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hoe4hotchner · 19 days ago

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False Security | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader CW: Angst, physical abuse, kidnapping, captivity, hospital, light use of Y/N, hotch is in love with you, r is only wearing underwear, chains, morphine. WC: 2.6k

The bullpen was eerily quiet for a late evening. Papers were scattered across desks, half-empty coffee cups forgotten in the rush of trying to piece together the puzzle of the case they were working on.

The tension in the conference room was palpable - each agent hunched over their work, mentally and emotionally drained from the brutal reality of the case. Every passing hour without a breakthrough weighed heavily on the team.

Garcia had moved from her tech cave to stay near the rest of the team. Something about this case, the brutality of it, had shaken her, she wasn't her usual cheerful self. Her fingers tapped anxiously against her keyboard, eyes darting between monitors, scanning data, hoping for a clue - anything that would help them find the unsub before another victim was claimed.

Hotch stood near the whiteboard, staring at the photos pinned up - the faces of victims staring back at him, haunting him. There was a pattern here; they all knew it. They could feel it. But none of them had been able to put the final piece together yet. Everyone was running on fumes.

"Garcia," Hotch’s voice broke the silence, low but with the familiar edge of urgency. "Pull up the financials again. There’s something we’re missing."

Garcia nodded, already typing, her colorful nails clicking rapidly against the keys. But even she seemed distracted, her brow furrowed in worry. She wasn’t just focused on the case anymore - she was thinking about you. About how you had been recently, about the relationship you had confided in her about a few weeks ago. A relationship that seemed to be bringing you joy, a brightness that Garcia had been happy to see. But now… something about this case was stirring up an unsettling feeling in her chest.

Reid was standing across from her, his eyes darting across the case files, muttering half-thoughts under his breath. Morgan was pacing, unable to sit still, his frustration growing with each dead end.

Then, it happened.

Garcia’s fingers stopped, hovering above the keyboard. The silence in the room grew thicker as everyone waited for her to speak. She was staring at her screen, but the bright color had drained from her face. Slowly, almost as if she didn’t believe it herself, she turned in her chair, wide eyes meeting Hotch’s.

"Sir," her voice was trembling. "You need to see this."

Hotch’s stomach dropped at her tone, something was off. He crossed the room in quick strides, looking over her shoulder at the screen. The room held its collective breath, all eyes now on them. Garcia was scrolling through the financials, linking transactions, showing a pattern of behavior that had gone unnoticed until now. At first, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. Just a name, a routine list of purchases. But then it hit him. A familiar name.

Hotch froze. His heart slammed against his ribs, dread flooding his veins.

“No,” he breathed, disbelief clouding his thoughts.

Garcia turned, biting her lip. Her fingers trembled as she pointed to the screen. “It’s him, Sir,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “It’s… it’s (Y/N)'s boyfriend.”

The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. Everyone stared, the weight of Garcia’s revelation hitting them like a freight train. Morgan stopped pacing, Reid’s muttering ceased, and Rossi’s eyes darkened as he stood from his desk.

"Are you sure?" Hotch’s voice was low, but the tension in his tone was unmistakable.

Garcia nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. “I cross-referenced his name with the locations. He fits every single one of the victim’s timelines, and… the patterns match. It’s him, Hotch.”

For a moment, no one moved. It was as if the very air in the room had thickened, weighing them all down. Hotch felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. His chest tightened painfully, his mind racing with fear and anger. How could they have missed this? How could he have missed this?

Morgan was the first to break the silence, his voice sharp and filled with disbelief. “Wait, (Y/N)’s dating this guy?” His eyes darted between Garcia and Hotch, trying to piece it together. “How long has this been going on?”

“A couple of months,” Garcia whispered, guilt washing over her at the mere fact that she knew about your relationship. “She… she didn’t want anyone to know. But… I thought he was just a regular guy.”

Rossi was already moving toward his phone. "Has anyone contacted her?"

Hotch’s blood ran cold. He reached for his phone, his fingers fiddling slightly as he dialed your number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail.

Panic settled in his chest like a stone.

“Garcia, try to ping her phone,” he ordered his voice tight, betraying the rising anxiety within him.

“I’m on it,” she replied, her fingers moving across the keyboard in a blur. The seconds dragged on like hours as she tried to locate your phone. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “It’s off.”

Morgan swore under his breath, his fists clenched. “We have to find her. Now.”

Hotch felt a surge of terror, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. His thoughts were racing— Where were you? Were you okay? Did you even know what kind of danger you were in? The idea that the person you had trusted, had been intimate with, was the same monster they were hunting - it made his skin crawl. And now, they couldn’t reach you.

Garcia's voice broke through the haze. “I’ve got his phone,” she said, her voice shaking with urgency. “It’s pinging at a location near the docks - an old warehouse district.”

Hotch didn’t waste another second. He was out the door before anyone could speak, his mind focused on one thing - finding you. His heart pounded in his chest, each step toward the SUV filled with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you two. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its shadowy silhouette stark against the faint glow of the city. Inside, the darkness was suffocating, every echo, every creak of the metal beams overhead seeming to mock the haste coursing through Hotch's veins. He moved quickly, his heart pounding in his chest as he led the team deeper into the labyrinth of hallways and empty rooms, desperate to find you before it was too late.

The dread that had been building since Garcia's revelation gnawed at him with every step. The idea that you, his agent, the person he trusted and admired, had been caught in the web of this monster - he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It felt personal in a way that made his throat tighten, made his focus even sharper. This wasn’t just a case anymore; it was about you, about saving you from someone who had fooled them into a false security.

A soft, muffled whimper reached his ears, freezing him in place. It was faint but unmistakable. His breath hitched as he sprinted toward the sound, every part of him terrified of what he might find. He shoved open a rusted metal door, and the sight that greeted him ripped the air from his lungs.

There you were, barely recognizable, hanging limply by your wrists, your arms shackled high above your head. The light flickered, casting shadows over your bruised and battered body. You were gagged, your face pale and streaked with tears, your eyes barely open, glazed with pain and fear. Your skin was marred with fresh bruises, and all you were left wearing was your underwear - vulnerable, exposed, and utterly broken.

Hotch’s world tilted. He had faced horrors in his career, and seen things that haunted his dreams, but nothing compared to the sight of you, the person he had come to care for, reduced to this.

For a split second, all he could do was stand there, frozen by the crushing wave of guilt and anger crashing over him. How could he have let this happen? How had he not seen it, not realized who the unsub was?

“Morgan!” Hotch's voice was sharp. “Find him. Now.” He couldn't be far away Hotch thought to himself.

Without waiting for a reply, Hotch crossed the room to you, his hands trembling as he reached up to unchain your wrists. You collapsed into his arms, your body weak and trembling from the strain. He held you close, his jacket already off and wrapping around your shivering form. His chest tightened painfully as he felt just how cold you were, how fragile you felt in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re safe now.”

You stirred, barely able to focus, but the sound of his voice - his voice - cut through the haze of terror that had clouded your mind. Your eyes fluttered open, a tear slipping down your cheek as you realized it was him. You tried to speak, but the gag choked you, the duct tape biting into your skin.

Hotch's fingers were delicate as he reached up to remove the tape. Every inch he peeled back felt agonizingly slow, each movement careful, as if he were terrified of causing you more pain. His eyes never left yours, the guilt and worry etched deep into his features.

When the gag finally came loose, you gasped, drawing in shaky breaths as your mouth was freed. Your voice came out in a weak rasp, “Aaron…”

“Shh,” he murmured, brushing the hair from your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

But you could see it in his eyes. The guilt. The anger. It radiated off him, a storm barely contained beneath the surface. He blamed himself, you knew that much. And though you wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have known, your voice was too weak, your body too drained.

Hotch wrapped his arms tighter around you, his face buried in your hair as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there sooner.”

His words broke something inside you, a sob tearing from your throat despite your exhaustion. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that you didn’t blame him, but all you could do was cling to him, your body shaking against his.

You had been so close to losing everything - to never seeing him again. And now, in the safety of his arms, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind the raw emotion and terror that you had been holding back.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, his voice barely a rasp. He held you tighter as if he could shield you from the world, from the pain, from everything you had just endured.

He didn’t care about protocol, didn’t care that he was supposed to be in control, to remain objective. All he cared about was you, about getting you out of there and keeping you safe.

When the paramedics arrived, Hotch didn’t let go. He carried you to the ambulance himself, refusing to leave your side for even a moment. The other agents worked around him, searching for your captor, but Hotch didn’t care about anything else right now. He stayed by your side as you were lifted into the ambulance, sitting beside you, his hand holding yours as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

The soft, sterile lighting of the hospital room contrasted with the cold, harsh reality of what had just happened. The beeping machines were rhythmic and steady, peaceful, a constant reminder that you were alive, even though the events leading up to this moment had been anything but peaceful.

Hotch sat beside your bed, his hand wrapped protectively around yours, his thumb brushing back and forth along your knuckles in a soothing motion. He hadn’t left your side since they’d arrived at the hospital. The team had stayed behind to deal with the crime scene and the unsub, but Hotch had only one priority: you. His suit jacket now hung loosely on the back of his chair, as your bruised body had been hidden away by the hospital gown.

You shifted slightly in the bed, your eyes fluttering open but still hazy from the morphine coursing through your veins. The medication had dulled the pain but also left you in a dreamy, disoriented state. Everything felt far away, like you were underwater, and the world around you was muffled. But there was one constant, something anchoring you to reality - Hotch.

“Hotch…” your voice was barely above a whisper, the name slipping from your lips without much strength behind it. You tried to sit up, but your body protested, still sore and weak. Hotch’s grip on your hand tightened gently, his other hand pressing softly against your shoulder to keep you from moving too much.

“Shh, don’t try to move. The doctor said you need to rest,” he said, his voice low and calm, but underneath it was a storm of emotions - relief, fear, anger. He tried to keep it together for you, but seeing you like this - bruised, shaken, and vulnerable - it broke something inside him.

You blinked up at him, trying to focus. His face came into view, a mixture of exhaustion and concern etched into his features. “You... you came for me,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred from the medication, but the gratitude in your tone was unmistakable.

Hotch’s heart clenched at the sound of your voice, so small and fragile. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Of course I did,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always come for you.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips tugging upwards despite the pain and exhaustion. There was something about his presence that made everything feel just a little bit better, a little safer.

Your eyes flickered around the room before landing back on him, and with a sleepy giggle, you whispered, “You look so serious, Hotch.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, the sound rare but welcome, especially given the circumstances. “Someone has to be,” he teased, though his voice was still gentle. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his touch feather-light. “You’ve been through a lot.”

You hummed, your eyelids growing heavy again, but you fought to stay awake, to stay in this moment with him. “Feel so... floaty,” you mumbled, your words trailing off slightly. The medication was pulling you back under again.

Hotch smiled softly, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “That’s the morphine. It’s okay to rest, you’re safe now.”

For a moment, you simply stared up at him, your eyes glazed but full of warmth. “You’re always so... good to me,” you slurred, your voice thick with drowsiness. “Don’t know what I’d do without you…”

His heart ached at your words. He couldn’t imagine what you had gone through, only what he already knew the unsub usually would have done, but the thought of you feeling alone or scared crushed him. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You gave him a sleepy nod, your head lolling slightly to the side. “I know,” you mumbled, your voice fading as sleep finally began to pull you under.

Hotch leaned forward, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead. He didn’t care that the hospital staff had insisted he take a break or go home and get some rest. He wasn’t leaving your side, not tonight. Not until he was absolutely sure you were okay.

As your breathing evened out and your body relaxed into the bed, he sat back, watching you with a mix of compassion and sadness. Seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, made him feel more helpless than he ever had before.

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anystalker707 · 1 year ago

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I need you with me

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: After the Marineford events, all that Ace needs is some love. Tags: ace is recovering, so he needs you to be gentle / he's so sweet / lots of fluff / universe in which ace survived marineford A/n: thanks sm for the request, anon <3 sorry for taking long

Requested by anon [Hello, amazing writer! If you are doing requests, could you do Ace x female reader where Ace gets all the love and pets and praise he so deserves. I just finished Marineford and I have...feelings]

MASTERLIST

Everyone was shaken up after the events in Marineford, still trying to process everything that had happened, without much success. It wasn’t just a lot to process but also left everyone in a shocked state that would take time to wear out. Luffy had even spent a while with the Whitebeard Pirates to ensure his brother would be alright before he had to go back to following his path. By that time, the commotion had also died within the crew itself, it was finally time to have your boyfriend all to yourself again.

The wound that once covered the center of his chest and back was now only two violent scars decorating his skin, only adding to his charm, if anything. You wondered if anything could make Ace ugly, and it was hard to determine something that would make him permanently unattractive, so you dropped it.

Ace was lying on his side with his back to you, taking yet another nap in the dark cabin that blocked the sunlight by the thick blackout curtains. Napping was something he’d been doing rather a lot, aside from the spontaneous times he would fall asleep. The Marineford event took quite a toll on him, both physically and mentally, so it was no surprise he found comfort in sleep and quietness now that the euphoria had died down. Not surprisingly, he also grew clingy after that.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you walked over, observing the scar on Ace’s back as you sat on the bed, careful not to wake him up. His skin rose in shivers at the slightest touch upon his scar, but he didn’t even move in his sleep, continuing to softly snore away. Your heart heaved a little, but it’d been like that for so long that it was pointless to dive into sadness for longer.

Your mind didn’t leave you alone for the few seconds you kept your eyes closed, replaying parts of the Summit War, even though you’d gone through it multiple times already. It was tiring, clinging to your skin like mud that you couldn’t clean off, dragging you down, but you could still feel the normality slowly making its way back into your lives, thankfully.

Ace smelled like a mixture of your smell along with his own, which was quite characteristic, and always left a very well-welcomed lingering scent on your bed. His smell filled your lungs as you pressed your nose to the back of his ear and inhaled deeply before finally lying down with him and hugging him from behind. Only then did he groan a little, shifting a little to make himself comfortable next to you. He was warm, back moving against your chest rhythmically. It was good to feel him like that next to you, alive and well, helping you fight the feeling he would disappear in case you looked away for too long.

“Love,” Ace murmured in a whiny tone that popped your bubble and brought you back to the real world to be embraced by the warmth he made you feel. “Mmph, babe,” he whispered with a groan that dissipated into a sigh of comfort the moment you pressed a kiss to his cheek and hugged him tighter.

“Yes, my love?” You whispered against his cheek when he started stirring awake, humming drowsily as he patted around until his hand found the side of your head and kept you there to turn his head and messily kiss your face. His eyes were still closed as his lips met the space above your upper lip, and then your cheek—that was the only response you received as he gently played with your hair a little.

“I had a dream with you,” he whispered, eyes still closed, but you could tell he was a little less than half asleep by then. “We were… Uh, I forgot.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head, while running a hand through Ace’s messy hair strands in a fruitless attempt to push them back into place. “Okay. The fact you dreamed with me is good enough.”

Ace pouted with a hum as he shifted on the bed so that he was on his back, allowing himself to take a look at you. He finally opened his eyes and blinked until the blurred form before him turned into a clear image of you, which made him smile. “Mmph, babe,” he whispered in a happy tone that made your heart flutter.

“You’re so cute like this, all sleepy, all comfy.” Your lips parted into a grin before you kissed his cheek. “I really just want to— Damn.” Instead of fighting your urges, you just cupped his cheek and kissed all over his face until he was giggling and wrapping his arms around you, swinging one of them lazily around your neck.

“Hey, what’s that for?” Ace groaned softly and kissed your cheek a couple of times, planting kisses on the way to your lips, where he lingered for a few seconds.

“I just want to pamper my pretty boy, am I not allowed to?”

Whenever you called him ‘pretty boy’, Ace’s heart fluttered, and he felt all bubbly inside, so full of himself that he believed he could face the entire world if he really wanted to. He smiled as his cheeks gained a red tone, and he melted under the new kisses over his face.

“Sometimes I wonder if I can kiss each of your freckles,” you said as your fingertips trailed along the freckles on his shoulder; they descended for all his body and imprinted constellations upon his skin.

Ace hummed, raising one of his eyebrows at you. “Well, if you want to try… I wouldn’t be opposed to it, babe.”

“Hm, right,” you muttered with a smile, kissing his forehead. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Just the idea of it seemed to get Ace a little eager, grinning as he allowed you to keep bathing him with compliments and caressing. He sighed and leaned into your touches, groaning when you started running your fingers through his hair again. Playing with his hair could easily drive Ace to sleep, but it wasn’t your intention, so you pulled your hand away as soon as he started closing his eyes, much to his displeasure.

“Have you eaten today?” It was a question that usually would be useless, really—his huge appetite dismissed any worry about his intake of food, but that was before the Summit War. After that, the pain and stress of carrying Roger’s blood in his hands took upon him again, and there he was, believing he didn’t deserve any care in the world. Sometimes, the guilt would still drag along the sad smiles he flashed you whenever you gave him affection, but it was growing considerably lower through time. You hoped that, someday, he wouldn’t feel like his life was a burden.

A soft hum came from Ace as he rubbed his eye, looking away, immediately snatching a sigh from you.

“Come on, Ace, love, you’re better than that.” You looked at the bedside table, noticing a tray of food sitting there. It’d probably been brought for lunch, a couple of hours ago. “Look, there’s even some ramen here. Why don’t you try it? Or do you want fresh food? You know everyone is doing their best for you, try to eat a little bit, pretty boy.” You kissed the tip of his nose, making him scrunch his nose with a small sound.

“Will you stay with me for the rest of the day?” Ace’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked at you with those eyes, enough to make your heart heavy. “You’ve been busy all day long, only checking on me now and then. I like having you around, even if I’m just napping. I like your presence.”

A sigh escaped your nose as you heard Ace, frowning a little at his words. You should’ve done better, really. “Okay,” you said with a nod. “I’ll go let Pops know I’m spending the rest of the day with you, okay? Don’t move a single finger while I go there! I’ll know if you do!”

When Ace chuckled, something stirred in your chest, spreading warmth all within it.

“Okay! But give me another kiss before you leave and more when you come back, okay?” Ace’s arms wrapped tighter around your neck, making you roll your eyes before pressing your lips to his gently. He didn’t seem to be a big fan of the light kiss, instead deepening the kiss with a soft hum, keeping your lips together until you were both out of air.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #oneshot #imagine #scenario

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stirdrawsandreblaws · 8 months ago

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my sea wolf is named Thorgeim Merlskyfkyn; since roe surnames are gendered by -syn/-wyn suffixes (meaning son/daughter), i did some linguistic research and decided -kyn would be the most likely gender-neutral suffix (derived from 'klin/klind' meaning child, but not -klyn, as 'klyn' already means 'small')

so! they chose their current name! per my character notes:

They were born into a pirate's life as Ofangeim Merlskyfwyn. Always on the heels of their father, Merlskyf, they were a formidable little Sea Wolf since they were old enough to carry an axe, unafraid of much larger opponents. However, when they elected to change their surname from Merlskyfwyn to Merlskyfkyn, a rift began to grow between them and their traditionalist crew-family. Eventually the tension became too much, and, so far as their family knew, they simply vanished at the docks one day.

they replaced 'ofan' (clear) with 'thor' (pronounced 'tor', meaning torn, symbolizing their choice to tear away from their family), but kept 'geim' (meaning jewel)

common nicknames include 'torgi' (with torgy/torgie as valid permutations) and 'shark'. it's also fine to address them as 'captain' since that's their rank in the maelstrom. they'll roll with almost anything they recognize as referring to them though

sorta the same deal with pronouns; any pronouns are fine, but they don't particularly like being referred to as a woman or man (or worse, boy/girl). the only time that's allowed is if it's For The Bit, or if they're dealing with literal children (and even then they'll correct it before they draw their axe)

Roegadyn players, tell me about your character's name!

What was your thought process behind it? Does it mean something important? Does it follow Sea Wolf/Hellsguard conventions or does it draw on other cultures? Is it the same as their birth name or has it changed? Can other people pronounce it? Do they go by any nicknames or shorten it for convenience?

#have decided that Emmanellain only canonically referred to them as 'old girl' once and they just. grinned homicidally #and gave him a very quick lesson about sea wolf surnames before requesting he revise that fun little nickname to 'friend' or the like #while making it very clear that they weren't ~threatening~ him but rather correcting an error in etiquette. lmfao #they're not a murderhobo but they ARE unquestionably brutal and have a Reputation. their nickname in limsa is 'the admiral's pet shark'#and they take their captain rank pretty seriously despite appearances. they also take their WoL role seriously (also despite appearances)#but that's mostly related to their belief in karma-farming (basically they think the best way to be lucky is to surround one's self with--#--lucky people. so if they BECOME lucky for the people around them via various heroics then thorgeim will in turn become extra lucky)#(granted they've had their faith in that shaken quite a bit but that's why they took so quickly to astrologian practices lmfao)#(outside of that they're pretty exclusively a warrior. shockingly not a rogue though i'm eyeballing viper after the next expac comes out)#(also Maybe reaper?? they do need some kind of dps class imo but rogue doesn't suit them. they're not even a little bit stealthy.)#ffxiv #stirring up trouble #long post #also: prev i love your roes!!! Eliloh in particular feels like the kind of soft-spite-for-other-rpers character i'd make. absolutely a vibe #but i love all of them. poor merlgraeb and gilded antler...maybe it'll work out in another lifetime ;w;

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imaginaryf1shots · 6 days ago

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Wildflower pt.2 | Lewis Hamilton

WC: 5.1K

Lewis x ex!reader

Summery:(REQUESTED) You break up with Lewis 3 years ago, but he was the one that let you go.

Warning: Maybe a curse word?

Part 1

Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

Lewis returned home feeling dejected, he was crushed. Even if he expected it, it didn’t make it easier. He’s happy that you’re in a place where you’re confidant and happy, you’re content. And he should be satisfied with that. But the love he buried down for you ran into him the moment he saw you again.

Sitting in his living room with the lights dimmed and no one to keep him company, his mind was a storm of emotions. Guilt, regret, confusion. Seeing you again, hearing your voice, it’s all shaken him to the core, in ways he didn’t expect.

The door he had hoped would open to him, was slammed and bolted in his face. The life you built without him, has no place for him in it.

Lewis sighed his head leaning back on the chair, he sat there staring at the wall in silence. Memories of the times you shared in this very house haunting him. your laughter, the way you’d curl into him after a long day, the arguments you had over little things that seemed so important at the moment. Every memory, good and bad, just played in his mind, a reel he couldn’t skip.

A part of him, a large part, told him to give you. you already decided, and you were very clear, you moved on, and he needed to respect that. He went to you, poured his heart out, and you still walked away. He tried, right? That was enough, right? He already told himself he’s apologise, that he’d try to make things right, and now... now he had done what he could.

But as the minutes ticked by in his silent flat, something nagged at him. It’s not regret or guilt. It’s the same feeling he had since the moment he saw you at the event that started this whole thing. You’re always on his mind.

No matter how hard he tried to push the thoughts away, no matter how many reasons he came up with to move on, it wasn’t working. You were always there, in the back of his mind, a constant presence he couldn’t shake off. He tried to do it once, and he thought he succeeded but evidently not. There’s a reason he’s never been with anyone after you, not once, and it never crossed his mind. It was like in his subconscious, if it wasn’t you then it would be no one.

Was he really going to walk away without giving it his all?

The self-doubt started, the fear he’s not good enough, he had the let the best thing in his life slip form his hands so easily. Can this time be different? He had to try to know.

You can’t give up.

The thought hit him; he already lost you once because he didn’t fight hard enough. He lad let you go, thinking it was for the best for the both of you, but all it did was leawve a void in his life shaped like you. He still wanted you, needed you.

He’s not making the same mistakes again.

If he lets you go this time, without truly fighting for you, he’d never forgive himself. He’d live the rest of his life wondering what could have been, haunted by the memories of you and the life you could have had together.

Lewis is used to fight for victories and championships, but this was a different kind of battle. This was personal, raw and so much more important than any race. He had to show you that he wasn’t the man who let you walk away so easily years ago.

So, he made a decision.

He’s not giving up.

You weren’t expecting Lewis to show up to your flat the other day. In fact, you hadn’t expected him to ever show up in your life ever again. After so long you had made your peace with how things ended. Or at least you thought you had. Seeing him stirred something you, something that you did not want to face.

He looked different. Older, more tired. There was a sadness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that surprised you. but you had held your ground, kept your distance. You couldn’t let him back in, not after what happened. You had worked too hard to rebuild your life, to find yourself again after he left. Letting him in now would mean risking everything you had worked for.

But it didn’t stop him from trying.

It started with flowers.

A simple bouquet, left by your door with a handwritten card. He didn’t want to overhelm you, didn’t want to come on too strong. Just something to ler you know he was still thinking about you.

I know I can’t erase the past, but I hope I can be part of your future.

-Lewis

They were your favourite flowers, they became your favourite after you started dating Lewis, and he had taken you on a trip to Brazil. You had seen them at a flower shop there, and he surprised you with them the next day, and at every celebration after that, or just because he wanted to give you something.

You debated throwing them away for a long time. They haunted you, so you threw them in the trash in the kitchen. You had just walked out of the kitchen when you turned back around and got them out.

The flowers did nothing to you.

You put them in a vase, and hide the card in a drawer you don’t open. And tell yourself there’s nothing to it. They’re still your favourite flowers.

Lewis waited for any kind of response, checking his phone constantly, wondering if you’d send him a message or even acknowledge the gesture. But he got no call and no text.

Even though it stung, Lewis wasn’t deterred. It just made him more determined. He knew you were guarded; you built walls around you to protect your heart. One bouquet wasn’t going to change that.

A few days later you hear a knock on the door, and opened it to see a deliveryman, with a box of your favourite desert from your favourite bakery in France. The one Lewis took you to on a road trip. And even though he doesn’t like driving that much out of racing, he drove you both all around Europe. Took you to all the places you’ve never been to.

There was another card:

I remember how much you loved these; thought you might enjoy them.

-Lewis

You sat at your dining table and the box sat in front of you. You were glaring at the box as if it had offended you in some way. The sweet smell of baked goods hit you the moment you opened the box. They were obviously very fresh, Lewis flew them in today, no doubt about it.

Like the flowers you wanted to throw them away, but there are people around the world who can’t eat. You have to eat them, or they’d go to waste.

So, you caved, you pulled the box closer and opened it.

Again, Lewis didn’t get any response. No acknowledgment. You weren’t going to make it easy for him, and in a way, he respected that.

But he’s not going to back down.

You were at work when the receptionist called for you to come to the reception. There you found a delivery man holding your favourite drink from your favourite café in Monaco, you had no idea they did deliveries or take aways for that matter. But here he stood with your favourite drink and then coffees for the rest of your coworkers. You ignored all the chatter around you about who they could be from. You simply took the card and drink for the delivery man, and left your coworkers to split the drinks between them.

When you were alone, you opened the card.

I know you how much of a hard worker you are, don’t pressure yourself and take a break every now and then.

-Lewis

You sighed and took a sip from your drink. You’ve changed so much, and yet there’s still things that hasn’t. Lewis knew a part of you, did he know enough or discover enough in the two times you talked to know what changed and what hasn’t?

Lewis has given up hope on you replying to his advances, but that didn’t stop the glowers, pastries, drinks, trinkets from his travelling or even books that he told you he’s read and enjoyed. All that got him no answer.

Staying up in his hotel room, Lewis decided to try something he hasn’t done yet. He got paper and pen and sat on the desk for what felt like hours.

When he’s back in Monaco, he debated sending it or not, was it too much, too soon. But everything else he’s done got him nowhere. He had nothing to lose.

You were confused when you got an envelope in the mail, someone in Monaco sent you a letter. Opening it, you had no idea why you were confused or expected it. The familiar handwriting stood out to you; you didn’t have to see the end of the letter for a name.

I know I hurt you. I know that even though you walked out of the flat, I was the one that left, and that’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I wish I could go back and fix it, but I know I can’t. all I can do is tell you how much I’ve missed you, how much I still care about you.

I thought I could move on, but the truth is, I’ve never stopped loving you. I see now how much you’ve changed, how much you’ve changed, how much you’ve grown, and I respect that. But I also know that I still want to be part of your life, if you’ll let me. I want to get to know this new version of you, the one who’s stronger, wiser and even more beautiful than before. I want to relearn all the things that hasn’t changed.

I don’t expect you to take me back because I say I’m sorry. But I want you to know that I’m here, and I’ve changed. I’m willing to fight this time. And if you’re willing, if a part of you still has any feelings for me, no matter how small, please give me a chance to prove that I’ve changed as well.

-Lewis

You sat on the bed tears welling in your eyes, he’s not even back in your life and he’s causing you tears. He’s causing you pain. But is the pain there because of him, or because you’re fighting your heart. After all these years, after all the effort it took for you to become the person you are today, you feel weak. A small part of you still cares about him, maybe not love him, but you care about him. You left Lewis not because he was mean, abusive or anything of that sort, you left him because his career was the biggest part of him, and it consumed him.

One Google search tells you that, where he is now work wise is different than where he was when you were dating.

Getting your phone, you opened the message app and the last message you shared stared at you.

Lewis

I’m on my way home

y/n

okay

Lewis

are you still upset?

y/n

no why would I be?

Lewis

you are upst

y/n

we’ll talk when you’re home

Lewis

okay 5mins and I’ll be home

y/n

👍

Your conversations survived the phone change, as did your pictures that you uploaded to the cloud before deleting them from your phone.

You debated what to text him, writing and erasing multiple times. Before just sending what you wrote.

y/n

Thank you for the pastries, the flowers and all the other gifts. And the letter. But Lewis, I don’t know what you expect from me. I appreciate the gestures, I do. But I’m not the same person I was you said you want to get to know this new version of me, but I don’t even know if there’s room in my life for you anymore, you hurt me and I’m not sure I can forget that. I don’t want to be hurt again.

Lewis stared at the messages for a long time, feeling the sting of your words. You weren’t shutting him down completely, but you weren’t ready to let him back either. It was progress, but it wasn’t the answer he’s dreaming of.

Lewis

I know I hurt you. I’m not asking you to forget that. I just want the chance to show you that I’m not the same man I was. That I can be someone you can trust again. Please, just one chance. We don’t have to rush anything. I just want to spend time with you, to talk, to start over.

You sat there thinking, debating if you should give him a second chance, the feat that everything you built will be gone was scary. You didn’t want to return to what you once were.

You decided to trust yourself, trust that the moment things looked to be turning to how it once was you’d walk out and that would be it. You hate to admit that you haven’t thought about dating or being with anyone in any shape after Lewis. At one point you thought he was it for you, the man you’ll spend the ret of your life with.

The more time you took to answer, Lewis sat staring at his phone. Anxiety eating at him. he didn’t know what he’d do if you said no. he wasn’t sure he’ll be able to lose you again.

Finally, his phone buzzed.

y/n

One chance But don’t think it means anything yet. I’m giving you the opportunity, but it’s on you to prove that you deserve it. I mean it, the moment I don’t like where this is heading, I’m out and that would be it.

His heart leaped; a small flame of hope ignited in his chest. This wasn’t a definitive answer, but it was something. He had hope. The smile on his face wouldn’t go away.

Lewis

Thank you I won’t let you down.

A week later Lewis found himself waiting for you at the small café that you used to go to, the same place you had spent many afternoons talking for hours. He wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. There was a part of him that wondered if it would’ve been better if you met at a new place, to keep this café with good memories in case the date went south. But then again, he wanted to start in a place that’s familiar, somewhere you’re both comfortable in and maybe, just maybe, it would remind you of the good memories you once had.

His foot was taping on the floor as he anxiously waited for you to arrive. His eyes would glance at the door every few seconds.

The café was quiet as you walked in. memories washed over you as you glanced around, taking in the familiar wooden beams, the cosy mismatched chairs, and the smell of coffee in the air. You hadn’t been here in years, since you used to come here regularly. Not a month has passed without you going to the café at least once. It felt strange being here again, even stranger that it was to meet him.

You spotted Lewis the moment you walked in, he was sitting at your old table, and the sight of him there made you pause in your step. He looked up and smiled, a little shy, he stood up to greet you.

“Hey.” He said softly, as if he was scared, he’d scare you off.

You returned the tentative smile and sat across from him. “Hey.”

You settled into an uneasy silence, neither knowing how to start talking, the years you spent apart casting a shadow over what you had once felt natural. You noticed how he glanced at you, like he was memorising every detail, trying to relearn the person you had become. You couldn’t tell if it made you feel seen or vulnerable.

Lewis eventually cleared his throat, a smile playing on his lips. “I thought this place might be a good start, we used to come here all the time, remember?”

“I remember.” You nodded, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. You didn’t add that it was hard to be back, that the memories were heavy and filled with nostalgia and a hint of sadness. For some reason you knew that he felt the same. You could tell.

After that you started talking, cautiously at first, both feeling out your way through the conversation, both afraid to delve into anything too personal. It felt almost like small talk, which was strange after all that you’ve shared together. It was like you were both learning to know each other again, slowly, step by step.

After a while of talking you both started to relax, you could tell Lewis’s smile was becoming genuine as he recounted a story about a recent race. A race that you have watched, but he did not need to know that. You found yourself laughing despite telling yourself you wouldn’t. leaning back as you listened to him describe the chaotic pit stop that nearly cost him the podium. You only in a moment of silence, did you realise how much you’ve missed this, missed hearing him talk about his world, what made him excited, the way he’d lean forward as if to draw you in.

“You know.” Lewis said a pause, his tone soft. “This place… it brings back a lot of good memories.” He looked at you, with hope in his eyes. “I know it’s different now, but being here with you, it… it feels like old time.”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wanted to let yourself believe that you would slip back into the easy, carefree love that you once shared. But the other part of you knows things aren’t that simple, and you don’t want to move that fast.

“It’s, it’s not the easiest thing for me to be here.” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I came because… well, I wanted to see if there was something worth salvaging, or at least to understand why things turned to the way they did at the end.”

It was obvious the amount of regret Lewis felt, it was evident all over his face and posture.

“I know I hurt you, and I wish I could go back and fix it all. I was so wrapped up in my own head, in my career… I couldn’t see what I was doing to us.” Lewis reached out across the table, hesitating before his hand gently touched yours. “Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I want the chance to make it right, even if that means starting from scratch.”

His sincerity caught you off guard and you looked down at your hand in his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Seeing the familiar tattoos covering his hand brought back the memories of the day you sat and traced them or just looked at all the small details. You had once told Lewis ‘they may be your tattoos but I think I know them better than you do.’ He had laughed and kissed you. Those good memories made you want to believe him; you want to believe that he’s different now, that he understood the weight of what he’s done. But you knew that trusting him again will take time.

But for now you just decided to let yourself try.

“Okay.” You said softly, your fingers curling around his, just for a second. “I’m willing to see where this goes, but only if you’re ready to put in the work. I’m not… I’m not the same girl, also I think we should take it slow, as if we’re strangers getting to know each other for the first time.”

Lewis nodded, determined to take it at your own pace, to do everything in a way that was fitting for you.

“I agree, and I’m here for all of it, every step of the way.”

You stayed like that for a moment, hands intertwined across the table, a fragile truce settling between the two of you.

You and Lewis went on many dates after that. You fell into a rhythm, one that felt new and familiar at the same time. Every date you went to was cautiously and meticulously planned, careful not to move too fast. The race weekends served as a natural buffer between you, giving you both time to think, to reflect, to let things sink in. it allowed you space to breathe, to process your feelings without being overwhelmed by his presence.

It's been over two months since you and Lewis started seeing each other again, and you’re both still taking things slow, not crossing any lines yet. This date had been simple, understated, just an evening of good food and easy conversations and laughter. Lewis surprised you with a reservation at a cosy, intimate restaurant tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place where you could lose yourself to the conversation without the noise of the world intruding. It was comfortable as if you were slowly shedding the weight of the past and finding each other once again.

After dinner Lewis drove you back to your flat. You had fallen into a comfortable silence on the drive, just exchanging small smiles every now and again. He looked relaxed, happy even, his hand resting on the gear shift as he glanced over at you. when you reached your building, he stepped out of the car to walk you to the door.

You both stood there under the soft glow of the building lights, the silence stretched for a bit, neither of you wanting to end the night and say goodbye. You swallowed glancing down at your keys, nerves suddenly overtaking your senses. You’re not sure if the next step is the right one, but you felt it was. Is it okay now to start doing some of what your heart is telling you to do?

“Would you… like to come up?” The words left your lips before you could overthink it anymore. Your voice was timid, a whisper. Your eyes met his as your heart hammered in your chest. And for a moment, you were worried that you misread things, that maybe it was too soon.

“Only if you’re sure.” Lewis’s eyes were soft, and he was reassuring you with a smile.

“I am.” You nodded, releasing a long breath.

Inside your flat the atmosphere shifted; it became more intense. You poured each of you a glass of wine, Lewis may not be the biggest drinker, but you know he didn’t mind indulging in wine every now and again. You settled on the sofa next to the window, your flat wasn’t on the water, like his, but it had nice views of Monaco, being high enough. The lights were dim inside, but the city lights added just enough. The conversation drifted from the date to his latest race, and eventually some of the memories you shared. Memories that aren’t so hard for you to share now.

Eventually the conversation slowed, dwindling down to a comfortable silence, filled only with a longing that you both shared. And just like that the magnet that pulled you together once before, is back again. And you found yourself leaning forward, drawn to Lewis, your heart racing. Lewis waited to a beat, wanting to be sure that this is what you really wanted, before he closed the distance between the two of you. his lips brushed yours, softly at first, having to be 100% that he didn’t misunderstand your intentions. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, one hand finding its way to your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your skin.

You moved together in an unhurried movement, moving together in sync. This all felt familiar, but also new. You still kissed the same, your lips felt the same, but you tasted and smelled different. There was no rush in the touches you both shared, savouring every moment.

You don’t know how or when, but Lewis’s lips barely left yours, you made it to your bedroom. Lewis held you close his arms wrapped around you, having you flush against him.

Lewis didn’t let go of you, not when you were done and laying on the bed in the dark. You rested your head on his chest, your heart settled into a steady rhythm against his. What you’re feeling right now, is something you haven’t felt in so long. Warm, loved, cared for, satisfied and happy.

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Lewis, every moment he had that was free he spent with you. you found yourself at his house a lot nowadays. It started slow, spending the weekend off at his place. In the mornings Lewis would make you tea/coffee in his kitchen, evenings curled up on his sofa after long days. And once more his house started to feel like home. Lewis didn’t realise how much he didn’t feel like going home or spending a lot of time in house, until he had you spend time there and he realised that you made his house a home.

And don’t get me started on Roscoe, the first time he trotted over to you, you dropped to your knees, laughing as he nuzzled into you as though, he too, had missed your presence. You were surprised with how much you missed him, all the cuddles and walks you’d go on.

Tonight was one of those quiet, intimate nights at Lewis’s, and you were wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters, tucked on the sofa into Lewis’s side, Roscoe sleeping on his bed in the corner of the living room. The lights were off, widows open, and candles light. And for a while you talked about your week, the week he was working in.

“You know…” You started after a long stretch of silence, both of you lost in thought. Lewis turned to look at you, his hand playing with your hair. “I-uh- I don’t think I’ve ever felt as alone as I did after we broke up.” Your voice was nothing but a whisper, the words were hard to say, but you felt the need to say them. Lewis tightened his hold on you.

“Yeah, it was like there was this huge part of my life just missing. And for a while, I tried to fill it with other things, my career, people, distractions.” His voice cracked as he continued. “But none of it could ever replace you.”

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze, fingers gently brushing his cheeks.

“I thought I’d be fine on my own.” You admitted, your tone tinged with bittersweet sadness. “I told myself it was for the best, that I’d be okay. But every time something happened, every good, every bad, I’d reach for my phone to call or text you… and then I’d remember that you’re not there anymore.”

“I know what you mean, I missed you so much.” You watched as Lewis’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting your feelings. “Sometimes I’d wake up thinking you were next to me, and it’d hit me all over again that you were gone. I was lonely in a way I’d never felt before. It made me realise how much you meant to me.

You looked down tracing your fingers over his hand, you turned his hand and laced it with yours.

“I don’t want to feel like that again, I don’t want us to go back to that place.” You whispered.

“Neither do I.” Lewis nodded; his gaze intense as he looked at you. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we never end up there again, losing you once was hard enough, I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Lewis lifted your hand and pressed his lips to the back of it.

You sat in silence after that, words no longer necessary. For the first time in years, the ache of the past began to fade, replaced by warmth. You were both broken by your separation, finding strength while apart, but realising you’re even stronger together. And as you laid your head on his shoulder, your heart calmed down, knowing that you’re content, happy and your heart is safe with him.

Bonus scene:

You and Lewis are lying in bed naked, both sweaty and breathing heavily. You laid on your stomach and Lewis on his back beside you. After you’ve both calmed down Lewis turned on his side and placed his hand on your back before moving to the tattoo, the one you got with him, and he helped you choose.

“You didn’t get it covered up.” Lewis commented, his voice soft and gentle, you hummed and reached your hand out blindly to where you knew he had a tattoo with the same art, matching tattoos without them actually matching.

“Neither did you.” You say and slowly turn to face him, his hand stays on your skin. You’re now both facing each other.

“I have so many tattoos.” Lewis pointed out, he definitely had more than you.

“And I have you.” You tell him and lean in, pressing your lips to him softly, it was just pressing of lips together, slow and loving. “Hmm, do you have space for another one?”

Lewis leaned back just enough to look at you, raising an eyebrow. “Where are you thinking?”

“Hm.” You hum and start moving your hand from his side to his back, where you know there’s no space. Lewis doesn’t take his eyes away from yours, holding a steady eye contact. Your hand slowly wanders back to his side and down to his hip before moving to his but, which you squeeze a bit. “Here?” Lewis says nothing, just lets out a breath. “Or maybe…” Your voice drops an octave as your hand moves from his butt to his side to his hip bone, to his abdomen and then ever so slowly you move down, down, down. “Here?”

Lewis sucks in a breath feeling your hand around him. “Insatiable vixen.” He groans and you squeeze before he’s back on top of you and you’re a giggling mess. “You’ll be the death of me, love.”

Main Taglist: @gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . @lilypat . @directioner5life .

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awkward-walking-potato · 3 months ago

Note

heard you were looking for some ideas for Logan! What about Logan with a significant other that’s basically an oujia board? Like they can talk to dead people, maybe possess people or haunt their dreams? How did they meet Logan, and how did they end up with him, and most importantly what does wade think of their relationship?

I am sorry this one is Longgg

Between Two Worlds

The Encounter

The bar was dimly lit, the low hum of conversations mixing with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Logan sat at the far end, nursing a whiskey, his gaze distant. He had just finished a mission, and all he wanted was some peace—a rare commodity in his life. The last thing he expected was to meet someone who would change everything.

But then you walked in.

You weren’t like anyone else in the bar. You moved with a calmness that seemed out of place in a place like this, your presence both ethereal and unsettling. Logan noticed the way people gave you a wide berth, as if instinctively sensing something otherworldly about you. You weren’t particularly intimidating, but there was an air of mystery surrounding you—a vibe that made people uncomfortable. But not Logan. He was more intrigued than anything.

You sat down at the bar, a few stools away from him, and ordered a drink. The bartender handed you a glass of something dark, but your eyes weren’t on the drink; they were on Logan.

“You’ve got a lot of ghosts around you,” you said, your voice soft, almost like a whisper.

Logan stiffened slightly. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “But I know you.”

He eyed you warily, sizing you up. “And how’s that?”

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “I can see them—hear them. The dead. And you, Logan, have a lot of them following you.”

Logan’s grip on his glass tightened, but he didn’t move. He’d seen and heard a lot of strange things in his life, and he wasn’t easily shaken. “You got a name?”

“Y/N,” you said, extending your hand.

He hesitated, then took it. The moment your hands touched, a strange sensation washed over him. It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t entirely pleasant either—like a cold breeze brushing against his soul. He let go quickly, his eyes narrowing. “What are you?”

You smiled again, but this time it was a little sad. “I’m just someone who can talk to the dead. Sometimes they talk through me, sometimes they use me to do things, but mostly, they just want to be heard.”

Logan took another drink, considering your words. “Sounds like a rough gig.”

“It can be,” you admitted. “But it’s my life. I help them find peace—or vengeance, depending on what they need.”

He respected that. There was something undeniably compelling about you, something that pulled him in despite the warning bells going off in his head. Maybe it was the loneliness he sensed in you, a loneliness that mirrored his own. Whatever it was, Logan couldn’t help but feel a connection to you.

You spent the rest of the evening talking. There was an easy understanding between you, a mutual respect for the darkness in each other’s lives. When the night was over, Logan offered to walk you home, and you accepted. He didn’t know it at the time, but that was the beginning of something neither of you could have predicted.

Weeks turned into months, and what started as a strange, tentative friendship quickly grew into something more. Logan found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. You were an enigma, someone who lived between worlds, yet grounded enough to keep him from losing himself in his own darkness.

You moved into Logan’s cabin, a secluded place where you both could escape the chaos of the world. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—Logan’s past and your connection to the dead made sure of that—but it was home.

One night, as you lay in bed together, you stirred awake. Logan could feel it—the change in the air, the subtle shift in your body temperature. He opened his eyes to see you sitting up, staring at something in the corner of the room.

“Who is it this time?” Logan asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“There’s a woman here,” you said, your voice distant. “She’s…angry. Betrayed. She was killed by someone she trusted.”

Logan sighed, sitting up beside you. He was used to this by now. “What does she want?”

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the sadness and fury of the spirit inside you. “Vengeance. She wants him to suffer like she did.”

Logan could see the strain this was putting on you. “You don’t have to do this tonight. You can tell her to wait.”

You shook your head. “She won’t wait. This is her only chance.”

Without another word, you got out of bed and began to dress, your movements slow and deliberate. Logan knew better than to try and stop you. He’d seen what happened when you resisted the spirits—it wasn’t pretty.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, pulling on his jeans and boots.

You nodded, grateful for his support. Logan’s presence had a way of grounding you, of keeping you tethered to the living world when the dead threatened to pull you under.

As you both headed out into the night, Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different this time. The spirit inside you was more powerful than the others, more determined. He could feel it in the air, a malevolence that made his skin crawl.

The spirit led you to an old, run-down house on the outskirts of town. Logan followed closely behind, his senses on high alert. You walked up to the front door and knocked, your hand trembling slightly.

The door opened, revealing a man in his late forties, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Who the hell are you?”

“She knows what you did,” you said, your voice filled with the rage of the spirit within you. “And she’s here to make you pay.”

Logan watched as the man’s face paled, his eyes widening in fear. “No… It can’t be…”

Before Logan could react, you lunged forward, your hand wrapping around the man’s throat. The spirit’s fury flowed through you, making you stronger than you should have been, your grip like iron.

Logan moved quickly, pulling you back before you could do any real damage. “That’s enough, Y/N!”

The man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, while you struggled against Logan’s hold, the spirit’s anger overwhelming you.

“He deserves to die!” you screamed, your voice no longer your own.

Logan held you tightly, his voice firm but gentle. “This isn’t you, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. Don’t let her control you.”

For a moment, it seemed like the spirit would win, that it would consume you completely. But then, with a shuddering breath, you managed to regain control, the spirit’s presence slowly fading as you collapsed against Logan, exhausted.

The man on the floor was sobbing, babbling apologies that fell on deaf ears. Logan looked down at him with disgust. “Get out of town. If I see you again, you won’t be so lucky.”

The man scrambled to his feet and ran, disappearing into the night.

Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand gently cupping your face. “You okay?”

You nodded weakly, leaning into his touch. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

He sighed in relief, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

Life with you was never boring, and Logan wouldn’t have had it any other way. But when Wade found out about your abilities, things got a little more…interesting.

“Hold up,” Wade said, leaning back in his chair, Mary Puppins perched on his lap. “You’re telling me your significant other is basically a walking, talking Ouija board?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Something like that.”

Wade’s eyes lit up with mischief. “That is so badass! Do you do parties? Can you, like, summon Elvis or something? Wait, don’t answer that—I have a list of people I want to talk to, starting with—”

“Wade,” Logan growled, cutting him off. “It’s not a party trick.”

Wade pouted. “You’re no fun. But seriously, that’s gotta be weird, right? I mean, what happens if they get mad? Do you end up like one of those possessed dolls from horror movies?”

You chuckled, leaning against Logan. “It’s not quite that dramatic, but it can get intense. I try to keep them under control.”

“Still, sounds like a hell of a time,” Wade said, clearly fascinated. “You ever, uh, use your abilities on Logan here? Like, freak him out in the middle of the night?”

You smiled mischievously, glancing at Logan. “Maybe once or twice.”

Logan shot you a look but didn’t say anything. Wade burst out laughing. “Oh man, I wish I could’ve seen that! Logan, scared out of his mind—priceless!”

Logan rolled his eyes, pulling you closer. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Sure, sure,” Wade said, waving his hand dismissively. “But for real, you two are like the weirdest couple I’ve ever seen. And coming from me, that’s saying something. But you know what? I think it works. You balance each other out. Plus, if anyone ever pisses you off, you can just send them a nice little nightmare. That’s a win in my book.”

You and Logan exchanged a glance, both of you smiling. Wade might be a pain, but he wasn’t wrong.

#deadpool x wolverine #wolverine one shot #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett

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joelsrose · 10 days ago

Text

Polaroids

just fluff - maybe this will distract u guys from the ending of last chapter hehehe

You leaned back into the worn-out car seat, the low hum of the engine mingling with the crackle of the old radio. The old country music drifted over the airwaves, soft and faint, nearly swallowed by static. The radio itself was a relic, knobs worn and dials stubborn, the plastic casing chipped and yellowed with age. Sometimes it cut out completely, leaving only a soft crackling, but today it clung to the melody, filling the cab with the warmth of old tunes and distant memories.

Sunlight filtered through the cracked window, spilling across your face and hands in fractured beams. Outside, the landscape stretched on, an endless expanse of dust and decay, each mile marked by the skeletons of a world long gone—a place suspended in ruin, holding its breath.

Joel’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, low and steady. “Not much longer now. We’ll get what we need and move on.”

You met his words with a nod, too tired to reply. You’d been traveling for days now, driven by the promise of Jackson and the slim hope of civilization. Supplies were running low, as always; every stop felt like a roll of the dice, hoping to find something, anything, left behind.

It had only been a few months since he’d found you, though time had blurred into a haze, each day bleeding into the next. Exhaustion hung between you both, heavy and constant, like a second skin you couldn’t shake, worn thin from days on the road and nights too quiet to let you sleep.

Joel had saved you when you’d been cornered, trapped in an old, crumbling building with nowhere to go. You’d been running from a small group of infected, adrenaline pumping as you turned down a dark hallway only to find it a dead end. Your options had narrowed to one: wait for them to close in or make your last stand. Just when it seemed there’d be no way out, Joel appeared—silent and swift, moving with a brutal efficiency that left you stunned. In a matter of seconds, he’d cleared the path, his hand gripping yours as he pulled you to safety, his strength as grounding as his presence.

Since then, you’d stayed by his side, even though he’d made it clear he didn’t want company. He worked alone, he’d insisted, in that blunt, no-nonsense way of his. But you hadn’t given him much choice, and over time, it seemed he’d stopped minding. Now, you were the thorn in his side—a place you gladly occupied. With Joel, you felt a kind of safety you hadn’t known in ages. He’d pulled you out of more tight spots than you could count, watching your back like an instinct.

And though his gruff persona suggested otherwise, you liked to think you offered him something in return, even if it was only the company he didn’t know he needed. Maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten used to the rhythm you’d found together, the unspoken understanding that had grown between you with each mile.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine dying into silence. You reached for the door, and as always, Joel shot you a quick, expectant look. You knew the routine by now—he wanted you to lead.

He’d insisted on it from the start, claiming it was safer, though you’d never been entirely convinced. A few times, you’d tried to switch places, hanging back to keep an eye on his back. But each time, he’d glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, his unease written in quick, silent looks that said, Get up here.

Eventually, you’d stopped fighting it, falling into the rhythm he’d set. It was easier than watching him practically break his neck to check on you every few steps.

There was something almost sweet about it, a kind of silent protectiveness you’d caught yourself thinking about more than once. But you’d always shaken it off just as quickly—this was about survival, after all.

Nothing more.

As you stepped out first, the wind stirred a broken sign on an old gas station up ahead, its faded letters barely readable. Moving quietly, you swept your gaze over the cracked concrete, dark windows, and twisted metal—every shadow a potential hiding place. Raiders, infected—it didn’t matter. You’d learned to stay vigilant, to read your surroundings like second nature.

The gas station loomed closer, dark and silent, and the air felt thick, weighted. You tightened your grip on your knife, every nerve alert. And even now, without turning, you could feel Joel’s gaze on you, fixed and ready, trusting you to lead but always prepared to step in if needed.

You eased open the door, and the little shop bell above jingled sharply, shattering the silence. You winced, instinctively glancing back at Joel, who fixed you with one of those stern looks that seemed to say everything without a single word. You mouthed, What? as if you had any say in the bell hanging there. He just shook his head, giving a quick gesture for you to keep moving.

The gas station was a relic from another world, frozen in time. The air hung thick with dust and stale, long-forgotten scents. Every shelf wore a layer of grime, and faded signs advertised snacks and drinks that hadn’t been stocked in years. You and Joel swept through the space in silence, checking for any lurking danger before easing up slightly, letting yourselves relax just enough to take in the scene.

You moved slowly, scanning each shelf with eyes trained to spot anything useful. Most of it had been picked clean long ago—torn-open packaging and discarded wrappers marking the hurried visits of those who’d come before you. Still, you continued your search, hoping some overlooked scrap might still be hiding among the debris.

You found yourself wandering into the magazine aisle, eyes catching on a rack filled with faded covers, each magazine a window to a lost world. The glossy pages once held glimpses of celebrity gossip, fashion, sports, news—details from lives people used to care about. It was strange to think of a time when you could pick up a magazine, sink into a chair, and read, unbothered by the weight of survival.

Shaking the thoughts away, you made your way toward the back room, pushing open the door. Inside, it was chaos. Torn sleeping bags, empty food cans, and scattered belongings littered the floor. It was clear that people had stayed here, leaving pieces of their lives behind in a hurry. You stepped over the debris, wondering about them—the strangers who had once huddled in this cramped room, just as desperate as you. Each item felt like a clue, a fragment of someone else’s survival, each as temporary as the lives that had passed through here.

You sifted through the mess, nudging aside tattered blankets and empty cans, until something caught your eye. Your breath hitched. No way.

Nestled under a pile of discarded clothes was an old Polaroid camera, scratched and battered, but unmistakable. You picked it up, heart thumping as you opened the film compartment—still a few shots left.

A smile tugged at your lips as your thumb traced the camera’s worn edges, the feel of it strangely comforting. You used to have one of these—your walls once covered with Polaroids of friends, family, frozen moments from a world that felt like a distant dream.

The thought of taking a picture, capturing even one still moment in this endless chaos, felt like a luxury you couldn’t resist. Carefully, you slipped the camera into your bag, casting a quick glance over your shoulder. Joel’s rules on “essentials only” echoed in your mind; you could almost hear that familiar, gruff tone reminding you of what mattered. But this felt worth the risk.

“Find anything?” Joel’s voice cut through the quiet, jolting you as you straightened up. You turned, giving a casual shake of your head. “No,” you murmured, but the way his gaze lingered told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d grown attuned to your every tell over the past few months, as if he could read the slightest shift in your expression. He knew when you were lying, just like he’d picked up on the way you got a bit snappy when you were hungry or the way you got quiet and withdrawn when you were tired.

You could see his eyes narrow slightly, that small tic he had when he sensed something was off. He didn’t push, though, just let out a sigh and gave a slight nod, the silent acknowledgment that he knew you were keeping something back, even if he wasn’t going to press you on it.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, his tone steady as he turned to lead the way back. You followed him out of the gas station, stepping carefully over broken glass and crumbling concrete, the weight of the camera tucked away in your bag a secret thrill you couldn’t quite shake.

A few days later you and Joel had stopped by an old, abandoned farmhouse. The building stood crooked and half-collapsed, but it provided some shelter and, thankfully, a well you’d managed to draw fresh water from. As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting everything in a golden wash, you found Joel outside, seated on a weathered tree stump, quietly cleaning his rifle.

He looked up as you approached, his face softened by the fading light. You felt that familiar pull, the itch to capture this version of him—the one without his guard so firmly up, the rare glimpse of the man beneath the gruff exterior. Without overthinking it, you brought the Polaroid up, snapping the photo with a quick click and a whirl.

The sound broke through the quiet, and Joel looked up sharply, his brow furrowing. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was a mix of surprise and irritation, but you only grinned, holding the photo as it developed.

“Just… keeping a memory,” you replied, lifting it slightly to see the faint outline of his figure slowly come to life on the film. The fading light, the rugged set of his face, the rifle in his hands—it was a glimpse of this strange, fractured world you’d both managed to carve out for yourselves.

Joel shook his head, letting out a deep sigh as he returned his focus to his rifle, muttering, “Where’d you get that thing?” You tensed, expecting a lecture, but he didn’t sound as mad as you’d thought he’d be. Instead, he glanced up, one eyebrow raised in faint amusement. “Wasting film on me, huh? Thought I told you to stick to the essentials.”

His tone was more resigned than scolding, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of softness behind that familiar gruffness.

“This is essential,” you shot back, tucking the photo carefully into your bag. He huffed but didn’t push it, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he refocused on his task. And as the last rays of sunlight slipped below the horizon, you felt the weight of that small photo, the tiny moment frozen forever in your pocket.

A few days later, you stopped by the edge of a forest, setting up a small camp as the sky turned dusky and violet. Joel had wandered off to gather more kindling, and you settled in by the fire, lost in thought as you stared at the flickering flames, letting the rare quietness sink into your bones.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel had returned, lingering a few paces away. He paused, watching as you sat by the fire, its glow casting soft shadows over your face and deepening the worry etched in your brow. There was something about the way you looked, as if you were carrying the weight of the world in silence—a moment he suddenly found himself wanting to keep, just like you had done with him.

Moving quietly, he crouched down, rifling through your bag with a muffled groan as he pulled out the Polaroid camera. He raised it, aimed, and snapped a photo before you even noticed he was there. The click was softened by the crackle of the fire, and as the image slid out, he quickly tucked it into his pocket, a quiet secret meant only for him.

He found himself drawn to the Polaroid more often than he’d like to admit. Most nights, after you’d fallen asleep, he’d sit alone by the dim light of the fire, turning the photo over in his hands. His thumb would trace the worn edges, lingering on the image, on the softness in your expression that he rarely saw during the daylight hours. There was something about it—a quiet reminder of who you were beneath the survival instincts and guarded walls, something gentle that you rarely let anyone else glimpse.

He couldn’t say why he held onto it so tightly, why he’d tucked it away like a small, fragile piece of something he didn’t quite deserve. But each time he looked at it, he felt an odd sense of peace, a warmth he hadn’t known in years, and a growing hope he barely understood.

It wasn’t until later, one day while packing up camp, that you noticed something unusual in Joel’s belongings—a corner of the Polaroid peeking out from his jacket pocket. Curiosity got the best of you, and you carefully tugged it free, turning it over. The image was slightly faded, but there you were, captured in that rare, quiet moment by the fire. Seeing yourself through Joel’s eyes was strange and unexpectedly tender—a side of you that looked softer, contemplative, even a little vulnerable.

It felt like a secret glimpse into what he saw when he looked at you, something he’d wanted to hold onto. And suddenly, you understood just how much he’d come to care, even if he’d never say it out loud.

When he caught you holding the photo, he stiffened, eyes narrowing as though ready to snatch it back, maybe grumble something about “minding your own business.” Instead, you raised an eyebrow, holding it up for him to see. “What’s this?” you asked, feigning casual curiosity.

He shifted his gaze, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Oh, that?” he muttered, attempting nonchalance. “Just thought… you looked nice. Pretty, I guess.”

The words hung in the air, simple but disarming, unraveling you in a way you hadn’t expected. Pretty. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be seen like that—to be noticed in a way that was more than survival, more than function. In his gruff, awkward way, Joel had reminded you that there was still a part of you worth noticing, worth remembering.

You felt your cheeks warm, a flicker of something both comforting and terrifying sparking in your chest. You held the photo close to your chest, feeling a warmth spread beneath the morning chill. Carefully, you slipped it into your bag alongside the picture you’d taken of him, keeping them together.

Neither of you spoke, but a quiet understanding settled between you, a small truce in a world that rarely left room for moments like these.

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princessbrunette · 9 months ago

Note

waking up john b in the middle of the night by humping against his thigh, whining about “daddyyy, m’sticky” :(((

ִ ۫ ּ 𓂅⋆ 🗝️｡˚. . .♡

getting super deep into subspace because you were frustrated and sleepy and sometimes it just happens when john b isn’t present to help you out! you’d had a long day in particular, and fell asleep early on john b’s bed — your boyfriend draping the blanket over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and letting you rest. a couple of hours later, 3am to be precise — you wake once more, the boy sleeping next to you, and you just can’t get back to sleep.

your heads all hazy and fuzzy, you feel all pouty and needy — and your pussy aches and squelches with each move you make, clearly waking from a dream about the boy beside you. you sniffle, scrambling a little with the blankets, kicking them off as you roll up against john b, looking up at him and letting out a little whine, wanting him to wake up. he stirs, but rolls onto his back — not waking enough to notice you and you let out a sad little cry, fisting his tshirt harder and writhing against his body.

lucky for you, he’s a pretty light sleeper and he wakes up quickly, cupping the back of your head and squinting in the dim light. “wh’sup, hey— nonono, you crying?” he whispers, pushing up on his elbow.

“daddy…” you hiccup, and his brow creases. he knows what that voice means. he knows what daddy means. he sucks in a breath, pushing himself to sit up a little more.

“okay, okay— lemme just, lemme wake up a little more okay? i’m here. deep breaths.” he hums, low and raspy from sleep which only made you clench harder, but regardless you nod, sniffling and convincing your foggy brain to be a good girl.

“‘kay, coooome here. show daddy the problem, pup.” he hums once he’s forced himself awake, having shaken his head like a dog to eradicate the sleepiness quickly.

“s’sticky.” is all you manage to groan, high pitch and desperate against his shoulder as he pulls you onto him, your pyjama shorts sticking to you at your core from how wet you were.

“what even happened, hm?” he coo’s to no one in particular, immediately easing your shorts down your legs and you eagerly kick them off. “good job.” he quietly praises at this.

“just— don’t know, just need you.” you pant in his ear and he takes your hips, moving you to grind on his thigh.

“use your words bubba, can you please tell me what you want?” he speaks a little louder and clearer because you need something to cut through the haziness of your brain and give you direction. you let out a little cry at what he’s asked of you and he rubs your back, kissing the top of your head. “hey, i know you can.”

“need your dick, daddy. please?” you mewl and he tips his head back to the ceiling for a second, sighing out with a little smirk at how pretty it sounded leaving your lips.

“thats what you want? well thats what you’ll get, my puppy.”

ִ ۫ ּ 𓂅⋆ 🗝️｡˚. . .♡

#anon #john b prompt

765 notes · View notes

mikkomacko · 2 months ago

Text

Him and I - Soul Bound

Mob!Nico x reader

Warnings: some angst, but mostly cute. Mentions of death, of heartbreak.

Previous part

A/n: I apologize for how long this took me! I really really hope it was worth the wait haha. I’ll be editing and proofing later but wanted to get it out for y’all. Enjoy!

————————————————————————

Blinking softly, Nico breathes in the scent of your shampoo, the soft strands of your hair warm with each puff of air he exhales. Snowflakes scatter the streetlights coming in the bedroom window, the night clouds dumping snow on the ground. He thinks of you, contemplates waking you up so you can see it for just a moment. You love the snow, love how soft and quiet everything seems during the winter.

You’d love this storm. The flakes are big and fat, building up on the windowsill like something out of a movie.

Nico buries the tip of his nose further into your hair, restraining himself from rousing you. You need to sleep, need to get better so he can take you home. So that you’ll both get your normal lives back.

His thumb rubs circles over your hip, trying to soothe you while also lull himself back to sleep. He’s not sure what woke him. It could be the two wedding rings he has hidden in this bedroom, one that you’re very aware of. It could be the lingering bruises and cuts on your skin, marks that taunt Nico. Or it could be the fact that this entire trip has derailed his relationship with you.

He expected to leave here with a fiancée. Now he’ll be lucky if he leaves here with a girlfriend that still wants the pendant around her neck.

Swallowing heavily, Nico closes his eyes and pushes the thought out his head. You’ve picked him a million times over, he shouldn’t be scared that suddenly you wouldn’t do it again.

“Nico,” you murmur, voice just a whimper and it startles him. His body goes rigid, arms tightening around you and he cranes his neck to look down at the top of your head.

“I’m here darling, what’s wrong?”

Fingertips trail over your forehead, brushing out of place baby hairs away. You stir, heavy eyelids fighting to flutter open as his palm settles on the side of your neck, fingers lightly squeezing in encouragement. Fingers that can cause so much damage but touch you like you’re a precious pearl.

“I had a bad dream,” you finally whisper, shaken. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, guilt settling like a stone in his gut. Unable to look at you, he focuses back on the bedroom window.

“Got you,” he swears “I’ve got you baby, you’re ok.”

Your back shifts under his hands, ribs expanding as you inhale deeply and blow out a rattled breath. Then you do it again, the puff of air hot on his bare chest. Finally, you settle.

Not for long though. Shuffling, you push yourself up until you’re straddling his waist, weight heavy on his stomach and thighs but welcome. Knuckling at your sleepy eyes, you blink sluggishly at him.

“Why are you up handsome?”

He shrugs, smiling softly at the sweet name. Your fingers reach out for him, gentle and tickling as you push a strand of hair off his forehead.

“Was watching the snow fall and thinking about you.” Nico admits, voice just a whisper. Like a bolt of electricity has gone through you, you perk up, eyes brightening.

“Snowing?”

Pursing his lips to keep from laughing, Nico nods against the pillow. You duck your head down, rolling your lips inwards and trying to hide that beautiful smile from him. His heart swells with love, thumping painfully in his chest. Hands running up and down either side of your waist, he finally gives.

“Come on, let’s go outside.”

~~~~

It’s like a dream. The buttery glow of the street lights on the fresh snow, reflecting off your smiling cheeks that have turned pink in the cold.

The fabric of your snow pants swish as you waddle away from him, snow crunching loudly under both of your boots.

Clouds of fog dance in front of Nico’s eyes, thickening as he huffs and puffs after you. Stumbling after you, Nico lazily tosses the snowball in his gloved hands. It smacks you square in the back, and you squeal dramatically.

Nico stops as you whirl around, scooping up your own snowball and he hides behind his arms as you throw it into his chest. Flakes of snow drift up to his chin and cheeks, biting cold but he laughs anyway.

“Right in the heart baby?” He gasps, clutching at his pec. “Ouch.”

You pout, locking your hands together under your chin. “Oh no poor baby Nico.” You tease, a wicked grin morphing on your lips as you quickly scoop up more snow and run at him.

Tossing the half formed snowball into his stomach, you laugh evilly and try to duck around him. Luckily Nico has quick reflexes and manages to wrap his arms around you, lifting you up and swinging you in a circle.

Clutching at his hands and arms, you squeal and giggle, snow boots and legs drifting through the air. Nico keeps swaying you back and forth until his biceps burn from holding you and his stomach and cheeks ache from laughing.

“Cold?”He asks after your feet are back on the ground, the ice cold tip of his nose nudging your cheek.

“Yeah,” you pant out, still trying to catch your breath. The two of you haven’t gone far from the house. You’re still close enough that if any of the boys are light sleepers they definitely heard you laughing and play fighting. Not that Nico cares.

This is his house and he can do as he pleases on the property. Hell if he wanted to walk around buck naked he’s more than welcome to do so.

However, it is getting late (or early, he supposes) so he nudges you back towards the house with two hands on your waist. You move in silence alongside him, kicking snow off your boots on the porch before huddling into the entryway. Like a well oiled machine you seamlessly strip out of your snow clothes and layers, leaving them abandoned in heaps in front of the door to be dealt with in the morning.

Nico’s gotten down to his socks, a pair of boxers, and his shirt when you suddenly crowd into his chest, hands holding his face tenderly as you guide him down into a kiss. Like its second nature he holds you, arms snaking around your torso and lifting you to your toes so he can kiss you back.

It’s then that he realizes you’ve taken off almost everything, the only piece of clothing left on your body the soft pair of cotton underwear that brushes against his pinky finger.

Your skin is warm and soft, soothing against his thawing fingertips as he runs a hand up your spine, fingers gripping your hair.

Head fuzzy, Nico groans when you push your chest tight against his, sweetly nudging at his bottom lip with your tongue.

“Baby,” he murmurs gently, every part of him aching to just lay you down on the stupidly soft fur rug just across the way and have his way with you. But he can’t bring himself too, even if his dick is starting to thicken up in interest.

You must be able to tell by his tone, eyes fluttering open and swollen lips brushing against his. Gaze switching between his eyes, you stroke at the scruffy hairs of his beard.

“Are you ever going to stop looking at me like I’m hurt?”

It’s not accusatory. Or angry. Or even disappointed. Your tone is curious, like you’re simply asking him if he still likes coffee ice cream.

“You’re all healed up, I know.” He assures quietly, but earnestly. “And as badly as I want to make you feel good on me, I can’t until I’m certain that you’re all healed up inside too.”

Something warm and tender settles in your features, lifting the corners of your lips in a bittersweet smile.

“I know,” you whisper, slowly stepping back from him. He’s sure you’ve lost your top somewhere in the mess clothes beneath your feet, so he tugs off his own t-shirt, straightening out the sleeve. You duck your head down when he holds it open to you, helping you pull it down over your shoulders and torso.

Nico holds you again, desperate to feel you against him. His favorite thing in the world is getting to hold you close to him.

You lay your head on his shoulder, left arm squished between your two bodies and right hand innocently fiddling with the waistband of his boxers.

Bashfully, you say, “I don’t know how to be, though. I’m so mad at Timo, and I’ve never been mad at him before. And then I feel bad because I’m not mad you but I should be if I’m mad at him. But I don’t even know why I’m mad.”

Nico hums, swallowing thickly. You maybe should be mad at him. He knows he didn’t handle the situation well, knows he let his fear get ahold of him and he shut you down to protect you. Instead of using this as a chance to make you stronger and smarter, he put you in metaphorical bubble wrap.

“Yes you do,” he finally responds. “You just won’t say it because you don’t think it justifies how upset you are. But it does baby, and you have every right to feel that way.”

You sniffle. “Ok.”

He shakes his head fondly, amused by your lack of response and knowing that it simply means you’re really listening to him.

“But Timo has his own justifications for what he did and until you hear his side of it, you’ll both just be angry at each other.”

Your hand runs up his stomach, fingers cold on his skin and you teasingly pinch at the fat on his lower belly. “When did you get so smart?”

Looking up at him with twinkling eyes and an amused grin, Nico presses a soft kiss between your eyes.

“When I met you.”

~~~~

Nico’s arm is heavy on your shoulders as the two of you descend the stairs. It’s obvious that last nights snowy adventure has left you two exhausted if the dragging feet and yawns are anything to go by.

Chatter, the noisy clattering of pans and silverware travel from the kitchen. Sharing a curious look with Nico, you stop in the entryway and blink twice to make sure you’re not still sleeping.

Mercer is standing over the stove, a pan of bacon popping and sizzling in front of him. Luke is looming over the toaster, a loaf of bread in hand and a pile of toast stacked on a plate. At the bar top, Timo is elegantly slicing through tomatoes, carefully watching Alex in front of him who is doing his best to replicate Timo’s technique. And Jack sits with them, nimble fingers tearing apart a head of lettuce and laying the leafs out on a platter.

Mouth parted in shock, Mercer turns around, a spatula with greasy bacon in hand. He freezes when he spots you two, eyes wide and caught. You realize he’s wearing a white apron that reads “I ♥️ fondue” and wonder if it’s Timo’s or Nico’s.

“Morning sleepyheads.” He greets, bacon dripping grease onto the floor. Beside you, Nico sighs and drags a hand across his face.

“Mess, Merc.” He grumbles, more tired than annoyed or angry.

Mercer makes a noise of surprise, rushing to the island counter and laying the strips of bacon out on a platter. Nico removes his arm from you, grabbing the dish towel off the oven rack and moving to clean up the mess.

“Thanks boss,” Mercer grins, going back to his post at the stove. Nico grunts in acknowledgment, haphazardly throwing the rag into the sink as he heads towards the corner where the coffee pot is nestled.

One track minded for his morning caffeine, Nico putters around silently, dipping in and out of cabinets.

Rubbing your eyes, you look at the other boys. Jack is still going about his business of arranging lettuce pieces but he’s got a shit eating grin on his face, watching Nico intently. You already know he’s waiting for his boss to perk up so he can make some crude remarks or guesses at why the both of you slept in today.

Avoidant, Timo is locked in on the task of slicing tomatoes but you can tell he’s distracted. He’s slowed down, hands moving like molasses as if he’s putting more effort into not looking around than he is cutting vegetables.

Alex however, is watching you. He’s still holding his knife and half cut tomato in his hands, but they sit limp on the counter top. He angles himself towards you, gaze hesitant.

“I tried to make your matcha for you. It’s in the fridge. Not sure how good it is though.”

As usual, he just warms your heart. They couldn’t even make a cup of coffee for Nico, they’re boss, and yet Alex took the time to make you matcha before he started on breakfast BLTs with the rest of them.

“Thanks,” you smile, “M’sure it’s fine. If Nico can make it, anyone can.”

Now leaning against the counter next to Luke, Nico glares at you over the rim of his coffee mug. Even so he looks cute, all puffy eyes and messy hair, thick eyebrows pinched together.

You clear your throat, smiling drooping as you soak in how awkward it feels to be around all of them. How Luke still hasn’t said a word and that’s weird of him. Neither has Jack, and that’s so out of character it’s detrimentally concerning.

And poor Alex who looks like he’s just swallowed a buzzing alarm clock, who has never been holy at handling conflict between those he loves. Guilty, you’re moving before you can even think about it.

Timo must see you coming though because he drops everything in his hands, turning just right that you fit perfectly into the seam of his shoulder when you throw your arms around him.

He’s bigger than Nico, just a hair taller and a bit thicker, but the two of you are like pieces of the same puzzle. Different than you and Nico, but just as perfect.

The hug doesn’t say everything you need it to, but it says enough. You can tell by the way he sighs in relief, breath hot on the top of your head and he melts into you. Your fingers cling to his back, holding him tightly and desperately and it feels like the more you cling to him the tighter he squeezes you around the shoulders.

Closing your watering eyes, you puff out a weighted breath. “Please tell me you helped him make that matcha?” You whisper, just loud for Timo to hear. You can feel his laugh on your skin.

“Of course I did.”

~~~~

Picking at the sleeve of your cable knit sweater, you look from Nico to Timo, lips pursed. Your sat on the freshly made bed, legs crossed over each other in front of you and that teddy bear from Nico’s childhood bedroom resting by your feet.

Timo clears his throat uncomfortably, sat in the large windowsill across from the bed. The sky behind him is bright and blue, showing off after a night of dumping snow in the town. It hurts your eyes a bit to look at it, stabs at the tender spot behind your right eye.

Nico is slowly pacing by the side of the bed. Not anxiously or uneasy, but in a way that makes you feel both of those. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, the string of his hoodie bitten between his teeth.

Every once in awhile he looks up from his feet, looks at Timo like he can’t really decide what to do with him. Then he looks at you, and his eyes go all gentle and soft, and his lips lift just the slightest bit. Then he looks back at his feet and paces.

“Um Schoa?”

He stops, looks up at you expectantly. “Hi, wanna sit for a second?” You ask politely, patting the bed next to you. His brow furrows.

“Why?”

Laughing, you say, “So that I can hold your hand when I tell you that we don’t need a mediator.”

Across the room Timo chuckles. Nico’s head snaps over to glare at him and Timo hides his smile behind his hand, pretending to scratch above his lip.

Climbing to your knees, you shuffle to the end of the bed until you can reach Nico, taking his hands in yours. Your touch pulls his attention from Timo, gaze going tender as it falls on you. You almost melt at the way his head tilts ever so slightly and his thumbs rub at the back of your hands.

“I know that I just…”

“Just what?” You encourage.

His next breath comes out slow and calculated, eyebrows pinching ever so slightly as he thinks. “I’m trying to decide if I should make you two wait to do this and take you with me to Luca’s.”

The investigation (and subsequent interrogation) that had taken place after Lena and Marcello abducted you was officially completed a few days ago. Luca has been waiting for you to heal before he wanted to go over the run down and findings with Nico.

You know why Nico is so torn up about making you and Timo go. He’s trying to open the work side of the family to you, just as you’d asked him to do. He wants you to feel included, to know that he’s not trying to hide this.

But at the same time, you’re relationship with Timo is more important to you than knowing why and what happened that day in his grandfathers old house.

Besides, it makes your skin crawl thinking about having to watch security footage, hear stories and records taken during interrogation with Luca and the rest of the boys around. Probably Nina too, and whatever men they have tailing them.

Embarrassing, you decide. It would so embarrassing to look them in the eye after they’ve seen you at your weakest.

“I want to hear it from you,” you say, fingers tightening around his palms. “Just you, please.”

He reads you so well. Can tell immediately why you don’t want to go, that you only trust him enough to relive that day with him. No one else.

“Ok,” Nico agrees easily, right hand letting go of yours to cradle the back of your head. He ducks down and presses a comforting peck to your forehead. “I promise I’ll tell you everything we find, show you whatever you want after ok?”

He straightens out, smoothes his hand over the top of your head and looks to Timo.

“You’ll be updated too,” Nico tells him. “As long as you keep her safe and happy today, deal?”

Your best friend scoffs. “That’s literally my job description. Along with being hot.”

His words make you giggle, the sound so unexpected you press into Nico’s stomach to stifle the sound into his hoodie. You know better than to laugh when Nico is talking business, but sometimes those boys get the best of you.

And as much as Nico pretends it annoys him, you know he likes to see how happy the family makes you. You can tell by the way he softly tugs at the roots of your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you look up at him. He’s fighting back an amused grin when you do.

“Come on Schao,” you mumble. “Get outta here, it’s Timo time.”

~~~~

Snow crunching under your boots, you sip at your latte, wincing when the foam burns the tip of your tongue, but too impatient to wait for it to cool.

To the left of you, Timo has popped the lid off of his drink, swirls of steam billowing up into the frigid air and he’s cautiously blowing to cool the liquid down.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, the two of you strolling lackadaisically through the streets of town. After a moment he takes a deep breath, gloved hand shoving the lid back on his latte. He takes a sip.

“I’m sorry that I left you in the hospital that day,” he finally says, voice quiet like he’s unsure of what to even say. “I should’ve told Nico that you could handle it.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask, “or are you just saying that now?”

He frowns, lips pursuing. He looks like he’s fighting himself on what to say and you’re unsure if that’s a bad thing or not.

“When Nico came me to that day and told me he lost you, it was like the ground fell out beneath me,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how Nico kept his cool, but I mean he’s always been good at knowing what to do and when to do it.

“So when he said it wasn’t the best idea to let you at Lena and stuff, I trusted him-“

“You should’ve trusted me.” You cut in, the reminder of him picking Nico over you making your temper flare.

“I know I know,” Timo concedes, holding a hand out to stop you at the streets crosswalk. He checks both ways before nodding you along. “But I was scared and I just-I couldn’t-I didn’t trust myself.”

The sidewalk under your feet feels slick, and you reach out to link your arm through Timo’s. He’s sturdy, locking your arm under his bicep and slipping his hand into his pocket.

“What do you mean?”

Timo sighs heavily, breath shaking with the weight of it. “It was my job to train you, to prepare you to be Nico’s prinzessin and I failed. Somewhere along the way, something you were supposed to know didn’t click and I didn’t make sure that it did. And then all of this happened.

“I did this to you and Nico!”

He’s stopped walking now, angled himself towards you. His eyes are wet and red when they meet yours, the sadness in them colder than the winter temperatures.

“I had to side with him. It was the only thing that felt right after I screwed up so badly. You know Nico, he can fix literally anything.”

You wrench your arm out of his hold, rising to your toes and throwing it around his neck into a bruising hug.

Timo tucks his face into your shoulder, shoulders hunching down to meet your height. Blinking away the tears in your own eyes, you look up at the bright blue sky and focus on the puffy clouds drifting by.

“I had a panic attack,” you murmur weakly. “At the party. Nico and I were fighting, it felt like he was so far away and I just freaked. It was like I was on autopilot, I just went outside to catch my breath.”

You swallow thickly, choking back tears. “As soon as the world around me came back I realized what I did and tried to go back but-“

“Don’t say it,” he cuts off, voice strained and broken. “Don’t tell me how they hurt you.”

“I should’ve been ready,” you continue instead. “Everything they did I went over with you a million times. At least everything I can remember them doing. B-but it was like my head was exploding. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t see.

“My head hurt so badly. I could feel the instructions and lessons right there but nothing was clicking. All I could think about was Nico, how much I wanted him there.”

The air is colder on your cheeks now, and you realize it’s the wet trails of tears that burn. You tuck into Timo shoulders, wet eyelashes fluttering shut to hide from the world.

“I failed Timo. You and Nico prepared me, I just couldn’t do it.”

The arm around your middle squeezes, so tightly it takes your breath away. “That’s not true,” he utters, earnestly. “You didn’t fail. You showed all of us up, you got Luca to side with you. You got the boys out here.

“You showed me and Nico that you know how to lead, all on your own.”

His assurance is like warm water trickling on your head, trailing down into your bones. It’s soothing, calming to hear. Especially from him, from your best friend in the entire world. And he’s a people pleaser, he’ll tell anyone anything they want to hear. This, however, is sincere.

You can tell by the way he looks down at you after you’ve released him from your hug, baby blue eyes certain and steady.

He holds his arm out to you. “M’sorry I didn’t listen to you before.”

“I’m sorry I shut down on you,” you apologize, taking his arm like before. He nods down the street.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

~~~~

The room is so silent, Nico thinks he could hear snowflakes hitting the roof of the building if he really listened. If it weren’t for the sound of Holtzy breathing so shakily, angrily.

Nico knows the feeling.

The large display screen in Luca’s conference room has gone dark, reflecting a distorted image of them gathered around the table. Nico doesn’t really see that picture. No, he still sees Marcello tying to the chair, how harshly your limo body was thrown down and manipulated with rope. He can still see the way your head lulled, even after you woke up. The way you tried to move and he’s not sure if the bindings stopped you or the fact that you looked like you couldn’t even identify your own limbs.

He can still see the blood that smattered the floor when Lena hit you. Can see and hear the way you cried when Marcello touched you.

Nico never got the footage of the warehouse in Philly when you taken the first time. He had no way of accessing it, especially after he lit the place on fire. He’s thankful for that now.

If he can’t stand to see this, he would’ve died seeing that.

“All of that because she wanted Nico?”

It’s Luke who speaks up first, lips curled in disdain as he looks away from the screen to Luca. The older Hischier sibling looks guilty as he nods, bringing a fist to his mouth as he clears his throat.

“She wanted the business. And the only way to get that for her was through Nico.”

The phones they’d taken and unlocked from Marcello and Lena lay on the oak table in front of him, message threads pulled up. Nico doesn’t need to read them again. Doesn’t need to see another video, hear anymore audio. The story is clear cut.

Lena convinced Marcello that you were using Nico, that you wanted to infiltrate the family from the inside where’d you’d be able to take over both Luca and Nina’s territory.

Marcello believed her, spurred by the fact that they never saw you in a Devs pendant or with a ring. Because in the states, those marks are subtle and hidden. Yours is always tucked under your shirt.

Unlike in Switzerland, where a pendant is always flaunted, every outfit centered around the piece of gold.

And then they devised a plan. One carefully laid out in a text thread between the two the same night Nico took you to Luca’s bar. The same night that you had a run with Lena, apparently. Her friends said something to Luca about it, his camera picked up the moment in front of the bathroom, and Nina confirmed it.

Nico had no idea about it. Hadn’t even known his ex-whatever was even back in town. He can’t believe he didn’t notice. He’s usually so attentive, so analytic of his whereabouts. He’d let his guard down that night too. Because he was so happy to see his siblings, to see you fit right into that booth in the bar with his sister and at the pool table with Luca.

He remembers holding you that night in the bar. Loving and kissing on you in a way he doesn’t normally do in public. How he swayed you to his favorite song and held your waist when helping you line up the queue ball. The way he whispered stupid little things into your ear just to get you to giggle and curl into him, give him a reason to press sweet kisses to your neck and cheeks.

Lena most of noticed. Must of seen how fucking in love he is with you. He never took her to his family’s places, never played her any songs he liked, never tried to make her laugh.

It makes him nauseous to think that someone took that love and used it to hurt you. That she saw him with you and decided that was reason enough to put you in the hospital, to articulate a plan that would take you out of his life forever.

Because that was the intention.

It’s written out in front of him. Kidnap you, use you as bait to get a private meeting with Nico. And when he’d get there by himself, Marcello would have the barrel of his pistol to your temple and Nico would barely get to say your name before he’d pull the trigger.

And Lena would throw herself at him, threaten to turn him in for treason if he didn’t agree to get back with her. She’d tell his whole family how you were using them, say Nico was in on it, and that would be it.

“She should’ve killed her,” Holtzy mutters, and Nico can’t say he disagrees with him. There was a reason he was saving Marcello and Lena after their interrogation. He wanted to have the whole story before he decided what to do.

You took matters into your own hands though, and Nico now thinks that was merciful of you. Because he’d hurt them in ways they could never imagine if he had the chance to now.

All of this because Marcello couldn’t think to check around your fucking neck for a ring or pendant before he strangled you with Nico’s scarf.

“Alex,” Nina breathes in disappointment, lips parted like she wants to scold him or defend you letting Lena live.

“She should’ve,” Nico agrees, so angry it burns his skin, claws at his throat. “She should’ve fucking killed all of us. When we left her at that hospital, when we lied to her.”

He looks over at his boys, at Holtzy who’s always been so fiercely defensive and protective of you it rivals Nico. At Luke and Jack who tease the two of you, who tell you that you can do better and love to drive the two of you crazy but still flew out here last minute because they believe in you. And Mercer who’s always so immature and playful, goofing off and acting like he’s still the 17 year old kid Nico brought into Jersey.

Mercer who worked with you and Luca to execute your plan of revenge. He stepped up lead, got them all together on that flight, was your second in command. The boys took orders from him that day, same as you.

He’s proud of them. Nico is so fucking proud of this group of kids that you turned into men.

“But she did what she thought was best, not what she wanted,” he tells Holtzy. “And we have to trust and accept that.”

The room goes quiet again. Luca takes his seat at the head of the table, running his hands through his hair. Nico locks the stolen phones, stacking them on top of each other and putting them in his hoodie pocket. In case you want to see them.

“I’m retraining,” Luca sighs. “All of my men. In phases every section is going through boot camp again. So that this never happens again Neeky.”

Nico nods, flashing a quick but grateful smile at his brother. He doesn’t blame Luca for this. He knows how Lena is -was- how conniving and controlling. She was so good at always playing the victim.

“We want to have a party kind of thing for you all before you head back to Jersey,” Luca nods towards the younger boys. “End on a happier note. I’ll shut down the bar for a night, have security still but it’ll be safer. Better.”

Nico takes a deep breath, tries to shake off how exhausting this meeting was. “We’ll be there.”

Nina is tapping her fingers on the table top, gaze burning into the side of Nico’s head. He looks over at her, raises an expectant eyebrow.

“When are you gonna do it?”

It. Propose. Nico winces.

“Do what?”

“What are you doing boss?”

Nico thinks the Hughes brothers could be twins with how in sync they always are, how they seem to have the same thoughts. He could kill Nina for bringing this up in front of them.

“Not here,” Nico mutters, looking away when Nina groans in frustration.

“You fought to get her back just to bail! Come on Nico, I saw you that day! You can’t let this scare you off.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching as he tries to keep his tone in check. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to be reminded that the whole purpose of this trip got hijacked and now he’s returning to the states with not just one, but two engagement rings. Neither of which are on your finger.

“M’not gonna do this to her here, Nina.”

“Why not?” She presses. “What could be better? She loves it here, you heard her.”

His temper flares, exploding out of him like boiling oil. “No I heard her screaming and crying as she was tortured!

“I watched her fight for her life in a place she was supposed to be happy. So no I’m not pulling out a ring, and looking her in the eye and explaining that the picture perfect proposal she asked for was lost because I left her alone for five minutes, but please marry me anyway. Sorry I’m asking in my brother’s sticky bar.”

Nico’s chest heaves, angry puffs of air rattling out of him as he sinks back into his chair. He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands painfully for some kind of release.

He can feel the eyes of all them, watching him like he might start yelling again.

“Boss,” Mercer mumbles cautiously, “she’d still marry you, you know that.”

Nico sighs, nods. “Yeah I know. She told me she still wants to. I just-I have to do it right. And it’s not right anymore.”

“Neeky, you could pull out a ring pop in the bathroom of the bar and that girl would still say yes to you.”

Nina is right. He knows she’s right. You told him that as long as he had the ring and was on his knee, you’d say yes.

But that’s not the point. The point is that he wanted it to be a big deal. Something he planned out, put thought into every detail. He wanted you to see the intention. That way you know he’s doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

“I know,” he mutters, the sound of you calling yourself a Hischier on that tape echoing in his head. The last name isn’t officially yours yet, but it’s yours in every sense of the word. “It’s not about her saying yes, I know she’ll say yes. It’s about me…”

Showing her.

He has to show you. Because he’s not great at saying things. He’s better with actions.

“It’s fine,” Nico dismisses, “I’ll figure something out.”

~~~~

Kids laughing and chattering fills the air, echoing around the large skating rink. Timo had bypassed the skate rentals desk when you came in, instead guiding you straight towards the upper stands.

You don’t know why he’s bringing you here, or why he’s staying so far from the actual ice, but you follow him anyway.

The sound of skates scraping the ice flitters up into the rafters, and you glance over to find a group of excited kids skating messily around the rink.

Timo sits dead center in the row, holding down your seat for him and you gladly take it, propping up your half-drank latte on your thigh. You look down, watch the kids skate and notice a woman among them. Beautiful red hair in a thick and loose braid, a black and white skating costume on, the sleeves and pants glittering with gems under the bright lights.

“Nico and I learned to skate here,” Timo says, crossing his foot over his knee and relaxing back into his seat like muscle memory. You wonder how many times he’s come here, probably sat in this exact same seat for some reason.

“It’s a nice rink,” you say, looking over. He’s looking at the ice so intently you think his gaze might magically melt it, create little pools of slush. No, he’s not looking at the ice, you realize, he’s looking at her. At the beautiful red head that’s now gathering the children in a circle for stretches.

“When we were about 13, this girl moved here. Went to our school and everything. She got on well with Nico. We would come here after school everyday, when we were putting off assignments especially. Luca would buy us tickets for the train and we’d come with him because he skated better.

“One day she was here too. And it was like nothing, the way she’d just join us. Never hockey, but she’d skate with us. And she was so beautiful, that way she moved, the way she opened up when she got on the ice…”

His voice has gone soft, distant like he’s lost in this vivid memory of this old friend. You take in the lovesick look on his face, so clear even from just his side profile, and it clicks. He brought you here because that girl on the ice right now is the girl he’s telling you about.

The girl he’d left here. The one Nico briefly mentioned to you once, a few years back when you asked him why Timo, with his beautiful blue eyes and his sweet smile, never went out on dates.

“Timo’s heart is back in Switzerland,” Nico had explained. “His girl is still there, I think.”

You reach over, lay your hand over his in his lap and he blinks, his fingers relaxing under your hold. “Her parents didn’t like us. They knew about Nico and his family, about how I was training with him too. Nico’s grandfather wasn’t the nicest person, hell Rino and Katja are like saints compared to his grandfather.

“So they told her to stay away from us. But she didn’t. Everyday she got on the train with us, sat right next to me and would pull out this cucumber snacks her mother made. She always had them for me. And I started bringing her stuff too. Chocolate and sweets from around my house. She has a sweet tooth but her mother never let her have it. Said it would make her unhealthy.”

Timo laughed quietly to himself, like he still can’t believe her parents were like that. Or maybe at his own rebelliousness, how he went directly against them to make her happy.

“That’s really sweet Timo,” you murmur, smiling to yourself. You’ve known he was a big softie, could’ve guessed that he’d be even worse when in love.

“Yeah, it was. We dated for a long time after that. Snuck around behind her parents back, even though we know they knew. But it was fun. And I was like a puppy in love…”

Something sad settles over his features, glosses over his eyes and he sighs softly.

You fill in the next part for him. “And then you left to Jersey with Nico.”

Timo puffs out his cheeks, nods just once. “I asked her to come with. Told her I’d marry her as soon as we got there. And she agreed, was ready to give up everything, even her figure skating career to come with me.

“But she wasn’t 18 yet and her parents could use that to stop her visa. They told her she couldn’t go with, they forbid it. And they threatened to disown her too.”

You laugh humorlessly, familiar with the abandonment of family. It makes you sad to think of her not even getting the chance to pick. Yeah it broke you to have to make a decision between Nico and your loved ones, but at least you had the agency to make that pick. Her parents never gave her that.

“Every time I’m here I come see her. Beg her to come with me. She’s not close to her parents anymore, but she never got over that teenage fear. And she has a career and a life here now. One without me.

“How am I supposed to ask her to give that up?”

He’s looking at you now, eyes glossy and begging, and it breaks your heart. You had no idea how tormented by love Timo has been all these years. That every year when he makes his annual trip home he tears open old wounds just to see his teenage sweetheart that he never got over.

Answers. He wants answers from you because you had been her before.

You swallow thickly, frowning sympathetically at him. “Tell her that,” you advise. “Tell her how much it hurts you to ask her to give that life up. And if she really loves you, it won’t matter.

“It’s not exactly a sacrifice if what you’re getting in return is far better in the end.”

“Is that how it was?” He asks. “For you and Nico?”

It’s not even a question you have to think about, nodding as your lips curl into a loving smile. “Yeah it was. Nico told me he’d never want to make me choose, but my family wanted me to. And no one who really loves you would make you choose.”

Timo sniffles, blinking back his tears and turning back to the rink. “I don’t want her to pick, I just want her to be happy. And I know she loves me still. Every time I’m home we fall back into who we were when I left. Like no time has ever passed.”

You can’t help but ache for him. So you lean your head against his shoulder, hold his hand to let him know you’re here for him, always.

“You know, for being my best friend, you kept this from me for a long time.”

Timo chuckles, squeezing your fingers in acknowledgment. “I wanted her to myself for a bit longer. And I knew if I told you you’d come flying over here in that jet to get her to come to Jersey.”

On the ice, the beautiful red head looks up from her lesson, immediately finding Timo in the stands. You were right, this must be his spot in the rink, some seat of significance.

Timo lifts his free hand, waving at her and she effortlessly skates a little flourish, wiggling her fingers back at him with a smile so wide you can see it from all the way up here.

You and Nico have your love story, you decide, and now it’s time for Timo to have his too. Whether it’s convincing him to stay here with her or convincing her to come home with him, you’ll do whatever it takes.

#nico hischier #new jersey devils #mob boss nico hischier #nhl #him and i #him and i chats #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier au

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miscellaneousmao · 7 months ago

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Shaken or stirred? Fresh Berry Juice straight from the source on this fine day 🫐🥤 Even Shuckle can't resist when he needs a little pick-me-up, watch the video to the end to see his mini journey, the uncensored version 🤣🫣

#pokemon #nintendo #pokémon #food art #homemade #pokemongo #pokemon go #nerdy #pokemon foodblog #cute food #pokemon food #shuckle #ツボツボ

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muxshwriting · 5 months ago

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you and i (pt. i)

Simon Basset x bridgerton!reader

summary: as Daphne's twin, you were always second to her. but then you meet someone who is only yours, completely devoted to you. nothing will come between the two of you, it is just you and him || word count: 1260 || masterlist

Your twin sister Daphne was the diamond of the season, the belle of every ball and the woman that every suitor desired. You were the second born twin, the second option. Your sister had the pick of suitors so you had free reign of your sister's rejects.

Daphne practically drags you across the ballroom, attempting to avoid the bumbling Nigel Berbrooke once again. He was a horrible man, set on marrying a Bridgerton, either you or your sister. She glances back at you and behind you, accidently bumping into a man weaving the crowd the same way you were.

They traded apologies and you were perfectly fine to continue walking back to your brother but Daphne stayed still, glancing behind her at Lord Berbrooke who continued to follow the pair of you.

"Tell me your name."

"Am I honestly meant to believe you do not know my name?" The man asked, seeming annoyed at Daphne's insistence.

She glanced behind her once again, Berbrooke growing closer. Her eyes met your which were begging her to move along and find Anthony. She ignored you, laughing at an imaginary joke the man had told.

"If you required an introduction, madams, I do believe accosting me to be the least civilised of ways."

"Accosting you?" Daphne was surprised at the mans annoyance but you pulled her slightly backwards.

"I apologise for my sister." You hurriedly said. "We were simply trying to find our brother."

Speak of the devil and he may come, Anthony appeared behind you, calling to the man in front of you.

"Basset. Basset!"

The man's mood immediately shifted. "Bridgerton!"

"I heard news of your father. Deuce take it, you are no longer Basset. Hastings! The Duke of Hastings, now known for evermore." Anthony teased.

Daphne stepped into the conversation, once again dragging you behind her. "The Duke of Hastings is it?"

The Duke turned to face her, but met eyes with you instead as you lifted your head from the floor. His expression seemed to soften for a moment before Anthony spoke again.

"Right, Hastings, these are my sisters."

"Your sisters?" He seemed surprised but brushed it off.

The Duke's eyes kept flicking back to yours as Anthony spoke further. You didn't hear any of it, taken by the Duke's imposing presence. As you walked away, you glanced back to find the Duke staring directly at you. For once, it was you and not your sister that was being looked at. It felt nice, a warmth settled in your chest that could not be shaken off no matter the storm.

And boy does that storm arrive at the very next ball when your sister walks through the crowd, Duke on her arm. They begin to dance and you stand there speechless. Daphne hadn't expressed an inkling of interest in this man and now she was dancing with him, staring lovingly into his eyes as he returned the gesture. What was going on? The rest of the evening passes quickly, a suitor or two asking you for a spin around the floor but none caught your attention. You don't truly process what happened until you're home and preparing for bed.

"Are you courting the Duke?" You burst through the doors to your sister's bedroom.

Daphne seems startled by your suddenness. "It would appear so..."

An unfamiliar feeling stirs in your chest. "Anthony says he does not wish to marry." Daphne hums in response, taking pins out of her hair. "Why do you court him then?"

She shrugs. "He intrigues me. Perhaps he can be changed."

"You haven't seemed interested in him before."

Daphne turns to you, a worried and slightly confused look in her eyes. "Is there something you wish to tell me sister?"

"I-" You aren't sure what to say, you aren't even sure what Daphne is asking. "No! I'm just worried for you. There is nothing I need to tell you."

"Alright... Good night sister."

"...Goodnight."

The season drags on, much to your disappointment. Daphne continues to court the Duke, attracting more suitors than ever. The news of a Prince reaches town and Daphne seems weirdly excited about the prospect of meeting this Prince. The more you thought, the more confusing it became. Your sister and the Duke were courting but she showed no deeper interest in him, nothing more than the surface level conversational skills we were taught to secure a suitor.

Your eyes catch the Duke's at nearly every ball he attends and when your sister comes to stand beside you, The Duke always stands between you. You cannot make any assumptions based on foolish hoping but your heart hopes and it hopes dearly.

Nevertheless, your sister has captured the attention of a Prussian prince, Fredrich. He's devoted to her and she is besotted with him, Duke be damned. They dance as many times as possible at balls, talking and laughing together at every chance they get. The Duke is neglected, attending fewer balls and remaining at the edges of rooms when he does.

It's at one of these balls that he did attend where your watching Daphne dance with the Prince. Simon emerges through the crowd to stand beside you. Your mother is on the other side of the room with Lady Danbury, your brothers nowhere to be seen.

"Miss Bridgerton-" He seems to second guess himself halfway through the sentence. "May I have this dance?"

You can't help the stunned expression that takes over your face. "M-Me? You wish to dance with me?"

He smiles warmly and your soul silently celebrates. "Yes, if you do not mind?"

The smile that covers your face could rival the sun with it's joy. "Please."

Couples filter on and off the dancefloor and the Duke takes your hand, guiding you to the centre. He takes a step towards you until you feel his breath on your cheek. He spins you once, pulling away as he seems to realise where he is. Your breath hitches as his bare hand brushes your gloved one. Then, all too quickly, the dance is over and you leave Simon and the dancefloor, rushing outside for some fresh air.

It feels as though you can barely breath, despite seeing your breath mist in the cold night air.

"Miss Bridgerton!"

Simon is behind you, having come outside to check you were alright. His presence warms you but you shake away the feeling. It's wrong to love your sister's suitor.

"Don't come closer." Simon nods, even taking a step away. "We are not doing this. You are an infamous rake." Simon goes to interject but you continue to speak. "And least of all, you are courting my sister."

Simon sharply inhales. "I am not courting your sister."

"What?" The exclamation leaves your lips before your brain catches up, spinning to face him. "What do you mean you are not courting Daphne? You dance together, you sent her and Mama flowers, you are courting!"

"I was simply helping her find better suitors whilst making myself appear unavailable. It was a ruse, nothing more."

"What of my sister?"

"I do not love your sister." Simon states. "I love you. Besides, your sister is besotted with a prince, our ruse has succeeded and therefore ended. Why would she marry a lowly Duke when she could have a prince?"

Your voice drops to a whisper. "What does this mean... for us?"

Simon smiles. "I'm here if you'll have me. Please-"

You smile shyly at him as you speak your dreams into existence, "My Duke?"

Simon's heart soars. "Your Duke." He quietly agrees.

I did not mean to but I have written a pt. 2 to this which I'll edit and publish next week. season 3 part 1 has got me back in a bridgerton mood, so i will be binging all of part two in a single day

#simon basset x reader #simon basset #the duke #bridgerton!reader #bridgerton #muxsh #muxshwriting

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luveline · 10 months ago

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hey! would you mind writing sirius black x reader (ole flame or something) when they meet for the first time since azkaban at a meeting for the order? thank you and happy holidays!

thank u for requesting, hope this is OK! ♡

—you and sirius both get to go home eventually, 2.2k. fem

You were still kids when Sirius… went away. You thought he hurt James and Lily, and it didn't matter that you loved him because he was evil and cruel and he hurt the people he loved most in the world, and then you were outposted thousands of miles eastward, your life a shadow.

Remus sent you letters. You always answered, even when it hurt, but his last was too much to believe. You told yourself that someone forged his handwriting through a curse or some new gimmick, and then a second arrived with a smaller envelope hidden inside.

No name written on it. No Dear anything to begin.

Things are different to what you've been told. Please come home, it said. This penmanship was shaken like a hand out of practice, but something felt familiar in the curves and dots.

If Remus’ letter (and the second smaller one too) were in fact telling the truth, it means you did something awful, and so, for a while, you don't go.

Please, the next letter says, again enclosed within a larger explanation from Remus, I'm sorry. I just want to see you again.

Getting home isn't as simple as he might think. You have to picture the destination very clearly to disapparate, and you have no sustained recollection anymore of the places you used to go. You remember silly things, slices of memories; the four of them laughing in a big green field, the sweet smell of hair oil to your left; the beige walls of a rented flat where you'd lay in bed for hours, sometimes days at a time, before things got too terrible to sleep; a string-lit garden that last summer, hands of poker on a glass table. These places aren't real anymore. You can't go back to them.

Upon your request, Molly forwards you an address and a secret code.

Trains, buses, trains again. A long walk through a cold street. Some secret this or that. You arrive in the night and a frowning face ushers you in, past a painting sealed away and up the creaking stairs. You spend hours sitting on the end of a bed coated in dust waiting for the sun to rise, your back stiff with nerves. You could slip out before anyone else knows you're here, it's not as if Moody would give you away. But why did you come, if you were going to run straight back to your outpost?

You don't want Sirius’ betrayal to be true, of course. It took your breath away imagining what it would mean if he hadn't done what you thought. If it's all lies (as it seems to be), if he's innocent as he and Remus claim, it means you turned your back on him and left him to suffer, and he's still asking you to come home.

A few people stir for breakfast. Molly, who's voice you remember, and some younger sounding ones that may be her children, or perhaps the newer Order recruits. Then comes Remus’ voice. He sounds different. Less Welsh, more tired. Homely anyways as he passes your door with someone beside him.

“...any day now,” he's saying, “try not to worry.”

“I do worry. I've worried about it every day for years.”

You freeze up.

The stairs creak, Remus’ voice moving further away. “She doesn't need worrying.”

Sirius must stay at the top of the stairs for a moment. He sounds close. “I wouldn't know what she needs.”

“Come have some breakfast.”

“I'll write her again.”

“After breakfast.”

“What if she doesn't come?”

“After breakfast,” Remus insists. “She can ignore you once we've had toast.”

“I forgot how funny you are,” Sirius mutters.

Hearing his voice fills you with doubt. He sounds nothing like he used to, no easy confidence to be heard, just fatigue.

You look down at your hands. Hearing his voice has a new emotion sprouting, too. When you first learned what had happened to your friends, you felt anger like a knife everywhere you went. How could he do that to them? How could he do it to you, be that person, ruin everything you'd loved and made together? But later, when anger faded and grief ached, you'd missed the Sirius you loved. Shamefully, in longing pangs, you'd toss and turn to dreams where things were different.

Now there's a chance he might still be that person, and you're hiding from him in his own house.

“There's someone here,” Molly says as you leave your room, her voice nearly too quiet to hear from the kitchen. “Moody's told me this morning.”

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Who?” a younger voice says.

A small intermission of quiet. “Well, I don't know,” Molly says eventually, though she must have guessed it was you from the letter you sent. “But I'll need another loaf of bread. You'd better go, boys.”

“Mum,” one whines.

“Come on now.”

The stairs whimper as you descend, the bannister sticky with old gloss under your hand. Paisley wallpaper and drapes catch your eye as you pass the overflowing shoe rack. There must be more people here than you'd thought. The coat stand is similarly overloaded.

You can see into the kitchen as soon as you take the last step down. Molly stands wringing a dish cloth between her hands, two teenage boys at the kitchen table. Remus stands near her right with a cup of tea, and when he sees you, he genuinely smiles.

“Oh, good,” he says, the scar that bisects his lip pulling as he takes a sip of tea.

The teenagers turn to see you. “Bread, boys! Arthur, you can go with them," Molly says.

Arthur doesn't complain. You falter in the hallway, quiet as the trio of Weasley's leave the kitchen in their slippers to take a quiet exit from the front door. They smile politely as they go, but the boys whisper as the door shuts behind them. You wonder if they have an inkling of who you are, and then you wonder what you might say now they're gone.

Molly remains, inquisitive to know that you need privacy but also the security of her company. She was always smart like that.

“Come in, then,” Remus says.

“I–” You clear your throat. “I'm not sure I should.”

A startle of silverware against china.

Remus gives you one of his looks. It has tears threatening to well. Why didn't I fight to see him more? you think. Suddenly years have passed and he's changed, but his reassuring glances remain. It's like he's saying everything is fine, why wouldn't everything be fine? Chin up, dove.

Sirius appears in the doorway. Dark circles beneath grey eyes, his cheeks gaunt with hunger rather than the sleek sharpness he once possessed. He's still pretty, if wounded. It's as though you've found an old photo of him that's been smudged with age. He's stepped out of one of your moulding albums to haunt you.

“Angel,” he breathes, his hand clasped low on the doorway, “you're here.”

You look past him to Molly and Remus. There isn't a reality nor dimension where they'd let him stay here if they didn't believe his innocence. Remus explained it all in the letter and still you worried if he might have gotten it wrong, and simply believed what he wanted to believe, but it's not possible. Remus loved James so much, he would've killed Sirius himself if he really thought Sirius was the secret keeper who betrayed them.

So. It's a relief to be home.

You stare at him. “You look tired,” you say quietly.

“I'm fine. I am.”

He seems alright, considering. You'd even say he was handsome with his hair pushed away from his face, a dark shadow of stubble around his mouth, but he looks exhausted.

You're expecting him to say what you'd say. How could you ever think I'd do it?

Sirius was prone to similar bouts of pride, or righteousness, justice, whatever you want to call it, but he doesn't bother with that now. He looks at you as though you're the only person on earth, gaze narrowed but eyes wide, pain between his brows as he asks, “What's wrong?”

Your hand finches up to your cheek to wipe the sudden tear away. “I thought I'd never see you again.” Your Sirius.

“Don't be upset,” he pleads.

“How can I not be? I left you all alone for so long.”

He laughs roughly. “Sweetheart, what were you supposed to do?”

“Not just give up.”

“You thought it was me. That's the only thing you could've done. Either of you,” he says, gesturing backward with his hand. “It was hard… to know who to trust, at the end. It's not your fault.”

You really were only kids together, not half as in love as James and Lily, but that doesn't mean you weren't mad for each other. He looked after you. You would've had a life, you think.

“You were just gone,” you say, looking down at the floor between you, eyes tracing lines of wood grain. “Everyone. There was nobody left. And I just let you go.”

“Do you want to come here?” he asks. You lift your head. His hand is barely in front of him, fingers open, palm up.

It's like taking a stranger's hand for the first few seconds. You keep them low between you both, unfamiliar to each other. But, you find, as his fingers wrap around yours in that selfish way they used to do, squeezing rather than intertwining to make all of them fit, he remembers you.

You step a little closer, your arm to his chest, and look up at him through your lashes. It would melt him like a candle near a furnace, this look. He'd be smug or seething about something and you'd sidle in to stand between his shoes, unsure of what to say but determined to be there for him. It's the same now.

“What's wrong?” he asks under his breath.

“I left you all alone,” you repeat.

“It wasn't your choice, okay?” He smooths his free hand from your elbow to your upper arm.

Molly says something to Remus. He chuckles and says something in return. Happier to admit it if it's only for Sirius’ ears, you say, “I'm really sorry, Sirius. I miss you every day.”

“I miss you too,” he says.

You push your arms around his waist and hide your face in his chest, feeling for the lines of who he used to be, the dip of his spine in his back or the soft cotton of one of his old t-shirts. You regret hugging him at all, until he puts his arm behind your head, a shaky breath released against your crown.

I'm scared, he'd said. But I don't want you to be scared, okay? Barely twenty, he smelled of the sticky red powder on the end of matches after a night doing things he couldn't tell you about. You could tell him you loved him, and he you, but you weren't to discuss Order business. We'll be okay.

But Lily–

Everyone's going to be fine. I promise.

“You promised,” you say to yourself. Too quiet for him to hear, but he does.

“I promised you so many things I'm not sure what one you mean,” he says with a disappointed laugh.

You pull away, taking his face into two hands. “How do you feel?” you ask, ignoring the tremble working up from your wrists.

“What?” His eyes are dark.

“How are you? Did they– I mean, are you okay? Are you sick?”

“Remus has patched me up. And Cordelia, the medwitch, you know her?”

“I don't know anyone. I've been away.”

He nods sadly. “Yeah. Well, you look the same.”

“I don't.”

“You do! You look the same,” —he almost sounds happy, his lips curling into a smile— “sweetheart. Sweetheart–” He closes his eyes.

You push his hair behind his ears. “You don't look the same,” you confess, “you have wrinkles, right… here.” You touch the corners of his eyes.

“You're still beautiful.”

“Mm. You can't even see me.”

“I don't need to see you. I knew you would be.”

You rise up to kiss his cheek gently. “It's like you're back, like– like, I always felt like you were gone. And now you're home again. You are home, aren't you?”

He covers your hand with one of his. “You're here, so–”

You laugh together nervously. “Yeah, I'm here.”

“I have stuff to do to make it right.”

“Then we'll do it.”

“Okay,” he says. He swallows a breath, and wraps you in a surprisingly tight hug. “Did you read my letters?”

I don't want anything from you. Just to see you're okay.

“I read them. I'm okay. Don't I look okay?”

“You look perfect. Just like the last time I saw you,” he says. It startles you how suddenly he sounds like he did when you were young, his flirting drawl, voice velveteen.

“Not like that,” you laugh.

He pulls you as close as you can be, rough now, his arms solid around you. “I missed that,” he says, rubbing your back. “I forgot how you sound when you laugh.”

You've led very different lives. “I didn't forget yours.”

“You wouldn't. You love having things to hold against me.”

You stroke his hair. “Maybe a little.”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

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