively calm.

Isiah nodded. "Yeah, a couple of times," he confirmed before, explaining to Tommy again that the employee in question had only touched your arm. "Her arm, Tommy. Nothing else," Isiah clarified, sensing Thomas' growing tension.

"Did you get his name?" Thomas asked, his voice low and growly as he clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to conceal his anger.

"Yeah. His name is Michael Grosvenor," Isiah told Thomas, his voice steady despite the dangerous look in his boss' eyes.

"Michael Grosvenor, eh" Thomas repeated, testing the name on his tongue. He would remember that name. "Did my wife seem interested in his advances?" Thomas then asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Isiah shook his head. "No, she seemed a little uncomfortable with it after it happened a few times, but she didn't say anything," he answered honestly.

Thomas nodded, his mind already racing with plans of how to handle this situation.

He had always made it clear to the men in town that his property was off-limits, but now it seemed that some of them had forgotten that rule.

"I see," Thomas said simply, his voice deadly calm. He stood up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand in front of Isiah. "I want you to keep an eye on my wife whenever she's at the orphanage. Do you understand?" Thomas ordered, his voice low and commanding.

"Yes, boss," Isiah responded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He nodded once, before turning and exiting the room, leaving Thomas alone with his thoughts which began to race incoherently until, eventually, he snapped out of it and walked downstairs to the reading room where he knew he would find you.

"Y/N, may I have a word?" Thomas said, his voice rough and low as he entered the room. He closed the door behind him with a definitive thud, before walking over to you, the sound of your own heavy breathing filling the air around you.

"Of course," you responded, your voice a breathy whisper, your heart pounding in your chest as Thomas knelt down before you and pulled your legs apart, his gaze fixated on the lacy underwear you were wearing, catching you off guard.

"Thomas," you gasped, your fingertips digging into the plush armchair you were sitting on as he placed a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, just above where your stockings met your skin.

"Isiah tells me that one of the employees at the orphanage got a little too close to you today," Thomas growled, his voice gravelly with desire.

You let out a soft moan as he traced his fingers along the seam of your underwear, the lace already damp with your arousal.

"No, oh god Tommy, it was innocent," you moaned , your head falling back as he pressed a tender kiss to your clit through the thin fabric.

But Thomas wasn't having it. He was insanely jealous and protective of you, and the thought of some man touching his property made him see red.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and tugged them down your thighs, baring you to him. He growled as he saw how wet you were, your pussy glistening in the soft light of the room.

"Innocent, eh?" Tommy groaned. "Just like you were, just days ago, before we got married," he continued, pinching your clit firmly between his thumb and forefinger.

You cried out at the sensation, arching your back as you clung to his shoulders, digging your nails into his muscular arms.

"Tommy," you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily as he teased you with his fingers. "Please," you begged, not sure what you were asking for, but knowing that you needed more.

"Please what?" Thomas rasped, his mouth hovering over your pussy as he waited for your response.

"Fuck me," you whimpered, unable to hold back the words any longer.

"But why should I?" Tommy asked. "You let some stranger touch what's mine and now you want me to give you what you want?" Thomas growled, his fingers still teasing your clit.

You whimpered as you processed his words, but the ache between your legs was insistent.

"He didn't. I mean, he touched my arm. Oh god, please," you moaned, pulling his head towards your core, desperate for some kind of release.

Thomas chuckled and obliged, pressing a tender kiss to your clit before slipping a finger inside you. You gasped at the intrusion, your back arching off the chair as he began to pump his finger in and out of you, his thumb still teasing your clit.

You felt yourself building towards your release, but just as you got close, Thomas pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and unfulfilled.

"No, don't stop," you begged, your voice breathy and desperate.

Thomas smiled at you wickedly, his fingers still slick with your arousal. "Tell me who you belong to, Y/N. Who owns you, eh?" Thomas repeated, circling your clit with his thumb as you writhed beneath him. "Say it."

"You do," you gasped, your breath hitching as he stroked your aching core with deliberate slowness.

"Be precise," he demanded, his voice low and raw with need.

"You own me. You own my body. I'm yours," you moaned, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.

Thomas smiled, a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. He held up his fingers, still slick with your arousal, and sucked them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you.

"Good girl," he praised, his eyes dark with desire as he reached for his belt.

You watched him undo the belt, your breath caught in your throat as you waited for what was to come next.

Thomas pulled the belt from the loops of his trousers, the sound of the leather slithering through the buckle echoing in the stillness.

"Tell me again," he commanded, his voice rough and ragged with desire as he approached you, the belt coiled in his hand like a snake ready to strike. "Who do you belong to?"

"You, Thomas," you panted, your eyes wide and fixed on the belt in his hand. "I'm yours. Only yours," you confirmed, your voice heavy with desire.

Thomas' eyes blazed with a primal hunger as he lifted the belt and brought it down against your inner thigh with a sharp crack.

You gasped at the sudden sting, your eyes watering with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Thomas watched you carefully, his eyes searching for any signs of discomfort or distress. But all he saw was your desire-filled gaze locked onto his, inviting him to continue.

He raised the belt again, bringing it down on your other thigh with an equally sharp crack. You whimpered at the sensation, your hips bucking up towards him as you begged for more.

Thomas' eyes narrowed as he dropped the belt to the floor with a thud, his hands going straight to your hips to hold you in place. He tugged your legs apart wider, his gaze locked onto the glistening folds of your aching pussy.

"You're so fucking wet for me," Thomas rasped, his fingers tracing the slick seam of your core.

He spread your arousal over your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. "And all mine," he growled, his eyes flashing with a primal hunger as he pushed down his pants , his hard cock springing free.

You moaned as he positioned himself at your entrance, notching the tip of his shaft against your slick folds. "Yes," you hissed, digging your nails into his shoulders as you arched your back, ready for him.

Thomas thrust into you in one swift movement, filling you to the hilt. You cried out at the sudden invasion, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he buried himself inside you.

Thomas groaned as he felt you tighten around him, your walls clenching him like a vice.

"Fuck, Y/N," Thomas growled, his hips pistoning in and out of you in a punishing rhythm. He reached down between your bodies and found your swollen clit with his thumb. He pressed down on it, rubbing it in slow circles as he continued to thrust into you.

You moaned as he touched you, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

Thomas was merciless, his hips slamming into yours with a force that left you breathless. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the room, mingling with your gasps and moans.

Thomas reached down and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing gently as he powered into you. You whimpered at the feeling of his hand on your throat, your pussy clenching around his cock in response.

"You like that, don't you?" Thomas growled, his voice low and raw with desire. He had never taken you like this before, so possessively and it quickly became overwhelming for you.

The hand around your neck, the unyielding thrusts, and the sound of his hips slapping against yours. The pleasure was so intense that it bordered on pain. But, before you knew it, your orgasm was already creeping up on you. With every circling motion of Thomas' thumb on your clit, you felt yourself getting close to the edge.

"Come for me, Y/N," Thomas rasped through gritted teeth as he continued to thrust into you at a relentless pace.

"I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Your breath hitched as the heat within you coiled tightly, ready to unravel at any moment. Your legs shook around Thomas' waist, trying to keep contact as he hit your sweetspot over and over again.

With one last, hard circle of Thomas' thumb on your clit, you cried out as you toppled over the edge. Your orgasm tore through your body like a freight train, leaving you panting and trembling in its wake.

Thomas groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, milking his cock as you came. He continued to piston in and out of you, chasing after his own release which came much faster than he had expected.

Pulling out of you quickly, he cupped your mound, his fingers massaging and teasing the sensitive folds of skin as he watched you come down from your orgasm while he stroked his cock. He was so turned on by the sight of your pleasure that he couldn't help but take his own.

"Touch yourself, Y/N," he growled. "I want to watch you make yourself cum again, Love," he told you and so you did.

Your fingers hovered above for a moment before brushing over the sensitive nub of your clit. You gasped at the contact, your hips bucking as you felt yourself growing more and more aroused.

Thomas' eyes blazed with desire as he watched you touch yourself, his hand continuing to stroke his cock in long, languid movements. He groaned as he saw your pink flesh flush a deep red, your arousal unmistakable.

"Yes, just like that," Thomas rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Make yourself come again."

You whimpered at his words, your fingers moving faster over your clit as your pleasure mounted.

"Oh god, Thomas," you gasped, your legs shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Thomas groaned, his hand moving faster as he watched you touch yourself until, finally, he too came, hard and fast.

He grunted as he spilled his seed onto your stomach, the thick, white ropes of his release painting your skin in a primal display of possession.

You watched him, your chest heaving as you caught your breath, your pussy still clenching in aftershocks of pleasure. Thomas' eyes met yours, the dark desire in them sending another flush of heat through your body.

"Jealousy suits you , Tommy," you whispered, your fingers still stroking your sensitive clit.

Thomas chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made your stomach flutter. "I'm not jealous, Y/N. But what's mine is mine and I won't have anyone else touching it," Thomas growled, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip as you lay panting beneath him, his tone determined.

"Nothing happened," you reassured him, your voice softer than a whisper. "It was just a small touch. It was inadvertent, innocent and it meant nothing."

Thomas nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before pulling up his pants.

"I can't help it, Y/N," Thomas admitted, his voice low and rough. "I need to know that you're mine.

Only mine," Thomas rasped, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh.

"I am," you whispered, looking up at him with doe eyes that made him weak at the knees. "I've always been yours, Tommy. Only yours," you repeated, emphasizing the words that seemed to drive him wild and, whilst you had boyfriends before him, none of these relationships really lasted.

One of the men you had been with before meeting Tommy was killed in a fire following your second date while the other had disappeared without a trace, as had your brother. Men seemed to always have abandened you until now.

Until Thomas Shelby. Thomas had been a constant force in your life. Never leaving, never giving up on you and always making sure that you were safe and secure. But as much as you belonged to him, he belonged to you too.

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verstappen-cult · 1 year ago

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PROMPT DRABBLES ★ MV1

FROM THIS LIST ━━━━ When they wrap their hand around your waist protectively because it's just an instinct by now.

the party is at its peak, most people are on the dance floor and if they’re not, they’re talking and laughing and overall enjoying the night. it is a day to celebrate, it’s the end of the 2024 season, after all.

it’s supposed to be only for the drivers and some friends, but as you scan the place you realize it’s so much more than that; there are way more people. but that’s how all of dani’s parties are. he says that is just a small reunion and when you show up, there are at least fifty people.

but dani knows how to party, that’s for sure.

you make your way into the house, looking for some familiar faces, when you, finally, spot the curly hair of lando norris, right next to his teammate and carlos, who’s the first one to see you and call you over.

“i’m so glad you’re here! ” the spaniard says, putting an arm around your shoulders.

the mclaren boys greet you, and the four of you fall into an easy conversation. but you can’t keep up with it, too busy looking around for a head of blonde hair.

“he was talking with some guys a few minutes ago.” oscar says as lando tries to hide a smile behind his drink. carlos gives you a little push, letting go of you, a knowing smile on his face that you try to ignore.

you’re about to pretend to be offended when a familiar voice makes you turn around.

and there he is. walking towards you with the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

of course he’s happy, he’s a fourth–time f1 world champion.

“hey,” max says, a lopsided smile on his handsome face. when he’s right next to you, max wraps an arm around your waist, holding you tightly against him. your cheeks heat up immediately. “i was looking for you. are you okay?” he looks at the three boys who are suddenly very quiet looking at the scene, and then back at you. there’s a frown on his face and you want to make it go away.

a kiss will definitely make it go away.

“yes, it was just a little problem with work.” this time your smile is enough to make his frown disappear.

“oh, what happened?” oscar’s asks, worry crossing his features.

you turn your body to try and look at him, but max’s hand on your waist tightens, keeping you close.

trying to hide a smile, you answer. “something small with the final details. but everything’s fine now.”

“are you sure?” max squeezes your waist, fingers caressing the skin your shirt doesn’t cover.

“mmh.” it’s all you say as a confirmation, lost in the pool of blue that are his eyes.

you look at each other as if it’s the first time you are together after a long time apart—you saw each other just a couple of hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime. ever since you two started whatever you are doing, being apart it’s getting a little hard.

max’s eyes glaze over, pupils expanding when he sees your gaze falling to his lips, too fast and not enough.

for a moment you forget where you are, who is in front of you and that max still doesn’t know you have feelings for him.

yes, you’ve been flirting and spending a lot of your free time together, but you’re pretty sure max doesn’t even know you’re flirting. he’s so oblivious sometimes.

“oh for fuck’s sake!” lando’s voice startles you both. “just kiss already!”

“lando!” both, oscar and carlos, say at the same time, clearly very embarrassed by their friend’s outburst.

“they’re eye-fucking! it’s disgusting!”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #f1 fanfic #max verstappen imagine #f1 drabble #max verstappen fanfic

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 28 days ago

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I got this little idea last night, and been thinking about it ever since. Even tough outlaws need to have some innocent fun sometimes!

---

Hide & Seek with the Van Der Linde Gang

Arthur: Okay hider, much better seeker. His tracking skills are formidable, and he'd have no problem finding most players. Only problem is that his steps are quite loud and very recognisable, announcing his presence and giving the players a chance to get away. Is always somehow able to get out of Charles’ grip and flee, screaming “I am free!”

Charles: Being an incredible hunter, he's an excellent hider and seeker. He's, unlike Arthur, completely quiet, and is perfectly able to sneak up on people. However, he takes it way too seriously - when he's the one hiding, he even covers all the tracks after himself. When he's seeking, he hogties the players upon finding them, and brings them into a pile.

John and Javier: They originally made a deal to hide together, and serve as double lookouts. At first they're confident, but then Arthur gets too close and looks in their general direction, and John panics, and with a “Every man for himself!” pushes Javier out of their hiding spot towards Arthur, and LEGS IT.

Sean: His hiding spots are questionable at best, but he makes them work… For a short while, anyway. He's super strung up as soon as he sees the seeker, even if they're nowhere near him, and decides to try and bolt, giving himself away in a shock of red hair.

Bill: Poor guy gets always found first. He's just too big to fit properly in most hiding spots, and he has a habit of grumbling about his discomfort at being stuck somewhere tight, so he gives himself away a few minutes into the game.

Kieran: Is also super easy to find, because he fidgets, making small noises, and gasps when a seeker gets too close. Honestly though, he's not too sad about having been found, he's just happy to be included.

Tilly and Trelawny: They are masters at hiding, and incredibly hard to spot. Tilly is able to fit and hide into places the seeker wouldn't even think to look, while Trelawny is the master of disappearing. The seeker always feels that they saw him out of the corner of their eye, but when they turn around, poof, he's just gone.

Mary-Beth: She gives herself away by giggling uncontrollably when someone gets too close, which is a shame, because she genuinely has good hiding spots.

Karen: The girl is an absolute menace, using her environment to her aid, tossing small objects around to create a sound distraction, and only lets herself be found when she decides she's thirsty and wants a drink.

Lenny: Constantly changes his hiding spots, and is quite formidable with it too. He never stays more than a few minutes in one spot, in case the seeker decided to check out wherever he is currently.

Reverend Swanson: He's not found until noon of the second day. He stumbled into some bushes, and passed out cold. The next day, Bill almost shot him, because he thought the shaking bush concealed a rabbit or something.

Sadie: Is not much of a hider. That is, she can hide really well, but finds it boring. However she is a terrifying seeker, even more so than Charles. She's fast, and she's quiet, and her “Found ya!” while revealing the hider, is just a total jump scare.

Abigail: Plays for a little bit, then lets herself be found, just so she can go relax. She's been working the whole day, let her live for heaven's sake.

Jack: Everyone 'ignores' him. Like, yes, they can hear the little kid laughing as he's only partially concealed by the door, but they pretend they don't, so that he can have fun. He ends up revealing himself when he gets bored, usually getting a “Woah! I didn't even see you!” reaction in return.

Uncle and Pearson: Decided to leave this activity to the younger folk, Uncle's lumbago is acting up, and there's no way Pearson's large muscular frame (his own words) would fit anywhere. They're playing cards outside, Uncle probably spinning some wild tale about how he once managed to hide in a rich Lady's closet all evening long, before being discovered by a maid, who however didn't give him away because he seduced her.

Molly: She doesn't really think the game is below her or anything, but she's got this new pretty dress, and she just had a bath and brushed her hair and trimmed her nails, and really, that's no way to be crawling and climbing around, trying to hide.

Susan: Shaking her head, and hoping nobody maims themselves when they're running around. "Goddamn children, the lot of you..." She reads a good book instead. But don't go to her for hints, as she will give you a mean look and call you out for trying to cheat.

Strauss: He also doesn't join in, he's got numbers to count and books to keep, and, really, this is just silly. However, he's something of a tattler, and when the seeker walks by, he casually mentions having heard a sound from somewhere some time ago.

Micah: Bitterly sitting by himself by the campfire, mocking everyone for playing a children's game under his breath. Honestly though, he wasn't invited to join in the first place, anyway.

Hosea and Dutch: Sitting together, passing a bottle of whisky between them, just sort of watching and chucklin at the antics of their kids.

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strawberry-eden · 6 months ago

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violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

#divider credit: cafekitsune #ghostface #x reader #ghostface x reader #dead by daylight #scream #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #reader insert #dbd x reader #reader then proceeded to have a five gen chase and t-bagged the killer at the exit gates with the rest of the team (real)#don't ask what the other two teammates were doing while reader and bill were fighting for their lives #i'm also so sorry if i mischaracterized bill at all i have literally never played left 4 dead #this is the average solo q game #getting tunnelled while nobody does gens

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softguarnere · 1 year ago

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Something He Can't Have

Edmund Pevensie x fem!reader

A/N: Not me falling back into one of my oldest hyperfixations after watching the movies this past week for Christmas 🥴 I honestly don't know what to say for myself, other than that I had fun writing this and it may have single-handedly saved me from my recent writing slump. Anyway, hope y'all like this, byeeee ✨💕 Warnings: none

Lucy lets out a groan that sounds so annoyed that it instantly draws Edmund back into the present moment. “Can I ple-ease say something now?” She asks Susan, who sits to her left at the banquet table.

Susan shushes her, but there’s no malice behind it. In fact, when she does allow a disheartened look to grace her face, she directs it toward Edmund. “No. I suppose we shouldn’t meddle.”

They’ve captured his interest. Which is something that seems nearly impossible, considering that he’s spent so much of this banquet staring at Peter and (Y/N) on the dance floor, watching his older brother enjoy dance after dance with her. And trying hard not to take it too personally when (Y/N) throws back her head to laugh every now and then at something that Peter has said. Usually, she only laughs like that at his jokes, and usually only when they’re alone together.

If Peter is making her come undone, allowing her to feel comfortable outside of the carefully crafted polite and diplomatic persona that (Y/N) has created for herself to use in Cair Paravel’s court, then she’s become relaxed with him. And who knows where that will lead?

“What are you talking about?” For good measure, Edmund tosses one last glance at the dance floor before turning his attention to his sisters.

“That!” Lucy exclaims, gesturing between Edmund and the crowd that swirl on the floor before them. “This!”

Edmund raises an eyebrow. “The ball?”

His younger sister groans, burying her head in her hands. “Oh, I give up!”

“Edmund,” Susan says sternly. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t get involved, but this has gone on long enough.” For a split second, the gentle queen loses her composure, though only ever so slightly. “I mean, for God’s sake! It’s downright painful to watch!”

Still confused, Edmund isn’t sure what to say that will clarify whatever his sisters are talking about without further upsetting them. Instead, he settles for biting his lip, glancing between his sisters and the dancing, trying to work out their meaning himself.

Susan sighs, turning to Lucy. “He’s either a better actor than we give him credit for, or he’s downright daft.”

“Help me out here,” Edmund says.

“(Y/N)!” Lucy hisses, leaning across Susan so that she can scold her brother without causing too much unwanted attention. “You’ve been following her around all lovesick for ages now, but you haven’t done anything. And now you’re all jealous watching her dance with Peter.”

“Am not!”

Lucy swats his arm. “You’ve been staring at them all night. If you like her so much, then you better do something before you lose her forever!”

In other situations, Susan might chide the youngest Pevensie sibling, telling her that she’s being a bit overdramatic before offering Edmund some sort of good-natured advice. Edmund looks to her expectantly, only to find her brown eyes full of disappointment; she agrees with Lucy.

“We can all agree that you wear green better than any other, Ed,” she says. “But jealousy is not a shade that suits you.”

“Me? Jealous?! Of who?”

But his sisters only fix him with knowing looks. It makes Edmund want to wither away from existence on the spot. He spent most of their lives before Narnia being jealous of Peter. It’s been hard, but it’s something that he’s worked on since they were crowned. He really thought that he had overcome it. Now, though, his sisters’ words, coupled with the funny feeling in his stomach . . . He feels like a man, trapped, full of guilt, and caught in the middle of something very private. Which innocent people with nothing to hide do not feel in situations like these.

I fancy (Y/N), he realizes, admitting it to himself for the first time. It feels demeaning, somehow, to put a label on the feelings that he’s been harboring in secret for so long. And I’m jealous because she likes Peter more than me, says the next one, which makes him feel even worse.

A warm hand takes hold of his and squeezes. For all the annoyance that Lucy has felt toward him in these past few minutes, she offers him nothing but a kind look and encouraging smile. “You have to do something, Ed.”

“I – “ The words clog in his throat, causing him to swallow thickly, trying to find some of the air which has suddenly become very scarce. As you spin by on the dance floor, Edmund can see how you’re smiling at Peter like he hung the moon, and how his older brother beams at you like you created all the stars. Who wouldn’t want to bask in the sun’s warmth like that? And what sort of evil would dare separate two people who appear to be so . . . so in love. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Susan reassures him. “Trust me, Ed.”

Edmund, however, can’t take his eyes off of you. “I can’t ruin that.”

“You won’t,” Susan says. And if Edmund had his wits about him, he would recognize that she says it with the tone of someone who is very sure of herself because she has access to information that no one else has. (She, after all, is your best friend. But facts like that tend to fall by the wayside in moments of intense anxiety such as this.) “Ed, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”

To unstick the words in his throat, Edmund reaches for his goblet and takes a swig of the drink from inside. If he’s really going to do this, he’ll need all the courage he can get, no matter where it comes from.

As the song ends, he pushes back his chair and begins to make his way around the table. Lucy squeals with delight from behind him, and both his sisters offer nods of encouragement and thumbs up when he turns back to them, unsure.

The next thing that he knows, he’s on the dance floor, maneuvering his way through the crowd to reach you –

He catches sight of you just as you excuse yourself from the dance floor. You disappear into the crowd before he can call out to you, though he reaches out a hand, like he might be able to catch you from afar.

“Edmund!” A well-meaning slap on the back announces Peter’s presence. His older brother throws an arm around his shoulders. He radiates heat after all that dancing. “I wondered when you might join us on the dance floor.”

“I’m not. I’m just looking for (Y/N).”

Peter’s smile doesn’t falter, despite the fact that the next words out of his mouth are devastating news. “I believe that she’s retiring for the night.”

“Oh?”

“She said that she needed some air, that she might go to bed.”

As one of Narnia’s kings, Edmund is inclined to stay present for the majority of this banquet. You, being a courtier, are free to go as you please, seeing as there are no diplomatic negotiations, no fates of any nations, resting on your shoulders. If things were different, he would find a way to go after you.

And he’s actually looking for an excuse to do so when Peter says something that makes him stop.

“I wish she would have stayed,” the High King sighs. “We were having such a good time.”

Edmund nods, hands involuntarily clenching into fists at his sides. His voice feels hollow when he replies, “It looked like you were having a good time.”

“I was thinking – “ A laugh cuts Peter off as he shakes his head, looking half embarrassed, half giddy. “I was actually just about to ask her to be my – my girlfriend.” On the last word, something most unusual happens – the High King blushes. Actually blushes! Who would have known that such a thing was possible?

To say that it catches Edmund off guard would be an understatement. He’s never seen Peter so vulnerable . . . so happy. It makes Edmund’s mouth go dry. He and Peter have had their differences throughout their lives, but he can’t just ruin his older brother’s chance at happiness.

“Oh.” Is all that Edmund can think to say. He hesitates for a moment before asking, “What do you think she’ll say?”

Peter laughs, breathlessly, happily. “Well, I’m hoping that she’ll say yes, of course. In fact – “ He glances in the direction that you disappeared in. “ – I would go talk to her now, if not for my responsibilities.”

“Go,” Edmund finds himself saying. He can feel Peter’s look of surprise mirrored on his own face. But if Peter is going to do this, if this is all really happening, he’d honestly rather get it over with. “I’ll cover for you here.”

Now it’s Peter who hesitates. After a moment, his face breaks into a wide smile. He claps Edmund on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Ed.”

I wish I were better, the Just King thinks as he watches his older brother chase after the girl that they both love.

From the banquet table, Lucy and Susan are giving him confused looks. Edmund only shrugs, then quietly rejoins them. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to explain what’s just happened. He recedes into himself, letting the party whirl by without him.

If only he were paying attention – then he would see the knowing look on Susan’s face.

. . .

It’s late when the banquet ends, and later still when Edmund slips into the library. He’s exhausted, but his mind is racing and won’t let him sleep. You and Peter had disappeared from the banquet hours ago. That’s plenty of time for his brother to have confessed to you and for you to have accepted. Dread fills him at the thought of the two of you happily announcing your new relationship the next morning at breakfast. He’ll have to face the two of you sometime, to muscle through his own pain and begin navigating a world where he has to accept that you’re in love with his older brother. But tonight, he can be amongst his books, which are a comfort.

He's so distracted that he doesn’t immediately notice you sitting by the fireplace, an open book on your lap, but a distracted look on your face as you watch the flames dance before you.

“Oh,” you both exclaim at the same time when you notice each other. The synchronicity makes you both laugh.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he apologizes.

“I didn’t mean to take your hiding spot,” you say in turn. You shut your book, but Edmund holds out a hand to stop you.

“You don’t have to leave on my account.”

You squint, studying him for a second, before nodding and settling back into the cushions behind you. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Carefully, Edmund takes a seat opposite you, gazing into the fire to gather his nerve. He didn’t expect to find you here. Didn’t expect to find you looking so . . . distracted and lonely as you stare into the fire, your book forgotten. He really shouldn’t pry. But you’re his friend, first and foremost, and he doesn’t want that to change. “Is everything alright?”

Delicate fingers pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh, collecting yourself before looking up at him through the firelight.

“Peter asked me to be his girlfriend,” you confess. Though the library is quiet, your voice is dull, hard to hear. You do not look as joyful as he imagined you would when delivering this news.

“Oh,” Edmund offers. He fumbles for words. You look upset, so he can’t congratulate you. But then again, he’s not sure if he should console you.

You stare at him for a moment, studying him just as intently as he’s studying you. “I said no,” you finally explain.

“Oh,” Edmund says again, for lack of anything better to say. “I’m . . . sorry?” Except that he’s really not. He feels quite relieved, if he’s being honest with himself.

Your brows furrow. He’s said the wrong thing, but he’s not sure where he went wrong.

“I said no,” you repeat. “Because I have feelings for someone else.”

Edmund’s heart, only on the mend for a split second, plummets. “Oh. I see.”

“No you don’t,” you scoff. “Edmund, you’re the one I have feelings for! Have you really not noticed by now?”

The words echo through the still library. They hang between you for a moment. A glorious, albeit confusing, moment where Edmund can do nothing but stare at you, unsure if he’s heard you correctly. Narnia is a magical place, but there’s no way that you could have said the very thing that he would do anything to hear.

“You do?” His voice comes so quietly that when you don’t immediately reply, he worries that maybe he hasn’t spoken at all.

“Yes. And for quite some time, I might add.”

“But – “ Images of the night swirl in his mind. You had danced with Peter for ages, looking so happy. Everyone likes Peter. They always have. And much, much more than they like Edmund. To say that you have feelings for him . . . “Why?”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . Everyone likes Peter. He always gets what he wants.”

Even in the dim glow of the firelight, he can see your gaze soften.

“Oh, Edmund.” You leave your seat, coming closer to him. He rises, meeting you halfway, so that the two of you are standing together in front of the fire. Gently, you take his hand, intwining your fingers. Your hand is warm in his. You squeeze, and on instinct, he squeezes back. “That’s not true.”

“What’s not?”

“People like you, too. I like you.” Your grip tightens on his hand. “And Peter doesn’t always get what he wants. I know something he can’t have.”

“What’s that?”

A smile tugs at your lips when you gaze up at him and say, “He can’t have this.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #the chronicles of narnia #narnia fanfiction #my writing #narnia imagine #narnia x reader

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impala-dreamer · 11 months ago

Text

Who We're Pretending To Be

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: If you've not seen the Netflix show YOU, this may not be your thing. Still a great story, but it helps to know the show. Also, if you've not seen the show, I suggest you get right on that because it is AMAZING.

Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Slight spoilers for s4, but not really.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

The classroom seems cold today, like there’s something missing. It’s distracting. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off, but there’s a charge in the air like something’s about to happen; as if lightning could strike at any second.

I don’t mean proverbial lightning, as none of my students seem to have grasped any of the contextual undertones of the book we’re discussing, but actual, live lightning. If I opened the windows behind my desk just a crack, a bolt would sneak through and bury itself in the base of my skull. Maybe that’s what I need- a jolt of electricity, something to break me out of this fog that crept up around me and climbs forever higher threatening to suffocate me.

I think I’d take the lightning to the skull over suffocation, but we don’t always get what we want.

I’m perched on the edge of the desk when the door opens and Y/N comes rushing in.

Suddenly, all of my attention is on her.

She’s never late. Never rushing, always at least ten minutes early for every appointment, every class. She seems- off today, as well. Perhaps she can feel the imminent lightning strike as well. Wouldn’t that be funny? I find a kindred amongst these idiot grad students who can’t even seem to end this horrid debate.

“I am so sorry, Professor Moore.”

Y/N’s voice cracks a bit, which in itself isn’t very unusual. She’s one of the quieter students I’ve encountered, and the only American in my current circle of acquaintances. Her accent is faint, as if she’s attempting to hide it from her schoolmates. She’s been here a while, I can infer; sprinkling in local slang and adding letters to words where back home there would be none. She’s trying hard to fit in, but why? Why not be herself?

“I got held up by-”

I hold up my hand and smile softly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Please take a seat and try to catch up.”

For fuck’s sake, she’s only twenty minutes late, but it looks like every second has weighed her down like lead.

The others pick up their debate and I sit back a bit, cross my arms, pretend to listen. This teaching thing isn’t as hard as everyone makes it out to be. Occasionally, I toss out an idea and let them run with it. Sometimes, I pay attention, mostly I don’t. Mostly I’m thinking of You. Of how beautiful You looked at that art show, of how You gasped when you saw me like You couldn’t decide if You wanted to run to me or away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Y/N timidly raise her hand and You are temporarily pushed aside. She keeps her hand up but close to her chest, as if the very act of asking to speak is somehow terrifying.

How can someone so brave be so terrified to do something as common as speak in class? She’s clearly not a scared person by nature- she moved across an ocean to attend university when she could have gone for free back home to whatever state college she decided to attend. I’ve peeked at her transcripts- she’s smart. Not win a genius grant or a full ride smart, but smart. Why is she so nervous?

I smile and a bit of her nerves seem to quell. Her shoulders relax an inch and she smiles back.

“You know you don’t have to raise your hand, Y/N,” I tell her, laughing gently to put her at ease.

She dips her chin and then looks up with the most beautiful gaze I have ever seen. Her lashes flutter upwards in slow motion, the darkness of her pupils expand, pushing nearly every fleck of color away except the gemlike glow cast by the stained glass window over my head. She smiles and her lips shine like glass. Soft, pink, beautiful glass. I can’t look away and yet I absolutely have to. Thankfully, she speaks and I can act like I’m moving away to sit in my chair and not to get away from her.

“Sorry,” she says, sweet voice sweeping over the room. “I just didn’t want to jump in because I was late but-”

“But you have something to add,” I finish for her.

Her eyes float back to me and the atmosphere shifts. The foreboding of a lighting strike vanishes and the room seems to warm up. Quickly, I sit and scoot the chair close to the desk, set my elbows on the top, clasp my hands near my lips. I can’t stop staring at her.

She nods. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

There it is again, the tiniest speck of British on her tongue. How long has she been living here, and why? It can’t just be for school. She’s too interesting for that. She dresses to blend in; muted colors and clean jeans, her hair always swept back, face free of plastering makeup or too much color. There’s only ever that pink gloss and a gentle brush of mascara. It’s as if she doesn't know how beautiful she is, or perhaps, she doesn’t care.

Or was she one of those kids who never really got any attention until they blossomed but by then it was too late to fit into their personality?

She chews her lip nervously and shyly looks away from me.

No, she knows. She knows how beautiful she is, she just isn’t one to flaunt it; doesn’t need the attention. Or is that how she draws them in?

She’s already talking, but I can’t hear a thing she’s saying. I can hear her voice, that honey like glaze she adds to things when she’s speaking passionately, but the actual words, the meaning- I can’t follow a damned thing. I’m too busy trying to figure her out.

You flash through my mind for a moment; a sweet memory of a smile in the library when You didn’t think I was looking.

What is it about a smile that says so much without words? Does it show who we really are or who we’re pretending to be?

“I just think that love shouldn’t be so easily condemned.”

Y/N’s comment breaks through my thoughts of You and I clear my throat, straighten up in my chair, focus.

Across the room, Nadia rolls her eyes, clearly disagreeing with Y/N’s interpretation. “This isn’t love, it’s obsession. The two can’t and shouldn’t be intertwined.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

What does that lip gloss taste like? Berries, perhaps… No. Stop it. Focus.

“I disagree.” Y/N sits forward and tucks her hands below the table. “Love is obsession. Obsession is love. It’s not a tautology, no, but you can have one with the other. If you’re not even a little obsessed with the person you love, is it really love at all?”

My mind is zinging, my ears ringing. Does she truly believe that, or is it all for the sake of debating Nadia? They’ve been at war most of the semester, but this seems truthful, deep.

The bell rings before I can recenter and add anything. I give my head a little shake and stand up, the chair rolling back behind me.

“Class dismissed. Great job today. Lively, wonderful discourse.” I fake a smile at the rest and then settle on Y/N.

She’s taking her time, hanging back as she gathers her things. She stuffs a notebook into her bag and the pen she’s been using rolls away from her.

“Crap.” She lunges across the table for it, but it’s too close to the edge, too far from her reach.

I drop down at the last second and save it from a dusty fate of rolling across the floor. “Gotcha.”

She’s staring when I stand up. Our eyes meet and she doesn’t shy away, but looks even deeper somehow. A smile lifts her cheeks and my pulse quickens.

No.

She holds out her hand and there’s a fleeting second when I want to trace my fingers across her palm, feel how soft and warm she is, but no. I toss her the pen and turn, trying to get her out of my head.

I have more important things to do than become a tired cliche. Some professor falling for a student. It’s an outrageous thought, and besides, I don’t need Y/N, I have You.

I hear the zipper close and a chair being pushed in. She’s leaving.

She lingers in the door and turns back to me with a sweet smile. “Have a good weekend, Professor.”

Her tone is so genuine, so kind that it nearly knocks me backwards. I can’t remember the last time anyone has truly wished me a good time. It’s such an overused pleasantry, so common and boring, but not when she says it. Not when she smiles at me like that, with her eyes still and focused on me.

The warmth spreading through me is real as well and I can’t seem to push it away. “Thank you,” I managed, barely able to stand let alone return the sentiment. “You too.”

The rest of the day goes by quickly but it feels like forever. Two more classes, two more groups of students droning on about what the author really meant, when none of them, not a single one seems to be able to read between the fucking lines. None of them can step back and see the whole picture, capture the meaning as a universe unto itself and not just a line in black and white on an otherwise blank page.

Y/N could read between the lines. Y/N would understand the sum of it all. She would get it.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

On my walk home, I think about You. Wondering what You’re up to, where You are tonight. The sun is setting, dragging the sky down into a deep pink and I wonder if You are seeing the same colors where You are. Someday, we’ll sit together on an island in the Pacific and see what that sunset looks like. Would You paint it for me, I wonder…

Y/N crosses my mind for a moment as I gaze at the light reflecting off a window as I pass. Would the sunset hit her shining lip gloss in the same way? Would the pink deepen with the sky? Would she smile if she caught me staring, back away if I leaned in to drag my thumb across her juicy, pink bottom lip?

No.

Darkness has settled and I haven’t moved to turn on a lamp. I’m stuck, glued to my sofa, my hands nailed to my thighs. I keep my eyes open for fear of seeing her face, but bouncing around the room looking for a distraction is only giving me a headache. I need to get out. I need something to do. I need-

A knock at the door.

Who would be knocking at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Curiosity pulls me off of the couch and I switch on the lights as I head to the door. The peephole is clouded as fuck, but I can see her outline. My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense.

What is she doing here?

Her hand raises to knock again, but I unlatch the door before her knuckles hand. I find her dangling in the air, her startled face the most appealing thing I’ve seen in ages. Her eyes go wide, her jaw drops just enough to give me a peek at her tongue. Quickly, she rights herself and shies her gaze away. She chews her lip and I notice the pink gloss is gone, replaced by a deeper red.

Everything about her is different tonight. Her hair is down and fresh, her eyes are lined in black and the color blended above brings out the prisms in her eyes. Her clothes are strange as well: a short skirt, tall boots, a blouse that’s too tight to hide anything. There’s a gold string around her throat, something old, a gift perhaps from a dead relative, or a chance find at an antique shop. She would like diving through boxes of discarded wares looking for treasures, wouldn’t she?

Or maybe I’m just distracted by her appearance. Maybe I should stop trying to pick her apart and send her far, far away.

I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed. I’m good. I have to be good for You.

It’s been too long since either of us has said anything and the fact of it is hanging in the air between us like some kind of glowing, awkward sign.

Thankfully, she speaks.

“Um… Hi.”

It isn’t much, but it breaks the painful silence.

I smile, confused but curious. My ultimate downfall.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?”

I should say something about it being inappropriate, something about contacting me only during office hours, but she knows. That’s not why she’s here. I can see it in her eyes.

Her hands are tucked behind her back, I notice. She’s holding something, not just shoving her tits in my face, although, I can’t say that I mind. She sees that I’m looking and turns to the side a bit to hide it more.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming herself, steeling her nerves. Why is she so nervous? What secret is she hiding? What plan has been brewing all day in her head?

That’s it, isn’t it? She was late this morning, distracted and timid because she was planning to come here.

I should be flattered, but I’m too intrigued by her boldness as she slides past me into my flat.

“I know this is highly inappropriate,” she says, the confession like a song on her lips. “But… I… Well…”

Her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way while she searches for the right words. It’s endearing and makes me want to sit for hours and listen to her talk, discover exactly who she is and why.

I’m still standing in the open doorway, I realize, so I move aside and let it close. My back presses into the door and I hold my tongue, letting her get to the point.

She’s struggling, dancing around it in her head.

I want to crack open her skull and watch the thoughts spark through the gray matter like shooting stars.

“If you’re worried you’ll get in trouble,” I say, trying to get things moving, “you won’t. I’m just wondering why you’re here and how it is that you know where I live.”

She laughs and digs her tooth into the corner of her lip. “I’m not… stalking you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Nothing that nefarious,” she goes on. “But I did do something bad.”

The nerves seem to fall away from her the more she speaks and her demeanor changes. Her voice deepens ever so slightly and her hip pops to the side as she looks me over. Is she… flirting with me?

“I doubt you’ve done anything newsworthy, Miss Y/L/N…”

She takes a step forward and her lips pucker gently.

She is flirting with me.

“I hope not,” she says with a little laugh. “You see, I work part time in the admin office…”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know a lot about her. So many things to uncover, so many artifacts to dust off and examine.

“OK…” I push off from the door and take a step towards her. She counters, stepping backwards, guiding me to follow.

“And, well, I accidentally was looking at your files and-”

“Accidentally?”

She presses her tongue between her front teeth and smiles, eyes falling across my face. “Accidentally on purpose,” she clarifies. “I was… curious.”

“About me?”

Another step closer but she doesn’t move this time, letting me close the space between us by a few forbidden inches.

She sighs sweetly. “A little, yes.”

I dip my chin and look up, lifting my brows in question. She pulls in a quick breath, clearly enjoying the look I’ve given her.

“OK, maybe a little more than a little.”

One more step and I’m closer than I’ve ever really been to her, except just now when she invited herself in. I take a breath and she smells warm like vanilla, sweet like honey. The fantasy of berries on her lips falls away and I suddenly want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and do nothing but breathe in her scent, feel it invade my senses, infect my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves with a heavy breath and her eyes grow a little darker. She wants me.

“Maybe a lot curious,” she whispers, lifting her chin and blinking slowly.

Is she daring me to kiss her? Can she feel the lightning between us? Dare I?

No. She’s a student. She’s off limits. She’s not… You.

She must notice my hesitation and steps back a pace. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I saw that it was your birthday today.”

It’s not my birthday. Not my real birthday, anyway, just the one on the fake passport with the fake name and real photo.

I smile because I have to. “It is.”

Whatever she’s hiding behind her back shifts between her hands. “And, well, it’s presumptuous of me but I’ve never heard you talk much about friends or family and… you don’t wear a… ring. I just… Well, I know how hard it is to be a world away from what you know, and this city isn’t exactly kind in general, so…”

She’s rambling and I don’t ever want her to stop. Her voice ebbs and flows over me like a sultry tsunami and I can feel my fingers twitch, my blood rush through my system faster and faster.

“I just don’t think anyone should be alone or forgotten on their birthday so-” Finally, she reveals the mystery behind her back and holds out a green glass bottle. “I took a chance that you were a scotch man. At first I thought wine, but I know nothing about wine, and the guy at the shop said this one was good, so… Happy birthday, Professor.”

She hands me the bottle and without thinking, I take it. It’s not expensive by any means, but it’s the gesture that counts. She doesn’t let go right away, holding it with me, as if she can communicate her desires through the blown glass.

“Thank you.” I smile, let my finger brush against hers. “This is… very thoughtful.”

She lets go but doesn’t move otherwise. Her eyes are locked on me, her stare so pure.

I have to get her out of here.

Y/N shrugs and smiles, so confident now, so sure. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t even know if it’s any good.”

Her meaning lingers and I nod, gesture to the sofa as I start to peel off the seal on the top of the bottle.

“Join me for a glass?”

She bites her lip again and I nearly lose it.

“Love to.”

The scotch isn’t terrible but it’s not great. More like something you’d grab if you were just looking to get drunk, not necessarily gift someone you’re trying to impress.

Is that what she’s doing here? Trying to get me drunk? Surely, she knows she’s impressed me long before today. The looks between us in class, the lectures directed almost entirely at her have not gone unnoticed, but this, this is different. This is dangerous. She is dangerous.

The sofa suddenly feels too small. We sit close, drinking and chatting about life in London. She tells me about her family back home and how she had to cross an ocean to escape a misspent youth and an abusive father figure. I lie my way through a few answers but mostly, I let her talk.

The more she drinks, the looser her tongue gets, the freer her gestures. More than once, her hand falls to my knee and even though I should, I don’t push her away. Even though I should stand up, take her glass, ask her to get the hell out of my house, I can’t. I can’t do anything but stare at her lips as she speaks, drown myself in the tone of her voice, memorize the shape of her ears, her nose, slope of her shoulder. I’m lost in time with her and even though I know the clock is careening past midnight, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to move. I want to be frozen in this moment with her. I want to die in her arms but not before…

“Professor?” She laughs gently, loose and relaxed from the alcohol. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Are you even listening to me?”

Honestly, I have no idea what she’s been saying, but I can’t let her know that. I shift a bit, turning towards her. There’s barely room left for the Holy Ghost, as they say, but I doubt he’d begrudge me a little closeness, especially on my- on Jonathan’s birthday.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, captivated by the way she’s glowing. “I’m always listening to you.”

She squirms a bit and smiles behind her glass, takes another sip, downing the rest. There’s a drop of amber gold on her lip and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to sweep it away with my tongue.

She pats the back of her hand against it and the moment is gone.

“Ya know, you’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. And I’m not just sayin’ that. You really are. I get you. I see you, Jonathan Moore. I see inside you.”

She slurs a bit, but not enough for it to be considered a crime if I touch her. That’s all I want to do, just a simple touch. Just to feel how soft she is beneath my fingers, how smooth the curve of her cheek.

Ripping myself away from the impulse, I take the glass from her hand and set hers next to mine on the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough, Miss. Y/L/N.”

Her hand lands on my chest, right in the very center of me. Can she feel my heartbeat? Does she know how much I want her?

“You can call me by my name, ya know,” she says, dropping her chin and smiling. She’s so close that it would take but a tiny nudge to taste her. “Everyone just calls me Y/N/N.”

This is insane. She needs to leave. I need to slam the door behind her and never open it again.

“Y/N/N.”

Her name falls from my tongue like an incantation and her eyes go hazy. She leans closer, her breath fanning over my lips.

“Say it again,” she asks, nearly begging, “please…”

Fuck, this isn’t good. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I need to- Fuck, what does it all matter? She’s beautiful and interesting and smart and sitting next to me barely dressed and all she wants is me to whisper her name. What’s the harm?

“Y/N/N.”

The spell falls over her and I know it’s too late to back away. Her eyes fall closed and she leans in, pressing her crimson painted lips to mine. She exhales, pushes herself into the kiss, lets out a tiny moan.

She feels so good and it’s all I can think about. She pulls back and I lean in, needing more. My arms wrap around her, stealing her away. She melts against me, opens her lips to my tongue. The vanilla on her skin mixes with the scotch on her tongue and I’m blown away.

“Professor…”

If feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop tasting her, can’t stop breathing into her with every ounce of air in my body.

I let her go for a second, thinking she’s changed her mind, but no, she’s even more ready than I am.

She stands up, fits her knees in between mine and slowly unbuttons her blouse.

My eyes are huge, I know it. I must look like an idiot but I can’t help it. She’s here, beautiful and curvaceous, teasing me, undressing for me. It’s all for me. She’s here for me.

The blouse floats to the floor and she looks down at me, a hint of previous nerves returning. Her bra is pale pink and covered in lace. Something so pure and innocent covering up something I would kill for.

I would, I realize. I would kill for her.

She wiggles out of her skirt and her hips are distracting. I want to touch, to feel my bones crushing into hers, to sink myself deep inside just to see what it’s like, to know her, to feel all of her.

“You like?” she asks, innocence ringing in her soft voice.

What happened in her past that would make her ask such a thing? Who hurt her so badly, who crushed her self esteem to the point that she wouldn’t be able to tell if I was enjoying her delicious display?

“Of course. You’re… absolutely stunning.”

I can’t say more or I’ll break. I reach for her and she slides into my lap, locking her thighs around mine. She presses down on me and my cock responds, all blood and logic rushing down to push back at her ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck and bends to kiss me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, she curls them, tugs gently, testing, enjoying. Her kisses deepen and her hips roll. I’m about to lose my mind.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day of class,” she moans, scraping her nails across my scalp.

The sensation is intoxicating and my eyes roll back a bit as she tugs hard. Her right hand is locked in my hair and her left is dragging down my chest. I should stop her. I should stand up. I should…

“Fuck.”

Her hand sneaks into my slacks and she scoots back onto my knees for better access. I can’t even think straight as she rubs at my cock. Her hand is soft, warm, firm. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I might just die here beneath her.

Her tongue glides across my lips. “So hard to sit in class and not dream about fucking you…”

Something snaps inside of me and I let go. I grab at her tits, peel the delicate lace down and pinch her nipples hard until she’s crying out and arching against me.

“I can’t even read anymore,” she admits, nearly breathless as my lips seal around her left nipple. “Every page makes me think of you. I can hear every word in your voice. I- oh God-”

I bite down just enough to stop her train of thought and I look up to see a blank, beautiful stare.

“I want you,” she whispers, lips never quite closing after.

Fuck. This is what I was trying to avoid. This feeling, this hunger inside of me. This need to fall into someone else, this treacherous lust that forces me to act.

“Please…”

Her hand falls to the nape of my neck and it’s so delicate, so tender that I break.

Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and twist, flipping her over onto her back. She gasps and reaches for me, kissing through the shock while I tug the slacks from my hips. She yanks at my shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic buttons, licking at every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want you inside me so bad,” she sings, nearly praying as if I’m some ancient god on high that can make all her dreams come true.

I don’t know about all of them, but this prayer, I can answer.

I tear the lace from her hips and fall down over her, crushing her into the old sofa. Her breath stops for a blessed second and I swear I can hear her heart racing through the silence. She runs her hands across my shoulders and down, curling them around my hips while spreading her legs wider.

“Please… Please… Please…”

Her whine is pathetic but I can’t get enough. If I had it in me to drag this out, to tease her for hours, I would, but the scotch has clouded my head and the sight of her strung out and desperate makes it impossible to wait.

She inhales hard when I sink into her. I can feel myself falling but I press my hands beside her head and hold on as best I can.

She feels like heaven.

Or the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever know.

Wet and warm and tight, I can feel her throbbing around me. Every thrust is like magic, making her shiver and squirm and tighten up even more. She clings to me, nails digging into my arms, mouth searching and thirsty for more.

“Jon-”

I almost go insane. It’s not even my name, but it feels so right on her lips that I wish it was.

I feel her orgasm; her body clenching down on me and pulling me in deeper. It’s so hard not to scream her name at the top of my lungs. Nearly impossible not to stay here forever.

I fall down, shove my face into the crook of her neck and thrust a few more times. I know it’s over too soon, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She rakes her hand through my hair, gently this time, and finds my lips, kissing me sweetly.

“Hi,” she laughs when our eyes finally focus and find each other through the afterglow.

God, she’s beautiful. So giving, so loving, so perfect in a million different ways that it’s actually breaking my heart.

I smile and peck her lips as I go soft inside of her.

“Hello, You.”

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