#i could NOT think of anything to write for it. so it was a challenge!

[fireinmoonshot]

love that lasts | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of all life from the universe, he also took you from Joaquín. Five years later, he is still trying to learn how to live without you – until the Avengers can save the world. Warnings: Google Translate is my best friend – apologies if the Spanish is used incorrectly in this fic, I do not speak it but I tried my best to make sure I used words properly. Mentions of bad mental health, nightmares. It's very angsty at the start, has a bit of fluff, but mostly full of angst. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched Infinity War and Endgame last week and came up with this idea. Since we know that Joaquín survived the snap, I decided I wanted to write something angsty about where you didn't survive and this was born. This was the most challenging fic for Joaquín I've written so far but also the most rewarding, I think. I know everyone's really moved on from the whole Infinity War/Endgame thing regarding fics, but I really wanted to write this so I hope people will enjoy it. The title of the fic comes from 'Still' by Noah Kahan – I had his album on repeat almost the entire time I was writing this.

Joaquin Torres always knew that the Avengers were going to save the world. From the moment that half of all life on Earth had disappeared, he knew that whatever had happened, the Avengers would somehow find a way to fix things. 

He just didn’t count on it being five years later.

There had been one good thing that had come out of him not being blipped, though – the fact that his mom hadn’t been either. If he’d had to live without her, he’s sure he would have gone insane. Because it was hard enough to live without you.

He’d spent days wishing that he’d been taken too. The first few days had been the worst. He’d been unable to leave the house, having to learn to grieve you when he wasn’t even sure if you were dead or just gone. 

He remembered every moment of that first day like it was yesterday. How he’d just arrived home from going to pick up some takeout for the two of you and he’d seen his neighbour turn to dust in his front yard while he’d been outside gardening, making the most of the evening light. He thought he must have just been seeing things.

He’d walked through the front door of your home and called out your name, heading into the kitchen to put the take out down before he went to find you, feeling more than confused. Then you’d appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and Joaquin had been flooded with relief.

“I’m home, angel, I have the takeout in the kitchen, come get yours” Joaquin called, starting to get the take out from the bags. “Hey, have you seen anything weird on TV today?”

“Joaquin…”

He’d looked up at you, then, just soon enough to see you say his name as you slowly started to turn to dust in front of his eyes. The blanket that had been wrapped around your shoulders fell to a pile on the floor as Joaquin stared at where you had been standing only seconds earlier. 

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice was small, hesitant. He put the container down that he’d been holding and walked towards the doorway, half expecting you to be hiding behind the wall, ready to jump out and scare him. It’d been a trick of the light, something like that. But all that was left of you was the blanket on the floor and your phone which had fallen on top of it.

He’d fallen to the floor, grabbing the blanket in his hands and holding it to his chest for what felt like hours as the feeling of numbness overtook him. The blanket still smelled like you and he never wanted to let it go.

Whatever was happening, whatever had happened to your neighbour and to you… there was nothing Joaquin could do about it. He wasn’t an Avenger, he wasn’t anyone special. He knew in that moment that he was going to have to live with it. That fact alone could have killed him.

His knees went numb after kneeling on the floor for so long but he couldn’t find it in himself to pull himself up from the floor. Not even when the sun finally set and the house was blanketed in darkness. The food on the counter had long gone cold. It was only when your phone, sitting in his lap, buzzed, that he’d been pulled out of his stupor. His mother was trying to ring you. She’d thought Joaquin had been taken when she couldn’t get a hold of him, but the second he answered your phone, she knew that you were gone.

Joaquin had stayed with his mother for a while after that, not being able to bring himself to be in the house without you there. There were memories of you in that house everywhere he looked. The sheets still smelled of you, all of your things were still in the cupboards, every time he opened up Netflix, your profile was there. Everything was there except for you. 

“You could always sell the house and move back home with me properly, mijo,” his mother had said. “It’s not smart to be paying your mortgage on that house when no one is living in it.”

He shook his head. “I know it’s not smart, mamá, but I just can’t. We bought that house together. We were making a life there. I can’t even bring myself to move her things, how could I sell the place and clear everything out?” 

His mother reached across the table and placed her hand over Joaquin’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll stay here until you’re ready to go home.”

“I don’t know if it will ever really be home without her, mamá,” Joaquin said honestly, meeting her eyes. His were full of tears, as they were most days since you’d gone.

There was no hesitation as his mother stood up from the table and walked around to him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him into a hug. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “She was the love of your life. Just like your father was the love of mine. You don’t have to move on like she never existed, mijo. Time will continue to pass and she will continue to be with you, even when you cannot see her.”

Joaquin sniffed, holding his mother close as he cried. “I really love her, mamá,” he murmured, not really expecting her to hear him since his voice was so muffled.

She did, though. Gently rubbing his back, she closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh. “I know you do. I loved her too, mijo. Just like she was my own,” she hummed. “Don’t lose hope. She will return to you one day, I believe that. Your soulmate will find you wherever you are, in any life.”

As the years went on, Joaquin started to believe that this was the way it was always going to be. The Avengers had not saved the world like he thought they would. And he was going to have to learn to live the rest of his life with only memories of you. Like his mother had said, time continued to pass, no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t.

The world changed. He changed. Things became darker and he became darker with them, though he desperately tried to keep the spark alive in his chest – if only because he knew that was what you’d want him to do. You would want him to still be the same Joaquin that you’d loved, but how could he be that person without you?

He threw himself into his job, working day and night to try and keep himself afloat. It seemed strange to be doing such mundane things in a world that was so different. To have to keep earning money to pay the mortgage of your house. To have to get out of bed every morning and shave. To have to make food for himself to eat during the day. To have to go to the grocery store to get milk for breakfasts and coffees.

Five years had passed slowly. Joaquin had made it through them relatively unscathed, with a few mental scars here and there. Every day he was grateful that he still had his mom. That she was there to comfort him when the days were hard and that he was still alive to be there for her as well. If she’d been alone through all of this, it would have broken Joaquin’s heart even more.

When he eventually moved back into your home, every time he cooked dinner it was like you were in the room with him. He could feel your hand on his back as he cooked, your arms around his waist as he washed the dishes. It was like you were still there with him, but then he’d blink and the memories were gone, washed down the sink with the water he drained.

He still cooked enough food for two people before realising it was only him. For a while, he could never bring himself to eat the second serving, until times got harder and he couldn’t afford to waste anything. 

He would be laying in bed at night and he could swear he could feel your arm draped across his side. He could feel the ghost of your kisses on his lips. Your side of the bed was empty every night and yet, he could never bring himself to wash the pillowcase you’d once slept on for fear of the way you smelt disappearing entirely, forcing him to lose another part of you. He couldn’t lose anymore of you.

His friends who had survived the blip had suggested that he put himself back out there. Go on a date, find someone new. There were plenty of stories of people who had gone to support groups after losing loved ones and had found new love there. The likelihood of everyone who had been blipped coming back was slim to none, so why not? But Joaquin could never bring himself to let you go. Even just thinking about going on a date with someone else filled him with guilt. People had tried to set him up on dates but he had never gone through with actually going on any of them. 

His mom was the only one who understood. Even if it meant that her baby would never be able to give her the grandchildren she’d wanted for so long, it didn’t matter to her. She had loved you like you were her own child. All she wanted was for Joaquin to be happy and for some miracle to bring you back to him so that he could be. But even she had lost hope after the past five years that anything could bring you back to him. 

And then… the Avengers saved the world.

~~~

That morning, Joaquin is sitting in a coffee shop – one that had been your favourite before you were gone. He’s missing you a little more than normal this morning and had decided that a good way to feel like he was with you would be to come out and spend time at a place you loved. He’s taking a sip of his coffee when someone suddenly appears in the chair opposite him.

Joaquin almost chokes on his drink, coughing a little as he looks at the man in front of him. He hadn’t walked in from anywhere, he hadn’t been in the coffee shop before. He’d just… appeared. What the hell was going on?

“What the…” the man says, looking around the coffee shop with a confused and haunted look in his eyes. “You’re not my wife… I was just sitting here with her… Where is Sylvia?”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. For a moment he wonders if the man is just confused, maybe there’s something wrong with him mentally and this is his way of asking Joaquin for help… but then, on the table in front of him, his phone lights up and starts to ring.

The contact photo is of you and the name on the screen is yours.

He drops his coffee, spilling a little on the table as he reaches for his phone. His hands are already starting to shake. A part of him thinks this must all be a cruel joke. Someone has broken into your house and stolen your phone, or there’s some kind of technological glitch. But another part of him, the part that is still hoping after all these years, truly believes that when he answers the phone, your voice will be the one he hears on the other end of the line. 

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice is hopeful as he holds his phone up to his ear and presses the answer button. “Is that you?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Joaquin’s stomach drops. But then he hears it. “Joaquin… where are you? What’s going on?” Your voice – your voice on the other end of the line. It’s real. By some miracle, you’re home. “You were just unpacking the takeout and then…”

“Angel, just stay there, okay? I’m coming home,” Joaquin says to you, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he stands up. “I’m so sorry, sir. You should call your wife,” he mutters to the man still sitting on the chair opposite him, looking confused.

He takes off at a run, almost running straight into a few people walking through the door of the cafe. He doesn’t hang up the phone the entire time he’s running home, just grateful that your favourite coffee shop is within walking distance of your house. He’s grateful that he wasn’t driving – he doubts he’d be able to focus on the road properly, knowing that you’re home and waiting for him.

Joaquin runs faster than he’s ever run in his entire life. His throat hurts from his heavy breathing and the air rushing in and there’s a stitch forming on his side. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, owing to the sweater he’d put on this morning and the pace at which he’s running. But he’s not going to stop or slow down for even a second until he gets to you.

Once he reaches your street, he pushes himself to run even faster. He can see your house in the distance and he hopes he’s not dreaming as he runs towards it. He doesn’t think he can deal with the pain of walking inside the house and not seeing you inside again. 

He’s breathing heavily as he reaches the front door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He doesn’t even notice his neighbour in the front yard, the one he’d seen disappear five years ago, standing right where he’d disappeared, holding his wife close.

Joaquin doesn’t manage to get the key in the front door before it’s pulled open, his hands shaking too much with adrenaline. His head snaps up and his eyes fall on you, your hand on the door handle and your cheeks tear-streaked as you look at him.

“Oh, dios mío,” Joaquin mutters, instantly stepping inside the door and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly to his chest, worried that you’re going to disappear from his arms for good this time. “Are you real? Are you actually here? I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Your hands fist the fabric of his sweater as he holds you close. Whatever happened, you don’t really know yet, but what you do know is that Joaquin is acting like he hasn’t seen you for years. The house looks the same, you’d noticed, as you’d walked around before Joaquin came home and you heard the sound of his keys at the door. But something is off.

“I’m real, Joaquin,” you murmur into his ear. “You’re not dreaming. But I don’t know what’s going on… where did you go? You were unpacking takeout and then you were gone.”

Joaquin pulls away from the hug but still keeps his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. He can’t bring himself to let go and he fears it’s going to be that way forever now. “Angel, it’s… it’s been five years since I last saw you. Thanos… he wiped out half of all life in the universe… you were– you were gone.” Tears start to fall down Joaquin’s cheeks and he doesn’t realise until your hand moves to gently swipe them away. He leans into your palm, finding comfort in the feeling of your warm hand on his cheek. “But the Avengers… whatever they did brought you back to me. It was them, I know it must’ve been.”

He internally curses himself for ever doubting them.

“Five years?” You frown, eyebrows knotting together as you try and piece things together in your mind. For you, it had just been like you’d blinked and things had changed but for Joaquin… it had been five years. Five years without you, and yet when you’d called… he had literally come running. “I was gone for five years?”

Joaquin nods, reaching one hand up to wipe the tears from your own face. He can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for you to come back and not find him anywhere, for you to be alone in the house. He’s more grateful than ever now that he never tried to sell the house. If you’d come back and an entire new family had been living in your house…

“They were the hardest five years of my life, angel,” he says softly. “I thought that you were gone forever.”

You look at him for a moment, a little confused. “But you still live here… you still kept my number in your phone… you– Joaquin, you came running to me when I called… what have you been doing for the last five years?”

Joaquin’s heart cracks a little in his chest. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for you.” 

With that, he can’t bring himself to maintain his self control any longer. The hand that had wiped the tears off your cheeks gently holds the back of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. You reciprocate immediately. Five years of wanting, five years of waiting for something he was sure was never going to come… a kiss five years in the making. Joaquin is surprised he was able to hold off for so long. He’s never going to take advantage of kissing you ever again. 

~~~

A little later, you and Joaquin sit on the couch in the living room. Your hands are entwined, legs tangled under a blanket in front of you. It had taken a while to pull yourselves from the doorway. You were both in a little bit of shock – Joaquin in shock that you were finally back here after five years, you in shock that you had been gone that long.

“You really never dated anyone at all in the last five years?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder as one of his fingers draws patterns on your palm that slightly tickles. 

Joaquin looks down at you and sighs. “Believe me, my friends tried to make me. They even set up a couple of dates for me to go on, but I never went on any of them. I just couldn’t bring myself to get out the front door.”

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”

“Because none of them were you, angel.”

He gives your hand a squeeze and you snuggle closer into his side. You’d been insecure in your relationship at times – five years ago – but you knew you could never be insecure about it anymore. How many other people could say their partner had waited five years for them on a sliver of hope that they’d come back after disappearing from the universe? 

In his pocket, Joaquin’s phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and smiles as he sees his mothers contact on the screen. “I’ve got a phone call for you, mi amor.” He hands the phone to you and his heart warms as he sees your smile upon seeing who’s calling. “I think she almost missed you more than I missed you.”

You take the phone off of Joaquin and instantly hit answer, holding the phone up to your ear. “Suegrita,” is all you say and even though Joaquin isn’t holding the phone, he can already hear his mothers cries on the other side of the line. 

He motions for you to put the call on speaker. 

“Mamá, you told me not to lose hope,” he says, taking advantage of a moment of silence from the other end of the line while his mother isn’t sobbing. He’s already planning to go and see her as soon as possible – especially when she’s like this.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his mothers sobs on the other end of the line, and then she speaks. “You bring her home to see me soon, mijo!” She exclaims to Joaquin. “Mi querida niña, you do not understand how happy I am that you are home with your love.” Her words are directed at you now.

There are already tears streaming down your cheeks at her words. “You must have taken really good care of him these past five years for me, suegrita,” you sniff. “Thank you for looking after him when I couldn’t.”

Joaquins arm wraps around your shoulders and squeezes tightly. 

“I knew you would come home to him one day, querida,” his mom says. “Soulmates will find each other in life no matter what comes between them. I told him that years ago.”

His mother only hangs up after Joaquin promises that he’ll bring you around to see her tomorrow. You know you’re going to need to prepare yourself for plenty of hugs and kisses from her, and even though for you it’s only been a matter of weeks since you’ve seen her, it’s been five years since she saw you. It’s going to take a while to get used to that fact. 

“Mamá took good care of me, angel,” Joaquin says, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “I don’t know what I would have done without her here. I cried in her arms more than I can count over the past five years.” 

You frown, moving until you’re straddling Joaquin’s lap and you can hug him properly. You bury your head in his neck and one of your hands moves to rest in his hair. His arms wrap around your back. “You don’t have to cry anymore, baby.”

Joaquin chuckles a little. “I think I’m probably still going to do a lot of that. I can’t make any promises, angel,” he rubs your back. “A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. That I’m going to wake up any second and you’re going to be gone.” 

You pull away just enough so you can look him in the eyes. “I’m real, Joaquin. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless there’s some other alien out there that’s going to get rid of half all life in the universe again.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Don’t joke about that. Too soon.” 

Smiling, you lean in and touch the tip of your nose against his gently. Joaquin takes advantage of the closeness of your face to lean up and capture your lips with his. He can feel you smiling into the kiss. Maybe if he does this enough, he can make his brain realise that this is real. That you’re here in his arms, your lips on his. That against all odds, you’re home.

~~~

He knows the nightmares aren’t going to go away any time soon. They’ve been plaguing him for years at this point. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s woken up from a dream that you were alive, or a nightmare where he had you back only to lose you again. It’s why, when he wakes up later that night, his heart racing and sweat drenching his body, that it’s not a surprise to him.

What does surprise him is that he forgets you’re here now. It’s not until he hears your soft, sleep filled voice speak his name and feels the mattress move underneath him that he spins around from where he’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed to see you. 

“Baby, are you okay?” You ask quietly.

Joaquin takes you by surprise by pretty much launching himself at you. He places a hand on your cheek, another one on your thigh. You’re sitting up, legs crossed, staring at him full of worry. 

“Baby?” You try again.

“You’re real,” Joaquin mutters. “I’m not dreaming. It’s not a nightmare.” 

You reach up a hand to rest on the one on your cheek. “It’s not a nightmare. I’m real.”

Tears fill Joaquin’s eyes again. He’s still haunted by the nightmare, one where he’d lost you again, and his brain is just sleepy enough to make him think that this is all a dream, even after trying to convince himself that it isn’t. Even after hearing your words confirm that it isn’t. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs.

You shuffle closer to him until you’re face to face, until you can feel his unsteady breaths on your face and your noses are almost touching. “I’m not going anywhere, Joaquin.”

He brushes his lips against yours softly, barely even a kiss. “Don’t leave me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and kiss him properly in an attempt to wake him up a little. It’s almost like he’s still in the midst of the nightmare, that he can’t manage to pull himself out of it completely. The fact that he’s had to deal with all of this alone for the past five years makes your heart hurt. 

“I’m home now, baby,” you mutter against his lips after you pull away. “I’m not leaving you. I’m home.”

Joaquin’s arms move to pull you closer to him until you’re almost sitting in his lap. “You’re home,” he says softly. 

“I’m home,” you repeat.

He takes a moment to just breathe, then. Focusing on the feeling of your hands on him, the feeling of his hands on you, trying to ground himself. You’re home. You are really home. And for the first time in five years… Joaquin finally feels like he is home too. 

[rafes-slut]

HI OMG I love your writing!! I was requesting maybe like Barry and Rafe are outside talking and reader flashes Rafe without Barry seeing bc she is sexually frustrated!! 💕💕

Risky Business

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Sexual tension, public teasing, flashing, sexual frustration, language, light dominance, smutty content, exhibitionism elements, suggestive touching, heavy makeout, Rafe being a frustrated menace, Barry being oblivious, reader is a tease, Rafe is possessive.

You were beyond sexually frustrated, and it was starting to show.

All day, Rafe had been driving you insane—sitting close, letting his hands linger a little too long on your thigh, whispering low and dirty things in your ear when Barry wasn’t paying attention. And the worst part? He hadn’t done anything about it. Not a single thing. No stolen moments in a back room, no quick grab and pull into a dark corner. Just teasing… all. damn. day.

You were starting to think he was doing it on purpose.

Barry had invited you both over to his place for beers and a chill night, and you’d gone along with it, thinking it’d be harmless. But the second you stepped in and saw Rafe in that white t-shirt and chain around his neck, looking at you with that smirk that promised nothing but trouble, your body betrayed you. You were soaked, needy, desperate for his hands. But he just sat back, all cocky and calm like he wasn’t the one who’d been whispering filthy promises into your ear all week.

The worst part? You couldn’t call him out on it without giving yourself away. Barry didn’t need to know the kind of things that went on between you and Rafe.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or just pure desperation, but at some point, your patience snapped. Rafe had been sitting across from you on the worn couch, one arm draped lazily across the back, fingers drumming against the fabric, watching you with those heavy-lidded blue eyes like he knew how close you were to breaking.

Barry was halfway through a story about some guy who tried to stiff him on a deal, too deep into his rant to notice the storm brewing between you and Rafe.

You bit your lip, locking eyes with Rafe.

He raised an eyebrow like, what now, princess?

You shifted slightly in your seat, heart racing, and waited until Barry turned to grab another beer from the cooler beside him. In a split second—before you could even second guess it—you reached down, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and tugged it up just enough to flash Rafe your bare chest.

No bra. Just skin, soft and teasing, right there for him to see.

His reaction was instant. His jaw clenched, fingers gripping the couch so hard his knuckles whitened, and his eyes darkened with pure, unfiltered lust. He looked like he could rip the room apart.

You pulled your shirt back down with a grin, as if nothing happened, and took a slow sip of your drink, relishing in the way Rafe’s eyes followed your every move like a predator watching his prey.

Barry didn’t notice a damn thing. Oblivious, as usual.

Rafe, however, was losing his mind.

He shifted in his seat, legs spreading slightly, adjusting himself beneath his jeans. His breathing was heavier, his eyes still locked on you like you’d personally offended him by teasing him like that in front of someone. And the best part? He couldn’t do a thing about it. Not here. Not with Barry around.

You shot him a look, smug and challenging. Do something, your eyes taunted.

Rafe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and licked his lips slowly, purposefully.

“You think that was funny?” he mouthed silently.

You grinned, giving a tiny shrug, pretending to focus on Barry’s story again, but the heat in your core was unbearable now. You needed him. You were practically throbbing in your seat, and Rafe looked like he was on the verge of snapping.

When Barry finally stood up to use the bathroom, Rafe moved.

Quick. Quiet.

He was on you in seconds, towering over you where you sat, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

“You think I won’t take you right here?” he hissed, voice low and full of warning.

Your heart pounded as you smirked, leaning into his grip.

“You can’t,” you whispered. “Barry’s right there.”

His grip tightened, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You’re playin’ with fire, baby,” he muttered. “And when I get you alone—”

You didn’t let him finish. You surged forward, pressing a kiss to his jaw, lingering just long enough to hear him curse under his breath.

Barry’s footsteps echoed down the hall, and Rafe pulled back, just enough to hide the storm in his eyes, but you felt it—the tension, the lust, the promise.

[rosenclaws]

I See the Light || DOFP!Logan x Reader

Summary: Logan saved the future but now he doesn't feel like he fits into the mansion anymore. He doesn't know what he needs but he just knows he needs a break. So Charles sends him on a mission that changes his whole world.

warnings: fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), abusive parents (Not descriptive), injury, reader deals with a jerk and logan saves the day, swearing

wc: 6k

a/n: Sooo I might have fucked around and wrote 6k words today. This is my entry for @princessanglophile birthday writing challenge! I was given dofp logan and I see the Light from Tangled. I was so so excited to get this song as its one of my favorite disney songs and I'm so happy that I was able to finally get the story that's been in my head in writing. This fic very very loosely follows the plot of tangled but only in a few ways. I really hope it lives up to the song and I was able to do it justice. Enjoy!!

If there was one word to describe how Logan felt after coming back from 1973. It would be lost. He wouldn't say it himself, in fact he'd insist he was just fine. I mean the plan worked, he went back and he saved everyone. Who wouldn't be thrilled to come back to a peaceful world?

But in doing so Logan sacrificed everything. His friends, his family, they don't remember him.

They only know this timeline version of Logan. So now he's a stranger to them and they're strangers to him. He wakes up and teaches his classes but he doesn't know these students.

He sees Rouge and Bobby and he can't help but think of the timeline where Rogue took the cure and lost all her powers. Seeing Kitty all grown up and teaching the new generation of mutants. Storm being the leader he always knew she could be. And of course. Jean. She was alive in this world and so was Scott. It had been years since he saw them.

He doesn't know how to feel. He's found and lost those closest to him. After all of this, he just needs a break. To find himself and learn to stop fighting. He doesn't have to anymore but the rest of him hasn't caught up with that sentiment.

"Logan, I have a mission for you." Charles has called him into his office. He can sense Logan's unease and despite helping him regain some memory from this timeline he knows that Logan is struggling.

"While this world is not as violent as you remember, there are a few anti mutant sentiments still lingering throughout the country." He hands Logan manilla folder.

"She's been raised her whole life in hiding. Her parents forced her at a young age. You need to find her and bring her back.

"And exactly how am I going to do that? If she's in hiding?" Logan asks, flipping through the little information he's been giving.

"Don't tell me you've lost your touch." Charles says with a smirk. Logan shuts the folder and tosses it back at Charles.

"Give me a week."

"This will be good for you Logan. Be patient with her." Logan nods and turns his back to leave.

"One more thing, Take your time Logan." Charles gives him a look that Logan doesn't quite understand and just nods.

After throwing a few things into a backpack he slings it over his shoulder and silently weaves through the mansion. He sees a few people in the kitchen, laughing over cups of coffee and stories of their students. His heart tugs as he looks away, he has a mission to complete.

He doesn't even say goodbye.

Swiping Scotts keys he hops into one of the many cars in the garage. The only information Charles really had was that she was located across the country.

For days Logan drives through the mountains and plains of America. It's a little weird to be honest. He remembers the world turning to a complete wasteland. Nothing but death and destruction. He never once looked at a field of grass while driving down the interstate and thought anything but how boring the view was. Now things are a little different.

After hopping from shitty motels and diners with sweet waitresses and heart stopping food he finally makes it to where Charles said you were. It's a small beach down on the coast of California. Of all the places to be trapped this isn't the worst he thinks as he parks his car at some motel.

The front desk worker barely paid attention as he handed Logan the keys to his room and a brochure of everything the town had to offer. Which was two restaurants and the beach. Realistically he knows you wouldn't be anywhere in town. Too many people. Probably somewhere on the outskirts of town. He slips into a bar, ordering a glass of whiskey and pokes around. Asking the already drunk locals about the weird parts of town. Any strange people.

After some teeth pulling conversations with a woman who was clearly trying to get in his pants, he manages to get information about this house on top of a hill about five miles out of town. How the kids think it's haunted and only a lone woman lives there. The windows are boarded and a wire fence blocks any trespassers.

Bingo.

Apparently the woman leaves every three days at dawn and doesn't return until night and luckily for him she should be leaving tomorrow morning.

With a cigar in hand Logan stares out at the ocean, he doesn't know what time it is but he knows he can't sleep. His dreams are still plagued with watching his friends die. He just can't shake them off, even if that's not how things are anymore.

At the first sight of light peeking over the horizon he hops into his car and drives towards the lone cabin. He ditches the car about two miles in and walks the rest of the way. The sky is painted pinks and purples as he reaches the small cabin.

He catches two unfamiliar scents as he nears. One makes his eyes water, it's rotten. The other is much sweeter, like fresh flowers and honey. The door opens and Logan jumps behind a tree. The sound of footsteps and a car ring loud in his ears. He moves like an animal as he blends himself in with the foliage.

Once the car is gone he hurries past the fence. Cutting through it with ease and making his way into the cabin. He doesn't see anything as he enters. The lights are turned off and everything seems in order.

"Hello?" He calls into the dark house. His nose twitches as that floral scent invades his nose again. He closes his eyes and his hearing zones in on a heartbeat. It's beating faster and faster.

His eyes snap open and he turns around, grabbing your wrist that was inches above his back. In your hand was a crude excuse for a knife. Your eyes are wide and full of fear, your hands trembling in his grasp.

"There you are kid," Logan plucks the knife from hand with no fight and tosses it onto the counter.

"W-Who are you?" You try and tug your wrist away but he's too strong.

"Logan. Now I'm here to get you out of this place." He expects this, fear or uncertainty is common. But you he's never had someone try and attack him before. He wonders what your powers are.

"No." You say making Logan raise an eyebrow.

"I can't leave. She said they'd hurt me."

"Hurt you?" He lets go of your wrist and you slink back to the corner of the room. He wonders just want your mother has told you. He sighs and sits down on one of the dining room chairs.

The look on his face makes you shiver. He's so. Intense. No smile, no soft words. Like he could careless if you went with him or not.

"Why did they send you?" You ask and Logan just shrugs.

"I'm a people person." He says in a deadpan voice. You don't say anything back and Logan slowly lets his so called "angry" face shift to something else. You're probably scared and he's not great with people but he does want to help.

"Look I don't know what she told you, but I can promise that you don't deserve to be locked up from the world." He says and you lower your head.

"I know you're scared, but I'm just like you." He unsheathes his claws making you jump.

"There's this place, a home for people like us where we can be safe and you can learn to control whatever powers you have." You look down at your hands. Still uncertain about all of this.

Your mother had kept you here your whole life, forcing you to never use your powers. Telling you that the world hates what you are and to be lucky she hasn't fed you to the wolves already. Honestly you don't know why she keeps you around, but its true. You can't protect yourself from whatever is out there.

But this man, Logan. He seems like he's taken care of himself just fine. Not a single scratch on him. Maybe he can protect you too.

Your heart has longed for so much more than whatever this life has been so far. The books you read don't hold a candle to the real thing. Could he really take you to a place that's safe.

"Come with me and if you don't want it, if you don't like it. I'll take you back home." He offers, seeing the swirling emotions in your eyes.

"Promise?" You ask softly.

"Promise." Logan sticks his hand out. You glance down at it. It feels too good to be true but this could be your chance to leave this house, to be yourself. But your mother? Honestly, she'd be happy with you gone. Would she come after you or rejoice that her one problem is gone?

Guess you'll have to find out. You reach out and take Logan's hand, hoping you didn't just make a big mistake.

Logan doesn't waste much time heading back home. He takes you back to the motel and tells you to wait in the car while he packs his stuff and checks you. You've never been in a car before. Of course you knew what they were but being inside one was different.

Curiosity gets the best of you as you open every compartment and press every button you can see. You press something the car makes a noise making you jump. You press it again and again before Logan pulls the door open.

"Hey, quit fucking with the horn." He grumbles as gets into the drivers seat.

"Sorry." You apologize, putting your hands in your lap and looking down at them.

You're silent for a while. Not moving, not speaking a word. Logan keeps sneaking glances at you, guilt slowly building as you don't even look out the window.

When Charles said you were sheltered, he didn't realize you were this sheltered. He thinks back to what Charles said before he left. Patience. He's still working on that one.

"I didn't mean to snap at you." Logan says making you look up at him. Your head tilting in confusion.

"You really never been in a car?" He asks as he turns his attention back to the road.

"No, my parents wouldn't let me. I had to stay inside. I couldn't leave." You say quietly.

"You were pressing on the horn, you don't want to use it often. Only to get someone's attention or when someone's being a jackass." You nod your head, watching the other cars driving.

Suddenly Logan swears as a car cuts too close in front of him. He slams his hand on the horn and swerves around the car. He speeds up, glaring at the driver and throwing up his claws in a threatening manner.

"Like that?" You ask. Logan looks at you and lets out a small laugh.

"Yeah, like that."

He drives a little while longer before stopping for gas. He hands you a twenty and tells you to grab some snacks as he fiddles with the machine. You're too shy to tell him you've never been in a store before so you take the money and head in.

It's like a wonderland of sweets and food. You're mom didn't let you have anything like this. In fact she never even told you about half the things on the shelves. You had read about candy and soda in the books she'd bring you but that was it.

You grab anything you can carry. You're too wrapped up in the overwhelming options that you don't see the man in front of you. You bump into him and send both of your things to the ground. The drink in his hand spilling onto his shirt.

"I'm so sorry!" You squeak as you the man turns around and glares at you.

"Watch where you're fucking going." He snaps making your eyes widen.

You reach down and try to pick up the fallen items but he grabs onto your wrist. This isn't the same as when Logan did it. Logan was firm but gentle while this man was angry.

"You're hurting me." You try tugging yourself free but its no use. The mans grip tightens on your wrist. Suddenly the man is ripped away from you and thrown onto the ground.

"Get the fuck off her!" Logan growls. He stands tall above the man, a pissed off look on his face.

"She ran into me!" The man scrambles to his feet, trying to puff his chest out to stand toe to toe with Logan but it's a feeble attempt.

"Stupid bitch." Logan grabs onto his shirt and slams him into the shelf, uncaring if things fall.

"Listen here bub, you get the fuck out of here and take your cheap gas station coffee with you." Logan lets go of him and grabs the coffee cup.

Slamming it into his chest with force. You watch, afraid to even move as Logan pushes the man out of his way. He scrambles out the door, yelling something that you can't quite understand. Logan turns to you and your eyes start to well with tears.

"I'm so sorry I didn't mean to cause all this I-"

"Hey, stop crying." Logan grabs your arms and waits for you to calm down. "It was an accident. That asshole isn't worth crying over alright?" He grabs all he fallen snacks and brings them to the counter.

The poor cashier couldn't even look Logan in the eye as he pays. Too afraid Logan might beat him up too. He hands you the bag of snacks and grabs a few cigars too.

"You really like sugar don't you?" He jokes as he sees the amount of sugary items in the bag.

"I've never had it before." You admit as you dig through the bag and find something small.

Chocolate.

You dreamed of tasting it for the first time. You rip open the wrapper and bite into it. Wolfing it down in seconds. Logan chuckles, seeing the brightness in your eyes as you taste it for the first time.

"Pretty good huh sweetheart." He reaches over and takes your chin in his hand.

You drop whatever's in your hand, a sudden feeling of...you don't what to call it. Your stomach flutters as he wipes some chocolate off the side of your lips. Your heart starts to beat faster when you see him smile, his eyes turning soft. Palms sweaty and for some reason you don't think you can even look at him right now.

He lets go of you and turns back to the road without a second thought, like he didn't just cause this kind of reaction in you. You hug the bag of sweets and stare out at the road. Trying to calm your beating heart.

Night falls and Logan is still driving, he could drive for a while if he had to but he sees you asleep off out of the corner of his eye. He pulls of the highway and into the parking lot of a motel. He leaves you asleep in the passenger seat reluctantly, checking every couple seconds as he books a room.

When he comes back you're still sound asleep. You look so peaceful, a smile on your face and he wonders what you're dreaming about.

Candy wrappers sit on the floor the car but he just leaves them be. He did have to cut you off after about three kit kats, not wanting you to give yourself a stomach ache.

Seeing someone try flavored chips and processed candy for the first time was amusing. Seeing your face light up with each bite. You were just so, optimistic. He doesn't really know how. He expected you to be angry, jaded, afraid and meek from being locked away for so long. But instead you're full of wonder and curiosity.

You almost gave him a heart attack when you saw a cow for the first time. You slammed your hands on the window and you screamed in excitement. Pictures didn't do them justice, they were just too cute. Things that other people take for granted every day, you saw as new and wonderful.

He opens the car door and scoops you up in arms. Trying not to wake you as he makes his way into the room. Placing you on one of the beds.

"Hm?" You mumble as you sit up, the jostling having woken you.

"Sorry, tried not to wake you. We're stopping for the night go back to sleep." Logan whispers, laying a blanket over you.

"Okay..." Logan takes a sharp breath when he sees your wrist. The one that man from earlier had grabbed on to. You paid no mind to it as you roll over on your side, snuggling the warm blanket.

"Hey, we need to get this checked out." He gently grabs your wrist but you shoo him away.

"M'fine, it doesn't hurt." You say but he doesn't budge.

"Still, it looks like a nasty bruise is forming." You bat away his hand and cover your wrist with your other hand. Logan's jaw drops as your hair starts to glow. He scrambles back as the it shines brightly and then slowly fades away. When you move your hand your wrist is completely back to normal. No bruising to be seen.

"What the?" He looks at you in shock.

"My powers, I don't really know why but the hair glow seems to be apart of it." You rest your head back into the pillows.

"Why would your parents ever want you to hide this?" He asks in disbelief, your powers weren't ones of destruction but of healing.

A sad looks appears on your face and he doesn't ask any more questions. He sighs and rests his hand on your shoulder.

"Get some rest, we'll keep going in the morning." Your eyes close and sleep comes quicker than it has in a long time, Logan's presence lulling you into a feeling of safety.

The morning light shines right in your eyes as you wake to the sound of snoring. You groan as you roll over onto your back. As the world comes into focus you expect to find yourself staring at the cold wood ceiling you've woken up to every day of your life. But you don't.

You shoot straight up in bed seeing the motel décor and Logan asleep on his bed. He's sprawled out on his stomach, shirtless. His hair is still somehow in the same shape as it always sits. The gray streak in his hair matches with the slight graying of his beard. You feel that fluttering sensation in your stomach as you look at him. You want to look away but you can't. His face has that grumpy look on it, even in his sleep. You giggle as you see some drool on his pillow. You lay back down on your pillow, turning to face Logan. Is it creepy to watch someone sleep? Probably, but you wouldn't mind if Logan watched you sleep.

The only man you had ever known before was your father. When he left your mother grew bitter and angry. Neither of them liked your mutant powers but your mother really hated them. You never really understood why. You could help so many people but she refused.

She would tell you that people lead to nothing but trouble. That everyone was cruel and selfish. That love of any kind wasn't real. But some nights you'd sneak into her study and take on of the many books on the shelves.

Stories of romance , adventure, a knight in shining armor. Despite what your mother said to you, those books kept your fantasies of love alive. You just haven't experienced for yourself let. Could that be the silly feeling in your stomach?

I mean, Logan did come in and rescue you. He wasn't wearing armor or riding a horse, instead he showed up in a blue car and a leather jacket. He didn't slay a dragon but he did threaten that one guy at the gas station. You hear him stir, his eyes opening as he groans and shoves a pillow over his eyes so the sun stops hitting him.

You quickly turn on your other side, pretending to be asleep. Would Logan even want to be with someone like you? He's on a mission to bring you back to his home. This is just a mission for him.

Right?

The week deadline Logan gave Charles has gone out the window. It's been far longer as the two of you drive into a new state. Truth be told Logan has been enjoying being away from the mansion. There's no pressure to be anyone but who he is out here.

You don't know anything about his past, or who he was before he came back. You're bright eyed and curious. You had become more and more comfortable around him. You didn't care if he could shoot claws through his knuckles, you trusted him completely.

Now every time you saw something new you begged him to stop. He pretended to be annoyed, making some comment about how he doesn't have the money for all this damn gas. But he can't say no to you. Despite being locked away for so long you seem to have perfected your puppy dog eyes in a matter of days.

In some weird way, watching you discover the world has made him find some joy in life that he's been missing. Logan has always been a glass half empty person if you will and you were so full that some of it was spilling into Logan's glass. He learned that you weren't completely clueless but there were a lot of things that you had never experienced for yourself. Being told stories could only do so much.

You're leaning against the window of the car humming a song on the radio. You really love the radio. In the cupholder sits a water bottle that had been cut in half and filled with dirt and flowers. You had asked him to pull over while passing this field of flowers. He leaned against the car as you took your time admiring them all.

Laying down in the grass and staring at the blue sky. You had called him over and he stood above you, a smile on his face as you held out your hand.

"I don't frolic in flowers sweetheart." Still he let you lay and watch the wind blow the clouds, pointing out the ones that looked a little funny. By the time you got back in his car you had dirt on your clothes and the biggest smile on your face.

You handed him a little handful of daisies. You could barely look at him as you gave them to him, telling him they were a thank you. Those cute little flowers are now living in a cupholder but he likes being reminded of that day.

"Woah! Logan what's that?!" You sit up and point out the window. To your right was a massive wheel and tents and lots of cars.

"Must be a fair or something." He says.

"What's that?"

"It's like a big party I guess. There's greasy food and games and rides." He points towards the big wheel.

"Can we go?" You beg, this is the fourth time today you've asked him to stop and at this rate you won't get back to the mansion by next month. But Logan pulls off the freeway anyways.

The parking lot is uneven ground and you stumble as you try and step in the right spots. Logan just laughs, holding out his arm for you. Shyly you wrap your hands around his big biceps. The bright lights and smells overwhelm you as you step through the gates.

People all around you are laughing and enjoying themselves. You see kids running past trying to get to the next ride, people eating delicious smelling food, bells and whistles literally ringing in your ears from the different game booths.

"Too much?" Logan asks, pulling you to the side.

"No, it's just. I've never seen so many happy people all in one place." You admit. It was an contagious feeling, you wanted to explore everything. and be as happy as the people around you.

Logan takes you through the fair, not letting you go for a moment. He lets you play those rigged fair games for that teddy bear he could easily buy at some second hand store. But you want it so he pays the money. He does end up taking the last shot for you, using all his strength to knock down those damn bottles. Which he does but he also rips a whole in the tent and the tent behind it.

Oops. But you have that teddy bear now.

"I'm going to get us some food, you stay right here got it? No wandering." You nod as you sit on the wooden bench.

You're holding onto the bear waiting for him to come back when you hear someone crying. Through the noise of the fair you can pin point the quiet sobs. You know Logan told you to stay put but you can't ignore the cries. You get up and look around for the source, ducking behind one of the tents to see a little girl on the ground. She has tears streaming down her face clutching her knee.

"What's wrong?" You ask softly as you approach her. She looks scared and you try not to make things worse.

"I fell and hurt my knee and now I can't find my parents." She sniffs, wiping her eyes.

"Can I see your knee, I can help I promise." She looks unsure and so you take the teddy bear Logan won for you and hand it to her.

"This is Mr. Bear, he's a friend." She reaches out and takes him, petting his fluffy head and letting you get closer.

She hugs him tight as you gently rest your hands over her knee. Closing your eyes you hear her gasp as your hair starts to glow. When you open your eyes again her knee is healed. She stares at you in awe.

"You're magic!" She squeals as she stands up, her energy coming back in full force.

"I guess," She jumps into your arms, hugging you tightly. Suddenly she perks up, the frantic voice of an adult calling her name.

"That's my mommy, I should go." She hands you back Mr. Bear but you tell her to keep it.

She runs off to her mom and through the gaps of the tents you see her run into her arms. Her mom overjoyed at finding her again. Your heart sinks just a little, your own mother clawing her way back into your mind. Does she miss you? Did she even notice you were gone? You hear a tent rip and you turn around to see Logan pushing through the fabric. A panicked look on his face.

"Fuck! There you are." He grabs your arm and pulls you back out into the fair.

"I told you to stay put!" He sighs, running his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry...This little girl, she was hurt and I wanted to help." You wrap your arms around your body, afraid that Logan would be upset at you forever. He looks around and sees a familiar looking bear in a little girls hand. She was talking animatedly to her mother. He can pick up a few words. Magic, healing.

"That was dangerous to do sweetheart, you don't know what kind of people are out here." The worry in his chest isn't going anywhere as he sits down on the bench.

The fear that overtook him when he saw you were gone, fuck he hasn't felt that in a long time. His mind going to the worst places as he frantically searched for you.

"I know, I just couldn't leave her there." You say.

The truth is you had forgotten what the world was like to people like you. Your mother fed you lies for years about how horrible people were to those like you. Mutants. But for some reason when you're with Logan you feel safe. You feel like nothing can hurt you with him around. He's completely flipped your life upside down and you've loved every second. So for a moment you didn't even think of the danger of using your powers out in public. Not when you had Logan.

To your shock Logan pulls you into a hug. His arms wrapping around you tightly. You're here, you're okay. He tells himself. He can't fight it anymore, this feeling inside of him. Somethin in him has changed and it's all your fault.

He lets go far too soon your liking. Not saying a word as he hands you some food. You eat in silence, your knee bouncing up and down as you keep glancing at Logan.

"You don't like it?" He asks seeing how you've barely touched it.

"No no I do, I just...I guess I'm not that hungry." You push the tray of food back to Logan and he just sighs.

"Come on, I want to show you something." He stands up and holds out his hand.

Silently you let him lead you through the crowds until you've gone past the games and the food. Your jaw drops as you see the big wheel come into view. All of your worries are forgotten as you run towards it, Logan following close behind.

"Get in sweetheart, I'll be right there." You see him whisper something to the ride operator and hand him something before getting in next to you. You yelp as it starts to move. Slamming your back against the metal of the seat.

"It's okay, I got you." Logan lifts his arm and puts it around you, letting you stick to his side as the cart goes higher and higher.

You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest as you feel yourself getting higher up in the sky. A loud pop makes you screech and slide closer to Logan. He chuckles and gently tilts your head up to look at him.

"Check it out sweetheart, got the best view in the house." You slowly move your face to see big bright colors in the air. You let go of Logan and grab onto the metal bar. Leaning over it as you watch the bright colors shoot through the sky.

"Fireworks." You say breathlessly.

Every year the small city near by would launch these into the sky. Your mother always forced you to bed before night fall but you had your ways and would sneak all the way to the attic. Watching through the tiny window. You could only ever catch a glimpse but it was the highlight of your year, now here they are right in front of you.

"They're beautiful."

Red, Orange, Blue shimmers of light just light up the whole sky. The sky rumbles from the loud booms and the soft fizzles. You rest your head in your hands, utterly mesmerized by the scene in front of you.

Logan has seen a lot of fireworks in his day but these just might be his favorite. They're nothing special. Maybe a little bigger than he's scene before. But these are the ones to bring a smile to your face. You haven't stopped smiling since the show started. He wanted you as close as you could get and what better place than the top of the Ferris wheel.

There's colors lighting up the sky but his eyes are on you. He just can't help himself. Seeing you so happy, so at peace. It's all he wants. His own heart beats a little faster when you look back at him. Nothing but pure joy in that pretty smile.

"Gorgeous." He whispers. You look down at your lap, fighting the fluttering in your stomach.

"Thank you, for everything Logan. For showing me the world, for...for just being you." You don't think you could ever repay what Logan has done for you.

Everything feels so different now but it's a good different. The kind of different that makes you want to dig deeper to see just what has changed.

"I owe you more than you know sweetheart," Logan's rough hand covers yours. He gently takes lifts it off the metal bar and interlaces his fingers with yours, squeezing it gently.

"You asked when we first met why they sent me to come get you." His other hand reaches to cup your face. There's nothing but love and adoration in his eyes as he tilts your head up.

"The truth is I was lost." He doesn't want to spill everything but he needs to know what this whole trip, what you mean to him.

"The past couple of months it feels like I've been drowning, like I couldn't breathe. Until I met you. You look at the world with an optimism I haven't scene in so long. It's infectious. You're infectious."

"Is that a good thing?" You whisper, afraid to even move in fear of ruining this moment.

"Depends, I'm an old man sweetheart. If you don't mind that, if you don't mind me." He knows that he may not be the kind of person you've dreamed of. He's not exactly out of a storybook now is he?

"Logan...All I've known is the inside of that house. I didn't know what was out here," You glance back at the fireworks, at the people below you watching and laughing.

"But you showed me just what I've been missing and I could never thank you enough. I don't know why you felt so lost, but I'm glad it led you to me." Everything just feels right, your heart beating in time with his as he leans in.

Capturing your lips in a soft kiss. Now you don't know if the fireworks are in your head or if they're still going. You can't focus on anything but the feeling of his lips on yours. Both his hands now cupping your face as he deepens the kiss. Chasing after the fresh air that he's longed to breathe.

You reach up and tug on his jacket. Needing him closer to you. This, this is more than you could ever imagine. The stories don't do it justice. Words on paper could never have prepared you for this. For the feeling of his hands on your skin, the movement of his lips, the soft noises, the scent of cigars and honey, the desperation behind every single thing he does.

It couldn't have prepared you for the overwhelming flood of emotions swirling through your heart. It's brand new and you never wanted to it to end. It feels like an eternity passes by the time Logan finally pulls back, his lips still so close to yours. His chest rises and falls slowly. Maybe it's just the fair lights but you swear you see the red creeping up his face.

"What are you looking at?" You ask shyly. A giggle bubbling in your chest as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

"Just wondering how I got so lucky." He says sincerely. Seriously how? Maybe this was the worlds way of thanking him, for forgiving him for the sins of his past.

"I think I'm the lucky one." You kiss his wrist, resting your hand on his arm.

The ferris wheel lurches back into motion taking you both off guard. Logan grabs onto you quickly, pulling you into his chest as you slowly move back down to the ground.

It's like everyone else fades to the background as Logan guides you through the crowd. You're very aware of his hand in yours. You don't ever want to let go. But the fair has come to an end and it's time to leave. Though you don't think you'll ever forget today.

"Do we have to go back to New York already?" You ask as you rest your head against the car window.

"There's still so much I want to see." So much you want to see with Logan.

Logan taps on the steering wheel, he knows he'll have to return to the mansion eventually but he looks over and sees those pleading eyes.

"I don't think they're missing me too much, maybe a little longer." Your eyes light up and he just shakes his head, a smile on his face. Man is he fucked.

I'll be home soon Charles, if you can hear me.

As Logan pulls out of the parking lot he thinks back to what he was told before leaving. Take your time. Well he never specified just how much time. In fact, a small cabin up in Canada doesn't sound too bad right about now. But he'll take you there another day. For now, you have the whole world to explore. He rests his hand on your thigh and pulls out onto the freeway.

"So sweetheart, where do you want to go next?"

[dreamdragonkadia]

would you consider writing a jealous xaden riorson? please andd thank youuu 🥹🥹

I thought about writing this into a spicy scene, but I am so out of practice that I didn't want to mess it up. x.riorson x reader

You hadn’t thought to bring it up. Not because you were hiding anything—but because it just... hadn’t mattered. It had been before becoming a rider. Before the Gauntlet. Before Threshing. Before Xaden Riorson had started looking at you like the world might crack in two if you didn’t make it through the next challenge.

You and Septon Izar had ended things cleanly, amicably, and left it at that. He’d been a friend before, and somehow, he still was—one of the few people who hadn’t flinched when you first started sitting with the marked ones. Honestly, his support during that time had meant more than you'd ever said aloud.

And honestly? Since Xaden? You hadn’t thought about Septon once. And maybe, maybe, you had mentioned it to Xaden. In passing. At most.

But judging by the sudden silence that swept through the dining hall—and the way Xaden’s head snapped toward you the second Septon opened his mouth—you definitely hadn’t mentioned that part.

"I think we only had sex twice," Septon said casually, sipping from his cup like he hadn’t just tossed a live drake into the center of the table. “And both times we were pretty drunk.”

You blinked.

What?

Your fork hovered above your plate as the table fell into a mixture of choked laughter and stunned silence. Garrick muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like oh shit. Nyra was already dragging her hands down her face. Bodhi looked delighted. Of course he did—this had his meddling written all over it.

You squinted up at Septon. “Man, that was so long ago, I barely remember.”

Xaden didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Not when you could feel the way his gaze landed on you—deadly calm, unreadable, and very, very still.

Someone coughed. Garrick kicked Bodhi under the table. Septon, gods bless his complete lack of self-preservation, raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not like it meant anything,” he added, glancing between you and Xaden with a shrug. “We were just—”

"Don’t," Xaden said, voice low and even, but it carried like a cold front.

The entire table froze.

“Anyway,” you said quickly, forcing a smile as you turned your attention down the table, “Nyra, I don’t think I’ve ever heard about your physical escapades. Please, if we’re airing things out, do share.”

There was a pause.

Then Nyra leaned back with a knowing small grin. “Which year?”

And just like that, the conversation shifted. Nyra launched into a truly unhinged story involving a third-year from Rider’s Quadrant, two years ago and a storage closet full of training gear.

Everyone moved on.

Except you.

Because while the rest of the table erupted into laughter, Bodhi caught your eye and gave you a subtle salute—good luck with that—and Xaden’s shadows curled around your calves in a slow, possessive climb.

You had really thought that would be it. Completely and utterly it. There was nothing there.

You and Septon were barely a footnote, a hiccup in your timeline. But clearly, someone at the table had missed that memo—and that someone was now walking three paces behind you, silent, shadows brushing the edge of your steps like a warning.

You turned the corner just past the gym hall, fully intending to head toward the dorms, but a hand caught your arm—not rough, but firm—and suddenly, you were being pulled into a recessed archway you hadn’t even noticed.

Xaden didn’t speak at first.

Just looked at you.

That onyx stare that made it feel like he was peeling back your skin to see what was underneath. His jaw was tight, shadows curling restlessly around his boots.

“You’re mad,” you said flatly.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m…” He exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to force the word back in. “You never told me.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you shot back, arms folding. “It was nothing, Xaden. It was before.”

His brow twitched. “I watched him look at you like he still wanted something.”

“He was talking to Bodhi!”

“He was talking to you.”

You stared at him, pulse thrumming harder than it should’ve been. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

His shadows surged, crawling up your spine like a storm about to break.

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m possessive. There’s a difference.”

Your back hit the wall.

His hand came to rest beside your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. His voice dropped lower, into that gravel-smooth edge that made your knees a little unstable.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your mouth, “and I don’t like being surprised.”

Your heart tripped over itself.

And because your pride had a death wish, you arched a brow and said, “Well, maybe I do.”

That was apparently the final straw.

He kissed you like it was a declaration, like he had to remind you—remind himself—that he knew every part of you better than anyone ever had. His hands found your hips, grip just shy of rough, and your fingers curled in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto before the ground gave way.

“Tell me again,” he said against your lips, voice thick with something that wasn't just anger, “how it meant nothing.”

Your breath caught—because you couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you. The only thing that mattered.

“It didn’t,” you whispered, barely audible. “It didn’t mean anything.”

He lingered there, just for a second, his forehead brushing yours as if he was searching for the truth in your skin. And then, with no more warning than a flick of his shadows, he pulled back just enough to say, “Come with me.”

You followed him without thinking.

Past cadets loitering in the halls, past flickering sconces and low murmurs, up flights of stairs that you barely registered because your heart was thundering in your chest. Xaden didn’t look back once—but his shadows stayed close, curling possessively around your wrist like a tether, a silent mine whispered over and over again in the dark.

By the time you reached his room, your pulse was high in your throat.

He opened the door, stepped inside—and then, just as you were about to follow, his hand shot out.

And pulled you in.

Hard.

You stumbled, but only for a heartbeat—because he was already there, catching you, pinning you back against the closed door with a thud that echoed in the silence.

“You think I care that it happened before me?” he murmured, his mouth brushing along your jaw, your neck. “I don’t.”

You shivered.

“I care that you didn’t tell me,” he continued, his hand sliding to your waist, hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. “I care that he thought he could say your name like that. Look at you like that.”

“Xaden—”

“I’m not going to be polite about it,” he interrupted, voice a low rasp. “I’m not going to pretend I’m okay hearing another man talk about what’s mine like it’s some casual memory.”

His lips found the corner of your mouth again, softer this time. A contrast to the words that came next.

“You’re not his story to tell.”

Your breath hitched.

“You want to tell me it meant nothing?” he asked, gaze catching yours with such intensity it felt like a command. “Then let me show the world who you belong with.”

Your hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him down.

And he did.

[thequeenofneverland1]

The Salesman////Temptation's Game

Anonymous requests: can you write a dark story of the Salesman thank you

Warnings: Mature Themes, Sexual Content, Violence, Dark Romance, Mental Health, perhaps some No-Consensual, Criminal Activity

You and Jun-ho have been best friends since childhood, always sticking by each other through thick and thin. From the days of running around the neighborhood as kids to navigating the challenges of adulthood, your bond has remained unshakable. You were there for him during the happiest moments, like when he passed his police exams, and during the hardest times, especially when his brother, In-ho, suddenly disappeared without a trace.

Ever since In-ho’s disappearance, you’ve watched Jun-ho tirelessly search for answers, never giving up hope that he would one day find his brother. You were there to listen to his frustrations, to help him sift through clues, and to remind him that he wasn’t alone in his quest for the truth. No matter how much time passed, you stood by his side, offering your unwavering support as he searched for the one person who had always been his role model.

But as Jun-ho’s investigation led him down a dangerous path, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the truth he was chasing might be more devastating than either of you could imagine.

It’s late evening, and you’re leaning against the cold metal wall of the train station, lost in thought while watching the city lights flicker in the distance. The air is thick with the hum of commuters rushing by, but you remain unfazed a picture of cool confidence in your leather jacket, one boot propped against the wall, the other firmly planted on the ground. The faint scent of rain lingers, mixing with the electric buzz of neon lights.

Suddenly, a man in an impeccably tailored suit steps into your line of sight, his charming smile practically gleaming. He’s holding a briefcase, eyes twinkling with mischief as he approaches. “Excuse me,” he says, his voice silky and charismatic. “Would you be interested in playing a game?” Without hesitation, he flashes a set of those infamous red and blue Ddakji tiles, the slap echoing through the station as if to entice you into his twisted game.

You arch an eyebrow, lips curving into a sly, dangerous smile. Slowly, you reach into your jacket, pulling out your detective badge with a practiced flick of your wrist, letting it glint under the harsh station lights. “Detective Y/n,” you announce coolly, voice dripping with authority and just a hint of amusement. “So here’s the deal you can turn your handsome self around and walk away, or I might just have to shoot you and ruin that nice suit.”

His smirk doesn’t waver, if anything, it deepens. He chuckles, eyeing you like you’re an interesting puzzle he wants to solve. “Now, now, detective. No need for violence. I was simply offering an opportunity.”

You narrow your eyes, tucking your badge back into your pocket but keeping your guard up. “Yeah? Well, I don’t play games with shady men in overpriced suits. So unless you want to be dragged down to the station for questioning, I suggest you get lost.”

For a moment, he just studies you, as if debating whether to push his luck. Then, with a small chuckle, he raises his hands in surrender. “Fair enough, detective. Another time, perhaps.”

A few days pass, The city was alive with neon lights and the distant hum of traffic as you strolled down the bustling streets, your senses always sharp, always aware. The scent of rain lingered in the air, the pavement still damp from an earlier downpour, reflecting the glow of passing headlights. It had been a long night, and all you wanted was to get back to your apartment, pour yourself a stiff drink, and not think about anything for a few hours.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

You rounded a corner, and just as you did, you collided with something no, someone. Strong, solid, and annoyingly familiar.

A smooth chuckle rumbled in the chest in front of you, and as you looked up, there he was Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome from the train station. That same damn smirk curled on his lips, the kind that spelled trouble in a language you didn’t have the patience to translate.

“Detective,” he drawled, his voice like silk and sin. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

You exhaled sharply, already done with whatever game he thought he was playing. Stepping back, you crossed your arms and fixed him with a hard stare. “I’m not interested in getting into a game that gets people killed.”

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, his dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable amusement, maybe, or something far more dangerous. “That’s a shame,” he mused, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. “Because you look like someone who plays to win.”

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your pocket, the name Jun-ho flashing across the screen. Instinctively, you reached for it, ready to answer because if your best friend was calling this late, it wasn’t for something trivial.

But just as you pulled it out, a warm hand moved faster than you expected.

In one swift motion, the salesman plucked the phone from your grasp, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch that sent a sharp jolt up your arm. With a lazy, almost arrogant smirk, he glanced at the screen then, before you could protest, he hit the side button and silenced the call.

Your jaw clenched. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head slightly, stepping just close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne rich, expensive, intoxicating. He held your gaze, his expression unreadable, before slipping your phone back into the pocket of your leather jacket with slow, deliberate ease.

“Something tells me your little friend can wait,” he murmured, voice low, knowing.

Your fingers itched to reach for your gun not to use it, necessarily, but just enough to remind him that you weren’t someone to be played with. Instead, you took a step forward, closing the space between you until there was barely a breath between your bodies.

“You do that again,” you said, voice cold as steel, “and I won’t just shoot your handsome ass. “I’ll make sure no one ever finds the body.”

His smirk deepened, and for a moment, it almost looked like he enjoyed the threat. “Now that,” he murmured, his voice like a whisper against your skin, “is a game I’d love to see you play.”

Your phone buzzed again, vibrating against your chest. This time, you didn’t hesitate you snatched it from your pocket, stepping away from him as you hit answer.

“Jun-ho,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

“You okay?” Jun-ho’s voice came through the line, concern laced in every syllable.

Your eyes flicked back to the salesman, who was still watching you like he had all the time in the world. You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself before responding.

“Yeah,” you muttered, eyes locked onto the man who had just inserted himself into your night. “I’m fine.”

Even if you weren’t entirely sure that was true.

The tension between you and the suited stranger was like a live wire sparking, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. His smirk hadn’t faded since the moment he first laid eyes on you, and the way he moved, slow and deliberate, told you one thing: he liked playing with fire. Too bad for him you were the fire.

Before you could react, his hands were on you, swift and confident. He grabbed your wrist and spun you, pressing you against the cold brick wall of the alley, caging you in with his body. His breath was warm against your skin, his scent intoxicating, and the way his dark eyes flickered with amusement only fueled the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

But he made one mistake he underestimated you.

With a sharp twist, you broke free from his hold, using his own momentum against him. In a blink, you flipped the situation, shoving him against the wall instead. His back hit the rough brick with a dull thud, and before he could react, you grabbed his tie, yanking him down until your lips were a breath away from his.

“Let’s play a game,” you murmured, voice like silk, your grip on his tie tightening just enough to remind him who was in control.

His smirk only deepened, and you could feel it against your lips. His hands rested at his sides, as if he wasn’t fazed by the sudden shift in power. If anything, he looked amused. Intrigued. Like he was enjoying every second of this.

“I’d love to,” he murmured, his voice a low hum of anticipation. “But don’t you think your boyfriend is going to get jealous?”

Your grip on his tie didn’t loosen, but the corner of your lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” you purred, tugging him even closer, your noses practically brushing, “who said I play by anyone’s rules?”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, his hands finally moving one brushing lightly against your waist, his touch deliberate, teasing. His other hand traced the edge of your jaw, his fingers barely grazing your skin, but the heat of his touch sent a slow, deliberate shiver down your spine.

“You really are something else, detective,” he mused, voice like sin, like he was savoring every second of this twisted little game between you.

You smirked, your fingers still curled around his tie as you slowly, deliberately loosened it just enough to remind him that this was your game. Your rules.

“And you,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly, letting your lips hover just close enough to make him ache for more, “have no idea what you just signed up for.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly, but his confidence never wavered. “Then by all means,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against yours, “show me.”

Danger. Lust. Power. It crackled in the air between you, an unspoken challenge neither of you was willing to back down from.

And something told you this was only the beginning.

Your grip on his tie remained firm, your smirk never faltering as you let the silence stretch between you, the air thick with tension. You could feel his breath against your lips, the heat radiating off him like an unspoken challenge. He was waiting waiting for you to make a move, to push this dangerous game further.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him.

With a slow, deliberate tug, you loosened his tie just enough to slip your fingers beneath the silk, dragging it against his throat in a way that made his jaw tense. Your eyes flickered up to his, dark with amusement and something else something raw, something untamed.

You leaned in just a fraction closer, your lips a whisper away from his, the teasing warmth of your breath making his fingers twitch where they hovered near your waist. His patience was slipping you could feel it in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly, in the way his hands flexed like he was resisting the urge to grab you.

And then, just when he thought you might close the space between you when he thought you might finally give in you smirked.

“See you later, man in the suit,” you murmured, your voice smooth as velvet, dripping with amusement.

Then, just as quickly as you had ensnared him, you released your hold on his tie, stepping back with a slow, deliberate grace that left him standing there, jaw clenched, frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

He let out a low, frustrated groan, tilting his head back against the wall for a brief second before fixing you with a look that was equal parts exasperated and hungry.

“You’re going to be the death of me, detective,” he muttered, voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name but you liked it.

You shot him a wink over your shoulder as you turned to walk away, your hips swaying just enough to make sure he knew you were still in control of this game.

“Try to keep up,” you called over your shoulder, your voice playful, taunting.

And as you disappeared into the neon-lit streets, you could still feel his eyes on you, still hear the way he exhaled sharply, like he was already plotting his next move.

He wasn’t done with you.

And you weren’t done with him either.

The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city beyond your window. You had finally kicked off your boots, poured yourself a glass of whiskey, and let the weight of the night settle over you. But before you could even take a sip, a sharp, deliberate knock echoed through your apartment.

Your eyes narrowed. It was late too late for visitors.

Setting your glass down, you moved toward the door, your hand instinctively brushing against the gun holstered at your hip. With a slow, measured breath, you cracked the door open, ready for a fight.

But instead of a threat, you found him.

The man in the suit.

Standing there, infuriatingly calm, that same cocky smirk playing on his lips. And in his hands? A bouquet of your favorite flowers, wrapped in dark ribbon, looking completely out of place in the hands of a man who radiated danger.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over your chest, your expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice edged with suspicion. Then, your eyes flicked to the flowers, your smirk returning. “And how the hell do you know where I live?”

He chuckled, low and smooth, his dark eyes gleaming with something wicked as he stepped closer, just enough to test your boundaries.

“To find someone like you?” He tilted his head, his voice rich with amusement. “It’s easy.”

Your fingers twitched, resisting the urge to reach for the gun at your side not because you were afraid, but because he was playing a game only you were supposed to control. And the fact that he had managed to track you down? That meant he was better at this than you had given him credit for.

Slowly, you stepped forward, closing the space between you, your lips curving into something sharp. “You don’t seem like the type to send flowers,” you mused, plucking one from the bouquet, twirling it between your fingers. “What’s the catch?”

He exhaled a soft laugh, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. “No catch,” he said, handing you the bouquet like it was an offering. “Just a gesture.”

You took it, but your eyes never left his. “You don’t strike me as the generous type.”

He leaned in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. “And you don’t strike me as the type to be easily impressed,” he murmured.

You smirked, stepping even closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I’m not.”

He exhaled a slow, knowing breath, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to touch you but was waiting waiting for you to make the next move.

For a moment, the silence between you crackled, thick and heavy with something dangerous.

Then, you tilted your head, lips just a breath away from his. “If you’re trying to play me,” you whispered, voice smooth as silk, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than flowers.”

His smirk deepened, his voice dropping to something darker, something almost hungry.

“Oh, detective,” he murmured, “who said I was playing?”

You tilted your head, the faintest smirk curling on your lips as you twirled the flower between your fingers. The tension between you was razor-sharp, a game neither of you had officially agreed to play, yet here you were locked in a battle of wits, temptation, and something far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

You took a slow step forward, closing the distance until the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint floral scent of the bouquet he had brought. His posture was relaxed, casual even, but you weren’t fooled. He was watching you carefully, every muscle coiled like he was ready for whatever move you made next.

“So,” you drawled, voice laced with amusement, “are you here to warn me about your little game?” You arched a brow, tilting your chin up slightly. “Or is this some kind of last-ditch effort to charm your way out of trouble?”

His smirk deepened, those dark, knowing eyes flickering over you like he was memorizing every inch, every detail. He took his time before responding, letting the silence stretch between you like a slow-burning fuse. Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent a pulse of something dangerous through you, he leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted against your cheek.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet, rich and intoxicating. “You and me. Dinner. Your favorite restaurant.”

Your smirk didn’t falter, but your pulse quickened. He knew where you lived. Now, he knew your favorite place to eat. This wasn’t just a game to him he had done his research.

You let out a soft chuckle, tilting your head slightly so that your lips were a breath away from his. “Bold of you to assume I’d say yes.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, the warmth of it sending a slow shiver down your spine. “That’s only if your boyfriend lets you.”

That cocky smirk of his was still in place, but there was something more behind it something teasing, something deliberate. He wanted to see how you’d react, how far he could push before you snapped.

A slow smile curved your lips as you reached up, your fingers grazing the silk of his tie once more, toying with it just enough to remind him that you were still in control. Then, in one sharp tug, you pulled him closer so close that your lips almost touched, just barely out of reach, teasing him with the proximity.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you purred, your voice dripping with dangerous amusement. “If I had a boyfriend, trust me he’d know better than to get in my way.”

His eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw it the flicker of something uncontrolled beneath that smooth, confident exterior. Lust? Amusement? Obsession? Maybe a little of all three.

His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you, to break the thin line between control and chaos.

You let the moment stretch just a little longer, let him want it, let him ache for it.

Then, just as quickly as you had pulled him in, you let go of his tie, stepping back with an infuriatingly slow smirk. “Pick me up at eight.”

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel, walking away and leaving him standing in your doorway frustrated, intrigued, and, if you had to guess, already planning his next move.

Just as you turned to walk away, a firm hand caught your wrist, halting you mid-step. His grip wasn’t forceful, just enough to make you pause, to make your pulse spike for a fraction of a second before you turned your head back to face him.

His dark eyes burned with something dangerous—something hungry. And before you could throw out a snarky remark, he stepped closer, closing the distance so effortlessly that you barely had time to react.

You felt the heat of him first, the teasing brush of his breath against your skin. Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he dipped his head down his lips ghosting just beside the corner of yours, so close you could almost taste him.

The contact was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a slow, intoxicating heat spiraling through you. He wasn’t just playing with fire he was tempting it.

His lips lingered just near your jawline, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement and something wicked, “dinner will end with one of us in handcuffs.”

He pulled back just enough so that your eyes met, his smirk widening as his fingers lazily trailed down your wrist before finally releasing you.

“Hopefully,” he added, tilting his head slightly, “it’s you.”

Your breath hitched, just for a split second. Not because you were caught off guard, but because he was good better than you had expected. He knew exactly how to press, how to push, how to unravel just enough to leave you wanting more.

But two could play this game.

Your smirk returned, slow and deliberate as you leaned in, closing that infinitesimal gap between you until your lips barely grazed his ear.

“If you think you can get me in cuffs,” you purred, voice smooth as silk, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

His breath stuttered for half a second a tiny, barely noticeable reaction, but you caught it. You felt it.

And you loved it.

You pulled back, watching as his smirk faltered just slightly, his jaw clenching like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless.

Good. Let him burn.

“Eight o’clock,” you reminded him, your voice light and teasing, as if you weren’t still feeling the ghost of his lips near yours. “Don’t be late.”

Then, before he could retaliate, you stepped back into your apartment and shut the door with a soft, deliberate click leaving him standing there, jaw tight, frustration evident in the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

And as you leaned against the door, heart pounding just a little too fast, a slow smile curled on your lips.

Because for the first time in a long time, you had met someone who might just be dangerous enough to keep up with you.

The dim lighting of the restaurant cast flickering shadows over the table, the candlelight barely disguising the undeniable tension sitting between you and the man in the suit. He was as effortlessly composed as ever, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable something dangerous. He hadn’t touched his drink yet, instead watching you like a predator assessing its prey, amused, patient, waiting.

Your phone buzzed against the table, Jun-ho’s name flashing across the screen. For a moment, you considered answering, but something about the way the man in front of you was watching made you hesitate. He didn’t need to say a word you already knew what he was thinking.

With a slow smirk, you flipped the phone over, letting the call go to voicemail.

His smirk deepened. “Ignoring the outside world already? I’m flattered.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, letting your gaze drag over him with deliberate slowness. “How does it feel?” you asked, voice smooth as silk. “To be nothing more than a servant in a game that gets people killed?”

His expression didn’t falter. If anything, the corner of his mouth lifted, as if he had been waiting for you to ask.

“It pays well,” he said easily, tilting his head. “And it’s entertaining. Though I have to say—” He leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not nearly as entertaining as you.”

You scoffed, swirling your drink in your glass. “That supposed to make me blush?”

“Not quite,” he mused. “But you’re awfully quick to judge, detective. You sit across from me, ask me questions like you’re building a case yet you haven’t done a damn thing about it.” His eyes flickered with something dark, something taunting. “No gun pulled. No arrest made.” He tilted his head, his smirk turning downright sinful. “Unless, of course, you want to put me in handcuffs. Or—” He leaned in just a fraction closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Would you prefer to be handcuffed yourself? That’s your thing, isn’t it, little girl?”

Heat curled low in your stomach at the way he said it like a challenge, like a dare, like he was waiting for you to crack.

Your grip tightened around your glass, but you didn’t let him see the way his words affected you. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head slightly, letting your lips part just enough to make his gaze flicker downward for just a second.

“You talk a big game,” you murmured, placing your glass down and leaning in, close enough that your lips nearly brushed his. “But if you really think you could handle me in cuffs—” your fingers trailed along the table, inching toward his wrist, “then you really don’t know who you’re playing with.”

His breath hitched subtle, but there. And then, in an instant, he caught your wrist before you could reach him, his grip firm, controlled. He smirked, his thumb brushing dangerously slow against the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark, teasing, intoxicating. “I think I know exactly who I’m playing with.”

And just like that, the game had only just begun.

The air between you was thick with tension, the kind that teetered on the edge of something dangerous, something forbidden. You should’ve pulled away the moment his fingers brushed against your knee, creeping up with slow, deliberate purpose. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let him.

His touch was light at first teasing, testing before he gripped your thigh just hard enough to make your breath hitch. The table between you felt nonexistent as he leaned in, his smirk curling against the flickering candlelight.

“Detective,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dark, something almost possessive. His fingers trailed higher, gripping the bare skin of your thigh beneath the slit of your dress. “Why don’t you leave that boring little job of yours and join me?”

You arched a brow, but you didn’t move away. His grip on you tightened, his thumb tracing slow, burning circles against your inner thigh.

“Join you?” you echoed, amusement laced in your voice.

He hummed, his lips dangerously close to yours now, his breath fanning against your skin. “Be mine,” he whispered. “My wife. My partner in crime.” His lips barely grazed your jaw as he spoke, sending a slow, intoxicating shiver down your spine. “Just imagine it you and me, working together, ruling the game from the inside out. A power couple that no one could ever touch.”

His voice was hypnotic, laced with a promise of something bigger, something darker. And for a brief second, you let yourself imagine it what it would be like to stand beside him, to burn the world down together.

But then, just as quickly, you snapped back to reality.

You let out a low chuckle, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze, your lips still only inches from his. “And what makes you think I’d do that?” you murmured, voice taunting, your fingers now trailing up his wrist, nails grazing against his skin ever so slightly.

His smirk deepened, eyes dark and unwavering. “Because I want you,” he said, his voice low, predatory. “And you want me just as much.”

Before you could respond, he moved fast, deliberate.

One hand shot to the back of your neck, the other gripping your thigh as he pulled you into him with a rough, claiming kiss.

It was nothing soft, nothing gentle. It was raw, hungry like he had been waiting for this moment since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips crushed against yours, demanding, full of fire, and you met him with just as much force, your fingers tangling into his suit, pulling him closer.

He groaned into your mouth, deep and primal, as if he had finally gotten what he wanted. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head just the way he liked, deepening the kiss as his teeth scraped against your bottom lip.

The heat between you was unbearable now, intoxicating and reckless. He tasted like whiskey and sin, like a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted and right now, what he wanted was you.

You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve pushed him away, told him this was a mistake.

But instead, you let him consume you.

And in that moment, as your breath mixed with his, as his hands explored your body with a dangerous kind of reverence, you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t playing the game anymore.

You were in it.

The kiss left you both breathless, the taste of sin lingering between your lips as he finally pulled back, his forehead nearly brushing yours. His grip on your thigh remained firm, possessive, his fingers idly tracing slow, burning circles into your skin like he was claiming you like he had already decided you were his.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, but your smirk never faltered. You met his gaze, eyes locked in a silent battle of control, of dominance.

And then, he spoke low, dark, his voice dripping with something wicked.

“Your place,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, “or mine?” He tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for the slightest reaction. His smirk deepened. “Or perhaps…” He trailed his fingers just a little higher up your thigh, pressing into the soft skin in a way that made your breath hitch. “…you’d rather have me take you right here, in the bathroom of this fancy little restaurant.”

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, your nails grazing the surface just enough to remind yourself that you were still in control still playing this game.

But damn him. He was good.

Too good.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he watched you, the way he leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours as he whispered, “I could have you against the sink, your dress hiked up, my hands on your body while you try to stay quiet.” His thumb brushed against your inner thigh again, barely skimming the edge of where you really wanted to feel him.

A sharp breath left your lips before you could stop it.

His smirk widened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “You like the idea, don’t you?”

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see the way your pulse quickened at his words. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head as you reached for his tie, wrapping the silk fabric around your fingers and giving it a slow, deliberate tug.

“You talk too much,” you murmured, your lips hovering over his. “All these pretty little words but tell me, can you back them up?”

His eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as if he was this close to losing his control. And god, you wanted him to lose it. You wanted to see what happened when this man, so composed, so dangerous, finally unraveled.

His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was debating whether to throw you over his shoulder and take you somewhere right now.

Then, in one sharp motion, he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Pick one, detective. Or I’ll pick for you.”

His voice was a promise. A threat.

And fuck, you liked it.

You didn’t hesitate. With a wicked smirk, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie, yanking him down so fast that he barely had time to react. The sudden shift made his breath hitch, his lips parting slightly as his body tensed beneath your grasp.

Your other hand trailed up his chest, slow and deliberate, until your palm rested flat against his racing heartbeat. His smirk had faltered, just barely, his dark eyes locked onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey only this time, he wasn’t sure who the real hunter was.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his jaw as you whispered, voice dripping with sin, “Why don’t you not pick for me, sweetie?” Your tone was low, sultry, taunting. Every word was deliberate, designed to test him, to push him closer to the edge.

His hands, which had been gripping your thighs with restrained control, twitched at your words. You could feel the shift in him, the dangerous flicker in his eyes, the way his breath deepened like he was holding himself back from something dark, something reckless.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice now lower, rougher. His hands slid up, gripping your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you of the power he could have over you if you let him. “You’re playing with fire, detective.”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening as your nails dragged down his chest, slow, teasing. “And yet, you’re the one burning for me.”

His jaw clenched, his control slipping further by the second. The tension between you was suffocating, thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it just enough to make your breath hitch not in pain, but in anticipation. His lips were at your ear in an instant, his voice dark, dangerous, intoxicating.

“You’re mistaken,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “I don’t burn for anyone. But you—” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his smirk returning, sharp and predatory. “You’re tempting me, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’re ready for what happens when I stop holding back.”

The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to break first. Instead, you smirked again, tilting your chin up defiantly.

“Then stop holding back,” you taunted, your voice nothing but a breath between you.

For a second, neither of you moved. The entire world around you faded into nothing but the dark, heavy air between you, the silent battle of control hanging by a fragile thread.

Then, just as he was about to make his move, the waiter’s voice interrupted polite, oblivious.

“Would you like to see the dessert menu?”

The tension shattered like glass.

You let out a low chuckle, stepping back just slightly, releasing his tie with a slow, taunting drag of your fingers.

He exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his darkened gaze as he ran a hand through his hair, regaining just a sliver of his composure.

“Check, please,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours.

The night was far from over.

The game was only just beginning.

The moment the bill was paid, he stood, adjusting his suit with an effortless confidence that only made him more dangerous. He extended his hand toward you, his smirk barely concealed, his dark eyes gleaming with something raw, something unspoken.

“Come,” he murmured, voice low and commanding.

You didn’t hesitate.

You slid your fingers into his, allowing him to lead you through the restaurant with the kind of quiet authority that made people instinctively step aside. No one questioned it, no one even looked twice the two of you walked like you owned the place.

And in a way, you did.

The second you stepped into the private restroom, he wasted no time. The door clicked shut, and before you could fully process it, the sharp sound of the lock twisting into place echoed through the small, dimly lit space.

A slow, dangerous smirk curled at your lips.

“You locked the door,” you murmured, feigning surprise as you leaned back against the marble counter. “Afraid someone might catch us?”

He turned to you slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing his forearms in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach. His movements were deliberate, calculated like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

He stalked toward you, his footsteps unhurried, filled with purpose. “No,” he said smoothly, placing his hands on either side of the counter, effectively caging you in. His body pressed just close enough for you to feel his heat, for you to be aware of every breath he took. “I locked it because I don’t like interruptions.”

You tilted your chin up defiantly, refusing to be the first to break. “Is that so?”

His eyes darkened. “Mm.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Or maybe…I just don’t trust myself to be gentle with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could respond, he moved.

One hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other tangling into your hair as he tilted your head back. His lips hovered over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath fanning over your parted lips.

“You want this,” he murmured, his voice rough, dark. “Admit it.”

Your smirk widened.

Instead of answering, you grabbed the knot of his tie and yanked him down, capturing his lips in a kiss that was anything but soft.

It was raw, desperate, dangerous.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he pressed you harder against the counter, his grip tightening as if he needed to feel every inch of you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before he bit down, not enough to hurt just enough to make you gasp.

He took full advantage, deepening the kiss, devouring you like he had been starving for this. His hands roamed over your body, possessive, unrelenting, like he was memorizing every curve, every sharp inhale you took.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breathing heavy. His forehead rested against yours as his fingers traced down your arm, finding your wrist.

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips as he whispered, “Now, detective…”

He lifted your wrist between you, pulling something out of his pocket.

The soft click of metal against metal sent a shiver through you.

“Who do you think is getting handcuffed tonight?”

Your breath was still uneven, your body still pressed between him and the counter when you heard it the soft, unmistakable click of metal.

Your eyes flickered downward, and there they were. Your handcuffs. The same pair you always kept tucked in your purse, now dangling from his fingers like a prize. Like he had been waiting for this moment all night.

Your smirk didn’t falter, but curiosity flickered in your gaze as you tilted your head slightly. “How did you know I had those?”

His lips curled into a dark, satisfied smirk. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, slowly spinning the cuffs around his finger. “I know everything about you.”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to let him see that he had caught you off guard. Instead, you leaned in, your lips just barely brushing against his, your voice dropping into something dangerously soft.

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “Then tell me do you know what I plan to do with them?”

His smirk widened, his free hand tracing a slow, burning path down your side before settling at your hip. He applied just enough pressure to make you feel owned, yet not enough to trap you not yet.

“I have a few ideas,” he murmured, his voice low, dark, dripping with sinful promises. “But I’d rather you show me.”

His words sent a delicious shiver through you.

Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist fast, deliberate. With a practiced flick of his fingers, cold metal snapped shut around one wrist.

Your breath hitched, but your smirk never faded.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You didn’t really think you were the one in control, did you?”

Your pulse spiked, but you let out a soft chuckle, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Funny,” you purred, tugging at the cuffs slightly. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

His eyes darkened. The game had just taken a new turn.

The moment the cold metal clamped around your wrist, you felt it the sharp thrill of danger. The shift in power.

Your smirk didn’t waver, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming wildly beneath your skin as he tightened his grip, guiding your other wrist toward him with agonizing slowness. Testing you. Taunting you.

“Hands in front?” you teased, cocking a brow as you felt the second cuff brush against your skin. “How considerate.”

His smirk was dark, knowing. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Who said I was feeling considerate?”

Click.

The second cuff locked into place, the finality of the sound hanging thick in the air between you. Your hands were bound now. Vulnerable. At his mercy.

And yet, the way he was looking at you the slow, deliberate way his fingers dragged up your forearm, tracing the edge of the cuffs told you that he was the one fighting for control. That he was the one dangerously close to unraveling.

You inhaled deeply, stepping closer despite your restrained wrists, pressing against him just enough to feel the warmth of his body. “You seem proud of yourself,” you murmured, tilting your chin up. “Tell me are you going to arrest me now?”

His grip tightened slightly, his fingers brushing over the metal as he leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear.

“No,” he whispered, voice dark and smooth as silk. “I’m going to ruin you.”

A slow shiver trailed down your spine, but you didn’t flinch. You smirked.

“Oh?” Your voice was honeyed, teasing. “And what makes you think I won’t enjoy it?”

His breath hitched just slightly a nearly imperceptible flicker of restraint snapping but then his fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You already are,” he murmured, his smirk pressing against yours, lips inches apart.

The tension was unbearable now, suffocating in the best possible way. The air crackled between you, heavy with the weight of something dangerous.

Your wrists strained slightly against the cuffs as you exhaled slowly, deliberately, meeting his gaze with a smirk just as wicked as his.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you whispered.

The challenge was set.

And neither of you were backing down.

The sharp knock at the door barely registered before you moved, instinctively shifting to answer but he was faster.

Before you could take a single step, his hands were on you rough, unyielding. One strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back against him, while his other hand slid down, lifting your bound wrists just enough to remind you of your helplessness.

You barely had time to process it, to let out anything more than a sharp gasp before he was inside you.

No warning. No hesitation.

Your body tensed, electricity shooting through your veins, a sharp inhale barely muffled as you instinctively bit down on your bottom lip, trying failing to suppress the sudden, overwhelming heat pooling in your core.

Another knock.

Your breath hitched. You clenched your jaw, trying desperately to stay silent, but the feeling of him hot, thick, stretching you wide with a single ruthless thrust made it impossible.

His smirk pressed against the side of your neck, a low, knowing chuckle vibrating against your skin.

“What’s wrong, detective?” he murmured, his voice silk and sin against your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

You let out a shaky exhale, your fingers curling into tight fists as he stayed still, deep inside you, letting you feel every inch of him.

Another knock louder this time.

“Hello?” A muffled voice called from the other side. “Is everything alright in there?”

His grip on your waist tightened. “Go ahead,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear, mocking you. “Answer them.”

Your eyes snapped open, a rush of defiance surging through you. He wanted to play? Fine. You’d play.

Forcing your voice to remain steady, you parted your lips, prepared to respond but that bastard chose that exact moment to move.

A slow, deep thrust.

Your knees nearly buckled, the sensation sending a violent tremor through your body. You barely caught the whimper that threatened to escape, clamping your teeth down on your bottom lip hard enough to sting.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled against your throat. His fingers traced up the line of your neck, lingering just beneath your jaw, pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Come on,” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. Another slow, deliberate thrust. “Be a good girl and answer them.”

You hated him. You wanted him. You wanted to wreck him just as much as he was wrecking you.

Swallowing the moan threatening to spill, you forced out a single, strained response.

“F—Fine,” you managed, your voice breathless. “I’m fine.”

Silence. Then footsteps fading away.

The second you were alone again, his lips curled into a dark, triumphant smirk.

“Good girl.”

And then he snapped.

His pace turned ruthless, pounding into you so hard that your cuffed wrists nearly slammed against the counter. A sharp gasp finally broke free, your breath ragged, your body trembling against his as he took you apart, piece by piece.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough now, no longer in control. You had ruined him. And he was going to make sure you felt every second of it.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?” His teeth grazed your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers slid down, gripping your thigh, lifting you higher, opening you more for him. “Letting them knock knowing you were stuffed full of me—”.

You clenched around him, and a low, broken growl tore from his throat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, his pace turning brutal. “You’re so fucked.”

And he was right.

Because in that moment, locked in that bathroom, restrained and at his mercy you had never felt more alive.

His thrusts slowed just enough for you to catch your breath but only barely. The deep, punishing drag of him inside you was enough to make your eyes flutter shut, your body trembling under the intensity of it all.

Then, he smirked.

His lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot and laced with something dangerous. “Tell me, detective,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. Another slow, deliberate thrust. “Where do you want it?”

Your breath hitched, your wrists straining against the cuffs, but you didn’t answer.

His fingers slid down your stomach, teasing the sensitive skin there as he pressed in deeper, harder, making sure you felt every inch of him.

“Inside?” he continued, his tone playful yet dripping with raw possession. “Or all over you?” His free hand gripped your waist roughly, his hold unrelenting. “But honestly…” He snapped his hips forward sharply, making you gasp.

“I’d rather put it inside,” he growled, voice dropping into something darker. His fingers traced your lower abdomen, slow, taunting. “So I can put my child right here.”

Your heart stopped.

He wasn’t joking.

His smirk widened at your silence, his fingers tightening their grip. “Imagine that, sweetheart,” he purred. “No more chasing criminals in that boring little job of yours.” Another sharp thrust. “No more lonely nights pretending you don’t need me.” Deeper. “No more fighting against what you already know is inevitable.”

His hand slid up, wrapping lightly around your throat not enough to cut off your air, just enough to make your pulse pound beneath his fingertips.

“You’d belong to me,” he whispered, his voice pure sin. “You’d be the mother of my child. My wife. My partner in crime.”

His lips hovered over yours, his eyes hungry, filled with something twisted and possessive.

“And you’d love every second of it.”

You knew you should have pushed him away. You knew you should have fought harder, told him he was insane, that you would never belong to anyone.

But at this point…

You no longer cared.

Your body was already his. Your mind was already tangled in his dangerous, intoxicating world.

And as your lips finally met his in a desperate, bruising kiss, you realized the truth.

You were already falling.

And there was no escape.

His smirk deepened as he stilled inside you, keeping you right on the edge, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. Teasing. Testing. Owning.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. His fingers trailed lazily down your body, over your stomach, a silent promise of what he was about to do. What he was going to take. “It seems you’ve already made your choice.”

He rolled his hips just slightly, enough to make you shudder, enough to make your cuffed wrists tremble against the cold counter. But then he stopped.

You let out a shaky breath, your body aching, desperate for more. But that bastard just chuckled, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his hungry, knowing gaze.

“But,” he continued smoothly, cruelly, brushing his lips over yours without actually kissing you. “I want to hear it.”

His fingers dug into your thigh, spreading you open even wider, reminding you exactly who was in control.

“I want to hear those beautiful lips beg for it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You knew what he was doing. This was a game. A power play. A test of how far you’d let yourself fall for him.

And you hated that you were losing.

You bit your lip, refusing to give in, refusing to surrender.

He let out a low, amused hum. “Still pretending to be strong?” His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand sliding between your bodies, fingers taunting and knowing, touching you exactly where he knew you needed him most.

Your back arched, a soft, choked sound escaping before you could stop it.

His smirk widened.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dropping to something dangerous, velvety, addictive. “You’re already mine. Just say it.”

You shook your head, stubborn even as your body betrayed you, even as your walls clenched around him involuntarily.

His jaw clenched, his patience snapping.

“Say it,” he growled, thrusting hard and deep, ripping the control straight from your hands.

A gasp tore from your lips, your vision blurring for a moment as pleasure crashed through you.

“Say it,” he ordered again, relentless, pounding into you with a force that left no room for escape.

Your pride was shattering, your body burning, your breath coming in ragged, desperate pants.

And then he slowed again, torturously deep, deliberate, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make your head spin.

He leaned in, his lips barely touching yours, his voice pure darkness.

“Beg for it, detective.”

Your restraint finally snapped.

“…Please.”

It was barely a whisper, barely audible but it was enough.

His smirk was pure sin.

“Good girl.”

And then he cum inside you.

The air was thick with heat, sweat, and something far more dangerous something final.

Your body was still trembling, wrecked from what he had done to you, from how thoroughly he had claimed you. Your wrists were sore from the cuffs, your breath uneven, but you had never felt more alive.

And neither had he.

He pulled you against him, possessive, unyielding, his lips crashing onto yours in a bruising, devastating kiss. It wasn’t just passion it was a statement. A warning. A promise.

You were his now.

His fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand still gripping your waist, as if daring you to pull away as if he knew you wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips hovered inches from yours, his breath still heavy, his dark eyes locked onto yours with pure obsession.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow,” he murmured, voice silk and steel. His fingers trailed down your arm, slow, taunting, until they reached your wrists still bound, still at his mercy.

“To resign from your job.”

Your stomach twisted, but you said nothing.

“And to say your goodbyes,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. No room for escape.

His lips brushed over your jaw, your neck, your pulse point, where he could feel the way your heart pounded for him.

“After that,” he whispered, his voice a sinful caress against your skin, a command you already knew you would follow. “Call me.”

His hand slid lower, fingers ghosting over your still trembling stomach, his touch suddenly gentle, reverent.

“I’ll pick you up,” he said smoothly. “We’ll go ring shopping.”

Your breath hitched.

Your heart stopped.

And then he kissed your stomach.

Soft. Slow. Intentional.

His lips lingered against your skin as he smirked, fully satisfied, completely in control.

“See you in nine months, my child.”

A shiver raced down your spine, your fingers curling into fists, your mind spinning with everything that had just happened.

Everything you had just agreed to.

You had spent your entire life chasing criminals.

And now?

You were about to marry one.

The next morning, sunlight barely seeped through the curtains, casting a dim glow across the room. Your body ached in ways you hadn’t expected, a reminder of the night before, of what you had done, of the choice that had been made for you. Or maybe, deep down, the choice you had made for yourself. Every part of you still felt him his hands, his mouth, his voice wrapping around you like a curse you could never shake.

You turned onto your side, staring at the ceiling, the weight of reality sinking in. Today was the day. The day you walked away from everything you had spent your life building. The badge, the cases, the thrill of chasing criminals justice had been your entire world. And now, you were about to give it all up for a man who didn’t just live in the shadows but thrived in them.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. His timing was always perfect, always knowing exactly when to pull you back into his grasp before you had the chance to second-guess yourself.

Get up, sweetheart. You have goodbyes to make. Don’t keep me waiting.

You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the sheets. He was giving you the illusion of a choice, as if this wasn’t inevitable, as if you hadn’t already surrendered to him the moment you let him touch you. The moment you let him own you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you moved on autopilot. The shower did nothing to wash away the phantom feeling of his lips, his hands. Even as you dressed, every touch of fabric against your skin felt foreign, like you weren’t supposed to be here, like you were already his and had no business pretending otherwise.

Walking into the station felt heavier than you had anticipated. Every glance from your colleagues, every distant hum of conversations you had once been a part of, felt like a life that no longer belonged to you. Jun-ho was waiting by your desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He had always been able to read you, and today was no exception.

“What’s going on with you?” His voice was low, suspicious. “You disappear last night, don’t answer your phone, and now you show up looking like you’re about to drop a bomb on me.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. This was it. The moment you severed ties with the only person who had ever truly had your back.

“I’m leaving,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I’m resigning.”

Jun-ho’s face barely shifted, but the slight tension in his jaw gave him away. “Like hell you are.”

You exhaled slowly. “It’s not up for debate.”

His eyes darkened. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Jun-ho let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re throwing away everything. For what? Some criminal who got into your head?”

You flinched, just slightly, but he caught it. His expression hardened.

“This isn’t you,” he muttered. “You don’t just run.”

Your chest tightened, but there was no stopping this. It was already done.

“I’m not running,” you said quietly. “I’m choosing.”

Jun-ho stared at you, waiting for some sign that you were lying, that this was some elaborate joke, but when he found nothing, his shoulders sagged.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Maybe. But it was a mistake you were willing to make.

Without another word, you set the resignation letter on your desk, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave.

The moment you stepped outside, the familiar black car was already waiting at the curb. The tinted window rolled down, and there he was, smirking like he had already won.

And maybe, he had.

You slid into the passenger seat without hesitation. The door shut, sealing your fate.

His fingers traced over your thigh as he pulled you in for a slow, deliberate kiss.

“Good girl.”

The car pulled away from the station, from your old life, from everything you had ever known.

There was no turning back now.

As the car moved through the city streets, the weight of everything you had just done settled deep in your chest. There was no going back now. The station, Jun-ho, the badge that once defined you it was all behind you, fading into a past that no longer belonged to you.

Beside you, he was relaxed, one hand lazily gripping the wheel while the other rested on your thigh, fingers tracing slow, taunting circles against the fabric of your pants. His touch was possessive, claiming, like he already knew he had won. And maybe, he had.

You glanced at him, taking in the sharp angles of his jaw, the smirk that played on his lips like he was enjoying every second of this. Like he had planned this all along, knowing you would fold, knowing you would choose him.

He must have felt your stare because he turned his head slightly, dark eyes locking onto yours.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice smooth, laced with amusement.

You exhaled, turning your gaze back to the road ahead. “This is happening fast.”

He chuckled, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly. “Fast? Oh, darling, I’ve been waiting for this for far too long.”

You swallowed, unsure if that made you uneasy or… something else entirely.

He leaned in just a fraction, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, “And now that I have you, I don’t plan on wasting any time.”

You shivered, a mix of anticipation and something dangerously close to excitement curling low in your stomach.

The car slowed, pulling up to an upscale jewelry store, the kind you had only seen in passing but never had any reason to enter. Until now.

He parked, turned off the engine, and turned to you with that same smirk that always seemed to set your nerves on fire. “Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ring shopping.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the words. This was real. He was really doing this.

When you didn’t move right away, he reached over, unbuckling your seatbelt for you, his fingers grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“Unless,” he mused, tilting his head as he studied you. “You’d rather skip the formalities and just let me claim you right here and now?”

Your pulse spiked, heat rushing through you as you met his gaze.

He grinned, sensing your reaction, his hand sliding up your thigh. “I wouldn’t mind putting my ring on your finger while you’re screaming my name, sweetheart.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to keep your composure, but the look in his eyes told you he was enjoying watching you squirm.

“Let’s just get the damn ring,” you muttered, shoving open the car door before he could push you any further.

His laugh was low and knowing as he followed you inside.

The store was pristine, the lighting bright, making every diamond in the glass cases sparkle. A well-dressed associate approached immediately, offering a polite smile.

“How can I assist you today?”

He placed a firm hand on your lower back, pulling you slightly closer to his side. “We’re looking for an engagement ring.”

The words sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t react. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

The associate’s eyes flickered between the two of you before nodding. “Of course. Do you have a specific style in mind?”

He looked at you expectantly, but when you didn’t answer, he smirked. “Something bold,” he said smoothly, eyes never leaving yours. “Something that makes it clear she belongs to me.”

Your heart pounded, the weight of his words pressing down on you.

The associate nodded and led you toward a display case filled with intricate, shimmering rings. Your fingers hovered over a few, but before you could decide, he reached down and plucked one from the velvet display.

A large, deep sapphire encased in black gold, surrounded by smaller diamonds.

“This one,” he said, slipping it onto your finger himself, his touch lingering. “It suits you.”

You stared at the ring, at the way it fit so perfectly, as if it had been meant for you all along.

His lips brushed against your temple, his voice a whisper only for you.

“Now everyone will know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “That you’re mine.”

The weight of the ring on your finger felt heavier than it should, like a silent declaration that you had crossed a line you could never return from. The deep sapphire gleamed under the store’s bright lights, a contrast to the darkness that surrounded the man standing beside you. His fingers remained curled around yours, possessive, firm, as if daring you to try and pull away.

But you didn’t.

The sales associate, unaware of the suffocating tension between you two, smiled politely. “A stunning choice. Would you like it engraved?”

He turned to you, his smirk never fading. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “What would it even say?”

His eyes darkened, his thumb stroking slow circles on your wrist. “Property of—” he paused, tilting his head, enjoying the way your breath hitched. “Or maybe something sweeter, like forever mine.”

Your stomach twisted, your pulse thrumming in your ears. He was marking you, branding you in ways that went far beyond a simple ring. This wasn’t just about marriage. This was about ownership.

The sales associate, oblivious to the undertone of the conversation, simply nodded. “We can have the engraving ready by the end of the day.”

He didn’t take his eyes off you as he answered. “Perfect.”

After finalizing the details, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card, tossing it onto the counter without so much as a glance at the price.

The sales associate’s eyes widened slightly but remained professional. “We’ll have everything ready for you soon. Congratulations to you both.”

The moment you stepped out of the store, he didn’t give you a chance to breathe.

He spun you around, pressing you against the cool glass of the storefront, his body flush against yours, trapping you. His hands rested firmly on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that he was in control.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “Second thoughts?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “No.”

He chuckled, low and knowing, his fingers trailing down your hip. “Good.”

Tilting your chin up, he studied your face, his smirk deepening as his thumb grazed over your bottom lip. “Because there’s still one more thing we need to do before the night’s over.”

Your heart pounded. “What?”

His lips curved into something darker, something dangerous.

“Pick a wedding dress.”

The thought of a wedding dress should have been overwhelming, but at this point, it barely fazed you. Everything was happening too fast, too seamlessly, like he had planned every step, knowing you’d fall right into place.

He guided you back to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. The air outside was crisp, but the heat of his touch burned through your clothes, a constant reminder of who was leading this dance.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you barely had time to exhale before he leaned in, one hand gripping the side of your seat, his lips a breath away from yours.

“You look good with that ring,” he murmured, his fingers grazing over the sapphire, twisting it slightly as if testing how it felt on your hand. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

You swallowed, your pulse betraying you. “Feels like I don’t have much of a choice.”

He smirked, amused, but his eyes held something deeper something unforgiving.

“You always have a choice, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, dripping with dark amusement. “But let’s be honest you already made it the moment you let me touch you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down your arm, featherlight, teasing.

“And now,” he continued, lips brushing against your jaw, “you’re going to finish what you started.”

The drive to the boutique was silent, thick with tension. You tried to ignore the way his hand rested on your thigh, fingers idly tracing patterns against the fabric, keeping you on edge.

When the car finally came to a stop in front of an exclusive, high-end bridal shop, you hesitated.

“Something wrong?” he asked, watching you with that same infuriating smirk.

You turned to him, exhaling sharply. “You really don’t waste time, do you?”

His fingers curled around your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“When I want something, I take it,” he said smoothly. “And right now, I want to see you in white.”

Without another word, you stepped out of the car, walking ahead before he could see just how much his words had affected you.

The boutique was exactly what you expected luxurious, pristine, the kind of place meant for women who spent months planning their dream weddings. The assistant barely batted an eye as the two of you walked in, though you could tell she recognized who he was.

His reputation preceded him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, maintaining professionalism despite the underlying nervousness in her eyes.

“She needs a dress,” he said simply, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. “Something that fits her perfectly.”

The assistant nodded quickly, motioning toward the fitting rooms. “Of course. Right this way.”

You didn’t resist as she guided you toward the racks of pristine white gowns, her voice a distant hum as she talked about fabrics and designs.

He leaned against the wall, watching you with that dark amusement, arms crossed over his chest as the woman handed you a gown. “Try this one.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before snatching it from her grasp and disappearing into the fitting room.

The dress was pure temptation. The fabric clung to every curve, the slit running dangerously high up your thigh, the neckline low enough to make your breath hitch.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, at the way the sapphire ring on your finger gleamed against the white fabric, a twisted contrast of purity and possession.

A knock on the door.

“Open up.” His voice was low, filled with something dangerous.

You hesitated, but the moment you unlocked the door, he was there, stepping inside before you could push him away, shutting it behind him.

His gaze swept over you, slow, deliberate, possessive.

His fingers traced the slit of the dress, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “You look…” His voice was husky, dark eyes drinking you in. “Like something I want to ruin all over again.”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Do you know what happens after you put on a wedding dress, sweetheart?” His lips hovered just over yours, his breath warm, teasing. “You walk down the aisle.”

His fingers slid lower, grazing the soft fabric at your hip.

“And after that?” His smirk deepened, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You become my wife.”

Your pulse pounded, your body betraying you as his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

A slow smirk curled your lips as you reached for his tie, your fingers twisting in the fabric before yanking him down until his forehead nearly touched yours. His breath fanned against your lips, his eyes dark with intrigue, with hunger.

His smirk faltered for just a second as he processed your words, but then it came back sharper, darker. His grip on your waist tightened, possessive, unyielding.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice laced with something far more sinister than amusement.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips ghosting over his without actually touching. “And you love that about me.”

His chuckle was low and dark, reverberating through your chest as his hands slid up your arms, framing your face. “You want me to take you in church?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief and twisted admiration.

You tugged on his tie, forcing him even closer, until your lips brushed his ear. “I want you to ruin me where people beg for salvation.”

His breath hitched, but it wasn’t hesitation it was something else. Something dangerous. Something unholy.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your grip still tight on his tie, your smirk mirroring his own. “I know exactly what I want,” you whispered. “Will you keep your promise?”

For the first time, his smirk completely vanished.

Not because he was uncertain. Not because he was shocked.

But because he realized he had never wanted anything more.

His hands trailed down to the fabric of your wedding dress, his fingers curling into the silk as he leaned in, his lips brushing over yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Then let’s make this official,” he murmured. “And after we say ‘I do’…”

He gripped your jaw, tilting your head back, his lips grazing your throat in a promise of pure sin.

“I’m going to defile my bride on the very altar they pray at.”

The drive to the church was suffocating, thick with tension that neither of you bothered to break. His hand never left your thigh, fingers tracing slow, taunting circles against the fabric of your dress, a silent reminder that this was happening. There was no backing out. No second thoughts. No one coming to save you.

Not that you wanted to be saved.

You stole a glance at him as the car glided through the dimly lit streets. He looked calm. Too calm. Like a man who had already won, who had orchestrated every second of this moment down to the very breath you were taking. His jaw was relaxed, his grip on the wheel effortless, but his eyes they were darker than usual. Possessive. Unforgiving.

The church loomed ahead, an eerie sight against the night sky, its towering silhouette casting shadows across the cobblestone path. The grand wooden doors stood slightly ajar, the dim glow of candlelight flickering from within.

And inside?

They were waiting.

A small group of men, some you recognized, some you didn’t each one uncomfortable, tense, afraid. A priest stood at the altar, his hands clasped together, knuckles white as he avoided looking at either of you. He knew why he was here. And he knew what would happen if he refused.

You could hear their hushed whispers as you stepped inside, the soft shuffle of feet, the barely concealed fear woven into the heavy silence.

One of the men, an older one with trembling hands, took a step forward, eyes darting between you and the man at your side. “Is this… really necessary?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, deliberate chuckle left his lips as he pulled you in close, his fingers splaying over your hip possessively. “Are you questioning my fiancée’s wishes?” he mused, tilting his head.

The older man swallowed thickly, eyes flickering to you for a brief second before lowering his gaze. “Of course not.”

“Good.” His smirk widened, but there was nothing kind about it.

The priest hesitated for only a moment before clearing his throat, forcing himself to focus on the ceremony, though you could see the faint sheen of sweat forming at his temples.

“Shall we… begin?” he asked.

You felt his fingers tighten around yours, and when you turned to face him, you saw it the gleam in his eyes, the way he was watching you like he was already claiming you.

He brought your hand up to his lips, brushing a slow kiss over your knuckles before murmuring low enough for only you to hear:

“Say ‘I do,’ sweetheart.” His smirk deepened, his voice dripping with dark promise. “And then… I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

The words left your lips before you could even process them, a whispered “I do” that sealed your fate in more ways than one.

A shiver ran down your spine as he repeated the same vow, his voice slow, deliberate, wrapping around you like a velvet noose.

The priest’s hands trembled as he pronounced you husband and wife, but the moment the words left his lips, everything else faded.

The church, the flickering candles, the terrified men who bore witness to your unholy union it all disappeared the second he pulled you against him, claiming you with a kiss that was anything but holy.

It was raw, hungry, his fingers digging into your waist, pressing you so close that you could feel the erratic pounding of his heart against yours. His lips were rough, demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulled away just enough to whisper against your mouth.

“Now you’re mine.”

His hand found your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him, to see the danger swirling in his darkened gaze.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his thumb stroking along your pulse point, feeling how wildly it raced beneath his touch. “I told you I’d take you here. In front of them. At the altar.”

Your breath hitched as he dragged his lips along your jaw, trailing down to your throat, where he pressed an open-mouthed kiss, slow and dangerous.

“They’re still watching,” you whispered, your voice unsteady but thrilled by the weight of his promise.

His chuckle sent a tremor through you, his grip on your waist tightening. “Let them.”

His hands ghosted over the fabric of your dress, fingertips teasing where the silk met your skin. “This dress won’t make it through the night,” he murmured, his voice thick with possession. “Not when I’m about to ruin you.”

He spun you around, pressing you against the altar, his body caging you in. His fingers found the delicate buttons running down the back of your gown, undoing them agonizingly slow, making sure you felt every second of him unwrapping his bride.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Time to fulfill our vows.”

The church was silent, save for the flickering of candlelight and the sounds of your own desire. The grand altar, meant for prayers, had become something else entirely a place of devotion, but not to any god. No, the only thing you worshipped now was him.

Your leg was thrown over his shoulder, your back arching against the cool stone as he held you there, possessive, unyielding. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt in your mind this was exactly what you had wanted. What you had demanded.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you felt his grip tighten, his breath warm against your skin. You loved the way he touched you, the way he looked at you like you were something sacred and ruined all at once.

He dragged his lips over your thigh, slow and deliberate, teasing you just enough to make you squirm before lifting his gaze to yours.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery and possession. “Does this thrill you?”

You let out a low chuckle, fingers curling into his hair, yanking him closer. “More than you know.”

His smirk widened. He loved this about you your hunger, your fearlessness, the way you never pretended to be anything less than what you were.

“That your husband is taking you here,” he continued, voice rich with amusement. “Where people come to kneel before their god. Where they beg for salvation. Where they come to be cleansed.”

You exhaled shakily, arching into his touch, relishing the pure blasphemy of it all.

“But you,” he whispered, his fingers digging into your skin, branding you. “You don’t want to be cleansed, do you?”

You smirked, your nails scraping against his scalp as you pulled his head back, forcing his dark, hungry gaze to meet yours.

“Why would I?” you taunted, voice silk and sin. “When I love being dirty?”

His eyes darkened, a growl rumbling low in his throat. You had him exactly where you wanted him.

But before he could claim you the way you both wanted, hurried footsteps echoed through the grand hall.

The priest.

His face was pale, his hands trembling as he took in the sight before him the sacred turned sacrilegious.

“This is the house of God!” the priest’s voice shook with both rage and terror. “You can’t this is sin! This is a grievous offense!”

For a brief second, you expected him to stop.

But he only smirked.

And so did you.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even spare the priest a second glance as he tightened his grip on you, pressing you against the altar.

Slowly, mockingly, he turned his head, locking eyes with the old man who looked moments away from fainting.

“Then leave,” he said simply, voice smooth and unbothered. “Unless you wish to bear witness to our union in more ways than one.”

The priest stumbled back, horrified, speechless, powerless.

You turned your head just enough to catch his wide-eyed stare, your smirk never faltering.

“Or stay,” you added, voice sultry, teasing, cruel. “But in that case, you might want to start praying harder.”

A strangled noise escaped the priest, his face going ghostly white before he turned and fled without another word.

And the second he was gone, you felt his lips crash against yours, a deep, possessive kiss that left no room for doubt.

“You,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with hunger and promise, “are the most dangerous and beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his ear.

“And you love it.”

His answering growl was all the confirmation you needed before he claimed you fully at the very altar meant for salvation.

But neither of you were interested in being saved.

The heat of the moment still lingered in the air, thick and intoxicating, as he remained buried deep inside you. The sacred stillness of the church had been defiled beyond redemption, but neither of you cared. This was your altar now.

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat as he pressed his lips against your ear. His voice was smooth, low, dangerous.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, his tone slow, deliberate, “you’re coming with me. You’re going to help me find those desperate, pathetic souls, the ones drowning in debt, willing to do anything for money.” His free hand trailed down your bare stomach, making you shiver. “And you’re going to stand by my side as we play God with their lives.”

You shivered, but not from fear. From the power in his words.

His hand slid down your throat, resting just above your pulse as he felt the way your heart pounded.

“But…” his voice dropped, turning even more possessive, more threatening. “If I see you so much as smiling at another man, if you so much as play with the idea of testing me…”

You smirked, the defiance in your eyes shining as you purred, “What if I do? What are you gonna do about it?”

The response was instant.

He bit down on your neck hard. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin as his fingers dug into your hips, keeping you trapped against him. Your gasp only seemed to fuel his fire.

His tongue flicked over the fresh mark, soothing it, before he smirked against your skin.

“First,” he murmured, his voice thick with dark delight, “they’ll watch as I take you, as I remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His fingers traced a slow path down your spine before gripping you roughly.

“And then, when they’re on their knees, begging for their lives, I’ll let them think they have a chance.” His smirk widened. “But in the end, I’ll kill them anyway.”

Your breath hitched, and your nails dug into his back, a thrill running through you at his ruthless, unwavering dominance.

His lips brushed against your ear one last time before he whispered, “So go ahead, sweetheart. Flirt with them. Make me jealous. I dare you.”

And from the way his dark, hungry gaze burned into yours, you knew he meant every word.

[emichanted]

Hello hello! Could we please get some headcanons about Atsushi, Kunikida and Dazai(ADA) having a crush on reader that's part of the mafia?

➷ Hearts In Rivalry

Synopsis: Dazai, Kunikida & Atsushi fall in love with the PortMafia!Reader.(All seperate)

Contains: slightly OOC characters, talk of Dazai's "jokes" (double su!c!de). NOT PROOFREAD!!

A/N: thank you so much for this request! I love writing anything for my babygirl Kunikida hshdgd <3

Kunikida:

Kunikida is initially conflicted about his feelings because of the rivalry between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia. He admires your strength and determination but struggles with the idea of being involved with someone from the enemy side.

He often finds himself stealing glances at you during missions, noting how effortlessly you handle tough situations. He might even catch himself daydreaming about what it would be like if you were on the same side.

Curses himself when he realises his feelings as it goes against his ideals.

Kunikida isn't really a words person, he'd rather buy you a cup of coffe after a long day of work than say anything out loud.

He values your intelligence and would often ask you for your opinion on strategies whenever the ADA and PM have to work together.

When he finally admits his feelings, it’s during a serious fight, where he cannot risk either of you... (He doesn't want to think about it)... Before you find out how he feels for you.

Dazai:

Dazai would playfully flirt with you, using his charm and wit to get your attention. He enjoys the thrill of interacting with someone from the Port Mafia, seeing it as a challenge.

He often teases you about your role in the Mafia, making light of the situation to mask his deeper feelings. However, his playful demeanor hides a genuine admiration for your skills and independence.

He often asks you questions about life in the PM, even though he's been in it before, just to be able to have a conversation with you. (And he is kind of curious how much it's changed since he left.)

Dazai might go out of his way to create situations where the two of you end up alone, using his cunning to manipulate circumstances. He enjoys the idea of being your ‘hero’ even if it’s just for a moment.

Always makes jokes about committing together, earning a confused and worried look from you. You can never tell if he's joking or not, but he won't tell you that either.

When he confesses, it is dramatic, during a tense moment where he risks his life to save you, making it clear that you mean more to him than just a game.

Atsushi:

Atsushi would be shy and nervous around you, often fumbling his words or blushing when you’re near.

He admires your strength and confidence, feeling a bit insecure about himself in comparison.

He might try to impress you by showcasing his abilities, hoping to prove that he can be just as strong and capable, even if he’s on the opposite side.

Atsushi would be very supportive, always ready to help you out with any challenges you face, whether in the Mafia or personal matters.

He's just a little kind cutie and wants to help you. So what if you're his "enemy"?

When he finally gathers the courage to confess, it's heartfelt and sincere. He asked you to meet with him somewhere peaceful and quiet, and pours his heart out to you, hoping you might return even just a sliver of his feelings.

A/N: KUNIKIDAAAA (I'm so normal about him I swear) I love my man SM old it hurts my bedroom is full of his merch 😭🙏

But anyway I hope this was to your liking, I definitely had fun writing this !! :3

Masterlist.

[alexanderlightweight]

Your writing has made me come to love Wednesdays!

I've been thinking about when Alec had to raincheck Magnus on that date to wrangle Clary, the "playing hard to get, i do like a challenge" scene.

What if Magnus called again and got rainchecked again and instead of going with it he decided to magically ground Jace, Izzy, Clary, and Simon so he could whisk Alec away.

I too love Wednesdays because of the writing and have missed it so i'm hopeful that it will return to that feeling soon.

i had quite a bit of fun with the new verse this prompt inspired especially because I think season one malec just desperately deserved some time to get to know each other without constant interruptions before valentine returned and the shadowworld exploded and alec's parents returned and took away

i firmly believe that if Alec and Magnus had actually gone on a date or just spent some real uninterrupted time getting to know each other (not drinks and an exhausted night spent after sharing energy because of an emergency) Alec would never have taken his parents 'arranged marriage bullshit'. the minute Alec gets a taste of what actually being with Magnus and the happiness he could have is like there's no going back for him.

Also Alec is Tired and most of that is the fact he can't trust anyone to stay put.

the precipice of duty

-

Magnus blinks down at the now blank phone in his hand.  

This goes beyond playing hard-to-get and has entered the realm of ‘outside interference’.  Something that Magnus never allows when going after what he wants, especially when what he wants is someone.

He rearranges his schedule with a wave of his hands, sending out a flurry of fire messages as he snaps away his clothes and steps into his massive wardrobe.  Despite trying to appeal to Alexander in a softer way, Magnus thinks that perhaps it led to letting himself be misunderstood by others.  Hardly a crime yet unacceptable when it gives people the assumption of power in a game where they are nothing more than pawns between Magnus and his prize.

This is the third time that Alexander has agreed to go out with him only to cancel before they can even meet.  Each time, Alexander’s voice is more distracted, chipped away at with both guilt from canceling and exhaustion, as if in a mere span of days he’s been drained of energy.

It’s ludicrous and not something Magnus will stand for.

Do they expect him to keep helping when the benefits are only for themselves? Magnus is in this for one very specific reason and that is to woo his handsome shadowhunter.

The shirt he picks is a sleek abyssal black, embroidered with golden thread to match the buttons and pattern of the dark storm-blue coat he adds.  It flares when he walks and while the pants and shoes may be less of a statement, the black demon leather of his trousers and the sharp cut of his bone tipped boots are equally complementary and ominous.  

It’s a far cry from the softer look he’d presented Alexander with just days before, but it’s who Magnus is and pretending otherwise has never led to anything good.

Instead of looking overwhelmed or annoyed at Magnus’ arrival and presence, Alexander looks awed.  There is a reverence to his gaze as he drinks the entirety of Magnus in that threatens to undo Magnus’ tenuous self-control.  Perhaps Magnus has been overthinking Alexander’s interest to him this entire time.  Instead of attempting to flesh out what would hold Alexander’s interest, perhaps he should have just remembered the fact that their very first meeting — rushed though it was — had left Alexander speechless and stuttering at a mere introduction to Magnus.

Alexander leads Magnus away from the control room where everyone is very much out of control. There’s defeat in the slump of his shoulders as he again apologizes for canceling, the reason once again that despite promising to stay put, his siblings take off after a reckless Clary time and time again.

“And what if I laid a ward keeping them from leaving the Institute for a minimum of seventy-two hours?” Magnus offers, laying his hand on Alexander’s arm with a daring squeeze to the well-defined muscles of an archer.

“You would do that?” Alexander leans into Magnus’ touch as he asks not in doubt of Magnus’ abilities but incredulous that he’d offer.  

“I would insist upon it.  As much as I’d love to whisk you away for a meal across the world this instance, it’s clear you haven’t gotten any real sleep for days.” Magnus isn’t expecting to be as worried as he is but Alexander responds so sweetly to true concern and interest that he lets go of the instincts he’s been holding back.

There’s a moment where Alexander’s face falls, just a little before his serious expression wipes it away and Magnus has an idea, even as Alexander looks warily back at the control room he’d left the troublemakers constantly keeping Alexander from Magnus.

“And yet, if I leave you here I feel as if you won’t be any more rested by nightfall.”  It’s bold, but boldness seems to work well with Alexander — as long as he follows it with sincerity — and Magnus makes sure no one is around them even as his fingers cup Alexander’s jaw and his thumb brushes over the arch of his cheek. “Come back with me?”

“Come back with you, just so I can rest?” Alexander seems confused, as if the idea of Magnus  — of anyone truly — just wanting to ease the weary tension weighing him down is difficult to comprehend. 

“Just for sleep.” Magnus promises and he smirks and leans closer, “as much as I’d love for more, you need rest Alexander. One without constant interruptions.”

Magnus pulls his hand away and insead extends his palm out, a gentle and unassuming gesture for an offer that if Alexander takes, will change both of their lives.

There will be no turning back after this.  

As exhausted as he is, Alec is clearly conscious of the fact that taking Magnus up on his offer is a choice not hastily made.  To put himself in Magnus’ protection, to sleep in his lair for even just a day, is placing himself under the authority and protection of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

It will be a declaration that even if secret, cannot be unmade.

Cool, calloused fingers take his own and Alexander takes his hand with an expression far calmer than the racing pulse beneath Magnus’ touch.

“I’ll send a message with my orders then.”

“You don’t need anything before we go?” Magnus asks before he can bite the question back, he doesn’t want to give Alexander any chance to change his mind.

There’s a moment where Alexander considers it but then he looks back again to the control room and shakes his head.  

“If you’re willing to go through all this trouble, I imagine you’re willing to help me with whatever I’ll need.”

Willing is putting it lightly, Magnus thinks to himself as he begins layering the ward that will let him finally have uninterrupted time with Alexander.

Knowing that Alexander will end up using Magnus’ own personal products and clothing is an extra gift that fills Magnus with glee.

This entire excursion is going far better than he thought it would.

Magnus had rearranged the loft before leaving and he’s glad he did as they passed through the portal and into the casually comfortable study Magnus had set up.

Alexander pulls his hand free and Magnus would have grabbed it back except Alec has messages to write and orders to give.  Instead Magnus distracts himself by snapping away his jacket and boots and rolling up his sleeves as he summons a book and a drink to the table he’d set up earlier.

Alexander’s face seems leaner than the last time they spoke and Magnus frowns and tugs at Alexander’s jacket the second he turns off his phone and slips it into his pocket. It’s easy to pull it off and then throw it and the phone it carries to the side.  If it slips away into a magical pocket then Magnus will just summon it back later, once a good amount of time has passed.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I’ve been mostly using nourishment runes,” Alexander admits and he wrinkles his nose in agreement at Magnus’ admonishing look. “I do know they’re not healthy or maintainable but they’re better than nothing. Half time I normally use to eat, rest and do extra work is being taken up by the sudden flood of demonic and Circle activity and everything else is consumed by the Institute's current and main complication.”

“Clary.” 

“Yes.” Alexander sighs and rubs at his forehead as if to wipe away the thought of her.

“A nap first then, before something to eat.”

“Our dinner and drinks that I keep missing?” 

“Oh no, this is merely preparation for our outing together, darling.” Magnus feels daring as the pet name slides easily off his tongue. “A little slumber to give you some ease then a meal, shower and a true rest cycle.  Only then will I be satisfied that I'll have your full attention during our date.”

Instead of Magnus summoning a new room or leading Alexander to his own bed, he sits at the couch he’d enhanced earlier.  It’s magically comfortable in a way that eases aches and pains rather than adds to them.

“Indulge me?” He asks, offering his hand and Alexander’s brow arches in bemusement as he toes off his heavy hunting boots.  

“This is what you consider indulgence after everything you’ve given me?”

“Even if someone else has been bold enough to offer their lap and lair to you, I doubt you’d have accepted.  Is it so strange that I want what no one else has been given?.” It’s both a taunt and a test, because Magnus wants to know if he’s right.  If Alexander feels the strange connection that ties them together in ways deeper than Magnus can yet comprehend.

Magnus’ answer is Alexander’s startled but quiet laugh, the amusement that peeks through his exhaustion and instead of sitting down next to Magnus he lets himself lay down.  There’s a quick moment of hesitation before his cheek presses against Magnus’ thigh and the back of Alexander’s head tucks against Magnus' belly. 

“Do you trust me enough to sleep, Alexander?” 

Magnus boldly runs his fingers through Alexander’s hair and feels the hitch of his breath against Magnus’ thigh from the caress. 

Magnus’ answer to his teasing is in the way Alexander melts into him, a tired nod causing his cheek to rub against Magnus’ pants as sleep claims his coherency at last.

-

sleeping in front of something, trusting enough and lowering your guard is a huge deal. Magnus is absolutely thrilled and taking no chances in making sure Alexander will be coming back to him for rest and safety again and again

[reveryfics]

Tony Stark request,

Him and rival male reader? Similar childhood situations, but reader owns a significantly "larger" company/corp.

I love the idea that reader is a (one of the only) Shield funders, so Tony has to be decent.

Power/ability wise, reader either has none (like how Tony just has his suits), or maybe readers father was a major Shield funder, so reader is an enhanced?

If anything specific, this is based off an OC of mine. "Lockjaw". Imagine Cable (x-men), but some rich guy. That's him.

Rival's Gambit

Tony Stark x Male Reader

Summary: Tony gets invited to his rivals latest launch party.

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long, I was trying to think of how exactly to write this.

TW: None?

The invitation arrived on thick, embossed card stock, a stark contrast to Tony's usual digital notifications. It was for the launch party of his supposed "rival," a tech magnate whose name had been plastered across every tech blog and business magazine for the past year. The event promised to unveil a revolutionary advancement, something that, according to the hype, would "redefine the future." Tony scoffed, but a nagging curiosity, coupled with Pepper's subtle encouragement and the tabloid buzz speculating on his attendance, finally nudged him towards a reluctant "yes."

The party was a spectacle of excess, a dizzying display of wealth and technological prowess that dwarfed even Tony's most extravagant events. The venue, a newly constructed skyscraper, boasted holographic displays that shifted and morphed, creating an immersive, if slightly overwhelming, experience. Tony, despite his initial reluctance, played the part of the charming billionaire, offering witty banter and forced smiles to the endless stream of attendees and press who approached him. He felt like a caged animal, every word scrutinized, every gesture interpreted.

He spotted you across the room, a figure of quiet composure amidst the chaos. You gracefully excused yourself from a conversation, your movements fluid and deliberate, and made your way towards him.

"Glad you could make it, Tony," you said, a genuine smile gracing your lips. You tilted your wine glass slightly, the ruby liquid catching the light.

"Wouldn't miss it," Tony replied, his smile a practiced, albeit strained, expression. He was acutely aware of the undercurrent of tension, the unspoken rivalry that the media had so gleefully amplified.

After a few more obligatory rounds of mingling, you managed to corner Tony, just as he was contemplating a strategic retreat. "I'd like to show you something," you said, your voice low and inviting. "In my lab."

Tony hesitated. The idea of venturing into your personal space, a space where you presumably developed the very technology he was supposed to be competing against, was both intriguing and unsettling. But the glint in your eyes, a mixture of challenge and something else he couldn't quite decipher, piqued his interest. And, of course, he was fully aware that the ever-present paparazzi were capturing every moment, a fact that added a layer of theatricality to the encounter.

Your lab was a stark contrast to the opulent party venue. It was a space of focused energy, filled with the hum of machinery and the glow of holographic displays. Tony's eyes widened as he spotted a familiar suit, or rather, the skeletal framework of one, in various stages of completion. It was unmistakably an intriguing design, but with subtle, yet significant, modifications.

You leaned against a workbench, gesturing towards your latest suit. "Unlike you, Tony," you said, a hint of amusement in your voice, "I prefer to keep my identity a secret."

Tony chuckled. "So, you're 'Lockjaw'?" he asked, referring to the enigmatic vigilante that had been making headlines, their identity shrouded in mystery. "Never would've guessed."

The conversation flowed easily, surprisingly so. You discussed your design philosophy, your approach to technology, and your motivations. Tony found himself drawn into the conversation, realizing that beneath the facade of rivalry, you shared a fundamental passion for innovation. As the conversation deepened, you both shared stories of your childhoods, revealing a surprising amount of similarities, a shared experience of being precocious and driven, of seeing the world in a different way.

Eventually, Tony leaned against the desk next to you, a genuine smile replacing the forced one. "You know," he admitted, "I was wrong about you."

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "That must have been difficult for a man like you to admit."

A moment of comfortable silence settled between you. Then, you spoke, your voice soft but firm. "Tony, I've been thinking... would you consider working with me?" You paused, your gaze meeting his. "I believe we could do something great together."

Tony's eyebrows rose. He considered the offer, weighing the potential benefits and the inevitable media frenzy. "I'll think about it," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "But I'd like to discuss it over dinner."

"Tony Stark asking me on a date?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Tony shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Got to keep the press on their toes, don't we?"

[mamawasatesttube]

For the wrapped game, 100?

100. Something I Need - OneRepublic

Lois watches her husband (her husband!) make his way out of the hotel bathroom. The bruises on his face and chest have darkened over the last few hours, but the cuts and scrapes look much less horrifying after he's washed away all the blood. He catches her gaze, and his whole face lights up with a smile.

It's not fair, she thinks. The evening sunlight splashing across his skin from the open balcony doors should be healing him. These wounds should never have even happened.

He grabs a shirt from the suitcase on the stand and tugs it on as he walks towards the balcony, towards her. A warm Hawaiian breeze sends it fluttering around his waist as he fiddles with the buttons. He's so focused on them that he trips over the doorway and stubs his toe with a muttered curse, and her heart twists even as she laughs. It's been weeks, months, since she learned he lost his powers, but it still feels wrong. Since when can Clark Kent stub his toe?

"Come here," she says, pushing herself up from her wicker chair. She reaches for him, helps him finish the last of the buttons; she leaves the top two open and lets her hands fall to his waist instead as she looks up at him. "There you go."

He looks amused as he rests one big, warm hand on her shoulder. "You didn't button all of them up."

Lois quirks a smile up at him, leans up on her toes, and kisses the corner of his mouth. "I'm a woman on her honeymoon, darling. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me the view?"

He laughs, although (to her delight) his cheeks go pink, too. "I would never."

She leads him back to the wicker bench, tugs him down, and curls into his side. His arm is warm around her shoulders, and she tucks her bare feet up against the wicker. The sunset over the Pacific is breathtaking, but it hardly holds a candle compared to the love of her life, safe and sound at her side.

Her husband, she thinks again. The sunlight feels warmer on her skin.

[theclownghoul]

I still really love Act l of Arcane Season 2 and I was so hopeful with how everything was set up and I still think everything is the first Act was good, approaching Season 1 level.

However now that we have the whole season I’ve seen a lot more people start to interrogate the writing, specifically of Cait and Vi.

I was first to defend the way things were done in act l but now that we have the rest of the story it puts many of the choices in a different light and it’s definitely worth criticism.

It remains me a lot of how I feel about Wasteland, the scene of Ekko talking Jinx down. The scene itself is great, stunning and really shows the care both of them have for each other despite all they’ve been through. Ekko not giving up on her because he sees her value where she sees a curse. It’s interesting to see that at her lowest she doesn’t bother to hide that she cares deeply about him. It’s good (though objectively should have been longer) and in isolation I appreciate it.

Retroactively it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. After the ending and Jinx “sacrifice” (that’s set to the same song) I feel like the writers really didn’t care about Jinx coming back from rock bottom with her supports (not seeing anything in between doesn’t help this). She dies and it’s framed the same way as all of her previous attempts and now it’s framed as good. It poisons the scene with Ekko the same as Vi’s later writing poisons her decisions in Act l. Because we now know they don’t care and were not going to be responsible with what they were depicting.

That scene also seems to be unnaturally beautiful, combined with the glorification of Jinx’s sacrifice it’s sickening. They wanted a spectacle and that was what they chose to debut the Z -Drive….

Even the good parts have to be called into question after the later decisions.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Hey there, are you ok?

hey! thank you for checking up on me, this was really sweet!

i SWEAR i did not die. i just got a bit busy doing SladeRobin Week (which i will finish so help me god-) as well as things in my real life. i'm still trying to find the balance of like. fandom creation and working. i am very lucky to have the living situation that i do rn, but it is the sort of schedule where i do have to be ready to watch a baby at really any given point so. it's a tricky balance right now, but i'm going to be active here again! maybe not as many asks answered a day as before, but i want to try to answer like, a few a day and whatnot.

i also think i got briefly overwhelmed, in that i got more asks faster than i answered them. which is the opposite of a problem and something i'm very lucky for! but it did make it difficult for me to keep up and know what to answer next. (this is *not* a discouragement to sending asks! i love them all and pls send as many as you want! i just am a little slow sometimes so i appreciate the patience! <3)

so! i'm back and i'm good, ty for asking! we are back to the regularly scheduled programming <3

[vickyvicarious]

I should write some fic though... it's been quite a long time. Maybe something little and cute or silly to dip my toes back in the water. Hm, tomorrow perhaps...

[inseparabiles]

For the next like, two days, Boys and Wolves will be tagged with Geta & Cara instead of Geta/Cara.

I do not anticipate this state to last any longer than that, but presently the & team of demons in our head has scored a win.

I fucking hate tagging this fic I swear to god. No matter what we do with it it's going to give the wrong impression to someone. The A/N section to explain the relationship tag is several miles long and even that I don't think helps.

Like yes it's platonic. No they're not being platonic about it. Questions? Me too.

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

every day i wish the princesses had like any character at all and werent just there to be girlfriends

[beanghostprincess]

A lil question: What do you all think about Ko-fi for writers? The writer being obviously me, lmfao.

I've seen quite a huge, huge increase in the amount of asks I get per day, usually with prompts and concepts that, even if they're not for fanfiction technically and anons aren't asking for them, it's quite obvious that they're asking me to give my opinion or to write something based on that. Because you all know I always end up writing fanfics about asks or just a long, long analysis that could end up being a fic. Anyway- The thing is, I gladly do it for free because I absolutely love it and those are not commissions or people actively asking me for fanfics. But I was thinking that if there are so many people interested in my views and writing (apparently you all like my writing and want more, which is, wow, fucking awesome to me) maybe you'd be interested in me opening a Ko-fi?

It would work kind of like this (please, if somebody has more ideas, tell me. I have no idea how these things work and it'd be great if you could help):

Ko-fi for donations and commissions. Simple as that. Because I want to write my own original book and I also keep writing fics. It's a good way for some of you to donate if you ever feel like supporting me and my work. Because, I mean, let's be honest, I need the money. It's not directly paying for a service, just donating to motivate me to keep writing! And then I'd just take commissions of whatever fandom I'm in (or damn, maybe you want me to write something original with a concept of yours!). The commissions would be posted anyway in my AO3 account however, they'd be that, commissions for the people who specifically want me to write something they want. I don't have in mind yet how the prices would go, but you would not pay for a genre of fic, but for the amount of words. Like, you pay an amount of money for 5k-10k words and more money if you want something in between 10k-20k (with obviously a range. Dw, I'll think about it) etc, etc, etc.

I am aware of the whole stigma surrounding fanfic writers profiting off their fics, but I am not selling anything, actually. Ko-fi would be for donations to support me and commissions.

Let me know what you think, please, because when I say I get a ton of asks per day I am not joking and I thought "oh, well, if people like my opinion/writing so much they'd be willing to pay a lil bit for new, specific content". That being said, you can send asks like normal and I will always give my opinion on things and even write fanfics if I like it a lot, but if you truly, really want me to write something for you, I could open commissions.

[lazaruscorpse]

things i'm currently thinking about

jason being both little red riding hood and the wolf

jason being nicknamed little wolf (possibly by crime alley)