#i just feel like i’m finally reclaiming my own life

[edandstede]

I grew up with debilitating anxiety and PTSD which continued through my teens and into my adulthood, and only in the past 2 years or so have I been medicated for it and actively trying to overcome daily challenges. Most days I couldn’t even check out in a shop by myself or go anywhere alone without being overcome by fear.

Happy, positive post under the cut:

Today I got 2 trains by myself and spent the journeys happily nose-deep in a book for an hour and a half, got food by myself in a big city and ate it contentedly swinging my legs in my seat while I watched a talented man play piano in the train station, made friends and travelled to a show together with them, exchanged details so we can keep in touch, and danced with the strangers around me at said show.

You might read that and think “I do those things all the time” and wonder what the big deal is, but to me it’s life-changing. When I say I couldn’t do those things before, I’m incredibly serious. I’d become tense, anxious, sweaty, in fight-or-flight mode with a racing heart at the smallest exchanges and situations so many others could handle in their sleep. I wasn’t a man who could just befriend people that easily, or order a drink at a bar without fumbling, or sit alone in a theatre with no friends beside me as a buffer — and even with friends there, I’d still have anxiety creeping in. It’s held me back for my whole life and stopped me enjoying things confidently and in full.

I navigated a solo trip, without any trouble at all, and did so with a huge smile on my face and a spring in my step the whole time, and I’m so unbelievably happy with the progress I’ve made. And I just really wanted to share that here, because I’m proud of myself for working really fucking hard not to let anxiety and trauma limit me anymore, and become a happier, fuller, braver person because of it. :•)

[hsnlv]

stolen affection | y.jw

pairing: husband!jungwon x wife!reader

synopsis: caught in a swirl of tender jealousy, you can’t help but feel left out when your husband showers all his attention on your daughter. but when night falls and it’s just the two of you, jungwon reminds you in the sweetest way that no matter what, you’ll always be his number one.

warnings/others: you both have a daughter in this one🤭, clingy and jealous reader🫵🏻, MANLY MATURE JUNGWON MWAH *chefs kiss*

wc: 1.3k

a/n: idk why ive been thinking about husband!enha lately maybe im just desperate for a husband now *sobbing*💔 butttttt, happy reading loveliesss🎀 here’s my masterlist!

okay, so you’re not actually jealous of your three-year-old daughter. not really. but can anyone really blame you? she’s been glued to jungwon since the moment she woke up, hogging all of his hugs, kisses, and attention like it’s her life’s mission. you’re happy that they have such a sweet bond, of course you are, but… is it so wrong to want some of your husband’s affection too? just a little?

you watch from the doorway as she curls herself into jungwon’s lap on the couch, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. jungwon, ever the doting dad, smiles down at her and presses a kiss to the top of her head, his dimples making an appearance. and what do you get? a quick glance and an absentminded, “hey, babe.”

“hey,” you reply flatly, crossing your arms as you step into the living room.

jungwon doesn’t even notice your tone, too busy entertaining the little one in his lap. she’s giggling as he pokes her cheeks, and it’s undeniably adorable, but that’s beside the point.

you clear your throat loudly, hoping to catch his attention, but your daughter beats you to it. “daddy, do the funny voice again!”

“of course, princess,” jungwon says, his voice suddenly shifting into a goofy, high-pitched tone that has your daughter dissolving into laughter.

you narrow your eyes. “you know, i like funny voices too.”

jungwon glances at you, amused. “oh? want me to do one for you?”

“not funny voices. just attention,” you mutter under your breath, but he doesn’t catch it.

with a sigh, you try to reclaim some of the spotlight. “hey, sweetheart,” you call to your daughter in your sweetest voice, “don’t you think it’s time for a little nap? mommy can tuck you in.”

she looks at you like you’ve just suggested she eat vegetables for the rest of her life. “no nap! i want daddy!”

jungwon grins, pulling her closer as if to seal the deal. “looks like i’m in high demand today.”

“yeah, lucky you,” you mutter, your pout growing deeper.

jungwon chuckles, clearly thinking you’re joking. but you’re not. not even a little.

as the day goes on, your daughter doesn’t relent. every time you try to coax her away from jungwon, she clings to him harder. by dinnertime, she’s practically fused to his side, and your patience is wearing thin.

jungwon, oblivious as ever, ruffles her hair and says, “you’re such a daddy’s girl, aren’t you?”

“yep!” she chirps, shooting you a victorious little grin.

you glare at her. okay, maybe you are a little jealous of your own daughter.

as bedtime finally rolls around, you’re left feeling more than a little neglected. and it doesn’t help that jungwon, being the affectionate husband he is, crawls into bed with his usual grin, ready to pull you into his arms like always.

but this time, you turn your back to him.

jungwon blinks, surprised by the cold shoulder. “huh? what’s this?” he asks, inching closer.

“nothing,” you reply, your tone clipped.

he hums, clearly unconvinced. “nothing? then why aren’t you letting me hug you?”

“just too tired,” you mumble, hoping he’ll drop it.

but jungwon, ever the teaser, smirks. “ah, i see,” he says dramatically, flopping onto his back. “too tired for me, huh? alright then, i’ll just go to sleep like this.” he tugs the covers up to his chin and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “goodnight, honey.”

you sit up abruptly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “oh my god, jungwon, that’s not it!”

he peeks at you from under the blanket, eyebrows raised, and you suddenly feel flustered. “what’s not it?” he asks innocently, though there’s a mischievous glint in his eye.

you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s just… you’ve been ignoring me all day!”

jungwon sits up too, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. “ignoring you?”

“yes!” you say, your voice rising slightly. “you’ve been cuddling her since this morning, and you didn’t even look at me! you don’t care about me anymore!”

jungwon finally lets out the laugh he’s been holding in, his dimples deepening as he reaches for you. “oh, baby,” he says softly, his tone full of affection.

“are you seriously jealous? of our own daughter?”

“i am not jealous,” you snap. “i just think it’s unfair that she got all your attention today. i barely got a single hug!”

jungwon’s grin softens into a fond smile. “baby,” he says, his voice gentle, “you know she’s just a kid, right? she doesn’t mean to hog all my time.”

“i know,” you grumble, “but still. i’m your wife. i should be your number one priority.” his giggle grows louder as he looks at you.

your pout grow deeper at his laugh, glaring at him. “don’t laugh at me! i’m being serious.”

jungwon’s laughter fades, though his smile remains. “okay, okay. i’m sorry. come here,” he says, his voice gentle as he tugs you closer.

you let him pull you into his lap, though you’re still pouting. “you don’t care about me,” you mutter again, but your voice wavers slightly.

“that’s not true,” jungwon says immediately, cupping your face in his hands. “you know that’s not true.”

“but you didn’t even hug me today,” you whisper, your eyes dropping to your lap.

jungwon’s heart softens, and he tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. “i’m sorry, my love,” he says sincerely.

“you’re right. i was so caught up with her today, and I didn’t realize how that made you feel. but let me make one thing clear—nothing and no one could ever replace you in my heart. you’re my number one. always.”

“didnt feel like it today,” you mutter, but your resolve is starting to crumble under his warm gaze.

his gaze softened even more, cupping your cheeks. “hey, listen to me. you’re my everything, okay? my wife, my partner, the love of my life. no one could ever take your place, not even our adorable little cuddle monster.”

you purse your lips, trying to hold onto your pout, but jungwon leans in and brushes the softest kiss against your forehead.

“i mean it,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “if it ever feels like i’m not giving you enough attention, just tell me. i’ll drop everything for you. always.”

“even if our daughter cries for you?” you ask, only half-joking.

he chuckles. “even then. though i might have to bribe her with extra cookies to make it up to her.”

you look at him, a mocking glare penetrating him. “really? you would do that for me?”

jungwon smiles, leaning forward to press the softest kiss to your forehead. “really,” he murmurs. “you’re my wife, my partner, my everything. and if you ever feel like I’m not showing you how much I love you, tell me. I’ll do better, okay?”

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

jungwon kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheeks, then finally your lips, his touch so tender it makes your heart ache in the best way. “better?” he asks, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “better.”

“good,” he says, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “because you’re stuck with me, and I’m going to smother you with love until you’re sick of me.”

you laugh, burying your face in his chest. “you’re so cheesy.”

“and you love it,” he says confidently, pressing another kiss to your hair.

“maybe,” you admit, your smile widening.

“no ‘maybe’ about it,” he teases, rocking you gently in his arms.

as you settle against him, the warmth of his love wrapping around you like a blanket, you realize that he’s right. no matter how much your daughter adores him, there’s no doubt in your mind that jungwon’s heart belongs to you.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[atlabeth]

mine forever

request from @nghtwngs

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!tidemaker reader

a/n: SO sorry for posting this early and having to delete 💀 i was formatting and didnt realize i was not saving it as a draft lmao. but thank you for sending this in love!!! and PLEASEE send in as much nikolai as you want i miss writing for him so much

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): hurt/comfort. reader is insecure, nikolai is the sweetest as usual

join in on my 3k celebration!!

“You’re avoiding me.” 

Your eyes didn’t move away from the horizon when you heard Nikolai’s voice, though you felt your muscles tense. 

“Clearly not well enough,” you remarked. “Seeing as you found me.” 

“You know I’ll always find you,” Nikolai murmured. “But that means little if you will not talk to me.” 

Of course you were not talking to him. You did not know how to talk to him—not when you so clearly didn’t understand the issue plaguing you. 

All you’d ever known was the life of a Grisha. You were tested when you were young, revealed to be a Tidemaker, and whisked away to the Little Palace, where you’d been honing your abilities ever since. You rebelled against the one thing you knew, joined the side of the Sun Summoner, and now you were in the midst of a war for the very survival of your people. 

There were so few Tidemakers left after the Darkling’s massacre, which meant Alina and Nikolai were counting on you more than ever in their fight to reclaim Ravka. 

But when you needed your powers most, they disappeared. 

You— you just didn’t understand, because it didn’t make sense. You’d spent years studying the Small Science and how to wield it, how to manipulate the water around you no matter how miniscule. 

This was not merzost. You had never tampered with the way of the world, never attempted to bastardize the abilities you’d been granted.

Like called to like. There was a part of you that connected to the water, that allowed you the affinity for all of this.  

You had just… lost it. For no apparent reason. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stated simply. The cold of the railing shocked your fingers as you set your hand down, but you welcomed any sort of feeling. 

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nikolai said wryly. He came out onto the balcony and stopped beside you. You could see him looking at you through your peripherals, could feel his intent gaze. “Nobody avoids me unless they have a reason.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “I certainly have a reason, moi tsarevich.”

“So we’ve gone back to titles?” Nikolai’s lips quirked up. “Shall I start referring to you as Grisha? Tidemaker, even?”

You scoffed. “That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “We’ve reached the root of the problem.”

“We hardly did anything,” you said. “Do you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Nikolai said. “But you should know your scornful words have no effect when I’m aware of your true feelings.”

“If you are aware of my true feelings, you should know I would like to be left alone.” 

“You want to be left alone because you feel useless without your power,” he said. “Any man worth their salt would not fall to that, and fortunately, I’m worth quite a lot.” 

You finally turned to look at Nikolai, though you could not muster the full force of your anger when you did. He had that slight smile still, the glint in his eyes, and all you could think was that you didn't even deserve this kindness. 

“Because I am,” you said. 

He shook his head. “You are not. Far from useless, actually.” 

“You served in the First Army, didn’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s relevant—” 

“Just answer my question.” 

“...Yes,” he said. “I was infantry. The 22nd Regiment.” 

“And if you had lost the ability to shoot a gun, would you be allowed to stay on the front lines?” 

Nikolai shook his head. “I will not participate in hypotheticals to help you feel worse.” 

“Because you know it’s true.” You looked back out at the horizon—the sun was steadily setting. “I have no place here anymore.” 

He said your name with a slight huff. “That is not true.” 

“I’m not Grisha anymore!” you exclaimed as you whirled back to face him. “The only reason I have ever gotten anywhere— the only reason I am here, the only reason I ever met you in the first place— it is all because of my power.” You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself in the wake of a cold wind. The material was noticeably thinner than your kefta, but you could not bring yourself to wear it anymore. “I’m useless now. To— to Ravka, to the Second Army— to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “You are not useless to Ravka— and you could never be useless to me.” You averted your eyes, unable to meet the full weight of his softened gaze, and his frown deepened. “That’s what this is about then? 

“Don’t act like it’s so ridiculous,” you muttered. 

Nikolai had the nerve to laugh, and you glared at him. He held up his hands in defense, but he could not fully bite back his smile. 

“I apologize, lapushka, but I did not even consider that as an option for why you were so upset.” 

Nikolai took your hands in his, hands that had been the key to your power the entire life, that were failing you, and he held them like nothing else in the world mattered. “Do you know how absurd the thought of me not loving you is?” 

You glanced away, but Nikolai gently cupped your chin with a few fingers and tilted you back to meet his eyes. 

“Because it is,” he continued, letting his hand fall back down to grasp yours. “I love you with everything in me. I love you because you are you—not because of your powers. Not because you are Grisha.” 

“Who am I if I am not Grisha?” Your voice came out as little more than a whisper, near a desperate plea. You’d never felt weaker, never felt smaller. The only thing you’d known all your life had been ripped away from you, and you felt as if you’d been shoved into an endless void. 

Nikolai said your name softly as he squeezed your hands. “You are a soldier of great renown. A revolutionary on the right side of history. The most loyal friend someone can have. And lest you somehow manage to forget it, you are the woman I love.”

“You deserve better than—” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “—than some broken, failed Grisha.”

“You are not broken,” Nikolai murmured, and he never looked away from your eyes as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are merely on… a different path.” 

“A different path,” you repeated, and you could not help your wry laugh. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we will go down every step of it together. Do you understand that?” 

Nikolai fought for everything he had, despite his standing as a Lantsov. He was a soldier on the front lines, he rose through the ranks on the sea under a pseudonym, and now he was clawing his way through useless formalities in order to take back the throne that he deserved. 

And here you were—someone who was given everything because of some power inside you. And now you didn’t even have that. 

It just did not seem right. It did not make sense. For a man as powerful as Nikolai to stick by your side despite such a misgiving. 

“If you don’t, that is alright.” Nikolai shrugged. “I will just have to spend extra time showing you how much I revere your very being.” 

“Nikolai,” you murmured, and his grip on your hands tightened. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through,” he said. “I cannot lose what you have lost because I’ve never had it in the first place. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that we will figure out what is wrong. Together.” 

“And what if we don’t?” you asked. You couldn’t help it. 

“Then nothing will change,” Nikolai vowed. “Milaya, nothing can tear me away from you, whether you are Grisha or not. Do you understand that?” 

A part of you still could not. Who were you if you were not of use? 

But when you met Nikolai’s eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow with the sunset, full of softness and admiration and love, you found that you could start to.

You may not have believed in yourself, but Nikolai did. And that had to mean something.  

“I’m beginning to,” you murmured. 

“Good,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “But fear not, milaya. I hold enough love for you inside of me for the both of us in the meantime.” 

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch. 10

WandaNat x Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Ch.Notes: no notes this ch

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have a talk about their feelings for you. After that emotional conversation they meet you at the hospital to visit Dragos.

An: If I were to say things get more real next chapter how would you feel...

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The rest of the work day drags for Natasha and Wanda. Both women having other things on their mind. However, with Kate and Y/n out of the office on a hectic day like this, they couldn’t afford to dwell too much.

“Sestra, can we call it a day? I've never taken this many calls in my life,” Pietro barges into his sisters office.

“If you want to go home, then go,” she waves her hand dismissively at him.

“What’s got you so snappy?”

When Wanda’s eyes meet Pietro she’s glaring at him, “If you haven’t noticed I’m trying to run the company our father built on my own.”

Pietro raises his brow, “On your own? Discrediting my work is normal for you, but to act as if Y/n wasn’t running this place last night is bullshit.”

“Well she’s not here now,” Wanda mumbles under her breath.

“Why? Where is she?”

Wanda can’t hide the small clench in her jaw, “Kate took her home. She wasn’t feeling well.”

“She’s in good hands sestra if that’s what's worrying you,” Pietro tries to console her.

Wanda doesn’t want to speak about it any further, “I’m going to see papa whenever I’m done with this do you want to come?”

The way that Pietro's goofy features turn serious never cease to amaze Wanda, “I can’t tonight, I have a date.”

Wanda rolls her eye, “You’d rather get laid than see our father?”

Pietro shakes his head, “No, but this isn’t just some girl. I want this to be serious and I can’t afford to stand her up.”

The red head is slightly surprised, but she nods along, “I’ll tell him about it, I bet he’d be glad to hear you taking something seriously for once.”

He chuckles a bit before going quiet. He looks at Wanda similar to the way a needy child looks at their parent.

“Do you think he’ll wake up?”

“He has too,” the words are heavy as they leave her lips. She has a small smile placed on her face as she continues, “Mama will kill him if he doesn't.”

“Don’t work too hard sestra,” he speaks sincerely taking his leave.

“Enjoy your date,” Wanda says as he walks out of the door.

When he leaves she lets out a heavy sigh. For the first time today she lays her head down on her desk, exhaustion starting to plague her.

Thoughts of her responsibilities as the person in charge rain down on her. This was the end goal that she wanted, but never at this great of cost. She wished her father would wake up and reclaim his place because she didn’t feel ready.

She was focusing as hard as she could, but her mind always strays to her brother’s best friend. Your delicate skin pressing against hers in the morning or the strong arms that wrapped around her waist, or those doe eyes that she could sense staring at her.

Wanda debates for a moment before pulling out her cell phone and dialing the girl. It rings for a while before there's finally an answer.

“Hello.”

“Hey, little krolik. I just wanted to check on you. Nat told me you went home today,” Wanda keeps her tone level.

You sigh on the other end of the line, “I’m ok. I think I just got a little overwhelmed. I’m sorry for stepping out, I know that's not how we do business.”

“It’s no different than me leaving yesterday. This line of work takes a toll on you.”

She can’t see it, but you nod, “I’m feeling better now. I still want to go see pa- Dragos. Maybe I could have Kate drop me off and I’ll meet you two there?”

“You’re with Kate?” Wanda can’t stop herself from asking the question.

“Yeah she took me home and decided to keep me company,” you say nonchalantly.

“I could’ve taken you,” Wanda tries to play it cool.

You disagree with her, “I didn't want to bother you while you were working. It was a hectic day, truth be told I didn't even want to leave.”

Wanda’s tone is strong as she speaks, “I will never be too busy for you Y/n.”

“Wanda-”

“I mean it. I know I’m supposed to move past it, but I missed a lot while I was gone. I couldn’t be there for you like I wanted to. Now that I’m back I’d like to be there for you as much as I can. I still want to be the one you lean on,” Wanda let herself be vulnerable with you.

You were taken aback by her admission. It felt like it was impossible for you to come up with a response. It wasn’t like she was saying something you hadn't heard from her before, but her words felt heavier somehow.

“I know you'll be there for me, Wanda . You don't have to prove it.”

Wanda frowns lightly, “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just- it’s hard knowing I’m not the first person you come to when you’re in need. I know you've grown out of needing people for the most part, but I don’t know. I’m not making any sense. Nat and I will meet you at the hospital.”

Wanda doesn't give you a chance to respond as she hangs up the phone. She scolds herself about how needy she sounded during the call.

“I think I’m finished up for today, whenever you’re ready to go,” Natasha strolls into the office.

Wanda stares at the computer screen for a moment, “I should be ready in half an hour.”

Natasha plops down on the couch of her wife’s office. It’s silent for a moment until Nat shifts on the couch which makes noise fill the office.

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“ About what?” Wanda keeps her attention on the screen.

“What I said about being jealous of Kate?”

Wanda’s brow furrows, “Not particularly.”

Natasha strides over to the woman’s desk chair and places herself in Wanda’s lap. Wanda’s arms loop around the woman’s waist holding her in place.

“We need to talk about this moya lyubov,” the spy places gentle kisses on the base of Wanda’s neck.

The other woman whines, “Why?”

“Because we’re married and you’re in love with Y/n,” Natasha states plainly.

Wanda rolls her eyes, “You were jealous too.”

Natasha nods, “I was and I don’t have a problem admitting it.”

Wanda’s face buries itself in the crook of Natasha’s neck, “So what does this all mean?”

“I like her too,” Natasha states bluntly.

“ I don’t want to lose you,” Wanda’s voice is small as she speaks to her wife.

Natasha softly places her hand on Wanda’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet, “You will never lose me Wanda. I married you because I’m completely, utterly, madly in love with you. That feeling hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“I love you too,” Wanda’s eyes shine as they bore into Natasha’s.

“ I think we should think about what it would be like to add Y/n into our relationship dynamic,” Natasha speaks, but it sounds like a question.

Wanda tenses briefly, “I can admit that I have feelings for Y/n, but I don’t know if I can act on these feelings Nat.”

“Why not?”

Wanda closes her eyes, “I’ve known her too long, Nat. She’s the same age as my little brother, not to mention she's his best friend. If she doesn’t feel the same way, this will ruin everything.”

“Detka-”

“I don’t know if it’s better or worst that we both want her. How would we even tell her Natasha? I don’t want to lose anymore time with her,” Wanda begins to get emotional.

Natasha cups her wife’s face in both of her hands, “Baby, I know you’re scared. This is scary, I’ve never been in a situation like this, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is that you love her and I think I could too. We’ve spent so much of our lives sacrificing for others, but I’m ready to sacrifice something for my own sake, aren’t you?”

“I am, but not at the expense of my relationship Y/n. I just got her back, Natasha. I’m not saying I never want to tell her, but I can’t do this now,” Wanda tries to turn her head away from her wife.

Natasha doesn’t let her, but instead places a soft kiss on her wife’s lips. Wanda relaxes under Natasha’s touch, feeling all of the stress of the day seeping out of her body.

“ Don’t hide from me, Wanda. I want you to share your feelings, I won’t ever judge you,” Natasha whispers against the taller woman’s lips.

“I don’t want to disappoint you. I know you’re ready but-”

Natasha shakes her head, “It’s not just about me, it’s about us. I don’t want to push you to do anything you aren’t ready for. If you want to pursue Y/n, I’m with you, but if you don’t, I'm still with you.”

Wanda nods softly, “I want to, but I- I need time.”

Natasha kisses her again, “Whenever you’re ready baby. Now finish up so we can go.”

“You’re not going to move?” Wanda questions her wife.

Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh, “ You can’t work around me?”

Wanda scoots herself into the desk. She slightly pushes Natasha to press into her further. The spy’s head is in the nape of Wanda’s neck.

“I can and if I’m being honest it’s my preferred method of doing work,” Wanda begins to focus on the computer again.

She works diligently with her wife in her lap. Having Natasha there makes her work go by a little faster and feel a lot less stressful. She finishes up within the hour.

Once she’s done Wanda shoots a text to Y/n saying that they were headed to the hospital. The girl replies saying she’ll meet them there.

Natasha drives, one hand on the wheel and the other holds Wanda’s hand. Her thumb caresses the back of the passengers hand trying to provide comfort, knowing that this was not an easy task for her.

Wanda had only visited her father once. She hated seeing him in such a fragile state. It almost didn't feel like he was her father. He couldn’t be the same man that took her to the city fair, the same mam that placed flowers in her hair, the man that invested his entire life in her dreams, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t the man that kept her safe from her nightmares, because looking at him in this state was beginning to feel like one.

When they arrived they went inside the building.

“If you don’t tell me what room he is in you won't live to the end of the week to regret it,” you argue with the receptionist.

Kate’s behind you her hand resting on your shoulder trying to pull you out of the conflict.

“Is there a problem here?” Natasha speaks up first.

“It’s family only mam, one more outburst and I will have security throw you out,” the receptionist said causing a vein to pop in your neck.

“Nothing that concerns you,” the receptionist snaps at the spy.

You interrupt, “You don't talk to her like that.”

Before things escalate any further Wanda slams her hand on the receptionist’s desk with her card under her palm.

“Now tell me what room my father is in, “ Wanda’s eyes look fiery as she stared at the receptionist.

The receptionist looks at the card her eyes go wide, “Terribly sorry for the mix up Mrs. Maximoff, didn’t know she was in your company.”

Wanda peers down at the receptionist, “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. I don't ever want to hear you address either of these ladies in a disrespectful manner again.”

“Yes, Mrs. Maximoff sorry about that. It won’t happen again. He’s in room 286,” the receptionist looked ten sizes smaller.

You can’t help but give the woman a death glare as you head towards the elevator. Kate stops you on the way.

“I’m going to head home are you going to be alright?” Her eyes subtly glance in Wanda and Natasha’s direction.

“I’ll be fine Katie,” you reassure her.

“Ok just checking. Text me later and make sure you're taking care of yourself,” Kate pulls you into a tight hug.

The sound of someone clearing their throat ends your hug with the doe eyed girl. Kate smiles at you upon the release of the hug, she then waves goodbye, leaving you with the married couple.

“And you’re sure you and Kate aren’t dating?” Wanda can’t help, but comment.

You roll your eyes, “Positive, Katie and I are just friends.”

“What did you do after you left work ?”

You all pile into the elevator as you answer, “Nothing really. We just watched some tv and ordered some food. How was it at the office?”

Wanda goes to answer but Natasha stops her, “No work talk out of the office.”

“Well then what are we going to talk to Dragos about?” You attempt to joke in hopes of brightening the mood.

“ You can call him Papa you know?” Wanda takes her time looking at you.

“I know-”

She cuts you off, “Mama too.”

You nod to yourself, “I know, it’s just not my normal.”

Natasha speaks up, “It honestly feels like you’re fighting against their names when you say them. Mama and Papa sound natural coming from you."

“It feels like they are my parents.”

“They are,” Wanda grabs onto your hand as you approach Dragos’ room.

The air feels different when you enter the room. It’s hard to look at him in such a state. He lies still on the hospital bed with machinery hooked up to him. There are less machines than originally, but still too many in your eyes.

Flora sits by the side of the bed with her hand in his. The view is somber, it takes nearly everything in you not to cry. Almost as if she can sense the tension building in your body, Wanda squeezes your hand.

“How’s he been Mama?” Wanda’s moved closer to her mother’s side, dragging you with her.

“The same, but the doctors are saying that's a good thing for now at least,” she sighs heavily.

“And how are you Mama?” You ask looking over the woman’s features.

Flora sends you a small smile, “I’m tired sweetheart, but I’ll live.”

“Have you been going home?” Wanda questions further.

“To shower and change clothes.”

Wanda’s voice takes a stern tone, “Mama, you need to rest.”

The older woman shakes her head, “I can't leave him for too long.”

“He wouldn’t want you spending all your time here,” you say softly.

“It’s not about what he wants for once. If he didn’t want me here he would’ve listened when I told him going to meet Fisk alone was a bad idea,” she glares at her sleeping husband.

“I’ll have his head for this,” Wanda gets agitated at the mention of Kingpin.

“Blowing up the ports wasn’t enough?” Flora comments.

“Power move, just to prove that there are no cracks in our business affairs,” Wanda’s jaw sets.

Flora looks at her daughter, “He’s not going to take this lying down.”

“I know.”

You squeeze Wanda’s hand to reassure her, “ We’ll be ready for him."

Flora lets out a sad laughter, “You sound just like him Y/n.”

“ That’s a compliment for the ages. I hope I could be half of the person he is,” your gaze falls into your lap.

“You already are. You kids have always made us both so proud.”

You desperately want to ask more about Dragos’ condition, but you refrain. The conversation stays light as you reminisce about the man.

Natasha doesn't say much, but her presence does provide someone to share with. She's hearing most things about her father-in-law for the first time. She's getting a good look into the man he is.

She pays attention to the way you and Wanda both light up when sharing stories. It warms her heart to see the two of you looking genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.

When it’s time to go the mood drops a bit, but not too much. It’s when Natasha goes to follow Wanda and Y/n out of the room when Flora stops her.

“You make sure they're taking care of themselves,” Flora hugs the redhead and whispers in her ear.

Natasha nods, “I will Mrs.Maximoff.”

They head home after that, exhaustion finally catching up to them.

A small dilemma plagues your mind when you get home. Part of you wishes to go with Wanda and Natasha into their apartment where you know you can get a good night's rest. The other part of you tells you that you shouldn't make it a habit. It's a lose-lose situation.

Begrudgingly you decide to go to your own apartment.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you try and give a small goodbye.

Wanda grabs your forearm, “You can come over tonight, if you need to. No matter the time. Alright, little krolik?”

Your eyes shift over to Natasha who smile, showing agreement with her wife, “The door is always open for you.”

You struggle to keep your composure, “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

Your house feels extra empty as you enter. The weight of the day sets into your system. Getting ready for bed seems pointless as you know you won’t be getting any sleep.

Staring at the ceiling seems different, knowing that across the hall was the woman that you had spent your teen years pining over. Yet, knowing that she could love you didn’t make your heart flutter like it was supposed to. It sent an anxiety running through your chest.

You knew that she was probably curled up in the bed next to her wife. Her drop dead gorgeous, kind hearted, Russian spy, wife. A woman in a league of her own, in her own right.

The thought didn’t make you jealous, but it had an adverse effect on you. You wanted to be there, to be involved, to be a part of what they had.

You groan placing a pillow over your head in a dull effort to quiet your thoughts.

Your phone rings on the dresser and you pick it up, and mumble a hello with the pillow still over your head.

“Come over.”

“Natasha?”

There’s a hum over the line, “Yes, are you coming or do I need to come get you?”

You shuffle out of the bed, keeping the phone to your ear, “Is something wrong?”

“Well-"

She’s cut off by her wife, “Come to bed little krolik. I need the extra warmth.”

Natasha chuckles, “Wanda refuses to sleep in your absence. She’s getting a little grumpy.”

“ I’m not grumpy. Tell her to hurry,” Wanda argues with Natasha.

This makes your heart flutter like it’s supposed to, “Are you sure it’s ok Nat?”

“ Lisichka I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you back in our bed.”

You feel a blush take over your features as you exit your home.

“ Ok, open the door,” you murmur and it takes no time for the spy to let you into her home.

Natasha looks exhausted as she grabs you by the arm and drags you wordlessly to the bedroom.

Wanda’s already in the bed and when she sees you she does a grabbing motion towards you. You shake your head before climbing into the bed. She wraps her arm around your waist and snuggles closer to you.

“You sleep here now. It’s better for all of us,” She mumbles against your skin.

“Ok,” you don’t fight her on it, knowing she’d probably forget in the morning.

You look up at Natasha shyly. She still stands over the bed. In a similar fashion to Wanda, you stick out your arms for her.

Natasha grins as she climbs into your arms. You carefully drape your arm over the spy, resting your hand against her flat stomach.

For the second night in a row you find yourself comfortable in their bed. You all think about how you shouldn’t indulge in this feeling, scared it won’t last.

It’s like the couple can read your mind. Wanda’s hold on you tightens and Natasha turns to face you. They keep you safe in their embrace and the thoughts in your head quiet.

No one says anything, but you all feel it. There’s a shift in your relationship and you won’t be able to ignore it for much longer.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader

[punkpandapatrixk]

Full Sturgeon Moon in Aquarius ♦︎ Moon Magick Pick A Card

This year’s Full Sturgeon Moon in Aquarius is also a rare blue moon that occurred on 19 August (sorry this PAC is so late aaagh!!!). Following an insane influx of aenergy during the Lion’s Gate, the theme surrounding this blue moon is Perseverance. This period is all about amassing resources and gathering momentum.

I’ve a feeling this year’s autumn (Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius) season is going to be massive and possibly even life-changing for the spiritually awakened ones ^^ You’ve got to be in the receiver mode of miracles and rare opportunities to really notice! Practically all the aenergies now are leading us to a greater sense of freedom to do what we want when we want.

Also, there’s this sense of…a mandate…? That should push Humanity towards liberating themselves from the enslavement of automation and AI. See, technology isn’t necessarily evil, right? Think about how great it is to have the kind of connectivity we have today; how amazing information dissemination has become in this Internet era.

Technology, just like currency, is impartial. In the end it all boils down to how you’re entertaining the evil agendas of evil people using tech for evil purposes. Become aware of your own habits and inclinations if you don’t want to be a fool-tool of the raggedy corporations. In essence, this Full Moon’s Aquarius aenergy is saying: ‘Use tech to your advantage instead of becoming a slave to it.'

‘Don’t be tech’s little bitch; make it your biotch.’

High time you reclaimed your divine birthright to co-create high-quality Reality instead of getting enslaved by tech that seeks to ‘map you out’. This the era you say to yourself: ‘I’m engineering a more prosperous Reality with my clear conscience.’

GNOSIS: The Dark Rise of Brain Rot Content by Moon

deck-bottom: XV The Devil Rx, Gold Astrologer (Simon Forman), Priestess of Ritual

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Pile 1 – Heart Filled with Sweet Colours

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n – Page of Cups

I see that you’ve transmuted very many negative aenergies within yourself, most of all, negative emotions as well as sensations in your body. Seems you were guided to do this by your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides after having experienced an extreme level of suffering—could be emotionally or physically or both. When you arrived at the most extreme end of what you were struggling with, you couldn’t have gone any other way but to turn your situation around by reclaiming control over your own thoughts and emotions, which effectively shifted your directions and decision making.

There’s a really good quote that says this: ‘When a situation is good, enjoy it. When a situation is bad, transform it. When the situation can’t be transformed, transform yourself.’ You had to learn quite a bit and finally chose to do the last. You’ve known more; now you’re wiser; but wise people are sometimes very pure and childlike. And that’s the beautiful paradox of ‘growing up’ with compassion in your heart. You transformed yourself to be kinder and more loving towards yourself and the crazy-ass situations you found yourself in; now, it’s just easier to extend that love and compassion to the world outside of yourself~♪

t r a n s g r e s s i o n – 4 of Swords Rx

Many of you tuning into this Pile most likely have been in isolation mode for quite a while. The aenergy of this FM in Aquarius, namely the ruler of the 11th House of networking, is pushing you towards becoming social again. And this time everything is going to be (or has been) different. You’ll see that not only are the people in your physical Reality a lot nicer and more compassionate (like you’ve shifted timelines) but you’re also more capable of handling the low-vibing monsters that you may sometimes still have to interact with, with more patience yourself XD

Basically, you’re learning or have learnt to operate in society with more ‘tact’ now. You’ve spent a great deal of time learning to accept a more practical conception of ‘good and evil’ in the world. But to you, good and evil isn’t just black or white; you’re a person who’s come to understand the many colours of good and evil when applied in many different situations. This is wisdom, a gift, that not many have yet to grasp. Your ‘return’ to society is for you to expand this consciousness further and wider!

t r a n s c e n d e n c e – 10 of Wands

The vibe of your ‘return’ to society at large is reminiscent of the Gautama Buddha LMAO He returned to his hometown/home and became a teacher for those who weren’t yet awakened to the higher level of consciousness he had worked so hard to attain! So yeah, a ‘modern priest’ aenergy surrounds you very strongly here; although I find that the majority of you tuning into this Pile are actually quite cute XD Idk why I’m getting a strong ‘gamer girl’ vibe from you. You could also possess a strong sense of aesthetic of your own.

You’re a highly spiritually advanced being but in a cute package, is what I’m getting LMAO At this point in time, your communication skills are getting polished and refined, far beyond what you’re already capable of doing. You may want to look where your Mercury is located in your natal chart, what aspects it makes, and check out what you have in your 3rd House, as well as check out what House is ruled by Gemini ^^ The insight will empower you further at this point in time!

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Red Alchemist (John Dee) & Priestess of Intuition

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Pile 2 – Solid to Liquid, Calmly

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n – Knight of Pentacles

Hold up! You’re about to jettison down a new portal of adventure, pretty soon but before that, hold up; planning and a readiness of the mind is very necessary at this moment. This Moon Reading is very tardy so I’m going to be reading an aenergy that’s pretty much already transpired by the time you’re reading this XD More to come for you in the next FM in Pisces PAC regarding this aenergy, OK? But for the most part, I’m sensing that you’re still in preparation mode for something big that’s just around the corner for you.

Just like the liquid in the glass in the pic you’re attracted to, there’s something solid that’s turning to liquid, but slowly and naturally. You’re not being burnt or heated up to melt…you know what I mean? Because melting solid to liquid can be a painful experience for peeps who’ve been through a lot, right? The Universe is gracefully granting you a peaceful time to manifest your Life Purpose in the most natural and pleasant way just yet!

t r a n s g r e s s i o n – 5 of Pentacles Rx

So, enjoy this peaceful time. I sense that it’s possible that a lot of you tuning into this Pile have been SO used to chaos and drama—so used to bubbling madly at 110C—that now you don’t know how to just…be…when no stress, no drama is going on. It could be that you were a dramatic person before. Maybe you were toxic. Or maybe you couldn’t help but be that way because you were simply surrounded by toxic betches! But that’s all in the past, OK?

If you look around and become aware of where you are now, it becomes super clear how far you’ve carried yourself away from all of that low-vibrating Reality ^^v Understand that you’re ‘weaning off’ drama, chaos and other types of ‘addictions’ caused by high-level toxicity in your old Reality. I’m getting that this is the prime time to study as much as possible about ‘surviving narcissistic abuse’ to give you not only knowledge but also validation :D

t r a n s c e n d e n c e – Knight of Cups

Other than just ‘surviving’ trauma, if that part doesn’t necessarily ring true for you, there’s also this sense of just using this peaceful time to readjust yourself to a more spiritually attuned Life. Perhaps some of you are getting into crystals, meditation, healing audio tracks, subliminals and reiki. Maybe there are other ‘spiritual’ hobbies and practices beyond these ones hahah You’ll know if you resonate~ I’m being told that this Aquarius FM really does bring that sense of balance between ‘spiritual practices’ and ‘modern technological living’ for you.

Maybe you’re meant to know more about this (especially if you identify as a Starseed) but a lot of the human qualities that we classify as ‘positive mental states’ are…technology. Things like harmony, peacefulness, positive mindsets, intelligence…all of these are practically technology. There are ways we can trigger such ‘states of mind/being’ by means of…technology. So yeah…Imma leave you with that for now XD

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Green Magus (John Dee) & Priestess of Energy

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Pile 3 – Integrity Just Like Jelly

t r a n s f o r m a t i o n – Page of Pentacles

The other two Piles are very focused on the idea of rest and self-care, but as per usual, Pile 3 is always about going places and learning shit LMAO In this regard, if you’re not physically going places, this is indicating your mind going places through meditation, daydreaming, movie-watching, or documentary-binging. You know what I mean~ This the period you’re enriching your inner world through any means available to you at this moment.

Whilst doing this, don’t forget your water intake, OK? Vitamins and real foods are crucial for you at this moment. Your cells are digesting a lot of Light. Remember that Light is INFORMATION. That’s why Darkness is the absence of information, right? Light is Information; when Information is digested well it becomes Knowledge; when Knowledge is applied well it becomes Wisdom; when Wisdom is put to the service of all it becomes En-light-enment~

t r a n s g r e s s i o n – 7 of Pentacles

Prospering towards wisdom, I’m seeing that you’re currently being taught to be perfectly OK with things taking their sweet time to unfold! If this is the Pile you resonate with the most, you’re literally on the precipice of your grandest Life Purpose yet! Your Life Purpose is big, you know that, right? It could possibly even change the world or perhaps you resonate with having a Life Purpose that revolves around the creation of a Prototype what will alter the way Humans think or do shit~

This either shares a resemblance to Nikola Tesla or Adolf Hitler. This either takes on the archetype of Sadhguru or Teddy Bundy~ Your take LMAO Either way, you’re meant to disrupt your society and scatter it all! But that’s the thing, right? If you’re gonna be a social menace that’s in the service of Light instead of Dark, you’ve gotta learn to keep your INTEGRITY. Because… what was that again? Absolute power absolutely corrupts?

t r a n s c e n d e n c e – King of Swords

‘Nothing discloses real character like the use of power. It is easy for the weak to be gentle. Most people can bear adversity. But if you wish to know what a man really is, give him power. This is the supreme test.’ – Robert Ingersoll

‘It is from weakness that people reach for dictators and concentrated government power. Only the strong can be free. And only the productive can be strong.’ – Wendell Willkie

‘To have intelligence there must be freedom, and you cannot be free if you are constantly being urged to become like some hero, for then the hero is important and not you.’ – Jiddu Krishnamurti

Do you understand your role in the next chapter of your ARC? Not to be some kind of a narcissistic wielder of power but to be a gentle-albeit-passionate reminder for the people, that only they can save themselves from this pathetically enslaved existence of theirs caused by a lack of Integrity.

Got no integrity? Got no intelligence? Go succumb to AI already -__-;

full moon self-care🔻🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Gold Astronomer (John Dee) & Priestess of Integrity

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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[rispwr]

still with you - JK - PART THREE

pairings : ex!jk x ex!reader

genre : fluff, angst

context : after breaking up with your boyfriend for 14 years for cheating on you, choosing to still stay with him in his apartment wasn't quite the best idea. especially after seperating.

warnings/contents : smut, mentions of ppregnancy, cheating, rape, unprotected sex, alcoholism, degrading, and this jungkook should be a warning.

songs : house of balloons, swim, into it, goodluck, babe, so high, bloodline

this fic only has maybe 2 or 3 chapters (there's an extra 4rth chapterr)

The door chimes, and I look up to see Yoongi walking in.

 His smile is gentle as he approaches, but there’s a hint of concern in his eyes when he sees my expression.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly as he sits down across from me. “You okay?”

I let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. “Honestly? No, not really.”

Yoongi leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine. “What happened?”

I hesitate, the words catching in my throat, but I know I can trust him.

 He’s been there for me through so much already.

 “Last night... it was bad, Yoongi,” I begin, my voice shaky.

 “Jungkook came home drunk, more than usual. He was completely out of it, but that didn’t stop him from... from going all over me. He was aggressive, pulling me around, forcing himself on me. It was like he didn’t even see me as a person, just something to use.”

Yoongi’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening as he listens. “Y/N, that’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to go through that, ever.”

I shake my head, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill.

 “I know. But it’s like he’s not even the same person anymore. He’s so mean, Yoongi, so cruel. He said things—horrible things. He blamed me for the miscarriage, said it was my fault he cheated, that I wasn’t enough.”

Yoongi’s hand reaches across the table, gently covering mine. “Y/N, none of that is your fault. You know that, right? Jungkook’s just trying to push his guilt onto you because he can’t face his own mistakes.”

I nod, feeling a mixture of relief and sadness at his words. “I know, deep down, but it still hurts. I can’t keep doing this, Yoongi.

 I can’t keep living like this.”

He squeezes my hand gently, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You don’t have to. I’ve been thinking about this, and I think it’s time you got out of that apartment. There’s a place I know, near your work. It’s nice, quiet, and it could be a fresh start for you. I know the landlord, and I’m sure they’d be willing to rent it to you.”

The idea of leaving, of finally getting out of that toxic environment, fills me with a sense of hope I haven’t felt in a long time. “Do you really think I can do it? Just leave everything behind?”

Yoongi’s gaze is steady, filled with a warmth that makes me believe in myself. “I know you can. You deserve to be in a place where you can heal, where you can breathe without constantly looking over your shoulder. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you every step of the way.”

Tears well up in my eyes, but this time, they’re tears of gratitude. “Thank you, Yoongi. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiles softly, squeezing my hand once more before letting go. “You don’t have to find out. We’ll get through this together.”

As I sit there, the thought of sneaking out of Jungkook’s apartment no longer feels like a distant fantasy. It feels possible, like the first step toward reclaiming my life. With Yoongi’s support, I know I have the strength to do it.

Yoongi’s suggestion echoes in my mind. “You don’t have to. I’ve been thinking about this, and I think it’s time you got out of that apartment. There’s a place I know, near your work. It’s nice, quiet, and it could be a fresh start for you. I know the landlord, and I’m sure they’d be willing to rent it to you” he’d said, his voice gentle but firm.

 “You deserve to be in a place where you can heal, where you can breathe without constantly looking over your shoulder. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you every step of the way.”

The apartment is shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city outside the window. I move quietly, careful not to make a sound as I navigate through the familiar space. My suitcase is packed, sitting by the door, and all I need to do is grab it and leave. It should be simple, but nothing about this place ever is.

As I pass by Jungkook’s bedroom, I hear it. the muffled sound of moaning, followed by his voice, low and slurred. I freeze, not because I’m shocked, but out of sheer habit. Once, this would have torn me apart, but now, it’s like listening to a broken record. The pain has dulled to a numb ache, 

something I’ve grown used to.

His voice becomes clearer, more distinct, and what I hear makes my stomach turn. 

“She’s so pathetic,” Jungkook sneers, his tone dripping with contempt.

 “She’ll do anything to keep me around, but I’m done with her. She’s worthless, just like the baby she couldn’t even keep.”

The woman’s moans follows, a cruel sound that echoes in the otherwise silent apartment. I should feel something.

 anger, hurt, betrayal

but instead, all I feel is emptiness. I’ve heard it all before, the lies, the insults, the way he tears me down to justify his own failures.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to move again. My hand tightens around the handle of my suitcase as I slowly, carefully, open the front door. The soft click of the latch releasing feels like the loudest sound in the world, but I don’t let it stop me.

With one last glance back into the darkened apartment, I step out into the hallway, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible.

 The sounds from Jungkook’s room are muffled now, distant, like they belong to a world I’m no longer part of.

As I walk away, the weight of his words doesn’t follow me. Instead, I feel a sense of detachment, as if I’m finally severing the last ties that bound me to him. Whatever he’s become, whatever he thinks of me, doesn’t matter anymore. I’m done with him, with this place, with everything that once held me back.

I head toward the elevator, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and relief. The thought of starting over, of living somewhere new, fills me with a strange, tentative hope. I don’t know what’s ahead, but I know it has to be better than this. With Yoongi’s support and the prospect of a new apartment, I finally feel like I’m taking control of my life again.

As the elevator doors close behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It’s over. I’m done with Jungkook, and I’m finally ready to move on.

jungkook's pov

The dimly lit room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the creak of the bed beneath us.

The girl beneath me, someone whose name I’ve already forgotten, runs her hands over my back, her nails digging in as she moans my name. It’s the same every time. mindless, empty, just the way I like it.

 No strings,

no expectations,

just pure,

selfish indulgence.

She pulls me closer, and I smirk, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You’re so much better than her,” I say, my voice dripping with darkness. “She’s so weak, so desperate for my attention, but you... you’re what I need.”

She giggles, clearly pleased with the compliment, and I feel a twisted satisfaction. It’s easy to tear Y/N down when she’s not around.

 I’ve been doing it for months, maybe longer.

 The truth is, I can’t stand the sight of her anymore. The way she looks at me, like I’m supposed to be some kind of savior, like I’m supposed to love her. It’s pathetic.

“God, you don’t know how good it feels to be with someone who isn’t constantly whining,” I continue, my voice low and cruel. “She’s always so needy, always so clingy. It’s exhausting.”

The girl beneath me smiles, her fingers trailing down my chest. “She sounds like a real drag.”

“She is,” I agree, my tone harsh. “Always trying to talk about her feelings, always wanting to ‘connect.’ It’s like, can you just shut up for once? I don’t care about your problems, I don’t care about your stupid career. I’ve got better things to do.”

As I thrust into the girl, my mind drifts to Y/N.

 The way she used to look at me with those big, hopeful eyes, like I was the center of her universe. It used to give me a thrill, knowing how much power I had over her, but now? Now it’s just a burden.

The girl doesn’t even flinch at my harsh words; she just pulls me closer, moaning louder, feeding off the toxicity that I’m spewing. This is what I want. someone who won’t question me, who won’t try to fix me. Someone who’s here for the fun and nothing more.

As the pleasure builds, I focus on the present, on the girl beneath me, on the way she’s everything Y/N isn’t. No strings, no drama, just pure, selfish satisfaction. I push Y/N out of my mind completely, losing myself in the moment, in the thrill of knowing that I’m in control, that I’m the one calling the shots.

In this bed, in this moment, Y/N doesn’t exist. And that’s exactly how I want it.

--------

The apartment is still mostly empty, boxes scattered around waiting to be unpacked, but it already feels more like home than Jungkook’s place ever did. 

The space is small, cozy, and completely mine. The silence here is peaceful, not oppressive, and I find myself smiling as I wander from room to room, imagining how I’ll decorate.

I’m standing by the window, looking out at the city below, when there’s a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I pause, curious and a bit nervous.

 Setting down the mug of tea I’d been sipping, I walk over and open the door, and to my surprise, Yoongi is standing there, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yoongi?” I ask, my surprise evident in my voice. “What are you doing here?”

He chuckles, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I wanted to check on you, see how you’re settling in.”

I smile, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. “I’m doing okay, just trying to figure out where everything goes.”

“Mind if I come in?” he asks.

“Of course, come in,” I reply, stepping aside to let him enter. As he walks in, I can’t help but notice how comfortable he seems, like he’s been here before.

Yoongi turns to face me, a playful glint in his eyes. “So, how do you like the place?”

“I love it,” I say sincerely, looking around. “It’s perfect, Yoongi. I can’t thank you enough for helping me find it.”

He nods, looking pleased. “I’m glad you like it. But, uh... there’s something I need to tell you.”

My curiosity is piqued. “What is it?”

He steps a little closer, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t tell you earlier because I wanted it to be a surprise, but... I’m your neighbor.”

I blink, processing his words. “Wait, what?”

He laughs softly, clearly enjoying my reaction. “My apartment is right next door. So, if you ever need anything, or just want to hang out--I’m literally just a few steps away.”

I stare at him, a mix of disbelief and amusement washing over me. “Are you serious? You live right next to me?”

“Yep,” he says, leaning back against the kitchen counter, his grin widening.

“Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You’re full of surprises, Yoongi.”

His expression softens, and he looks at me with a warmth that makes my heart skip a beat. “I’m just glad you’re finally in a place where you can feel safe and happy.

You deserve this, Y/N.”

For a moment, I’m overwhelmed by how much things have changed in such a short time. I never imagined I’d find myself in a place like this, with someone like Yoongi by my side. But here I am, and it feels right.

yoongi's pov

I watch as Y/N walks around her new apartment, her face lit up with a smile that I haven’t seen in too long. Seeing her happy like this makes everything worth it. the planning, the secrecy, the worry about whether she’d like the place.

When she finally notices me standing in the doorway, her surprise is almost comical. 

I had to hold back a laugh when she asked what I was doing here, as if I could stay away. The look on her face when I told her I’m her neighbor was priceless.

I wanted to tell her sooner, but I knew this would be more fun. Plus, I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for her before I revealed that little detail. Seeing the relief in her eyes, the way she seems more relaxed than she’s been in ages, makes me feel like I did something right.

As we talk, I can’t help but feel this growing warmth in my chest. Y/N’s been through so much, more than anyone should have to endure, but she’s stronger than she realizes. And now, she’s finally in a place where she can start fresh.

I’m right next door, ready to be there for her whenever she needs. Whether it’s just to hang out, share a meal, or talk about music, I’m here. It feels good to know I can be that person for her—someone she can count on.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I say, and I mean it in more ways than one. This isn’t just about the apartment. It’s about us, too. I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes, to being a part of her life in a way that really matters.

As we stand there, sharing a laugh, I realize that this. right here, right now, feels like the beginning of something special. Something worth holding onto.

[ghost9whore]

Lighting’s Reign and Thunder’s Roar VII

House of the dragon x male oc

@jamieclearwater2314

“They’re only two Targaryens worth mentioning; Aegon the Conqueror and Caserys the Haunting”

“If Caserys was so pretty why would they call him the Haunting”

“It means that his face was one no one could forget, He drove people mad with desire.”

(Caserys’ P.O.V)

“Why do you train Rhaeraxes like this?” asked Rhaenyra

“Like what?” I responded

“The way you treat Rhaeraxes, it's different than any other dragon's training. He won't stay in the dragon pit, won’t eat any food given to him, and no one ever sees him” Rhaenyra began

“Hmmm" I begin to ponder a suitable answer or then just I don't want to. "I do not like the way the dragon master would train the dragons so I decided a different way”

“Yet it’s not only been that instance of difference between you and the rest of us. Everything about you is different. Your hair is more black than white and the rumors of your dragon breathing lightning instead of fire. What sets you apart from the rest of us?” Rhaenyra finally asked

“Hmm I’ve never thought about it” I lied

Of course, I’ve thought about it. Why was the storm on my birth connected to my birth? How was I able to bring Rhaeraxes back from his cold egg and why is he growing so quickly? Why is my hair darker?

I have more questions than answers. However, my family seems to have their own opinions.

My father says the storm was due to my “Velayron blood” being able to enrage the seas with my life

My mother says my hair comes from her Baratheon family members

And my siblings say it was the Faith of the Seven

Allowing myself to forget I was with someone Rhaenyra pulled me back into the land of the living. "Are you okay?"

"Yes I'm sorry, cousin, if you'll excuse me I have to get ready to leave King's Landing" I responded back to Rhaenyra

(Daemon’s P.O.V)

Humiliation

That’s what this is. I am humiliated. I have been denounced as my brother’s heir and been replaced by Rhaenyra. My brother doesn’t understand how to be a King and now he doesn’t understand how he doomed the realm.

I need more power and more men

Caserys, I could use him, his father’s men, and his family’s dragons but I would never be able to gather his father's support.

I need to wait, biding my time until I am ready to strike

That’s the key to win

(Caserys’ P.O.V)

Driftmark seems so cold now. I have been away for quite some time. My room is very clean but hasn’t been lived in. The rock near my room where Rhaeraxes would perch has old burn marks yet no new ones.

King’s Landing has been comfortable but too crowded for Rhaeraxes meaning I hadn't seen him. He had been staying away from the dragon pit and the people in King's Landing in general. That meant he stayed away from me for most parts of the day. I could only recognize his roar from a distance or notice his shadow in the sky when I was alone.

Now I can se—

“Cassy!” I feel hands grab my shoulders turning me forward

As I turn at my new nickname to see my sister Laena. She’s smiling perhaps happy to see me or my reaction to her new name for me.

“Why Cassy? It doesn’t sound like a man’s name at all” I ask

“Hmm I suppose it does not however I believe that's why it suits you even more” she responds

“Oh? What is that supposed to mean?” I question her again

“Nothing important, Father wants to speak to you.” She replied

Cutting my conversation with Laena I begin to look for my father to find him in the Maesters room.

Third Person View

Caserys walked into the room to find his father sitting down looking towards the ocean with the Maester whispering into his ear.

Once he had noticed Caserys he had called him to move forward.

“Hello my son” Corlys started

“Hello father” Caserys replied

“My son, tell me what you know of Daemon Targaryen”

“Why father?”

“He has notified me that he will aid our battle for the stepstones to reclaim our land” Corlys smiled back somewhat twistedly

“I’m sure you can guess he wants the crown he believes was taken from him. I suppose if helping you would rally your support in his cause I imagine he would.”

“I gathered that, but what of his interest in you. The crown wouldn’t justify his sudden interest in your life”

“I haven’t the slightest clue perhaps you should speak to him yourself”

“Watch your tone Caserys, I merely mean what of his plans require your help?”

"Forgive me, Father, for I do not know"

"Very well, understand that with our battle of the stepstones, your help on dragon back will be most crucial. Laena hasn't bonded to a dragon and Rhaeraxes outweighs Seasmoke"

"I understand, I will be ready"

"Go"

(Caserys' P.O.V)

After exiting my father's chambers I make my way outside the castle to find my dragon. To finally be able to see my dragon in the flesh. Rhaeraxes' large body exits the sea caves from underneath the castle, finding a new hiding spot from his rock.

As he approaches me, I notice the large horns on each side of his face, resembling Meleys. Rhaeraxes' three black horns on both sides dawing six horns.

He leans down his face right next to my body. As I place my hands I feel the texture of his rough scales underneath my skin.

"We're going to have to fight soon, We just can not lose control again..."

Rhaeraxes curls his head close to me finding comfort in my presence. Yet feeling a different presence, Rhaeraxes finishes his huddle into my body and then travels back into the sea caves just as Caraxes flies over Driftmark Castle.

"Daemon's war for the crown is going to kill us..."

A/N Back from dead... Feeling pretty good. I'm trying to speed these chapters along for season 2. This chapter is loosely based on Episode 2 but the next chapter will be more coherent and better attached to the timeline. For reference, Rhaeraxes is around Drogon's size perhaps a little smaller so maybe more around Rhaegal. I also changed the spelling of Rayraxs' name to Rhaeraxes (again pronounced Ray-rax-sis). Seeing y'all soon loving you guys my ghost whores.

[veersnz]

News of a new Beginning

I am beyond exhausted right now but I wanted at least try and write something tonight. And where do I even begin… I’m overwhelmed by emotions right now, good ones I promise.

As today marks the day I finally graduated high-school. And some may wonder; « but Veer, you’re 22, how come you’re only graduating now ? »

The story is a little complicated but yes, I did start high-school just like everyone else my age over 8 years ago. 8 years ago was also when I started my recovery journey, and as with any journey, nothing is ever goes smoothly and to fulfill it I had to drop out of school. I tried my best over the years to go back and finish my education but I faced many challenges that made it nearly impossible. I managed to finish two of the three years of high-school over a period of 7 years between many hospital stays and periods of great difficulties. In my heart I knew I was getting too old to go back to high school, the gap between me and my peers was widening each year and with it grew the fear of going back, of feeling out of place, alone and crushed by the weight of my own expectations. I was raised believing my academic achievements made my worth and I’m sure many will relate to that, this fear of never being enough. So I almost made peace with never having the future I wished for. But truthfully, this future I had imagined for myself wasn’t mine, it was someone else’s dream. And I was left stranded on the shores of those wishes, not having the faintest idea of what my life would become. And I almost made peace with that.

I clung to those realizations until last September when I enrolled in this special needs school far away from my home. One last time, I thought, one more chance. I didn’t know what I wanted to do after that, if I even managed to stay until the end. But it didn’t matter, my family believed in me, so did my therapist and my friends, even after so many failed attempts they kept their faith intact. And this love, I think that’s what helped me make the decision.

So I took that leap of faith, got a small room and started living on my own for the first time while pursuing my education. I would lie if I said it was an easy ordeal, many obstacles came in my way and I almost gave up, many times. But with the help of my family, friends and the incredible people I met at this school I persevered. I am very aware of the incredible luck I had that September of 2023, being surrounded by so many loving and caring people. I couldn’t be more grateful. And you all count to, it may seem silly because this is « just a kink community » but I’ve met so many brave souls, incredible people and so much love even from afar. Having this positive presence in my life has brought me strength and respite sometimes from the outside world, even just for a moment sometimes. And for that I am eternally grateful.

And so after 11 months I am graduating with the highest honors and finally putting an end to this journey of 8 years. Of course the path to recovery will continue on, but I am turning to a new page of my life’s story and I couldn’t be happier and grateful. I’m still probably in shock and the realization will settle over me in the next few days. But today, today I know that I’ve reclaimed my future.

I know there will be many more challenges, uncertainty and pain to face but tonight I am basking in the happiness of having accomplished something my past self could only dream about. And I hope the parts of myself I left behind are proud of me.

Thank you ❤️

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Across Time (8)

A/N: This is a shorter chapter, I've been dealing with insurance and life and the goddamn election bullshit someone get me out of here...

Sorry. Anyways. I could only get a short chapter out this week. Once I've had a chance to breathe for a while I'll have better, longer chapters out.

Pairing: Adar x Former Elf! Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air in Adar’s tent is thick with the smoke from the fire crackling in the center of the camp. The war drums still rumble in the distance, a reminder of the gathering storm. The firelight casts dancing shadows across the map stretched out on the table before you, its edges frayed and worn, covered in marks and symbols of battles past and the ones yet to come.

Adar stands over the map, his finger tracing a line from Mordor’s heart to Eregion. His thoughts are heavy, his voice steady but urgent. “I must gather my forces—Uruks, wildmen, and those that remain loyal to me. Eregion will fall. We will march when the time is right.”

You stand a few paces away, your arms crossed, watching him intently. His presence commands the space, his dark energy an ever-present undercurrent to the conversation. There’s something in his gaze tonight—a sharpness, a finality. It seems he’s made up his mind, and you know what that means.

“And Sauron?” you ask, your voice low, careful. You feel the weight of this question, knowing full well the danger it carries.

Adar’s eyes flick to you, his lips curling into something almost like a smile, though it holds no warmth. “He’s still a shadow in the woods, a flame flickering at the edges of our reach. But I intend to take him. One way or another.”

Your heart clenches at the thought. Sauron. The name itself carries a weight that none can escape. Even you, standing beside Adar, cannot quite banish the cold shadow it casts.

“You must know what he plans, yes?” Adar continues, his voice darkening. “He moves, too, in the shadows, waiting to reclaim what is his. I cannot allow that. I will move when I’m ready—but I need you to keep an eye on him. Follow him.”

Your brows furrow, not because you don’t understand, but because of the burden it carries. The thought of following Sauron, tracking his every step, is more than just a dangerous task—it’s a risk that could very well tip the balance of power in Middle-earth.

“You want me to shadow him while you prepare your forces for the march?” you ask, your voice steady despite the knot of unease tightening in your chest.

Adar nods, his eyes cold and calculating. “Yes. I need to know where he goes, whom he meets, and what plans he makes. He will not escape me again. You are one of the few who can move unseen, and I trust you to gather the intelligence I need.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering. The task ahead is fraught with danger—not just from Sauron, but from all that lies between you and your target. “And if I’m discovered?” you ask, though you already know the answer. If you’re found, it could very well spell your end.

“I don’t expect you to be discovered,” Adar replies sharply. “But should it happen, you know how to handle yourself. You’ve done it before. This is no different.”

His voice holds an edge of command, and you know he means it. He trusts you, in his own way. And yet, you can’t ignore the weight of this task. Following Sauron, watching him from the shadows—it’s a dangerous game to play, and it’s one that could unravel everything, even for you.

“And what of you?” you ask, your voice softer now, your gaze flicking to the map again. “While I watch him, you plan to move your army on Eregion?”

Adar’s eyes narrow, his expression resolute. “Yes. Eregion must fall. Sauron will be dealt with. But I need to be ready. I cannot risk anything standing in my way.”

You nod slowly, understanding. The stakes are high, and Adar’s resolve is clear. You can’t afford to fail.

“I’ll follow him,” you say, your voice steady. “But I will need something. A way to reach you, should things go wrong.”

Adar’s lips curl into a small, grim smile. “You’ll have it. You always do.”

++++++++++

The dawn is a dim, ashen light filtering through thick clouds as you tighten the last strap on your pack, checking each blade and vial one final time. The weight on your shoulders feels familiar—a reminder of all the missions you've carried out in ages past, each one marked by long nights of careful planning and colder days of loneliness. But this time, it’s different. You aren’t setting out at Morgoth’s command, nor answering the will of anyone but yourself. And yet, there’s a gnawing dread you can’t quite dispel, a tension tightening your hands even as you try to steady them.

Just as you’re lacing your cloak over your pack, you hear Adar’s steps approach from behind, steady and slow. You turn to find him watching you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something else in his gaze, too—a faint but undeniable worry.

“Remember,” he begins, his tone low and serious, “this is not the same as tracking an elf or ambushing a guard. Halbrand—Sauron—is no ordinary enemy. He wields a power that even the most cautious among us would be wise to fear.”

You hold his gaze, determined to keep your voice steady, though you sense his worry mirroring your own. “This is not my first time going into enemy territory,” you remind him, voice calm, trying to reassure him. “I’ve spent ages tracking down threats larger than myself, slipping through strongholds, and staying two steps ahead.”

Adar steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, his expression both resolute and grim. “And your courage is beyond question. But Sauron is no mere enemy of flesh and blood. He is a master of shadow and deceit—a being forged in darkness, with powers both vast and cunning.” His gaze sharpens. “Even the slightest misstep could be fatal.”

You tighten your grip on your pack, lifting your chin defiantly. “I’m aware,” you say, meeting his eyes squarely. “But I’ve dealt with darkness before. I know how to remain unseen.”

Adar’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, and for a moment, silence stretches between you. He studies you intently, as if weighing the strength of your resolve. “I would rather you didn’t have to do this at all,” he finally murmurs, voice low. “I did not give you freedom only to see you walk into the jaws of death.”

You hesitate, feeling his words weigh on you. “I know,” you say, softening. “But this is what I choose. And if I don’t do this—if I don’t stop him now—what will that freedom mean if he brings ruin upon everything you’ve fought for?”

Adar’s gaze softens for a moment, his hand lifting as if he means to touch you but stops short, his fingers curling back. “Then you must be careful,” he says, his voice carrying a rare, almost tender note. “Remember, Sauron is not an enemy bound by honor or reason. He will seek to unearth your weaknesses, to twist your mind with words as much as any weapon. And if he senses you for what you truly are…” He trails off, his expression darkening.

You nod slowly, feeling the chill of his warning sink in. “I’ll be cautious. I won’t underestimate him.”

A beat of silence, and then he speaks, his voice soft but unwavering. “I know you won’t,” he says quietly. 

For a moment, your heart clenches at his words, the warmth of them both unexpected and grounding. You manage a small nod, though you feel the weight of his gaze linger, pressing a kind of unspoken promise into you.

Just as you turn to head into the woods, Adar reaches out, his hand resting on your shoulder, a quiet but firm gesture to halt. You glance back at him, brow raised, but his gaze has shifted to the edge of the camp, where a young Uruk, lean and slight, steps forward, awaiting Adar’s summons with silent attention.

“I mentioned a way to reach me should you need it,” Adar says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This one will accompany you. He has been trained in silence and swiftness; he knows these lands better than most.” His eyes flicker to the young Uruk. “He will follow your command and ensure that you are not left defenseless, should Sauron prove… difficult”

The Uruk steps closer, his movements nearly soundless despite the rough ground beneath him. You assess him in the dim light—he’s slighter than most Uruks, with sharp, watchful eyes and an air of calm that strikes you as unusual for his kind. There’s an intelligence in his gaze, a quiet observation that reminds you of a hawk tracking every movement in its sight.

He meets your eyes and inclines his head in a quick nod, a quiet respect in the gesture. “I am Azgor,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “Adar has told me to protect you—to keep to the shadows, and to leave no trace behind.”

You nod slowly, taking in this unexpected addition. “Azgor,” you repeat, noting the pride that flares in his eyes at your acknowledgement. “I’m sure you’re as capable as Adar claims.”

Azgor straightens slightly, his shoulders lifting. “I am swift as ash falling in silence, and no one will hear me if I don’t wish it.” He glances at Adar, his fierce loyalty apparent. “I would die before allowing harm to come to one of Adar’s own.”

A flicker of surprise catches you off-guard, though you don’t let it show. Adar sent you a companion not just for your safety, but as a gesture of trust. The weight of that gesture rests heavily on you, and you feel both a warmth and a tension settle in your chest.

Turning back to Adar, you meet his gaze one final time, a silent agreement passing between you. He is entrusting you with one of his own—and trusting one of his own with you.

You offer a nod. “We’ll go unseen. Azgor and I will watch and report back if I need support.”

Adar’s expression remains stony, but there’s a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. “Good. And remember, both of you,” he says, his voice softening, “you are valued here. Your lives are worth more than a spy’s report.”

Azgor straightens even more at these words, and you feel the same faint spark of pride in your own chest. With one last nod, you and Azgor slip away from camp, two shadows passing into the deep woods, moving silently toward the unknown trail of Sauron.

[classyblen]

Helloww !

Title: The Ghost Protocol: A classy's Guide to Uncovering True Loyalty

🌹 𝙷𝚎𝚢 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚂𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚜! 🌹

--Today, I want to delve into a concept that might seem a bit unconventional but holds profound meaning in our rapidly changing world: ghosting. Not in the petty or immature way we often hear about, but rather as a thoughtful strategy to discern true friends from mere acquaintances.

Yeah, you heard me right. I ghost everyone even my closest friends. Why? Because truth doesn't come served on a silver platter; it often hides behind the shadows, waiting for the moment to reveal itself.

🚦The Master Plan:

Picture this: I turn off my phone, and the notifications go silent. No texts, no DMs, no Facetime calls just me, myself, and the echo of my own thoughts. I sit in my cozy space, sipping on my favorite drink, and I wait. It’s a test of loyalty, of love, and most importantly, of authenticity. Whose footsteps will I hear approaching my door? Who’s going to care enough to check on me when I turn the lights off?

📍Why This Method?

In a world where everyone is glued to their screens, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the noise. Social media showcases a facade everyone’s living their best lives, but how many are genuinely there for you when the glam fades? Ghosting gives me clarity. It shrouds my connections in mystery and separates the ride-or-die friends from the mere acquaintances.

When you remove yourself from the chatter, you allow the genuine souls to shine.

Real friends will be the ones who not only notice your absence but actively seek you out.🥀 They’re the ones who won’t hesitate to knock on that door, even if it’s a bit of a trek. And let’s be honest, those who don’t show up? Well, babe, it’s time to reconsider their place in your life.

🪴❤️ But Wait, Why Is This Classy AF?

Listen, this isn’t just about testing friendship; it’s about self-discovery too. In these moments of solitude, I can reflect on what I want, who I am, and what kind of energy I’m bringing into my life. It's empowering to take that step back and evaluate my circle, to cleanse my energy of backstabbers and fair-weather friends. By ghosting, I reclaim my time and my peace. 🌷

The Beautiful Part:✨

When the doorbell finally rings, and I see the faces of those who genuinely care, it’s magic. It’s a reminder of the beauty of human connection, and it reinforces the bonds that matter. Those moments of reconnection are pure gold, reminding me that I am loved, cherished, and seen for who I truly am.I urge you to consider this approach in your own life. Take a break from the constant connectivity and allow yourself to observe with intention. You might just be surprised by who cares enough to seek you out.

💬 Join the Conversation!💋

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.

Have you ever tried ghosting to test your friendships?

What were your experiences like?

💌write below and let’s connect!

And if you enjoy this kind of content, don’t forget to follow me for more insights into navigating friendships and meaningful relationships.

So here’s your challenge, lovely souls: Ghost for a bit and see who comes looking for you. Let the knocks at your door reveal the truth. Because in the end, life’s too short to be surrounded by those who don’t value your energy.

I LOVE YOU ALL!!🎀

[riddley-art]

Pawns of the Past: A RiddleCat love story

Chapter 7

Summary: Set six months after the fall of the Justice League, thanks to the Suicide Squad, and five years after Arkham Knight, Riddler tracks down Catwoman, who’s been living far from Gotham, determined to reclaim the money she stole from him. Their tense confrontation takes an unexpected turn as old sparks reignite. What begins as a mission of revenge slowly evolves into a complicated romance, forcing both Selina and Eddie to confront their feelings, their pasts, and the possibility of a future neither expected.

I’m beyond excited to finally share the project I’ve been working on with the incredible @adhdnursegoat! This is our very first RiddleCat fic, and we’re so thrilled to bring it to life today. 💜💚

Rated: Mature

Need to catch up or re-read? Here's the link to: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 Chapter 6- On Archive of our Own

Edward stirs, his face buried in the pillow, the warmth beside him noticeably absent. It takes him a moment to register the void where Selina had been. He blinks groggily, rolling over with the sluggish determination of someone trying to reclaim what they’ve lost. His hand reaches out blindly, searching for her familiar form.

Instead, his palm lands on something firm. Very firm.

His fingers hesitate, then press again, his mind struggling to reconcile the sensation. What in the world— He lifts his head, bleary eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the room.

The sight before him makes his stomach drop.

“Riddle me this,” a deep, unmistakably smug voice drawls, the tone heavy with mockery. “What kind of genius doesn’t understand the concept of ‘bright and early’ for a lookout?”

He jerks upright, his heart leaping into his throat. “Crosby!?” he yelps, his voice cracking as he scrambles backward. In his panic, his legs get caught in the blanket, and he tumbles off the bed with a thud that does nothing for his dignity.

Sprawled sideways on the bed, Crosby props himself up lazily on one elbow, looking entirely at ease in his black V-neck and jeans. The shirt stretches slightly over his broad chest, the casual fabric somehow amplifying the air of smug confidence radiating off him. His grin is wide and wolfish, clearly relishing Edward’s discomfort.

“About time you woke up,” Crosby says, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed with infuriating nonchalance. “We should’ve left an hour ago.”

Edward scrambles to his feet, clutching the blanket around himself like a makeshift shield. His face burns red, the heat creeping up his neck to his ears. “You know,” he snaps, his voice sharper than he intends, “there are plenty of ways to wake someone up that don’t involve crawling into their bed and scaring the life out of them!”

Crosby just smirks, leaning back with an expression that practically screams relax, kid. “You’re too easy to mess with, Nygma.”

Edward glares as he snatches his glasses from the nightstand, shoving them onto his face with a huff. “You’re lucky I don’t have a trapdoor installed in this bedroom.”

“Good thing I’m light on my feet,” Crosby retorts, chuckling as he tosses a gift bag toward Edward. “Get dressed, genius. We’ve got work to do.” He turns his back, giving Edward a sliver of privacy while crossing his arms, still radiating smug amusement.

He catches the bag with a scowl, trudging toward the bathroom. “Where’s Selina?” he asks, peeking inside the bag to find neatly folded clothes. His tone is flat, but there’s a faint note of curiosity. “She’s usually the one waking me up.”

“She and Holly went for a run,” Crosby says, his voice casual as he faces the wall. “Selina told me to let you sleep in a little longer since you had, and I quote, ‘an exciting night.’”

Edward snorts, pulling the shirt from the bag and inspecting it with mild disdain before heading to the sink. “I wouldn’t call getting punched in the face ‘exciting.’”

Crosby turns, one eyebrow arching as his gaze sweeps over Edward with a knowing smirk. “I don’t think she meant that part was the exciting part,” he says, his tone loaded.

It takes a second for the words to sink in, but when they do, Edward freezes. His face goes from faintly flushed to full-on crimson in record time. He stiffens, his mind racing as the memories of the night before come flooding back—Selina’s touch, her laughter, the way she’d left her mark on him in more ways than one.

“Dammit,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the toothbrush as his free hand flies up to cover the evidence on his neck. He turns on his heel and retreats into the bathroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.

Crosby’s laughter booms through the room, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Relax, lover boy!” he calls after him. “No one’s judging you—well, except me.”

From behind the bathroom door, Edward’s muffled voice groans, “I’m never letting her convince me to do that again.”

“Sure you’re not,” Crosby replies, his grin audible in his voice. “Take your time, Romeo. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

Edward sighs, leaning against the sink for a moment. The cool ceramic edge presses into his palms as he steadies himself, his mind spiraling back over the last forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours that feel more like a week. A month.

The first night, staying up with Selina for hours. Their quiet, shared moments laced with unspoken words. The connection between them had been immediate, undeniable, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from sinking into it.

Then there was the... encounter. Heat rushes to his face, his blush rising as he shuts his eyes against the memory. It had been electric, all-consuming. He can still feel the ghost of her touch, the curve of her smile when she leaned in too close. It’s too much to process, even now, even after everything else that’s happened since.

Meeting her “family” came next. Holly with her sharp tongue and quick wit, Crosby with his mountain of muscle and endless smirks and quips. They had poked and prodded at him like he was some strange new species. And in a way, maybe he was. He wasn’t used to this—being pulled into someone’s circle, being given a place among their people.

The night feels like a fever dream, a blur of lights and music that blends into fleeting moments. Derek’s smug face flashes in his memory—the instant Edward had stood his ground. The punch—he winces at the thought of it, the ache still faint but present—was something he’d never believed himself capable of. Yet it had happened. And the way Selina had looked at him afterward... it wasn’t just approval. It wasn’t pity. It was something warmer, deeper. She had looked at him like he was more than the Riddler. More than Edward Nygma.

And then there was the shower.

He catches his reflection in the mirror and his stomach tightens. The faint, dark marks on his neck and chest are a glaring reminder, their edges soft but unmistakable. His blush rises, spreading like fire under his skin. The memory floods his mind unbidden: the heat of her hands, the deliberate press of her mouth, the intensity of her gaze. The way her touch had felt like a claim, like she was leaving fragments of herself etched into him, pieces that would stay long after the water had gone cold.

Edward swallows hard, pulling his tie into place as though the action will anchor him to the present. And now this. Playing buddy-buddy with Crosby—a man whose scrutinizing stare feels like a constant reminder that Edward is out of his depth. Crosby looks at him the way a predator watches prey, like he’s weighing whether Edward’s worth the trouble or if he should simply crush him and be done with it.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. The past two days have been a whirlwind. No, not just a whirlwind—a hurricane, pulling him so far out of his comfort zone that he’s almost forgotten what his comfort zone even is. Plans, puzzles, order—all of it feels distant, as if belonging to a different version of himself.

And yet, there’s a strange, undeniable allure to the chaos. To Selina. To this unexpected orbit he’s been pulled into. Against all logic, he doesn’t want to leave it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

After a few more minutes, Edward splashes water on his face, and steps out of the bathroom, his polished appearance belying the storm still swirling in his mind. He wears a navy-blue button-up shirt, meticulously tucked into tailored slacks, and a sleek black tie that adds an edge of precision to his look. His damp hair is combed neatly back, every strand in place, a portrait of control he doesn’t entirely feel.

Crosby glances up, giving him a once-over. His nod of approval is subtle but unmistakable. “Not bad. At least you look the part. Come on, I’ll fill you in on the details in the car.” Without waiting for a reply, Crosby turns and strides toward the door, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure.

Edward lingers for a moment, his gaze trailing after Crosby before his stomach interjects with a low, audible growl. He veers toward the kitchen, his instincts kicking in as he scans the counter for something to eat—or at the very least, coffee. His hand reaches for the nearest mug.

But before he can make it farther than a step, Crosby’s grip hooks him by the collar, pulling him back with an almost practiced ease. “Sorry, Rid. You missed your chance. We’re out of here before the place gets too crowded.”

Edward wrestles free, tugging at his collar as he shoots an annoyed glare. “Can I at least grab an apple? A granola bar? Something? I need brain power.” Without waiting for an answer, he darts into the kitchen, his hand landing on the first piece of fruit in sight—a pear.

Leaning casually against the doorway, Crosby watches the scene unfold with a raised eyebrow and an expression teetering between amusement and exasperation. “A pear? Really?”

He straightens, holding the fruit like a small victory. “Don’t judge me,” he quips, defiant, before taking a deliberate bite. “It’s fuel.”

Crosby rolls his eyes, his lips twitching as if holding back a smirk. “Fine. Just don’t get juice on that tie, genius. Let’s go.”

As they step outside, Edward’s ears pick up the telltale jingle of car keys, followed by the smooth beep of a locking system disengaging. His eyes dart toward the sound, landing on a sleek grey BMW. Its polished metallic surface gleams under the morning light, and its angular, aggressive design catches his attention.

For a moment, he hesitates. Something about the car—its precision, its stark efficiency—pulls at a corner of his mind. It reminds him, inexplicably and unpleasantly, of the Batmobile. The association is fleeting but potent, a flood of memories rising unbidden. Nights spent in the shadow of Gotham’s most relentless force. Schemes foiled. Ego bruised.

Edward grimaces briefly. Old times. The phrase feels like a relic, something too sharp-edged to hold comfortably.

Before he can sink too deep into his thoughts, a familiar voice calls out, clear and vibrant. “Hey, Eddie!”

He turns quickly, his heart giving an involuntary jolt. Selina jogs up the driveway, her strides graceful despite the sweat glistening on her skin. Behind her, Holly trails at a more leisurely pace. Edward’s face lights up instinctively at the sight of Selina, though the heat crawling up his neck betrays him—yet another moment of infuriatingly obvious vulnerability.

Crosby groans loudly from the car, leaning lazily against it. “Fantastic. More delays. Better make it quick if you want to say goodbye!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, he breaks into a light jog toward her, his steps quick but unsteady. He’s not exactly built for speed. Holly passes by them with a casual wave, heading straight for Crosby, who nods at her in acknowledgment, his impatience simmering just beneath the surface.

When Edward and Selina meet in the middle, she bends forward slightly, hands on her knees, catching her breath. Her ponytail sways with the motion, a few strands clinging to her flushed face. She’s wearing gray leggings and a purple sports bra, the simplicity of her outfit doing nothing to diminish the effortless grace she carries, even after a run.

“Good morning,” Edward says, his grin sheepish as he tries—and fails—not to look utterly flustered. “You should’ve woken me up. I would’ve joined you for the run.”

Selina glances up, her lips curving into a smirk despite her labored breathing. “Oh, please. You? Run? I’d pay to see that.”

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “I could surprise you.”

Her smirk widens, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “You already did last night.”

The words hit their mark perfectly. Edward’s face flushes deeper, the memory of the shower and every touch rushing to the forefront of his mind. He quickly averts his gaze, adjusting his glasses as if that might shield him from her knowing eyes.

Selina straightens up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, her amusement evident. Behind them, Crosby’s voice slices through the moment, sharp and impatient. “Tick-tock, lovebirds! Some of us have places to be!”

Edward glances back at Crosby, who looks one groan away from honking the car horn, and then turns to Selina. He sighs heavily, the reluctance plain on his face as he fidgets, his fingers twitching with unspent nerves. Finally, he reaches for her hand, gripping it lightly but firmly.

“Please, for the love of God, come with me,” he blurts out, his voice pitched with desperation. “I don’t want to be alone with Crosby. I’m terrible at small talk.”

Selina’s expression softens, her teasing replaced with something gentler, more understanding. She threads her fingers through his, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be fine, Eddie. I promise. He’s not as bad as he seems—he just likes messing with you. Underneath all that muscle, he’s a big teddy bear. I’ve known him since we were kids.”

Her free hand lifts, brushing gently against the bruise on his cheek. Her touch is light, tender, and he can’t help but lean into it ever so slightly.

“Just talk about the mission,” Selina says, her tone steady and encouraging, though there’s a glimmer of teasing in her eyes. “You might even find out you’ve got more in common than you think.”

Edward exhales sharply, the weight of her words sitting uncomfortably in his chest. He’s unconvinced but willing to trust her judgment—mostly. “That’s... a big might,” he mutters, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance.

Though, when Selina grins, her smirk softening into something warmer, he feels the tension relax in his shoulders. “Think of it as a bonding moment,” she says, tilting her head. Then, with a casual but deliberate gesture, she motions between them. “Besides, if this—” her fingers wave lightly in the space between them, “—keeps going, you’re gonna have to get along with him.”

His breath catches, heart thudding unexpectedly hard. Is she really thinking about that? About a future where he’s... in her life? His throat tightens, words stalling on his tongue. “Well, I—”

A loud car horn blares, cutting through the moment like a knife. “Rid! Let’s go! Not gonna say it again!” Crosby’s voice barrels from the car window, loud and impatient.

He groans audibly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Selina laughs softly, the sound light and teasing. “Well, hurry along,” she says, her tone playful but warm. Her green eyes hold his, and for a moment, it feels like she’s holding him in place. “And don’t be late for our date tonight. Be back no later than six. I figured we could cook dinner and have our movie night.”

The promise in her voice strikes something deep in him. Before he can respond, she leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his unbruised cheek. Her lips are warm, and the gesture sends a quiet thrill down his spine.

For a moment, his mind goes blank, both from the kiss and when he remembers last night’s discussion on the dance floow. His eyes widen as the realization crashes over him. He’d completely forgotten about their plans amidst the chaos of the night before—the fight, the shower, everything.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says quickly, the words tumbling out with more sincerity than he expects. On impulse, he leans down and kisses her back, this time on the lips. It’s brief, just a light brush, but it leaves them both smiling when they pull away.

“Good,” Selina murmurs, her eyes sparkling. “Now, get going before Crosby has a meltdown.”

Edward nods, the grin tugging at his lips feeling almost foreign in its ease. He turns and jogs toward the car, his steps lighter, more purposeful. Despite Crosby’s irritated shouts, the world feels quieter, softer, somehow less daunting.

As he slides into the passenger seat, still grinning, Crosby raises an eyebrow, giving him a once-over, but he says nothing. 

Glancing out the window as they pull away, he waves back at Selina, feeling a little reluctant to leave. Selina stands in the driveway, her figure framed by the morning light, one hand resting on her hip, the other raised in a casual wave. Her silhouette grows smaller as the car moves down the main road, but Edward keeps looking until she disappears from view.

“About forty minutes to get there,” Crosby says, his hands steady on the wheel, his tone calm but businesslike. “It’s not far from the main shopping center here in town.”

He reaches over without taking his eyes off the road and hands Eddie a folder. “Here. I printed out more info on the guy who owns the place.”

The pear’s sweetness slips along Edward’s tongue as finishes it off and reaches for the folder, his hand brushing against the rough texture of the paper. He balances it on his lap with an arched brow, the motion casual but precise, a habit born of years of meticulous planning. With his free hand, he flicks it open, the rustle of paper sharp against the steady hum of the car’s engine.

“Client ‘Woodlands’,” he reads, his voice thoughtful, almost mechanical, as if testing the weight of the name. “Owned the business for over twenty years. Good reviews…” His gaze flickers up, sharp now. “But you think he’s running more than just a jewelry store?”

Crosby’s focus never strays from the road, his posture rigid yet composed, the sunlight cutting clean lines across his face. His jaw tightens briefly before he speaks, his tone even, almost too controlled. “We know he’s hiding something,” he says. “And it might not even belong to him.”

“What do you mean by that?” Edward’s fingers brush together, ridding themselves of the pear’s faint stickiness, as if clearing his hands will somehow clear his thoughts.

“Rumor has it he pulled some shady deals in Gotham back in the day. Could be tied to the Falcones or Rupert Thorne.” The weight of his words is deliberate, Crosby’s voice dipping lower. His grip on the wheel tightens subtly, knuckles paling. “If that’s true, we’re not just taking from some guy trying to make an honest living—it’s dirty money.”

Leaning back against the seat, Edward lets the folder rest heavy in his lap. He stares out the window, the scenery rushing past in a blur, though his mind latches onto each word Crosby just said, turning them over like pieces of a puzzle. “So, if this guy’s connected to Gotham’s crime families, he’s fair game,” he murmurs, half to himself. “A bunker makes sense. Could be hiding the dirty money there.”

“Exactly.” Crosby glances at him briefly, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. “While we’re in there, you’re hacking into their systems. Get everything you can—just don’t make it obvious.”

Edward tilts his head slightly, his skepticism seeping through his expression. “And how exactly are we pulling that off?”

The corner of Crosby’s mouth lifts in a quick grin, a fleeting moment of levity. “Glad you asked,” he says, slipping a hand into his pocket. He produces a sleek business card, handing it over with an air of theatricality.

With his lips twisted in a skeptical line, Edward takes the card, the polished surface gleaming under the soft light of the dashboard. His fingers trace its precision-cut corners as if testing its legitimacy. The details on the card seem absurd at first glance—more absurd still as Crosby’s grin stretches wider, brimming with unchecked amusement.

“You’ll be Edward Brookelny,” Crosby announces, his tone theatrical, like he’s delivering a sales pitch. “A psychology professor from Metropolis University. You’re here to purchase a ring for your ‘lady.’” He caps the statement with a wink, clearly reveling in the absurdity of it all. “And I’ll play the part of your bodyguard, to make it believable.”

With the card still balanced in his hand, Edward studies it, the skepticism already etched across his face deepening. “And this bruise on my face?” he asks, voice dry, as his thumb absently brushes the textured print.

“Perfect cover.” Crosby doesn’t miss a beat. “It sells the idea that people are targeting you because you’ve got money. You’re just a rich academic with a rough patch of luck.”

Groaning under his breath, Edward drags a hand over his face, his fingers pressing momentarily into his temples. “A psychology professor?” he repeats, incredulous. “Seriously? And you think this is believable?”

A chuckle rumbles low in Crosby’s chest, his confidence unshakable. “With your big words and smug attitude, it’s practically typecasting.”

Edward shoots him a flat glare, but the card disappears into his shirt pocket with a resigned flick of his hand. “Fine,” he mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back against the seat. “But don’t expect me to act impressed by your so-called bodyguard skills.”

 “Don’t worry, genius.” 

Unfazed, Crosby’s smirk lingers, his grip on the steering wheel casual yet firm. “Stick to the plan, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

A skeptical frown shadows Edward’s features as he fixes Crosby with a pointed look. “And how exactly do you expect me to hack into their systems while I’m busy talking to people?”

Glancing at him briefly, Crosby shifts his weight, his eyes flicking back to the road. “Haven’t noticed yet? Those glasses you’re wearing aren’t your usual ones.” He gestures toward Edward’s face with a quick tilt of his chin. “They’ve got a camera built into the frame. It’ll scan any device—cameras, computers, whatever—and send the data straight to your system for remote access later.”

The revelation pulls Edward upright, his posture snapping into focus as he carefully removes the glasses. Turning them over in his hands, he inspects them closely, his brow furrowing as he takes in the subtle modifications. “Wait a second…” He shoots Crosby a narrowed gaze. “How did you even get my prescription for these?”

“I picked up the pair that went flying last night during the fight. Guess you didn’t notice.” Crosby grins, a flash of teeth making his smug face even more unbearable for Edward. 

His mind races, piecing together fragments of memory—the jarring impact of Derek’s fist, the sting in his cheek, and the chaos that followed. His glasses had been the last thing on his mind at the time, and the realization that Crosby had scooped them up without him even noticing stirs a mix of unease and begrudging respect.

“Well, that’s... unsettlingly efficient of you,” Edward mutters, sliding the glasses back onto his face. 

They settle into place with a weight that feels both familiar and foreign, the knowledge of their hidden tech making them feel heavier than they should. Adjusting them with a precise flick of his index finger, he casts Crosby a wary glance, his mind already running calculations on the potential risks and advantages of this unexpected addition to their plan.

From the driver’s seat, Crosby chuckles, the sound low and easy, as if he’s in on a joke Edward hasn’t caught. “Relax, genius,” he says, his tone breezy. “You’ll thank me later when this plan goes off without a hitch.”

Edward rolls his eyes, leaning back in the seat, his silence a mix of begrudging acceptance and simmering skepticism. As much as he hates to admit it, Crosby’s foresight is... impressive. Too impressive, maybe. The man is annoyingly competent for someone who seems to operate primarily on gut instinct. Still, Edward’s natural inclination toward distrust hums quietly in the back of his mind. He files the thought away, focusing instead on the present.

The silence that follows feels oppressive, thick and stifling like a humid summer day. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, each passing second pressing down on Edward’s chest. Conversation has never been his strong suit—he thrives on structure, on knowing the rules of engagement. Small talk, on the other hand, is a minefield of unpredictability, and the thought of navigating it with someone like Crosby makes his stomach churn.

He shifts in his seat, Edward’s fingers drumming nervously on his thigh. The tension builds until it’s unbearable, and he decides—reluctantly—that he has to say something. Anything. Like ripping off a bandage, he reasons.

“So...” he begins, the word hanging awkwardly in the air. His voice is hesitant, uncertain. “The weather’s... nice, at least.”

“Sure is,” Crosby replies curtly, his tone utterly indifferent. He doesn’t even glance at him, his hands steady on the wheel. 

Edward winces inwardly, the heat of humiliation creeping up his neck. That was a disaster. A complete and utter failure. Determined to salvage the situation, he clears his throat, forcing himself to try again. “Uh... how’s it like being a bartender at a club?”

“It pays the bills.” Crosby shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Can’t complain.”

The words are flat, offering nothing, and Edward clenches his jaw to keep from groaning aloud. Another misstep. He glances out the window, watching the blur of trees and asphalt, desperately searching his mind for something—anything—that might spark a real conversation. This is worse than getting punched in the face, he decides. At least with Derek, there had been an obvious solution: hit back.

“Really nice car you’ve got,” he says finally, the words tumbling out in a tone so strained it makes him cringe.

“Thanks,” Crosby replies, his tone still neutral. “Just finished paying it off.”

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration simmering just below the surface. Torture, plain and simple. Crosby’s conversational indifference is a brick wall, and Edward’s social repertoire isn’t built to scale it. His eyes dart to the dashboard clock, the numbers glaring back at him like a countdown to his own demise. Twenty-five minutes left.

Exhaling sharply, he slumps back in his seat, muttering under his breath, “This is hell.”

Beside him, Crosby glances his way, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Not much of a chatter, are you?” His tone is casual, like he’s enjoying Edward’s discomfort.

Turning his head slowly, Edward shoots him a sideways glare, his voice flat. “No. And clearly, neither are you.”

“Don’t worry, genius,” Crosby chuckles, the sound deep and annoyingly amused, his grip on the wheel steady as he shifts lanes. “You’ll survive. Consider this practice for when we’re in the field.”

“Practice for what? Talking to brick walls?” Edward grumbles, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the passenger seat.

Shaking his head, Crosby lets out another quiet laugh, the smirk still etched on his face. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Edward groans, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if that will block out the infuriating man beside him. Patience is a resource in short supply, and Crosby’s cryptic quips are testing its limits. The silence feels heavier than the noise, pressing down on him, prickling at the edges of his thoughts.

Part of him wonders if this is his fault. Socializing has never come naturally—friendships even less so. After years of being overlooked, dismissed, or mocked, he’d stopped trying altogether. People didn’t make an effort with him, so why should he? The logic was airtight. Rational. He needed no one, and no one needed him. That’s what he told himself.

But now…

Now, there’s Selina. Her laughter, her sharp wit, the way her green eyes soften when they land on him. She’s pulled him into her orbit with a gravity he can’t resist, and for the first time in years, he feels a pull to connect, to belong. Crosby matters to her. That much is clear. And if Edward wants something real with her, he knows—begrudgingly—that this has to matter too.

His sigh is quiet, almost imperceptible, as he shifts in his seat. The leather creaks under the motion, and his gaze flicks to Crosby’s arm. There, beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, a tattoo stands out. He’s noticed it before, glimpsed in passing, but never paused long enough to study it. Now, in the stillness of the car, the details come into focus: a simple cross, stark and clean, with a name etched beneath it—Sarah.

The name burrows in Edward’s mind, prodding at his curiosity with an insistence that won’t let go. Reaching out, caring—this isn’t him. Not naturally, not easily. But Selina’s voice rings in his thoughts, her laughter, her teasing warmth. If being part of her world means learning to navigate these uncharted waters, maybe, just maybe, he can try. 

Straightening slightly, he tilts his head toward Crosby, his voice soft but threaded with genuine interest. “So,” he begins, hesitant, but the words spill out before he can second-guess them, “who’s Sarah?”

The moment the question leaves his lips, the car jerks violently. Crosby slams the brakes, narrowly avoiding running a red light. Edward lurches forward, his chest colliding with the seatbelt as it locks him back with a harsh snap. The air in the car turns electric, buzzing with tension.

“What the hell!” Edward sputters, his fingers gripping the armrest like it might steady his racing pulse. The words shoot out sharper than intended, more from the adrenaline than anything else.

Crosby doesn’t answer. His hands grip the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his gaze fixed ahead like he’s staring down a memory instead of the road. His jaw tightens, the muscles flickering in sharp relief under the muted light. He doesn’t look at Edward.

The silence stretches, too taut and too loud. Edward sinks back into his seat, the question hanging between them like an echo that refuses to fade. His heart still pounds, but it’s not just from the sudden stop now. Clearly, I hit a nerve. Regret needles its way into his thoughts, but it’s tangled with an unexpected pang of guilt. He hadn’t expected to dig this deep.

The light changes to green. Crosby eases his foot back onto the gas, the car resuming its smooth, steady motion as if nothing had happened. But the air hasn’t cleared. If anything, it’s grown heavier, suffocating with unspoken weight.

Minutes pass, long and uncomfortable, before Crosby finally breaks the silence. His voice is low, deliberate, and thick with a tightly leashed emotion. “She was my wife,” he says, the words landing like a sharp-edged stone between them. His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, though his knuckles still betray a tension he can’t quite shake. “My beloved wife.”

Edward blinks, the revelation hitting harder than he’d anticipated. Wife? He hadn’t expected such a raw, personal truth. His usual arsenal of quick comebacks and razor-sharp wit feels suddenly inadequate, leaving him floundering for something—anything—worth saying.

“I—” he starts, then stops. The weight of the moment makes every word feel wrong, too hollow, too small. Shifting awkwardly, he glances at Crosby out of the corner of his eye, searching for some sign, any sign, that this conversation isn’t a complete disaster.

“You didn’t know, so it’s fine,” Crosby says, his voice calmer now, though there’s an undertone that betrays his struggle to keep steady. He doesn’t glance over, his focus still locked on the road. But the words feel practiced, not entirely true.

Crosby exhales, a sound too soft to be a sigh but carrying the same weight. “She died that night,” he says, his voice dipping lower, the edges roughened with a pain that time hasn’t dulled. “That Halloween night... during Scarecrow’s wrath.”

The car feels quieter now, the engine’s hum reduced to a soft undercurrent against the unspoken tension. Edward shifts slightly in his seat, the weight of Crosby’s revelation pressing against his chest like a heavy hand. He wants to say something—to ask, to understand—but the way Crosby’s knuckles flex and relax against the wheel warns him to tread carefully. Sometimes silence carries more meaning than words.

Swallowing hard, Edward lets the moment settle. The name Sarah echoes in his mind, wrapped in the context of Scarecrow’s chaos. That night had left scars on everyone who had lived through it—himself, Selina, even Batman. A night etched into Gotham’s bones.

“I’m... sorry to hear that,” Edward finally says, his voice quieter than he expects. The words feel clumsy on his tongue, but they carry sincerity. He doesn’t know what else to offer, only that he needs to say something.

Crosby inclines his head slightly, his grip on the wheel loosening but not entirely relaxed. “Appreciate it,” he replies, his tone signaling he doesn’t want to linger on the topic.

The silence that follows feels softer, no longer suffocating but heavy with shared understanding. Edward turns his gaze to the window, the city rolling by as his mind churns. Crosby’s loss carves a sharp contrast to his own memories of that night, their connection to Gotham threading a tenuous bridge between them.

Breaking the quiet, Crosby speaks again, his voice low, almost tentative. “Selina never told you much about me, did she?”

Edward glances back at him, caught off guard by the shift in tone. Twiddling his thumbs in his lap, he shakes his head. “Only that you two grew up in the orphanage together,” he admits, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

Crosby nods, his gaze steady on the road, his posture softening. “Yeah, that’s the simple version,” he says, his voice carrying a note of something deeper. “I was older, so I left the orphanage before her. Ended up joining the Army, went the medical route.”

Edward tilts his head slightly, the awkwardness of the conversation giving way to genuine interest. The details add layers to the man beside him, shifting his perception.

“Met Sarah while I was in,” Crosby continues, his voice gaining a rare warmth. “She was in the Army too. We both got out with honorable discharges, got married, and... had a daughter. Grace.”

The name feels like a ghost. Edward watches Crosby’s face, noting the way his jaw softens, the way his grip on the wheel relaxes completely for the first time. There’s a bittersweet curve to his mouth, a fleeting smile that speaks of a life long past but not forgotten.

Leaning back, Edward feels something stir in his chest—respect, sympathy, perhaps both. He doesn’t interrupt, letting Crosby follow the thread of his own story.

“We moved to Gotham after that,” Crosby says, his voice hardening slightly, as though stepping into a darker chapter. “That’s when I crossed paths with a man named Jason Todd. You’d know him better as the Arkham Knight.”

The shift in Crosby’s tone pulls Edward upright, his posture stiffening as Jason Todd’s name hits him like a jolt of static electricity. The memories flood in unbidden—Jason’s icy precision, his calculated fury, the raw force of his presence. Edward can still recall the brief but indelible impression the Arkham Knight left on him. “You worked with him?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “The militia? The entire operation?”

Crosby nods slowly, the motion weighted, reluctant. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost as if he’s confessing. “Not exactly a high point in my life. But back then... he promised me the kind of money you dream about. Enough to keep my family safe. Enough to get out.” His hands tighten on the wheel briefly before relaxing again. “He trusted me to head his medical team—practically his personal physician. We went way back.”

Edward’s eyebrows lift, the puzzle pieces reshuffling in his mind. “You knew him before all that?” he asks, the sharp edge of curiosity cutting through his initial shock.

For a moment, Crosby doesn’t answer. The wheel creaks faintly under his tightened grip before he exhales a low, tired sigh. “Yeah. Army days. He was... different back then. Angry, sure, but not like he was later. Not broken.”

Leaning back slightly, Edward folds his hands in his lap, his mind turning over the implications. “And you believed him? About the riches?” he presses, unable to keep the skepticism from his tone.

A bitter chuckle escapes Crosby, low and humorless. “Desperation makes you believe a lot of things you shouldn’t,” he says, his voice darkening. “Especially when you’ve got people you care about, people you’re trying to protect.”

The gravity of Crosby’s words presses against Edward, stirring something uncomfortable in his chest. He recognizes the tone—the regret, the bitterness of choices made under duress. Edward doesn’t interrupt, sensing the story isn’t finished.

“I thought it was my ticket out,” Crosby continues, his voice heavier now, like every word costs him. “A clean break. An early retirement. But I was blind because...” His sentence trails off, his jaw working as he fights to get the words out. After a long pause, he takes a breath that shudders slightly. “During that time, my wife was back in Gotham. Alone. Our baby was out of state, visiting her granddad, and that lunatic Zsasz...”

Zsasz. 

The very mention of him sends a chill down his spine. Edward knows the name too well, knows the blood-soaked trail that monster left in his wake. Refusing to work with Zsasz had been one of the few ethical boundaries Edward hadn’t dared cross.

“He killed her.” Crosby’s grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles go white, the tremor in his voice betraying the storm beneath. “In cold blood. I wasn’t there to protect her.”

The silence that follows feels suffocating, as if the car itself is holding its breath. Edward glances sideways, his own hands twitching uselessly in his lap. He doesn’t know what to say—what could possibly be said in the face of that kind of pain?

“I found her,” Crosby continues, his voice breaking now. “I... I came back and... she was just there. Gone. Because I wasn’t there to stop it.”

His words crumble into silence, and Edward notices, with a tight pull in his chest, the single tear tracking down Crosby’s face. The man, so steady and unshakable, suddenly feels like someone else entirely—someone Edward barely recognizes.

Awkwardly, Edward reaches out, his hand hovering for a moment before settling on Crosby’s shoulder. The gesture feels clumsy, inadequate, but it’s all he can think to do. Crosby doesn’t flinch, doesn’t acknowledge it, but he doesn’t shrug it off either.

The car crawls forward in the sluggish morning traffic, the lull giving Crosby a moment to lean forward, resting his head briefly against the steering wheel. Quiet sobs shake his broad shoulders, the sound low and muffled, like he’s trying to keep it contained.

Edward, out of his depth but unwilling to sit idle, rifles through the glove compartment with fumbling fingers. The mess of papers and trinkets spills over until his hand closes around a small packet of napkins. He pulls them out and holds them toward Crosby, his voice softer than usual. “Here.”

Crosby takes the napkins with a quick nod, the motion brusque, his shoulders still hunched from the weight of his words. He blows his nose loudly, the sound cutting through the thick tension in the car. “Thanks,” he mutters, his voice rough and raw.

For a moment, Edward doesn’t know where to look—out the window, at the road ahead, or at the man beside him who seems to be unraveling. Who is this person? The Crosby he imagined, the one built from sharp smirks and gruff teasing, feels unrecognizable in this moment. Vulnerability seeps from him like a wound left too long untreated. And yet, it’s not Crosby alone that unsettles Edward—it’s the way he sees himself mirrored in this transformation.

Five years ago, Edward Nygma would have sneered at the idea of “softness.” Weakness was what he called it then. Compassion was a tool, a puzzle piece to manipulate others. He’d have looked at the man he is now, offering napkins and silent support, with disdain, mocking how far he’d fallen from his self-perceived heights. Yet here he is, unable to retreat into the safety of his old armor, his jagged edges smoothed by time, by pain, and by Selina.

A low sigh escapes Edward’s lips, unbidden, as he tries to piece together something—anything—to bridge the heavy silence Crosby’s confession has left in its wake. Finally, hesitantly, he ventures, “So... your daughter is still alive, then?”

Crosby sits back against the seat, his chest rising and falling with a long, measured breath. His expression softens, and a faint, weary smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah,” he says, his tone quieter, more reflective now. “Grace is safe. She’s with her granddad here in town.”

For a moment, that smile twitches, a flicker of something brighter in the storm of his grief. But it fades just as quickly, replaced by the shadow of frustration. “The bad thing is, after Jason fled that night, most of the militia got arrested for the damage we caused in Gotham. Me included.” His hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “Destruction of property, mostly. Others had worse charges. And because of that...” He exhales heavily, his jaw tightening. “The judge decided I couldn’t have full custody of my daughter. Now, I only get to see her twice a month.”

Anger creeps into his voice, turning the edges of his words sharp. His fist slams against the steering wheel, the thud reverberating through the car. “Sarah’s father—he’s furious with me. Furious I didn’t protect her. He limits my time with Grace. And... I get it.” Crosby’s voice cracks slightly, his frustration tempered by guilt. “I really do. He has every right to be mad at me.”

The car inches forward as traffic finally starts to move again, but Crosby’s tension doesn’t ease. If anything, it seems to build. His grip on the wheel is almost crushing, his knuckles pale as his voice rises, raw and brittle. “But dammit, he’s right! I should’ve protected my wife! I should’ve been there for her, not running around for that stupid Arkham Knight.” The bitterness in his tone twists, morphing into something darker. “And what does Jason do? He runs away like a scared little bitch because his daddy called him home.”

Edward watches him from the corner of his eye, feeling the weight of the man’s pain as if it’s filling the confined space between them. This is uncharted territory for him—sitting in silence, allowing someone else’s emotions to take up all the oxygen. Words linger at the tip of his tongue, but each one feels too small, too inconsequential against the raw torrent pouring out of Crosby.

“But hopefully,” Crosby says, his voice softening as his grip on the wheel loosens, “with my bartending job and Selina’s help, the judge will eventually grant me at least half custody.” A faint, almost fragile smile flickers across his face, a moment of hope breaking through the storm.

Sensing the shift, Edward straightens slightly, deciding to latch onto the positivity like a lifeline. “So,” he ventures, his tone lighter but still careful, “Selina moved here for you, it sounds like.”

“Yeah,” Crosby replies, nodding as his smile fades into something more solemn. “She’s like a sister to me. Always has been.”

The air thickens again as Crosby’s expression darkens, a shadow falling over his features. He casts Edward a sidelong glance, sharp and unflinching, and Ed braces himself for whatever’s coming next.

Crosby’s voice lowers, the weight of his words gathering force like a rolling wave. “The other worst part? I had no idea she was being held like a prisoner by an idiot that night, too. I couldn’t protect her, either. I couldn’t protect any of the people I loved.”

The statement is jagged, and Edward feels the tension in the car thicken, suffocating, his stomach twisting as the memories surface unbidden. Crosby’s hands grip the wheel tightly, the taut cords of his forearms betraying the storm of anger and regret brewing beneath his calm exterior. The car speeds up, a subtle but undeniable acceleration that mirrors the escalating emotions inside.

For Edward, the mention of that night is like a trigger. It brings back the chaos, the calculated cruelty he had once prided himself on. He remembers the decision to use Selina—her defiance, her vulnerability, her silent strength. At the time, she had been a means to an end, a piece on the board he could control. But even as he schemed, even as he locked her away, there had been a gnawing discomfort beneath his ego-driven justifications. She wasn’t supposed to feel so real, so... human.

That night had been a tipping point. The Riddler in him had reveled in the power, the control, the carefully orchestrated chaos. But Edward—the part of him buried deep beneath layers of bravado—had known better. Selina had looked at him not with fear but with contempt, and it had been unbearable. He’d told himself it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter. But now? Now he sees her differently.

He leans back, the leather seat creaking softly under the motion, and closes his eyes for a fleeting second. The words he’s about to say claw their way up from a place he doesn’t often acknowledge, raw and unfiltered. “Look,” he starts, his voice breaking the silence but quieter, steadier than he expects. “I know what I did was messed up, and I know nothing I say or do will ever fully fix that.”

His gaze shifts toward Crosby, catching the faint lines of tension in the man’s jaw. Edward’s own hands tighten reflexively in his lap. “But I want you to know that I’m truly trying to get better,” he continues, the words coming more easily now, even if they feel strange. “Just like you—proving something to someone.”

The admission is awkward, like stepping onto fragile ice. Edward isn’t used to this—baring himself, speaking without the protective armor of riddles or calculated wit. Vulnerability grates against his instincts, yet here he is, pressing forward. “I’m not the same person I was that night,” he says, his voice softer now, barely audible over the low hum of the engine. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone is. But I’ve realized something... how much Selina means to me. I care for her deeply—more than I’ve ever cared for anyone in my life.”

The tension wraps around his ribs, unrelenting. Edward exhales, his chest tightening as he waits for Crosby’s response. The pause feels interminable, each second dragging out with the force of a held breath. Crosby’s hands relax on the wheel, his fingers flexing briefly, their whitened knuckles softening against the leather.

With a deliberate exhale, Crosby drums his fingers against the steering wheel, each tap deliberate and steady, like a man pacing his words. “Look, Rid,” he begins, his tone blunt, unvarnished. “I’m gonna be honest—nothing would bring me more joy than to punch the Riddler’s nonsense right out of that idiot brain of yours for what you did to Selina.”

Edward flinches, even though the sharpness of Crosby’s words doesn’t come as a surprise. His chest tightens, the sting of guilt mixing with something more complicated—an ache to prove that he isn’t that person anymore. He watches Crosby’s profile, noting the tightness in his jaw, the steady focus on the road ahead.

“But...” Crosby’s tone shifts, softening just enough to break through Edward’s thoughts, “what you did last night—standing up for her, squaring up to that guy? I have to admit, it impressed me.”

“Wait—” Edward blinks, the unexpected compliment throwing him off balance. He can’t help but search Crosby’s face for any sign of sarcasm, but the other man doesn’t look at him, his attention fixed firmly on the stretch of road ahead. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Crosby nods, the movement brief but definitive, and definitely laced with caution. “Not only that, but you took that punch like a man. Didn’t back down, didn’t crumble. That says something—more than you probably realize.” He casts Edward a quick sidelong glance, his expression unreadable. “So,” he continues, his tone measured, “I’ve decided to give you a chance—not just on this job, but with Selina. For some weird, inexplicable reason, you seem to make her happy. And if that’s true, I’m not gonna stand in the way.”

The words settle, and Edward feels an unexpected rush of warmth. A tentative smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, growing despite his effort to suppress it. “Thanks,” he says quietly, the sincerity in his voice surprising even himself. “That... means a lot.”

“Don’t get too excited, genius,” Crosby teases in a near musical tone. He smirks, his tone shifting back to its usual gruffness, like the brief moment of vulnerability never happened. “I’ll still be watching you like a hawk. Screw this up, and you’ll wish you were dealing with the Batman again.”

“Noted.” Edward lets out a nervous chuckle, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Loud and clear.”

For a moment, silence settles in again, but it’s lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating. Crosby’s fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel as the car glides along the road. Eventually, he breaks the quiet, his tone softer, almost casual. “Also... thanks for listening,” he says, the words carrying a quiet sincerity. “Guess I needed to get that off my chest.”

Without warning, Crosby throws a friendly fist bump against Edward’s shoulder—not hard, but enough to jostle him. The gesture, rare and unexpected, leaves Edward blinking in surprise before wincing theatrically, grabbing at his shoulder.

“Well,” Edward says with a grin, his voice tinged with dry humor, “I am a psychology professor, apparently. Just doing my job.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out before he can stop it, surprising him with how easy it feels. The sound even earns a flicker of amusement from Crosby, whose smirk deepens as he shakes his head, his eyes still on the road.

“Not bad, Rid,” Crosby says, his voice carrying a faint note of approval. “Not bad at all.” The corner of his mouth twitches, just shy of a full smile, but Edward notices, and it feels like a small victory.

As the miles stretch out behind them, the car grows quieter again, but it’s a comfortable quiet now. Edward leans back in his seat, his body finally relaxing. The earlier weight pressing on his chest seems to lift, replaced by a tentative sense of ease.

His mind drifts, unbidden, to Selina. To the future he’s slowly trying to piece together—fragile and uncertain, but something he wants desperately to hold onto. For the first time, he allows himself to hope, not just for the success of the job ahead, but for the possibility of something more. A connection, however tenuous, with Crosby. A chance at a life that doesn’t feel like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.

Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, there’s room for this. For her. For them. And, against all odds, for the idea that someone like Crosby could one day be a friend.

Just shy of 11 a.m., the car rolls to a smooth stop in front of Woodland Jewelers. The building looms ahead, all sleek glass and elegant signage, projecting an aura of wealth that feels almost suffocating. Edward stares at it through the windshield for a moment, his fingers fiddling absently with his tie, as if tightening it could tether his nerves.

Beside him, Crosby straightens his jacket, his movements calm and deliberate. He turns, giving Edward a steady, appraising look. “You ready?”

With a sharp inhale, Edward straightens in his seat, nodding as much to convince himself as Crosby. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, attempting a grin that feels just shy of convincing.

Opening the car door, Edward steps out into the crisp morning air. It carries a slight chill, grounding him as he adjusts his tie one last time. Crosby follows close behind, his towering frame and easy confidence exuding the kind of authority Edward can only hope to mimic. Together, they cross the short distance to the store, their footsteps measured, purposeful.

The bell above the door chimes softly as they enter, announcing their presence. Inside, the jewelry store gleams with opulence. Polished floors reflect the ambient light like a still pond, and the display cases, lined with velvet and lit with precision, sparkle as though the diamonds within have caught tiny fragments of stars. The air smells faintly of fresh flowers, subtle but unmistakably curated for a luxurious experience.

Edward adopts a confident stride, his hands slipping into his pockets with feigned ease. The persona of a wealthy professor accustomed to such places weighs heavily on him, but he knows it must feel natural. Beside him, Crosby’s presence looms large—a silent bodyguard, stoic and unflinching, completing the illusion of importance.

From behind the counter, a well-dressed clerk lifts their head, their expression shifting into a practiced, professional smile. Their attire is immaculate, every detail designed to put customers at ease while reminding them of the exclusivity of their surroundings.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” the clerk greets warmly, their voice smooth, polished like the store itself. “Welcome to Woodland Jewelers. How can I assist you today?”

“Good morning.” Edward allows the faintest smile to play at his lips as he steps forward, every movement calculated. His heart pounds harder than he cares to admit, but he doesn’t let it show. “I’m looking for something special. For someone... very special.”

The clerk’s smile widens slightly, their eyes alight with interest. “Of course. I’d be delighted to assist. Do you have something specific in mind, or would you like to browse our collection?”

With a subtle glance toward Crosby, Edward catches the faintest nod of encouragement. Drawing a breath, he steps forward, his fingers brushing against the frame of his glasses as he adjusts them—a gesture that steadies him as much as it completes his polished facade. “Ah, yes,” he begins, his tone measured, aiming for that elusive mix of refined yet approachable. “I’m looking for something special—a ring. My, uh, lady and I are celebrating an anniversary, and I thought it was about time to make things official.”

The clerk’s practiced smile widens, a glimmer of excitement lighting their expression as they step around the counter. With a graceful gesture, they motion toward a gleaming display nearby. “Of course! We have an exquisite selection of engagement rings. Allow me to show you.”

Trailing behind, Edward follows the clerk’s lead, his movements deliberate, each step calculated to exude confidence. Meanwhile, Crosby lingers a few paces back, his arms crossed and his gaze sweeping the room. His eyes flick methodically over the security cameras, the exits, the store layout—his demeanor the epitome of a bodyguard scanning for potential threats. Leaning slightly toward Edward, he murmurs low enough that only he can hear, “Stay sharp. Clock’s ticking.”

A subtle nod is Edward’s only response as the clerk begins their presentation. They slide open the glass case with practiced precision, revealing rows of glittering rings nestled on velvet. “These are some of our finest pieces,” the clerk explains, their voice smooth, almost reverent. “Do you have a particular style in mind?”

Feigning interest, Edward leans closer, his eyes scanning the display with a deliberate slowness. “Oh, definitely something timeless,” he replies, his words careful, deliberate. Beneath the surface of his composure, the tiny camera embedded in his glasses begins its silent work, scanning for the network access points scattered throughout the store. The data streams back to his hidden system, but his expression betrays nothing.

Behind him, Crosby shifts, his looming presence an anchor for the charade. His tone sharpens, low and gruff, as he plays his part. “How long will this take?” he grumbles, the irritation in his voice perfectly staged.

Edward casts him a quick glance, his mouth twitching in what could almost pass for a reassuring smile. “Not too long, I hope,” he mutters, the tension threading through his words subtle enough to blend with the role he’s playing. The glasses continue their silent sweep, mapping the store’s infrastructure even as Edward pretends to weigh the merits of diamonds and settings.

The clerk, oblivious to the undercurrent of subterfuge, chuckles nervously. “Take all the time you need, sir. A decision like this is worth careful thought.”

Edward forces a thin smile, the weight of the operation pressing heavily on him. “Careful thought,” he echoes under his breath, the words carrying a quiet edge of irony. “Right.”

Leaning in slightly, the clerk’s professional smile sharpens, eager and polished. “So, sir, what do you do for a living? And what’s the lucky lady like? Knowing more about her will help us find the perfect ring.”

Edward hesitates just long enough to seem thoughtful, then adjusts his glasses with an easy, calculated motion, slipping effortlessly into the role. “I’m a psychology professor at Metropolis University,” he says, his tone smooth and measured. He injects just the right amount of gravitas, channeling the confidence of someone accustomed to being admired for their intellect. “My work keeps me busy—lectures, research, the occasional book publication. It’s a bit of a balancing act.”

“Impressive!” The clerk nods appreciatively, their eyes glinting with interest. “And your partner? What’s she like?”

Clearing his throat, Edward glances briefly at Crosby. The man’s raised eyebrow speaks volumes, but he remains silent, his arms crossed and his demeanor as impenetrable as ever. Edward returns his gaze to the clerk, his expression softening as he answers. “She’s... incredible,” he begins, carefully layering warmth into his voice. “Brilliant, driven, confident. The kind of person who lights up every room she walks into.”

The clerk beams, their smile widening. “Sounds like she’s quite the catch.”

“She is,” Edward says, allowing his tone to dip into something quieter, almost wistful. “She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. That’s why this ring has to be perfect.”

A low grunt from Crosby punctuates the moment, the sound impatient but perfectly in character. Shifting closer to the counter, he fixes the clerk with a pointed look. “Enough chitchat,” he growls, his voice gravelly. “The professor’s got a busy day. Show us the best you’ve got.”

Snapping to attention, the clerk straightens, nodding briskly. “Of course, of course. Right this way.” With a fluid motion, they move to another display case, carefully pulling out a velvet-lined tray of dazzling rings.

Trailing behind, Edward adjusts his tie, glancing quickly at Crosby. The man offers a subtle nod—confirmation that the glasses’ scan is almost complete. For now, though, the charade must hold.

The clerk places the tray on the counter with the precision of someone handling priceless artifacts. Their voice takes on a reverent quality as they gesture toward the rings. “These are some of our finest options—timeless and elegant. Each one is designed to make an unforgettable impression.”

Edward leans over the display, feigning deep consideration. The gleaming stones catch the light, casting fractured rainbows onto the polished counter. Beneath his composed exterior, the hidden camera in his glasses quietly transfers the final streams of data. “They’re certainly impressive,” he says, letting his voice carry the weight of deliberation. His finger hovers above a modest but exquisitely cut diamond before he points to it. “Tell me more about this one.”

The clerk’s enthusiasm swells. “An excellent choice,” they say, sliding the ring forward for closer inspection. “This is a classic solitaire design, handcrafted with the highest quality materials. It’s understated yet striking, a testament to the wearer’s sophistication.”

“Understated but sophisticated,” Edward murmurs, tilting his head as though weighing the words in his mind. “Yes, I think that suits her.”

Leaning in slightly, Crosby’s voice cuts through the air like a low growl. “Professor, are we about done here?”

“Almost,” Edward replies, suppressing a smirk as his glasses signal the scan’s completion. He straightens, brushing his fingers over his tie in a practiced motion. “But decisions like this can’t be rushed, can they?”

The clerk lets out a nervous laugh, their hands clasping together with an eagerness that borders on uncomfortable. “Not at all, sir. Take all the time you need.”

A faint smile tugs at Edward’s lips as he casts a sidelong glance at Crosby. “Patience, my friend. We’re nearly there.”

As he continues to feign deliberation, his eyes flickering over the rings with mock interest, the clerk’s gaze shifts toward Crosby. The man stands like a sentinel, arms crossed, his presence looming over the transaction. Curiosity gleams in the clerk’s eyes as they hesitantly venture, “If you don’t mind me asking... why the bodyguard? Is it because of your work, or...?”

Edward pauses, his movements deliberate as he adjusts his glasses. Crafting a response with the precision of a scalpel, he finally answers, “Well, when you’re a public figure in academia—particularly one who’s written controversial research like I have—you tend to attract... attention.”

“It’s true.” Crosby smirks faintly, his sharp gaze catching the clerk’s. “Professor Brookelny has a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. His theories about human behavior? Not everyone’s a fan.”

The clerk’s brows lift, their intrigue palpable. “I see,” they say cautiously, glancing at Edward’s cheek with mild hesitation. “And, um... the bruise?”

Edward raises a hand, his fingers brushing the discolored skin as he lets out a sheepish chuckle. “Ah, this.” He exhales as if embarrassed, his tone carefully measured. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Occasionally, the ‘attention’ gets a bit physical. A rather disgruntled attendee at one of my recent lectures... well, they didn’t appreciate my stance on morality and decision-making.”

Crosby steps forward, the brown leather of his jacket creaking faintly as he folds his arms, his expression darkening with well-practiced intensity. “Which is exactly why I’m here,” he says, his voice low, almost threatening. “People think they can just walk up and take a swing at him without consequences.” He leans slightly toward the clerk, lowering his tone as if to share a secret. “Let’s just say I make sure they regret it.”

A flicker of unease crosses the clerk’s face, but they nod quickly, their demeanor shifting back to polite professionalism. “That must be... nerve-wracking,” they offer, their sympathy genuine but tentative. “But I suppose it comes with the territory, being as accomplished as you are.”

With a modest shrug, Edward adjusts his glasses, the faint glint of light off the frames catching the clerk’s eye. “It’s part of the job,” he says smoothly, his voice calm and composed. “But I have people like him—” he gestures to Crosby with a subtle smile, his tone hinting at camaraderie “—to keep me safe.”

Standing rigid and authoritative, Crosby nods curtly. “All in a day’s work.”

The clerk’s gaze shifts between them, visibly impressed. Turning back to the array of glittering rings, they smile warmly. “Well, I hope this new chapter for you and your partner brings nothing but happiness. She sounds like she’s worth all the trouble.”

Edward’s fingers brush lightly against the edge of the display case, his touch deliberate, contemplative. A soft smile graces his lips, one that feels just real enough to sell the act. “She absolutely is,” he murmurs, his words carrying a sincerity that surprises even him.

The faint hum of the glasses’ system vibrates in his awareness, signaling the data upload is complete. A brief glance exchanged with Crosby confirms it. Time to move on.

Straightening his posture, Edward taps the display case with an air of finality. “You know, I think I’ll need to sleep on it,” he says, his tone measured and thoughtful. “A decision like this can’t be rushed, after all.”

The clerk’s polite smile falters just slightly, disappointment flickering across their features before professionalism overrides it. “Of course,” they reply graciously. “Feel free to come back anytime. We’d love to help you make this moment special.”

Edward dips his head in acknowledgment, his movements smooth as he steps back. “Thank you for your time,” he says, his voice steady, almost charming. “I’ll be in touch.”

Trailing a step behind, Crosby gives the clerk a terse nod, his imposing presence maintaining their cover as they head for the exit. Once the door closes behind them, the atmosphere shifts, the tension ebbing with each step toward the car.

Crosby leans slightly closer, his voice a low mutter. “You actually didn’t do half bad in there, genius.”

Adjusting his tie with a smirk, Edward casts him a sidelong glance. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Crosby replies, the gruff edge of his voice softening just enough to pass for humor. “But if you ever call me ‘your person’ again, we’re gonna have a problem.”

A laugh escapes Edward, genuine and unguarded. The weight of the mission, the nerves, the charade—they all lift, replaced by a rare ease as they approach the car.

Before any words about their successful operation can pass between them, both Edward and Crosby silently agree: leaving the area is the immediate priority. Drawing unnecessary attention isn’t just inconvenient—it’s dangerous. Crosby keeps his pace measured, casual yet purposeful, as they exit the parking lot and merge into the late-morning traffic. The hum of the car engine feels like a barrier between them and the tension they’ve just left behind.

At a red light, Edward lets out a yawn that feels like it’s been building since dawn, stretching stiffly in his seat. “This professor needs coffee,” he says, the words escaping in a half-grumble. “Can we please stop somewhere before I collapse?”

With a sidelong glance, Crosby raises an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea,” he replies, his tone almost nonchalant. “I’ve got a few errands to run in town anyway.”

Edward perks up, his curiosity sparked. “Errands? What kind of errands?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Crosby smirks faintly. “Just some business,” he says, his voice carrying that maddening air of vagueness. “Sit tight, and we’ll grab coffee on the way.”

Leaning back into the seat, Edward rubs his temples, the tension of the morning still in his body. “Fine,” he mutters. “As long as it’s strong. And not from some gas station convenience store.”

A dry chuckle escapes Crosby, his smirk widening just slightly. “Relax, genius. Even I have standards. There’s a café downtown—good coffee, decent snacks, no baristas asking too many damn questions.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.” The corner of Edward’s mouth quirks upward in reluctant approval. “Coffee first, questions later.”

As the car picks up speed, the pressure of the jewelry store mission starts to dissipate, replaced by the steady rhythm of the city waking up. The morning sunlight filters through the car window, soft and warm, and Edward feels his shoulders begin to loosen.

Arriving at the shopping center, the two step out of the car. The air smells faintly of asphalt warming in the sun, mingling with the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from a nearby café. Edward inhales deeply, his senses drawn to the promise of caffeine, and follows Crosby toward the entrance.

Inside, the café hums with quiet activity. A moderately long line snakes toward the counter—not ideal, but manageable. Edward sighs and glances at Crosby, his tone begrudging. “What do you recommend?”

“I usually go for black coffee.” Crosby shrugs, his gaze flicking lazily to the menu board. “If I need a kick, Americano.”

The line inches forward, and when it’s their turn, they’re greeted by a cheerful young woman whose radiant smile seems to brighten the cozy interior. “Hey, howdy, hey! What can I get you, gents?” she chirps, her enthusiasm almost contagious.

Crosby nods toward Edward, nudging him with his shoulder. “Just a regular coffee. And whatever he wants.”

Caught off guard, Edward hesitates, his eyes darting to the menu. “Umm... I don’t know. What’s your favorite?” The words tumble out awkwardly, his indecision palpable.

The cashier’s face lights up. “Well, you can’t go wrong with our mocha latte, but my favorite is the caramel vanilla latte.”

“I’ll try that, then,” Edward says, managing a small smile as some of his earlier stiffness fades.

As she rings up the order, the cashier’s gaze lingers on Edward, her expression shifting subtly. Her brows knit together for a moment, her lips parting slightly as if she’s trying to piece something together. Then, like a light flicking on, recognition dawns. Her eyes widen, and she points a finger at him, her voice rising with excitement. “Wait, hold on!” she exclaims, her finger flicking toward the bruise on his cheek. “You’re the guy from the club last night—the one who punched that guy clean out, right?!”

Heat rushes to Edward’s face, blooming across his cheeks and crawling up his neck. He hadn’t realized just how small this town was. “Oh, well, umm, yeah,” he stammers, raising his hands defensively as if to ward off the sudden attention. “But I didn’t mean for it to get like that.”

The cashier grins, clearly unfazed by his awkwardness. “No, I totally get it. And honestly? It was kinda hot.” She winks, her tone playful and teasing.

Edward freezes, completely at a loss for words. His mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. He stares at her, his thoughts scrambling for a coherent response, caught entirely off guard.

Beside him, Crosby chuckles, a deep, amused sound that only heightens Edward’s discomfort.

“You’re on the house,” the cashier announces cheerfully, her fingers dancing over the register as she enters the discount. “Hero’s discount.”

Hero…? He’s never been called a hero before—a villain, a fiend, an ass, an asshole, an asshat—but never a hero. 

“Th-thanks,” Edward manages to mumble, his voice barely audible as Crosby claps him on the back with a grin.

As they wait for their drinks, Crosby leans in, his smirk practically gleaming. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club, genius.”

“Shut up,” Edward mutters, his cheeks still burning. He glances at the floor, wishing he could melt into it, but Crosby’s laughter only grows louder.

When their drinks are ready, they carry them to a small table by the window. Sunlight streams in, catching the steam rising from their cups and bathing the café in a warm, inviting glow. Edward stirs his latte carefully, using the moment to center himself.

“Well,” he says finally, his tone dry but laced with resignation, “we’re just gonna pretend that didn’t happen.”

Crosby leans back in his chair, pulling out his phone. “Holly would die if she heard about this.”

Edward freezes mid-stir, his eyes narrowing sharply. “Hold on. You can’t just text something like that!” He lunges forward slightly, his hand outstretched toward Crosby’s phone.

With practiced ease, Crosby raises a hand, keeping the phone just out of reach. “Calm down, lover boy,” he teases, his smirk firmly in place. “I’m not spilling your little fan club moment. Just letting them know the job went smoothly. Also checking my to-do list. Got errands to knock out before we head back.”

Settling back into his seat, Edward glares, his voice clipped. “You could’ve just said that instead of making it sound like you were about to broadcast my humiliation.”

Crosby takes a triumphant sip of his coffee, his grin widening. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Edward rolls his eyes and lifts his cup to his lips, taking a tentative sip of his caramel vanilla latte. The moment the flavor hits his tongue, his expression shifts—first surprise, then reluctant approval. “Okay... this is actually pretty good.”

“Better than expected, huh?”

“Yeah,” Edward admits begrudgingly, glancing down at his cup. “Almost worth the embarrassment.”

“See?” Crosby grins, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone isn’t so bad.”

Edward shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Says the guy who drinks plain black coffee.”

With mock seriousness, Crosby replies, “Hey. Some of us don’t need dessert in a cup to function.”

For a moment, they sit in companionable silence, the hum of the café surrounding them. The faint clinking of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of voices, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine weave together a soothing backdrop. As Edward takes another sip a small sense of normalcy settles over him. Almost.

The calm shatters almost immediately. With a bounce in her step, the cheerful barista returns, a plate of pastries balanced expertly in her hands. She sets them down with an overly bright smile, her gaze holding a little too long on Edward.

“Since it seems like it’s your first time here, I thought I’d treat you to some pastries,” she says sweetly, her voice practically dripping with enthusiasm. Her eyes remain fixed on Edward, who instinctively leans back in his chair as though trying to escape the spotlight suddenly thrust upon him.

“Oh, thanks, but that’s really not necessary,” Edward stammers, his voice pitching higher than he’d like. He gestures faintly toward the pastries, hoping to deflect the attention. “I’m fine with just the coffee.”

The barista waves off his protest with a playful laugh, dismissing his awkward refusal entirely. “Oh, please. A man like you needs carbs to keep his strength up—for punching out punks like that.”

The words hit Edward like a sudden gust of wind, and he feels his face heat again, a traitorous blush creeping up his neck. Before he can muster a response, she reaches across the table, grabbing his coffee cup with a confidence that leaves him stunned.

The sound of her pen scratching against the cup fills the air, and Edward’s eyes widen as realization dawns. His gaze flicks to Crosby, who is now watching with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief, one brow arched in a silent commentary Edward can almost hear: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Setting the cup back down, the barista leans forward slightly, her smile downright conspiratorial as she winks. “Here’s my number,” she says, her tone sly. “Give me a call if you ever need some company.”

Edward’s face turns a deeper shade of red, his collar suddenly too tight. He tugs at it reflexively, the heat of embarrassment overwhelming. “Umm, thanks, but... I’m actually seeing someone,” he manages, his voice strained.

Unfazed, the barista tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, well, she can join us too. I’m open to things like that.” She blows him a kiss before spinning on her heel, her stride confident as she saunters back behind the counter.

For a moment, the table is frozen in silence, both men staring after her in varying degrees of shock. Edward’s hands hover uselessly over the cup, as though he’s debating whether to throw it away or hide it.

“What... just happened?” he finally says, breaking the silence. His voice is tinged with disbelief, as if saying it aloud might help him understand.

Crosby shakes his head slowly, his expression one of equal parts amusement and awe. “I don’t know, but I’ve officially seen everything.”

Groaning, Edward buries his face in his hands, his embarrassment complete. “This... is absurd.”

Unconcerned, Crosby reaches over and plucks a pastry from the plate, examining it briefly before taking a large, unapologetic bite. “Looks like the ladies are into your whole ‘professor meets Riddler’ vibe,” he teases. “Must be the outfit... or maybe it’s the bruised, mysterious charm.”

 “Please don’t tell Selina about this.” Edward glares at him over his fingers. “You clearly saw I didn’t encourage it.”

Crosby chews thoughtfully, taking his time to swallow before responding. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Selina would get a real kick out of hearing how you’ve managed to start your own little fan club.”

“I’m serious, Crosby.” Edward’s tone sharpens, his glare intensifying. “This? Stays between us.”

With exaggerated nonchalance, Crosby leans back in his chair, smirking as he grabs another pastry. “Relax, lover boy. I’m not gonna say anything... for now.” He pops the pastry into his mouth, his grin widening. “But you might owe me one later.”

Edward groans again, sinking back into his seat and reluctantly picking up a pastry. “This day just keeps getting better and better,” he mutters before taking a bite.

Crosby laughs, a deep, hearty sound that echoes in the café and only adds to Edward’s regret at having walked through the door.

As they finish their coffee and pastries, Crosby leans back in his chair, studying Edward with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. The weight of Crosby’s gaze feels like a puzzle he can’t quite solve, and Edward braces himself, half-expecting another round of biting sarcasm.

“What?” Edward says finally, brushing a few stray crumbs off his lap. “I know, the bruise on my face is huge. No need to point it out again.”

“Nah, it’s not just the bruise.” Crosby shakes his head slowly. “Your hair’s looking a bit... uneven. Now that I see it in the light, it’s like it gave up halfway through being styled.”

“Seriously?” Edward’s frown deepens as his hand flies self-consciously to his hair, smoothing it down in a futile attempt to assess the damage. “It doesn’t look that bad, does it?”

“Look, you’ve got a big date with Selina tonight, right?” Crosby stands, stretching with the ease of someone who doesn’t care much about appearances but knows when to spot a flaw. “Might as well look sharp for her. Trust me, she’ll notice if you don’t.”

The suggestion gives Edward pause. He considers Crosby’s point, a twinge of doubt curling in his chest. “You think so?” 

“Absolutely. Come on.” His partner cranes his neck towards the door, already heading out. “I know a great place to get a haircut. We’ve got time to kill anyway while we’re waiting for the store to open.”

Trailing behind, Edward makes a point of avoiding eye contact with the flirty barista as they leave the café. The lingering sting of her antics still makes his skin crawl with embarrassment. He discreetly tosses his coffee cup into a nearby trash can, as if erasing the physical evidence might somehow erase the memory.

“This way.” Crosby gestures down the street with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where he’s going. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

Edward follows, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the brisk air brushing against his face. As they approach the barber shop Crosby mentioned, a flicker of uncertainty worms its way into his thoughts. The lively chatter and bursts of laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk make the place seem warm, welcoming—and utterly overwhelming.

When they step inside, Edward hesitates near the entrance, his discomfort growing as his eyes dart around the room. A handful of patrons lounge in the chairs, most of them chatting with an ease that marks them as regulars. The air carries the clean, sharp scent of aftershave and hair products.

From across the room, a woman in her mid-40s lights up the moment she spots Crosby. Her presence is magnetic, her wide grin warm and unapologetically confident. “Well, look who it is! Big, tall, handsome Crosby,” she calls, spreading her arms like she’s greeting an old friend. “Come on, give me some sugar!”

Crosby grins, stepping forward to embrace her with the familiarity of someone who’s clearly been here more than a few times. “Hey, Darcy. Good to see you.”

Hovering near the door, Edward feels out of place amid the cheerful energy of the shop. He shifts on his feet, his discomfort evident as a few curious patrons glance his way, their gazes lingering a beat too long.

Darcy pulls back from Crosby, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto Edward. She gives him a once-over, her gaze tracing the bruise marking his cheek. Her lips curve into a sly smile. “And who’s this serious-looking man? With just a hint of danger, I see.”

Before Edward can offer a response, Crosby clamps a hand on his shoulder, his grin widening. “This is Edward. He’s new in town and an old friend of Selina’s. He’s got a date with her tonight, so I figured you could spruce him up a bit.”

Edward opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, Darcy strides forward with the authority of someone who’s already made up her mind. She grabs his arm, her grip surprisingly firm, and starts guiding him toward one of the chairs.

Darcy’s exclamation carries a brightness that fills the shop, her enthusiasm palpable. “A date with my girl Selina? Oh, la la!” she says, her tone teasing yet warm. “Say no more. Come sit down, sugar. I’ll make you look fit as a fiddle by the time I’m done with you.”

Edward shoots a panicked glance at Crosby, silently pleading for intervention. But Crosby leans back against the counter with an infuriatingly amused smirk, crossing his arms as if settling in for a show. “You’ll thank me later.” 

The cosmetologist gently but firmly steers Edward into the barber chair. The chair squeaks faintly as Edward sinks into it, his discomfort plain. Darcy snaps the cape over him with practiced ease, fastening it snugly around his neck. “Alright, Edward,” she says, tapping her fingers against her hip as she surveys him. “What’s the plan? Something classic? Rugged? Or are we going full-on heartthrob for Selina?”

Edward groans softly, slumping ever so slightly in the chair. “Just... something decent. Not too much, not too little.” 

“Don’t you worry, hon.” Darcy’s grin widens, her eyes sparkling as she starts gathering her tools. “Selina’s a dear friend of mine, and I’ll make sure you look so good she won’t be able to take her eyes off you.”

Edward sighs heavily, the heat rising to his face. “No pressure, right?” 

“Oh, sugar, there’s always pressure when it comes to a woman like Selina.” Her scissors snip with a deliberate rhythm. “But lucky for you, I’m the best in town.”

“Relax, genius.” From his spot by the wall, Crosby chuckles, his arms still crossed as he watches the scene unfold. “By the time she’s done, you’ll look like you belong on the cover of Gotham Style.”

Edward narrows his eyes at Crosby through the mirror, his tone dry. “If this backfires, I’m blaming you.”

“Trust me, sweetheart.” Darcy winks at Edward’s reflection, her scissors pausing briefly. “You’re in very good hands.”

Removing Edward’s glasses, Darcy sets them aside with care before throwing a thoughtful glance at his reflection. She tilts her head slightly, a gleam of contemplation in her eye as she assesses him. “Hmm... Date with Selina. Now that’s a new one,” a barber working on another patron chimes in, his voice light but curious. He shifts his gaze toward Crosby, his brow arching. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to make a move on her, Cros. You two have history.”

The comment makes Edward’s stomach drop. His eyes widen in the mirror, and his face loses a shade of color as he instinctively looks at Crosby. What history? The thought rattles around in his mind, and for a moment, he’s unsure if he wants to know the answer.

“Nah, man.” Crosby, unfazed, waves off the remark with a lazy grin. “Selina and I? We’re like siblings. Always have been, always will be.”

For a moment, his grin fades, replaced by a softer, more reflective expression. “Besides,” he continues, his voice lowering slightly, “I’m not sure anyone could ever replace Sarah—not for a long while, at least.”

The shop grows quieter, the hum of clippers and low conversations momentarily subdued. Even the man who had made the comment nods respectfully before returning to his work. The weight of Crosby’s words settles in the room, a quiet testament to the pain just beneath his usual bravado.

Edward watches Crosby in the mirror, a pang of sympathy cutting his discomfort. He recalls the rawness Crosby had shown in the car, but seeing it resurface here, in this quieter, more public setting, feels different—heavier.

Darcy, ever the professional, breaks the silence with a gentle smile, her voice light as she moves around Edward. “Well, Cros, you’re right about one thing—Selina sees you like a big brother. And let me tell you, this one here,” she motions toward Edward with her comb, “has his work cut out for him if he’s going to impress her.”

Crosby’s smirk deepens, his usual good humor sliding easily back into place. “Oh, he’ll manage,” he says with a shrug, his confidence radiating like the hum of a well-tuned engine. “One way or another.”

Edward groans, sinking lower into the chair, the cape brushing against his knees as if to swallow him whole. “You’re not exactly helping.”

“Not my job to help,” Crosby shoots back, adding a wink for good measure. “My job’s to make sure you don’t screw it up. Besides, you’re already doing fine—this man here punched the living daylights out of some guy for Selina last night.” His smirk stretches wider, clearly relishing Edward’s discomfort.

Pausing mid-snip, DJ—the barber working nearby—leans on his station with raised brows. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of amused disbelief. “That explains the bruise! I thought maybe you’d tripped and clocked yourself on a payphone or something.” A hearty laugh escapes him, rough yet good-natured.

Edward sighs, his cheeks flushing as he slumps deeper into the chair. “Honestly? I’d prefer the phone story.”

“You’d be surprised, DJ,” Crosby continues, his tone now tinged with something that almost sounds like pride. “Edward here can take a punch like a champ. Even caught me off guard.”

In the mirror’s reflection, Edward glances at Crosby, caught off guard by what sounds suspiciously like a compliment. Crosby notices, grins wider, and taps the edge of the counter. “Gotta give credit where it’s due, genius. You’ve got guts.”

Darcy, her scissors working methodically, jumps in with her own assessment. “Well, a man willing to throw hands for Selina? That puts him way ahead in my book. She’s not the kind to let just anyone fight for her, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it.” Edward offers a small, sheepish smile, unsure of how to respond. “It just... happened.”

“That’s called instinct,” Crosby cuts in, leaning casually against the counter. “And if Selina didn’t care about you, trust me, you wouldn’t have walked out of there in one piece.”

“Selina’s tough, no doubt.” DJ nods, a knowing expression crossing his face as he picks up his clippers. “If she’s letting you stick around, you’re definitely doing something right.”

A flicker of relief loosens the tension in Edward’s shoulders. He catches a glance at himself in the mirror, the corners of his lips curving into an unintentional smile. “Well,” he says, voice lighter now, “I guess that’s something.”

“It’s more than something,” Darcy chimes, stepping back and surveying her handiwork with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “And once I’m done here, she’ll be falling head over heels all over again.”

Edward chuckles nervously, watching his reflection as she snips the final strands, the sharp rhythm of the scissors oddly soothing. A new him stares back—a sleeker, sharper version that even he finds hard to recognize.

As Darcy tidies up the station, DJ speaks again, his tone casual but inviting. “Hey, Edward, you a poker man?” he asks, brushing stray hair from his clippers. “Me, Crosby, and some of the other guys get together for poker night every other week. Could use another formidable player—that is, if you’re planning on sticking around.”

Edward’s expression shifts in an instant. Poker. Now that, he knows. The question doesn’t catch him off guard—it invigorates him. His lips twitch into something close to a smirk, his fingers adjusting the frame of his glasses with slow, deliberate ease.

“Poker?” he echoes. “Let’s just say I have a certain… proclivity for games.” His voice dips into something almost pleased with itself. “I wouldn’t want to clean you all out too quickly, though. That wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.”

DJ lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Oh-ho, I like this guy.” He jerks a thumb in Edward’s direction. “You hear that, Crosby? We’ve got a real shark in the making.”

With a roll of his eyes, Crosby scoffs, clapping Edward on the shoulder. “Alright, genius, don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t care how good you are at numbers—I’ve been running this table for years. You wanna sit with us, you’d better bring more than just a sharp mind.”

“Oh, I fully intend to.” Edward’s smirk widens and he taps a thoughtful finger against his temple. “Bluffing, misdirection, reading the opposition—I’m afraid you’ve invited someone who takes these things rather seriously.”

“Well, damn. Guess we’ll see just how seriously soon enough.”

Edward lets out a quiet laugh, the thrill of a challenge lighting up something sharp behind his eyes. “Indeed,” he muses, already calculating strategies, already playing the game before the first hand is even dealt.

“Good. We’ll hit you up for the next game.” DJ finishes wiping down his station, his grin widening. “Be ready to lose your first few hands, though—it’s tradition.”

The warmth of the exchange settles over Edward like a coat. So this is what it feels like, he thinks, a little less chaos, a little more... life. For the first time in what feels like an eternity—probably ever—he lets himself feel something foreign yet welcome: belonging.

“Alrighty, sugar!” Darcy’s cheerful voice cuts through his thoughts as she whirls the black cape away with a practiced flourish. “What do you think?”

Turning toward the mirror, Edward’s eyes brighten. The reflection staring back at him isn’t drastically different, yet it feels transformed—sleeker, sharper, a style that exudes quiet confidence. The sides are perfectly trimmed, the top evened out, the lines clean and precise. It’s a glimpse of something more—a version of himself that feels like a balance between who he is and who he might become. “It’s perfect.” He runs a hand through his freshly styled hair.

“Told you!” Darcy beams, clearly pleased with her work. “You’re looking sharp enough to knock Selina’s socks off.”

Leaning forward to inspect Edward’s reflection with a teasing smirk, Crosby nods. “Not bad. You might actually pass as a respectable man now.”

Edward rolls his eyes, though the smile pulling at his lips betrays his amusement. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”

“You should,” Crosby quips, tossing a few bills onto Darcy’s counter without hesitation. “This one’s on me. Consider it a down payment for not screwing up tonight.”

Caught off guard, Edward blinks. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re part of the team now.” With a shrug, Crosby’s smirk softens into something almost brotherly. “And besides, Selina deserves the best. You’ve got big shoes to fill, genius.”

Swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, Edward nods, his voice quieter. “Thanks. Really.”

Darcy waves them off, her voice ringing out as they head for the door. “Good luck tonight, Edward! And don’t forget—confidence is key!”

Stepping outside, Edward catches his reflection in a nearby window, his gaze studying the sharp lines of his haircut, the slight lift of his posture. For the first time in years, he not only looks like someone worth believing in—he feels it.

As the bustling sidewalk hums with life, Crosby gestures toward a storefront just a few paces ahead. “Here,” he says, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Edward follows, glancing up at the understated sign above the door. A phone store? he wonders, noting the quiet atmosphere as they step into the nearly empty space. Before he can voice the question forming on his lips, a cheerful employee with thick glasses approaches, their smile bright and welcoming. “Welcome in! How can I help you today?”

“Picking up an order. Should be under Selina Kyle,” Crosby says, his tone brisk as he leans casually against the counter.

Edward’s ears prick at the mention of her name, curiosity sparking as the employee nods and disappears into the back. “Oh, so we’re here to pick something up for Selina,” he murmurs, nodding slowly as the pieces click into place.

“More or less,” Crosby replies, his tone cryptic, his posture relaxed but watchful.

Moments later, the employee returns, carrying a sleek box with the kind of care one might reserve for a priceless artifact. “Here we are—the newest smartphone, fully set up with an unlimited plan,” they announce, opening the box to reveal the glossy device inside. “And in light green, as requested.”

Edward’s eyes widen, the polished surface of the phone catching the store’s soft lighting. “Wow. That’s... nice,” he admits, a flicker of envy passing through him. The phone looks like something out of a high-tech catalog, far from the outdated brick he’s been carrying around.

As Crosby takes the box, Edward’s hands instinctively pat his pockets. A sudden realization dawns. “Wait a second,” he mutters, brow furrowing. “I think my phone’s still in my bag. I haven’t touched it since... well...” His voice trails off, thinking back to his last tense conversation with Harley.

“Funny thing about that,” Crosby interjects with a grin, casually reaching into Edward’s bag and pulling out the old phone. He sets it aside before handing over the new device. “Hope you weren’t too attached to that ancient relic, because here’s your upgrade.”

The screen of the new phone lights up as it powers on, sleek and modern, like a window into a better-connected world. Edward’s lips twitch into a childlike smile, his fingers brushing over the pristine edges of the device. “This is mine?” he asks, disbelief threading through his voice.

Crosby nods, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yep. All yours. And don’t worry—your contacts, emails, and apps? All transferred. Even set you up with a new number. Now you’re off Waller’s radar, at least for a little while.”

Edward blinks, his brain struggling to catch up. “I... I don’t even know what to say,” he murmurs, overwhelmed by the gesture.

“Say it to Selina,” Crosby replies, his tone softening as he hands Edward the bag containing the phone’s box, charger, and accessories. “She’s the one who set this up for you. Numbers already programmed—hers, mine, Holly’s. She wanted you ready.”

A swell of emotion rises in Edward’s chest.. “She really didn’t have to do this,” he says quietly, his fingers curling around the phone.

Crosby smiles knowingly, stepping toward the door. “That’s Selina for you. She doesn’t do anything halfway for the people she cares about.”

Edward swallows hard, slipping the phone into his pocket as they step outside. The air feels lighter somehow, and he wonders if it’s the phone, the gesture, or the growing sense of connection weaving through his fractured life.

As they head down the street, the phone vibrates against his leg, a series of rapid notifications lighting up the screen. “What the—?” he mutters, pulling it out to see a cascade of messages filling the screen.

Ahead of him, Crosby glances back, laughter bubbling from his chest. “Oh, right. Forgot to mention—welcome to the group chat. Holly and Selina don’t exactly believe in moderation.”

Edward stares at the phone, squinting at the endless string of messages. “A group chat?” he says, his voice laced with both dread and mild amusement. “Fantastic. Just what I need—another place to be publicly roasted.”

“Get used to it, genius.” Crosby smirks, hands shoved in his pockets as he walks ahead. “They’re relentless. They won’t hold back.”

Still fumbling with the phone, Edward shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “I was better off when my old phone barely worked.” Despite his complaint, a faint smile tugs at his lips as he hesitantly types a thank-you message to Selina. The words feel awkward, but they’re heartfelt, and he presses send before he can overthink it.

Ahead, Crosby calls over his shoulder, his tone brisk. “Come on, genius. We’ve got more errands to run. Bookstore first, then a suit shop. Formal event at the club coming up. And while we’re at it, maybe we’ll find something sharp for you—for your date tonight.”

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Edward picks up his pace to catch up. “A suit? What, you think Selina’s expecting me to show up dressed like her old friend Bruce Wayne?” His voice drips with sarcasm, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine uncertainty.

Crosby raises an eyebrow, smirking as they fall into step together. “Do you really want to show up looking like a guy who just rolled out of bed? Trust me—a suit’ll do you some favors.”

Edward frowns, his skepticism plain. “I can’t even afford this stuff. I can’t let you keep buying things for me.”

Waving off the protest, Crosby lets out a dry laugh. “Please. Selina’s basically the sugar mom for all of us. We’re set for a while, and if this job goes as planned, we’ll be set for life.”

Tilting his head, Edward narrows his eyes. “Then why do you even have a job?”

Crosby huffs, rolling his shoulders as they cross the street. “Because I’ve got a judge to impress if I ever want more custody of my daughter. Gotta prove I’m turning things around.”

The answer makes Edward pause, his curiosity sharpening. “And the job helps with that?”

“Yeah,” Crosby says, nodding. “It’s steady. It shows I’m meeting people, making connections, doing something honest. The judge doesn’t exactly love the idea of me mooching off Selina.” He gives Edward a pointed look, a teasing grin curling his lips. “Unlike some people.”

Edward raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t ask for all this. She just keeps... helping.”

“That’s Selina for you,” Crosby says, his tone softening. “She sees potential in people, even when they don’t see it in themselves. Don’t worry—you’ll pay her back. In your own way.”

Exhaling deeply, Edward lets his shoulders relax slightly, the weight of the day momentarily easing. “I guess.”

Clapping him on the back, Crosby gestures toward the row of shops ahead. “Come on. Let’s get you suited up. Big night ahead, and trust me—you’re gonna want to look like you belong by Selina Kyle’s side.”

The words hit harder than Edward expects, but he swallows the lump forming in his throat and follows, keeping pace with Crosby as they approach a sleek boutique. Inside, the store smells of cedar and leather, with racks of tailored suits arranged under soft lighting that feels more like an art gallery than a clothing shop. Everything about the place radiates expense.

Edward waits by the entrance, his gaze darting over the polished mannequins and perfectly pressed fabrics. “Are you sure about this?” he mutters, his unease plain as he trails behind Crosby.

“Relax, genius,” Crosby says with a smirk, leading the way to the formalwear section. “You’ve got the haircut. Now you just need the rest of the package.”

Before Edward can voice another protest, a young woman in a sharp black blazer approaches. Her confident stride and practiced smile are disarming, but Edward stiffens instinctively as her gaze flicks between him and Crosby.

“Hi there!” she greets brightly. “Looking for something special today?”

Crosby gestures toward Edward, his smirk widening. “My buddy here’s got a big date tonight. Needs a suit that’ll leave an impression.”

Her smile broadens, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a touch of mischief as she sizes Edward up. “A big date, huh? Let’s make sure you’re dressed to impress.” Tilting her head slightly, she adds with a teasing lilt, “And here I thought you were one of those rugged types who’d skip the suit altogether.”

Edward feels his cheeks flush under her scrutiny, his discomfort obvious. “I, uh, don’t usually do this kind of thing.”

Her laugh is light and easy as she steps back, beckoning him to follow. “That’s why I’m here. Don’t worry—we’ll find something perfect. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

As she rifles through racks with practiced ease, the salesperson pulls out options, her movements confident and precise. Crosby leans casually against a nearby display, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Looks like the fan club just added a new member,” he mutters under his breath.

Edward shoots him a sharp glare, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “Not funny.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Crosby replies, his smirk widening as he gestures for Edward to relax. “Just go with it, genius.”

The woman returns moments later, holding up a sharp charcoal gray suit. She positions it in front of Edward, her smile bright and encouraging. “This one’s perfect—classic, sophisticated, with just enough edge to turn heads. It’ll definitely catch her eye.”

Edward hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. But her enthusiasm, paired with Crosby’s insistent smirk, leaves him with little choice. “Fine,” he mutters, disappearing into the fitting room with the suit draped over his arm.

When he steps out, the salesperson tilts her head, her sharp eyes assessing him critically. She taps her chin thoughtfully. “It’s good, but it’s not perfect. Let’s go for something timeless—classic black. It’s sharper, more confident, and works for every occasion. Trust me, it’ll suit you better.”

From his perch against a rack, Crosby nods in agreement. “She’s got a point. A black suit never misses.”

Edward groans softly but takes the sleek black suit she hands him. The fabric is rich, smooth, with a faint sheen that speaks of understated elegance. “Alright, I’ll give it a try,” he mutters, disappearing once again behind the curtain.

When he emerges, the transformation is immediate. The salesperson’s face lights up, her excitement palpable. “Now that’s the one,” she says, stepping closer to adjust the fit on his shoulders. “Bold, polished, and with just enough edge to show you mean business.”

Crosby straightens, giving Edward an appraising look. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re finally looking like someone Selina might actually want to show off.”

Edward tugs at the cuffs, rolling his eyes as he glances at his reflection in the mirror. “Can we just buy it and call it a day?”

“Not so fast,” the salesperson interjects, her tone playful but firm. She holds up a handful of ties, each draped over her arm. “The suit’s the foundation, but the tie is where you add personality. Let’s find the perfect one to seal the deal.”

She spreads them out on the counter: sleek black, deep burgundy, a subtle silver-gray, and a striking emerald green. “Which one speaks to you?” she asks, her tone inviting.

Edward stares at the options, clearly overwhelmed. “Uh... I have no idea.”

The salesperson’s smile softens as she picks up the green tie. “What color are her eyes?” she asks, her voice gentle but pointed.

Edward freezes, the question catching him off guard. He swallows hard, his voice dropping. “Green,” he says quietly. “Like... emeralds.”

The words feel heavier than he expects, his mind immediately conjuring the memory of Selina’s piercing gaze. He can almost see her in the dim glow of last night, her eyes locking onto his, holding him in place with an intensity that left him breathless. Heat rises to his cheeks as the memory settles over him, vivid and unshakable.

“Then this is the one,” the salesperson declares, holding the tie against the black suit. “This’ll make her melt.”

Crosby raises an eyebrow, his smirk tinged with curiosity as he notices Edward’s far-off expression. “Still with us, genius?”

Clearing his throat, Edward nods quickly, his tone clipped. “Yeah. The tie’s fine.”

Crosby chuckles knowingly. “Good choice. Trust me—Selina’s going to notice.”

The salesperson folds the suit with care, tucking the tie neatly into the bag before handing it over with a satisfied smile. “All set. You’re going to knock her socks off.”

Edward takes the bag, his grip tentative as he sneaks a glance at Crosby. “Thanks, I guess,” he mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Crosby claps him on the shoulder, the gesture firm but encouraging. “Good work, genius. You might actually pull this off.”

As they step out of the store and onto the bustling street, Edward’s gaze drifts to his reflection in a nearby shop window. Though he’s still wearing his usual clothes, the promise of the suit in the bag gives him a moment of pause. For the first time, the thought of stepping into Selina’s world—if only for one night—feels a little less daunting.

Pulling out his new phone, Edward checks the time: 1:00 PM. The day is slipping by faster than he expected. Adjusting the shopping bag in his hand, he picks up his pace to catch Crosby, who strides ahead with casual ease.

“Where else do we need to go?” Edward asks, his tone edged with curiosity as he falls into step beside him.

Crosby gestures toward the street ahead, his voice steady. “The bookstore. I want to grab a mixology book—brushing up on recipes never hurts. And I promised Grace I’d find her something new to read. Thought it’d be a nice surprise when I see her next week.”

As they step into the bookstore, Edward takes in the familiar scent of paper and ink. The quiet ambiance wraps around him like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the bustling city streets they’ve just left. His eyes drift across the shelves, the orderly spines offering a brief sense of calm. He’s always liked being surrounded by books. They hold knowledge, clarity, and a sense of control—qualities he admires. Books don’t talk back. They don’t judge.

But recently, Edward has found himself enjoying the company of people who do challenge him. The dynamic is new, and while it’s uncomfortable at times, there’s a strange satisfaction in it. Maybe this is what change feels like.

“What are you looking for?” Edward asks as Crosby scans the Bartending and Mixology section.

“Not sure yet,” Crosby replies, his eyes darting over the spines. “But I’ll know it when I see it.”

Edward lets Crosby be, his feet carrying him down the aisles without much thought. His fingers trail along the edges of the books, their cool, textured covers grounding him as he meanders. It isn’t until he glances up that he realizes where he’s ended up. The sign above reads: Romance.

Heat creeps up his neck as he freezes. Glancing around to ensure no one has noticed, he takes a cautious step forward, his eyes landing on a sleek book with a title that makes him falter: The Bedroom Blueprint: A Practical Guide to Pleasure.

The cover is minimalist, adorned with clean, geometric designs that mimic a literal blueprint. Edward’s fingers hover over the book, intrigue flickering in his mind. He’s always liked blueprints—logical, straightforward, and easy to follow. But this? This feels... different.

His hand finally settles on the book, and he pulls it from the shelf. At the end of the day, I really have no idea what I’m doing in bed, he thinks, his chest tightening slightly. Selina had assured him he’d been wonderful, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers otherwise. What if she was just being nice? What if she didn’t want to hurt my ego?

The doubt gnaws at him, compelling him to crack the book open. The pages are filled with diagrams and practical explanations, the tone clinical yet approachable. It’s more detailed than he expected, and his face flushes as he skims through it. This is... educational, he thinks, his heart pounding faster the longer he reads.

“Reading up before the test, huh?” Crosby’s voice rumbles near his ear, making Edward jump so violently that the book nearly slips from his hands.

“Crosby!” Edward hisses, slamming the book shut. His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushes them back with a frustrated shove. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Crosby leans against the shelf, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Relax, genius. Just teasing. But I wasn’t expecting to find you in this section.” He raises an eyebrow, the smirk turning downright devilish. “So... were you a virgin before that night?”

Edward’s jaw tightens, his glare sharp. “Why does everyone assume that? Do I really give off a virgin vibe?”

“Kind of.” Crosby shrugs, clearly enjoying himself. 

Groaning, Edward runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he can’t seem to break. “For the record, no, I wasn’t. But it’s been years, okay? And if this thing with Selina is real, I just... I don’t want to screw it up.” His voice drops. “I’m not exactly the most experienced person, and I feel like I need to be better. For her. I don’t want to let her down.”

The smirk fades from Crosby’s face as he studies Edward. Clearing his throat, Crosby picks up the book, flipping through the pages with a casual air. “Not that it’s any of my business—because it’s really not—but Selina did mention something about you... scratching the itch.”

Edward’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “She said that?”

“Well, not in those exact words,” Crosby admits, smirking again as he hands the book back. “But she seemed happy enough. You’re doing fine, genius.”

Edward exhales, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You think so?”

With a casual shrug, Crosby steps back, gesturing toward the register. “A little studying never hurt anyone. If this’ll help you get out of your head and focus on what really matters, go for it. Hell, I’ll even buy it for you. Call it an investment in your future success.”

Edward blinks, startled by the gesture. “You’d actually do that?”

Crosby grins, his confidence unwavering as he snatches the book and tucks it under his arm. “Sure. Selina deserves the best, doesn’t she? And if this helps you stop second-guessing yourself, it’s worth every penny.”

A faint smile tugs at Edward’s lips, reluctant but genuine. “Thanks, Cros. I mean it.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now,” Crosby teases as they stroll toward the checkout. “Think of it as you owing me one.” His smirk widens as he places his own selections on the counter—a glossy mixology book and a bright, colorful storybook clearly meant for Grace.

Standing beside him, Edward watches the cashier ring up their purchases. An unfamiliar warmth blooms in his chest, something he’s not entirely comfortable with: gratitude. Crosby’s jabs are relentless, but beneath the rough exterior lies an unexpected kindness. Edward can’t remember the last time someone extended a hand without ulterior motives. 

After paying, Crosby hands Edward the bag containing his book. “There you go, genius. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Edward shakes his head, unable to suppress a chuckle. “You’re not as bad as you want people to think, you know.”

“Keep that to yourself,” Crosby says with mock seriousness. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

As they step outside, the sunlight bathes the sidewalk in a golden warmth. The hum of the city fills the air, blending with the distant chatter of passersby. Edward feels an odd calm settle over him, a reprieve from the chaos that usually clings to his every step.

“So,” Crosby says, nudging him with an elbow, “what’s the plan for tonight? Or are you just winging it?”

Edward rubs his side where Crosby jabbed him, shooting him a mildly annoyed glance. “She mentioned making dinner and watching a movie... Dirty Dancing, I think? Never seen it.”

Crosby raises an eyebrow, nodding approvingly. “Classic romance. My wife used to love that movie—it’s actually pretty good. You might even learn a thing or two.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Edward’s face. “Dinner, though... what are we even going to make? I haven’t checked her fridge, so I have no idea what’s in there.”

Crosby laughs, shaking his head. “We’ll stop somewhere on the way back. Selina loves catfish. If you want to impress her, go with that—it’s one of her favorites.”

“I love catfish!” Edward’s eyes light up, his enthusiasm slipping past his usual composure. “People act like it’s a garbage fish, but it’s seriously underrated.” 

“Then it’s settled,” Crosby says with a grin. “We’ll grab what you need, and you’ll dazzle her with your culinary skills—or, at the very least, not set the kitchen on fire.”

“I’m an excellent cook, I’ll have you know.” Edward raises his chin, mock indignation in his tone. “It’s probably why my brain is so sharp. All those nutritious meals.”

“Alright, Top Chef, let’s get moving. Car’s this way.”

They reach the car, loading their bags into the back seat. Edward moves toward the passenger side, but stops short when Crosby suddenly freezes. His easy demeanor vanishes, replaced by something taut and watchful. His eyes lock onto a figure across the street—a man standing by the curb, his posture stiff.

“You alright?” Edward asks, his hand resting on the door handle.

Crosby shakes his head slightly, brushing off the question. “Yeah. Totally fine.” His tone is clipped, his focus unbroken. Tossing the keys to Edward, he adds, “Start the car. I’ll be right back.”

Before Edward can respond, Crosby strides away, his movements sharp and purposeful. Edward watches him cross the lot, heading straight for the man on the sidewalk. There’s tension in his steps, something that sets Edward’s nerves on edge.

“What the hell is he doing now?” Edward mutters, closing the car door softly. Curiosity gnaws at him, and he finds himself trailing after Crosby, keeping a safe distance. His steps are measured, his posture casual, as though he’s just another pedestrian. He angles himself behind a parked car, far enough to avoid detection but close enough to catch fragments of the exchange.

As Edward moves closer, the muted voices sharpen, and he can make out Crosby’s words. The older man standing across from him has a guarded posture, his arms crossed tightly, but Crosby’s tone is laced with raw desperation.

“Please, David,” Crosby says, his voice low but pleading. His hands clasp together like a man praying for a miracle. “Let me see my baby girl. I’ve got a job now, a stable home. I’ve turned things around. Twice a month isn’t enough—I need more time with her.”

Edward halts a few steps away, his eyes narrowing as the pieces fall into place. This must be David, Crosby’s father-in-law, the man with full custody of Grace. He can feel the tension radiating from them.

David sighs heavily, his expression softening just enough to show he isn’t unmoved, though his stance remains firm. “Crosby, I can see you’re trying. And I appreciate that—you moving down here shows a lot. But you can’t just erase what happened. You can’t undo the years you weren’t there.”

From where Edward stands, the slope of Crosby’s shoulders makes it clear the words hit hard. His head dips slightly, a defeated sag in his frame that Edward hadn’t seen before. David’s voice isn’t cruel, but the steel in his tone carries an air of finality. He isn’t budging, and Edward can sense it as if it were a lock clicking into place.

Then Crosby speaks again, his voice cracking at the edges. “I know I can’t change the past. I’ll never stop regretting what happened, but I’m doing better now, David. Please, let me do better for her.” He pauses, the name catching like glass in his throat. “You know Sarah would’ve wanted that.”

David’s face flickers with emotion at the mention of his daughter, his resolve shifting just slightly. Edward notices the hesitation, the barely perceptible crack in his armor, and something clicks in his mind.

Before the moment slips away, Edward steps forward with an easy, confident smile. “Ah, so this must be the world-famous David I’ve heard so much about,” he says smoothly, extending a hand. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Both men turn, surprise flashing across their faces. Crosby’s eyes widen, panic flashing briefly as though Edward is about to make things worse, while David regards him with caution. “And you are...?” he asks, his tone sharp but curious.

Feigning mild embarrassment, Edward chuckles and retrieves the business card from his pocket—the one Crosby handed him during the jewelry store job. “Oh, of course, forgive my manners. Edward Brookelny, psychology professor at Metropolis University,” he says, holding up the card. “I’ve been working with Crosby for a little over a month now. Helping him process the loss of his wife and take steps to improve his life for Grace’s sake.”

David blinks, his furrowed brow easing slightly as he glances back at Crosby, who looks like he’s just been tossed into an improv scene without a script. “I didn’t know Crosby was seeing a psychologist,” David says, his tone a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

With a practiced air of sincerity, Edward steps closer, his voice warm and professional. “Ah, yes, Crosby wanted to tell you in person—which is why I’m here. It’s not often I travel, but I happened to be visiting an old friend in town and thought I’d meet Crosby in person while exploring your lovely community. Truly charming, I must say.”

Edward smiles, slipping an arm casually around Crosby’s shoulders, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Most of my classes are online these days, so I get to avoid the chaos of city life—well, except for the occasional run-in with Justice League antics.” He waves a hand dismissively, his tone light but authoritative.

David regards him carefully, his skepticism softening into consideration. “And you’re saying Crosby’s been... improving?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as though weighing Edward’s words.

“Remarkably so,” Edward replies without hesitation. “His dedication to bettering himself and creating a stable environment for Grace is nothing short of inspiring. I can say with confidence that he’s committed to being the father she needs.”

Crosby clears his throat, finally catching up to the act. “It’s true, David. Edward’s been a big help—keeps me on track, gives me tools to work through things. I wanted you to hear it from someone qualified.”

David’s gaze flicks between them both, his guarded expression betraying the faintest hint of uncertainty. For a long moment, he says nothing, the weight of his thoughts hanging in the air. Finally, he exhales slowly, his stance relaxing just enough. “Well, I’ll admit... I didn’t expect this.”

“Progress takes time, David.” Edward’s smile widens, though his tone remains calm, measured. “Every step forward matters.” His gaze shifts briefly to Crosby, his expression softening. “And Crosby’s been taking those steps.”

A beat of silence settles between the three men. David’s eyes flick between Edward and Crosby, scrutinizing them both as if searching for cracks in their sincerity. For the first time since Edward has known him in these few short days, Crosby looks uneasy. His usual bravado is replaced by a faint, twitchy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the kind of expression that makes even Edward’s skin prickle with secondhand discomfort.

Sensing the tension, Edward pulls out his phone, slipping easily into the role of the ever-busy professional. He presses the device to his ear, pretending to answer a call as he steps back, creating a bubble of privacy for Crosby. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says with a polite nod to David, his voice effortlessly smooth. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” The charm in his tone contrasts with the slight falter in his expression as he turns away.

Edward paces near the car, phone held to his ear as he carries on a convincing, animated conversation with no one. His gaze, however, never strays far from the two men. He observes their body language carefully—Crosby’s slouched shoulders, David’s guarded stance. The older man’s posture suggests reluctance, but there’s something softer beneath it, a hint of consideration that wasn’t there before.

David exhales deeply, the sound heavy with thought. “Alright, Crosby,” he begins, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “Since you’re clearly making an effort and even getting professional help...” He trails off, his eyes narrowing slightly as though weighing his next words. “I’ll take a step, too. I’ve got a meeting with the judge coming up. Maybe I can propose something—like a week at a time. See how it goes. If that works out, we’ll start talking about shared custody. But no guarantees.”

Crosby doesn’t hesitate, clasping David’s extended hand with both of his. “Thank you, David,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear, I won’t let you—or Grace—down. I’m going to keep working at this. And Edward...” His voice trails off as he glances toward the car, where Edward continues his “animated” phone conversation. “He’s someone I’m learning to depend on.”

David pats Crosby on the back, his firm demeanor softening. “Good. We’ll stay in touch.” With a final nod, David turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving Crosby standing alone for a moment.

Relief rushes through Crosby like a breaking wave. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before turning back toward the car. 

Edward, still pacing dramatically with the phone pressed to his ear, notices Crosby’s approach and quickly “ends” the call with an exaggerated sigh. “All sorted,” he says with a crooked grin. “So... how’d it go?”

Before Edward can fully process what’s happening, Crosby closes the distance and pulls him into a bear hug, his arms wrapping around him tightly. Edward freezes, his hands awkwardly hovering midair as Crosby’s grip locks him in place. A couple of tears streak down Crosby’s face, but he quickly swipes them away with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Thank you,” Crosby says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls back just enough to look Edward in the eye. “What you just did... you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Edward blinks, stunned by the raw gratitude in Crosby’s tone. A faint blush creeps up his neck, and he awkwardly pats Crosby’s shoulder. “You said I owed you one,” he mutters, his tone quieter now. “This seemed like the least I could do.”

Crosby laughs, a deep, almost disbelieving sound, as he tries to compose himself. “Yeah, well... consider the debt paid. Ten times over. Seriously, Edward. I don’t get people going out of their way like that for me. Not often. Not ever.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had enough people go out of their way to make my life worse.” Edward shrugs, his smirk faint but genuine. “Figured it was time I tried the opposite.”

“You’re alright, genius.” Crosby claps him on the shoulder, his trademark grin returning. “Better than alright.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now,” Edward retorts, stepping toward the car and tossing his suit bag into the back seat. “We’ve still got groceries to buy. Selina’s not going to be impressed with an empty fridge.”

“Fair enough.” Crosby chuckles, wiping traces of tears from his face as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “But seriously, Ed... thanks.”

Settling into the passenger seat, Edward leans back, an unspoken sense of accomplishment settling over him like a warm coat. Crosby starts the car, giving Edward a quick fist bump as they pull out of the parking lot.

“You’re a good friend,” Crosby says suddenly, his tone sincere as he glances at Edward.

Feeling something unusual, Edward's head tilts, his brows lifting slightly. The word echoes in his mind, unfamiliar but oddly comforting. “Friend,” he repeats softly, almost to himself. The weight of it is heavier than he expected but not unwelcome.

“You good, genius?” 

Edward swallows, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a small smile. “Yeah,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “It’s just... no one’s ever called me a friend before.” He pauses, his face flushing slightly as he adds, “Besides Selina, whatever we are.”

Crosby grins, his gaze fixed on the road. “Well, you’ve got one now. And soon enough, you’ll have Holly and the rest of us in your corner. Hell, poker night’s officially open to you. Trust me, Edward, when you decide to change for the better, good things start happening.”

He stares out the window, Crosby’s words settling somewhere deep within him. His thoughts drift to the changes in his life: Selina’s faith in him, Holly’s tentative acceptance, and now Crosby calling him a friend. It feels fragile, but for once, he doesn’t feel the urge to sabotage it.

“Better things,” he murmurs, the words carrying a sense of hope he hasn’t felt in years.

“Damn right, genius.” Crosby glances at him, his grin widening. “Now let’s grab those groceries before your big night. You’ve got a date to knock out of the park.”

As the car weaves through the city streets, Edward’s small but genuine smile lingers. For the first time in a long time, the future feels just a little brighter. 

[kestalsblog]

Thoughts on "Loser, Baby" Song

From what I’ve seen, viewers are extremely divided on the impact of the song “Loser, Baby” in the fourth episode of Hazbin Hotel. I’ve decided to share my own thoughts on the sequence below. Warning that this is a long post, and if you are triggered and upset by the song and/or episode, I encourage you not to read. I understand and respect any individual analysis, and if you were hurt by the song in any way, you are 100% valid. Others who feel differently are also valid. All I ask for is that same respect.

I don’t believe the only people qualified to speak on media are those who can relate to it, but I feel, given the conversation surrounding the episode, I should briefly mention my own background, so people don’t assume I am trying to speak on behalf of other survivors here. As a preface, I was in a severely abusive long-term relationship, so I can understand multiple perspectives here.

First, since Husk is a gambler, it’s safe to read the song as an extended metaphor for gambling too, in which case “loser” takes on the literal meaning– someone who has lost the game. Husk reminds Angel that many of us are dealt the shitty hand in life, and that the best way to get through the game is simply to go together. That’s probably the simplest positive analysis, but I think it's important to keep in mind throughout the whole song so that we don't read "loser" only as "failure" or "scum of society."

The most understandable criticism, though, is that the piece is blaming victims by attacking them and trivializing their experiences. I’m the most on the side of this argument at the words “whiny bitch,” which feel like an odd choice considering Husk has been nudging Angel to open up throughout the entire episode. It’s not my favorite line, but I can handle it only if we read the song as Husk actually singing to himself and calling himself these names as a means for Angel to see that he feels the same.

I do have some fondness for the song’s language as it continues, though. Excuse me for referencing my own personal experience here, but it’s relevant to my understanding.

Eventually in my healing journey, I realized writing and speaking affirmations to myself like “you’ll get better soon!” and “time heals everything!” were making me feel worse and frustrated. I felt like I was just waiting around for this magical deadline when I would “improve” or “recover,” and when that didn’t happen, I felt terrible about myself because I felt like a failure on top of damaged goods. I was letting myself down.

I reached a cathartic moment one day when I admitted to myself, “Maybe things are never going to get better, and I am always going to feel ruined by this.” Confessing this possibility allowed me to realize that, despite the fact that I am a “loser” in that I lost time, innocence, my old sense of security, and my carefree nature from before, I can still experience meaningful and even joyful moments in this new, altered condition.

At one point in the sequence, lots of flashing signs point terrible, degrading names at Husk and Angel. I can see why this might be upsetting to some viewers who are adamant that the characters do NOT represent those labels, but there is an obvious alternate reading that these are just the names both have assigned themselves over the years. By putting them bright and on display, they can face their self-hatred directly and reclaim their honest selves. (Let me pause here to say it's also crucial to remember Husk is not directly calling Angel any of these names). The solo lights then disappear and are replaced first with the soft blue raindrops moment where Husk shields Angel with the umbrella, and finally with the single LOSER where they both can dance together.

Most importantly, the lyrics gesture toward surprisingly affirmative by the song’s conclusion: “Eat shit together, things will turn out differently / It’s time to lose your self-loathing / Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby / Play your card, be who you are.”

Husk isn’t disregarding the possibility of hope, even in the gutter for the losers. In fact, he directly welcomes the possibility that the game can change with company, and self-hatred won’t be beneficial toward supporting that change. Even if we are dealt the losing hand, he reminds us the game is still worth playing. He reminds Angel again and again that it's okay to be who he is. And now "loser" assumes a new connotation - losing the negativity, the hatred, the things that are holding them back.

Significantly, after this point, no more self-negatives are even spoken, not even "loser" again because Husk and Angel are interrupted before the crucial word “me” when they sing that final line “loser just like—” Any connection to the self now has been effectively erased, reminding us that Angel and Husk may have made poor choices, may have been given crappy cards, but they are not losers in the sense that they are not less of people.

Last, it’s important to remember that the song is not meant to speak for everyone. It can't. If we’re going to be strict about it, it’s not for any survivors except Angel, and as we can see by his shifting mood, it certainly helps him feel better in the moment. The whole episode has been about Husk trying to encourage him to “break down his walls” and stop feigning the super inflated ego act he typically puts on, so, in one way, it becomes a “let’s get Angel past the self-loathing that’s preventing him from being his real self so we can move on to something more genuine and happier together" tactic.

I know it’s hard to separate our lived experiences from media. Judging from the disparity in opinions I’ve read from survivors on the song, I’d say it’s been therapeutic for just as many as it’s been damaging.

Before I conclude, it's worth mentioning I also have my own critiques of the song. I mentioned one with the word “whiny.” Another potential issue is the difference between Angel and Husk’s problems. I’m not trying to minimize gambling addictions by any means, but I know many of us feel that Husk’s loss of a cushy social position because of gambling pales against the extreme bodily violence Angel faces. I think it would be odd for Husk not to attempt to comfort Angel in some way, and trying to relate is one of the most common ways of doing so, but I admit that the discrepancy in their situations bugged me throughout the number. Husk reminds Angel he's "not unique" in his problems, which is important for survivors to remember (to know they are not alone), but it might mean a little more coming from someone on a similar playing field. The one redemptive thing I can say here though is that both characters sold their souls to someone with a tyrannical hold over them, and even though we know Alastor isn’t abusing Husk in the same way Val hurts Angel, we have yet to see the connotations of his power within that specific dynamic.

When push comes to shove, the song overall works for me, and I admit I felt seen while watching/listening, which isn't even something I really care about in media, but it was an interesting experience nonetheless. If you felt otherwise, I am sorry, and I encourage you to do your best to separate yourself from the media you consume and remember that every story, every song, is written by flawed people for flawed people. I mean it as fondly as possible, but we're all just losers "living in the same shit sandwich." Nothing will ever perfectly represent or encompass your own experience and healing. Analyze art respectfully for what it is, what it isn't, and what it can be.

What else can you do?

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 7

Prev | Next

W/C: 9k

Content Warnings: not really any warnings tbh

Summary: you confronted your father’s manipulative behavior, solidifying your need for independence. With Joel’s unwavering support, you began to reclaim control, securing and balancing work, though the weight of your past still lingered.

“Turning Points”

The early morning sun filters through the guest room window as you get ready for work. Your new routine feels both grounding and exhausting, the days blending into a rhythm you’re slowly adapting to. Joel’s truck is already idling in the driveway when you step outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. He leans against the driver’s side door, watching you with a soft smile.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you as you climb in.

The drive to work is quiet but comfortable, the hum of the engine filling the space between you. Joel glances over now and then, his concern evident in the way his brows knit together. You’ve been working hard to find balance, but it’s clear to him that the weight of everything is catching up with you.

“You’ve been lookin’ tired lately,” he says finally, breaking the silence. His voice is gentle, but it carries a note of worry.

You let out a small laugh, leaning your head against the window. “Guess that’s what happens when you try to put your life back together.”

Joel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, his fingers tap against the steering wheel, like he’s debating what to say. “You know, you don’t have to do it all on your own,” he says, glancing at you briefly. “You’ve got people who care about you.”

The words sink in, and you nod, grateful but unsure how to respond. Before you can overthink it, he pulls into the parking lot of your office.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, reaching for the door handle.

Joel leans over, placing a warm hand on your knee. “Take it easy today, alright?”

His touch lingers for a moment longer than necessary, and your heart skips a beat. You nod, cheeks warming, before stepping out of the truck.

That evening, back at the house, you’re sitting on the couch with Sarah, playing a game together. The tension between you has eased somewhat, but there’s still an unspoken undercurrent that makes the air feel heavy.

“So, you and my dad have been spending a lot of time together,” Sarah says casually, her eyes focused on the screen.

You stiffen, the controller slipping slightly in your grip. “He’s just been helping me out,” you reply, keeping your tone light.

Sarah glances at you, her expression unreadable. “Right,” she says, drawing out the word. “Just… don’t make it weird, okay?”

Her words linger in the air, and you’re left wondering how much she suspects.

-

Later that night, as you’re getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes. The screen lights up with your dad’s name, and your stomach twists. You hesitate, debating whether to answer. Finally, you swipe to pick up.

“Hey,” his voice comes through, quieter than you expected. “Been a while.”

You stay silent, the tension tightening in your chest.

“I, uh… I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “About what you said. About everything. Maybe we should talk. In person.”

The suggestion sends a jolt through you. Part of you wants to hang up, to avoid reopening the wounds. But another part—the part still aching for some kind of closure—leans toward saying yes.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, your voice trembling. “I need time to think about it.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, his tone unreadable. “You know where to find me.”

When the call ends, you sit on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling. The silence of the house feels oppressive, and you can’t shake the heaviness in your chest.

A knock at the door startles you, and Joel’s voice comes through softly. “You alright?”

You open the door to find him standing there, his concern etched into his face. Without thinking, you step closer, leaning into him. His arms wrap around you without hesitation, holding you tight.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice steady. “Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

The night stretches on, but in Joel’s embrace, you find a sliver of peace—just enough to face whatever comes next.

- next day

Joel watches you closely over breakfast, his concern evident in the way his eyes linger on your every movement. You’re barely touching the scrambled eggs he made, your focus already on the workday ahead. The circles under your eyes are darker than they’ve been in days, and it’s clear to him that you’re running on fumes.

“You’re working too hard,” he says finally, his voice gentle but firm.

You glance up from your half-empty plate, surprised by his tone. “I’m fine,” you reply, though the exhaustion in your voice betrays you. “It’s just…a lot right now. I’ll get used to it.”

Joel sets his coffee mug down with a quiet clink, leaning forward slightly. “Darlin’, you’ve been burnin’ the candle at both ends since you started that job. You’ve barely had a moment to breathe.”

You sigh, brushing him off with a wave of your hand. “It’s just how it is, Joel. I need this job to feel like I’m doing something—anything—to move forward.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his frustration simmering just below the surface. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he can’t ignore the way you’re running yourself into the ground. “I get that,” he says, his tone softening. “But movin’ forward doesn’t mean wearin’ yourself out.”

The tension between you lingers as you finish breakfast in silence. When you stand to grab your bag, Joel rises too, stopping you at the door with a hand on your arm.

“Let me drive you today,” he offers, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, tempted to refuse, but the exhaustion weighing down your body makes you nod. “Okay,” you murmur, letting him take the keys from the hook.

In the truck, Joel glances over at you as you stare out the window, your thoughts clearly far away. “You ever think about takin’ a day off?” he asks, his voice light but pointed.

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I can’t afford to. Not yet.”

Joel hums in response, his grip tightening on the wheel. He doesn’t press the issue further, but the silence between you feels heavy with things left unsaid.

That evening, Joel finds you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders slumped as you scroll through your phone. He sets a glass of water in front of you, then takes the seat across from you, folding his hands on the table.

“Alright,” he says, breaking the silence. “We need to talk about this.”

You look up, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “About what?”

“About you runnin’ yourself into the ground,” he says, his tone firmer now. “You can’t keep this pace up, darlin’. It’s not healthy.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temples. “Joel, I’m fine. I don’t need a lecture right now.”

His expression softens, but he doesn’t back down. “I’m not lecturin’,” he says gently. “I’m worried about you. You’re workin’ too hard, barely eatin’, barely sleepin’… You need to take care of yourself.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, but deep down, you know he’s right.

“I just don’t want to feel useless,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling.

Joel reaches across the table, covering your hand with his. “You’re not useless,” he says firmly. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

You swallow hard, blinking back tears as his words sink in.

“Take a day,” he continues, his tone softening. “Just one. Rest. Do somethin’ for yourself. The work’ll still be there when you get back.”

After a long moment, you nod, the weight of your exhaustion finally catching up to you. “Okay,” you whisper.

Joel squeezes your hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good. You’ve earned it, darlin’.”

And for the first time in weeks, you allow yourself to believe him.

-

The next morning, you sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, debating for far too long before finally dialing the office. Your stomach churns with guilt as you explain to your boss that you need the day off, keeping your voice steady even though every word feels like a tiny betrayal of responsibility.

When the call ends, you let out a shaky breath and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. For a brief moment, you feel relief—no rushing to get ready, no endless to-do list waiting at your desk. But almost immediately, that relief gives way to unease.

Should I have done that? Will they think I’m unreliable? What if I lose this job?

The questions loop in your mind as the hours crawl by. You try to distract yourself with small tasks—making the bed, organizing the guest room, even folding Joel’s clean laundry—but the guilt follows you everywhere.

Joel finds you in the kitchen around noon, aimlessly tidying the counters that are already spotless. He leans against the doorframe, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“Thought you were takin’ the day to rest,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of concern.

You glance over your shoulder at him, shrugging. “I’m just… keeping busy.”

He steps closer, crossing his arms as he studies you. “You feelin’ guilty?” he asks, reading you like an open book.

You hesitate, then sigh, setting the rag down. “Maybe a little,” you admit. “I keep wondering if I made a mistake, if calling in was even worth it.”

Joel shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Darlin’, takin’ care of yourself ain’t a mistake.” He places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “The world won’t stop spinnin’ just ’cause you took one day to catch your breath.

You look up at him, the warmth in his eyes softening some of the tension in your chest. “I just don’t want to mess this up,” you murmur.

“You’re not messin’ anything up,” he says firmly. “You’re workin’ hard, you’re doin’ your best. One day ain’t gonna change that.”

His reassurance doesn’t completely erase your guilt, but it helps. You nod, leaning into his touch as he pulls you into a quick, comforting hug.

By late afternoon, you find yourself on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of tea in hand. Joel sits in his recliner, a book in his lap, occasionally glancing over at you to make sure you’re not overthinking things again.

Sarah pops her head in at one point, holding up a controller. “Wanna play something?” she asks, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

You smile back, nodding. “Sure.”

For the first time all day, you feel a little lighter. As the hours pass, the guilt begins to fade, replaced by a small sense of gratitude—for Joel, for Sarah, and for the reminder that it’s okay to slow down every once in a while.

You and Sarah spent the evening playing Mario Party, and you’re genuinely surprised your friendship survived the competitive chaos. By the time the game ended, it was late, and Sarah reminded you she had to get up early for work the next morning. She said her goodnights to both you and Joel before heading off to her room.

Joel got up shortly after, making his way to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of whiskey. As he poured, he called out, “You want anything?”

Without thinking, you shouted back, “Yeah, could you top up my sleepy time tea?”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound carrying from the kitchen. “Got it,” he replied, already reaching for the kettle.

Joel returned from the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea in one hand and his glass of whiskey in the other. He set the mug down in front of you with a soft smile. “Here ya go, sweetie,” he said warmly, his voice low and familiar.

You glanced up briefly, offering a quiet, “Thanks,” before turning your attention back to your phone, already engrossed in whatever had captured your focus. Joel watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering. There was a tenderness in his expression, as if seeing you so relaxed in his home brought him a quiet kind of joy.

He settled back into his chair, sipping his whiskey and letting the comfortable silence stretch between you, the soft hum of the evening wrapping around the both of you like a shared understanding.

Joel shifted in his seat, swirling the whiskey in his glass, clearly a little unsure of himself. “You wanna… uh, watch a movie or somethin’?” he asked, his tone casual but tinged with awkwardness.

You looked up from your phone, raising an eyebrow as a smirk slowly spread across your face. “Do you want to watch a movie?” you teased, your voice light but playful.

Joel’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he glanced away for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah, if you’re up for it,” he muttered, clearly trying to play it cool.

You leaned back in your seat, pretending to consider it. “Well, I guess I could be persuaded,” you said with a grin. “What are we watching, Mr. Miller?”

Joel rolled his eyes at your teasing, but you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he replied, getting up to browse through the options.

The playful energy between you felt easy and warm, and as Joel settled back onto the couch with the remote in hand, you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of anticipation—whether from the movie or just the company, you weren’t quite sure.

Joel settled beside you on the couch, your knees brushing against each other as he leaned slightly forward, the remote in his free hand. His other hand rested lightly on your inner thigh, his touch warm and grounding. He scrolled through the movie options on Netflix, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

You glanced over at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watched him navigate the endless choices. Moments like these felt so simple yet so meaningful—no words needed, just the quiet comfort of his presence.

He didn’t seem to notice your lingering gaze, too focused on debating between a classic thriller or something lighthearted. But the way his hand stayed where it was, casually possessive yet gentle, made your chest tighten with a kind of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“See anything good yet?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Joel turned his head slightly, meeting your eyes with a faint smirk. “Not yet. Unless you’re in the mood for somethin’ cheesy,” he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You chuckled, leaning closer until your shoulder brushed against his. “Cheesy’s fine,” you replied. “As long as you don’t fall asleep halfway through.”

“Me?” Joel scoffed, mock-offended. “Darlin’, I’m the one keepin’ you awake most nights.”

The warmth in his voice made you laugh, and the sound of it filled the room, adding to the perfection of the moment. It wasn’t about the movie; it was about this—him. Moments like these were worth more than you could ever put into words.

Joel eventually settled on a movie, a lighthearted romantic comedy, muttering something about "not too serious" as he hit play. The opening credits rolled, and the soft glow of the TV illuminated the room, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

His hand stayed on your thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small, soothing circles. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your leggings, and though the movie was playing, you found it hard to focus on anything but him.

You leaned back, letting yourself relax into the couch, your shoulder pressing lightly against his. Joel glanced at you, catching the faint smile lingering on your lips, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"You alright?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," you replied, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking back at the screen. "This is nice."

Joel nodded, his own smile softening.

"Yeah," he murmured. "It is."

As the movie played on, the room filled with the sounds of laughter and dialogue, but the real magic was in the quiet moments between you. Joel's fingers occasionally flexed against your thigh, a gentle reminder of his presence, while you let your head rest on his shoulder without a second thought.

Halfway through the movie, Joel's hand slid slightly, his fingers brushing higher on your thigh. It was subtle, unspoken, but it sent a rush of warmth through you that you couldn't ignore. You tilted your head to look up at him, and he turned toward you, his eyes locking onto yours.

The TV screen flickered in the background, but the world around you seemed to pause. Neither of you spoke, but the unspoken question lingered in the air between you, electrified by the closeness.

Moments like these weren't just great— they were everything. And as Joel leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tender, lingering kiss, you realized that these quiet, stolen moments were the ones that would stay with you forever.

Joel's kiss deepened, his hand moving just a bit higher on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles that made your breath hitch. His lips were warm and insistent, the quiet hunger in the way he kissed you sending a pleasant shiver through your body. You let yourself melt into him for a moment, fingers curling into his shirt as his other hand brushed lightly against your waist.

But just as the heat started to build, you gently pushed against his chest, pulling back. Joel's eyes flickered with a mix of concern and frustration as he searched your face. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You smirked, still catching your breath, and leaned back into the couch, looking up at him with playful amusement.

"Nothing's wrong," you teased, a sly grin spreading across your lips. "I'm just too tired to deal with you acting like a horny teenager right now."

Joel raised an eyebrow, a flush creeping up his neck. "Horny teenager?" he repeated, a touch of indignation in his voice. "Darlin, I'm just-"

"You're just proving my point," you interrupted, laughing softly as you poked his chest. "And don't think I didn't notice your hand creeping up my leg."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're somethin' else, you know that?" he muttered, though the corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.

You grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, your laughter bubbling up again.

"Yeah, well, you'll survive," you teased, curling your legs up onto the couch and leaning back into the armrest. "I'm going to bed before you start trying anything else."

Joel caught the pillow with ease, tossing it back onto the couch. "Alright, alright," he said with a mock sigh, standing up and grabbing his whiskey. "Guess I'll let you off the hook-for now."

You rolled your eyes, grinning as you stood and headed toward the guest room. "Goodnight, Mr. Miller," you teased over your shoulder, your tone dripping with mock formality.

"Goodnight, trouble," Joel called after you, his voice tinged with warmth and amusement.

As you closed the door to the guest room, your heart still raced from the moment you shared, but the playful banter made it all the more special.

Moments like these weren't just steamy

—they were comfortable, familiar, and full of the quiet joy that made everything feel right.

——•

The dream had come out of nowhere, vivid and relentless.

You were back in your childhood home, the walls closing in around you, the air thick with tension. Your dad stood in the kitchen, his voice sharp and cutting, accusing you of things you didn’t even understand. The hurt in his eyes felt real, and his words stung in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

Then, like a flicker of light, your mom appeared, her presence comforting at first. But she wasn’t the warm, safe figure you remembered—her face was cold, distant, as though she blamed you for something you couldn’t place. She turned away, fading into the shadows, leaving you alone with your dad’s voice echoing in the house.

Suddenly, Joel was there. He wasn’t the Joel you knew—the one who made you feel safe and cared for. This Joel was different. His eyes were hard, his voice filled with a sternness that cut through you. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone distant and unfamiliar. “You don’t belong here.”

The weight of their words pressed down on you, the three of them circling like shadows in your mind. The walls of the house closed in tighter, the air becoming suffocating. You tried to scream, to defend yourself, but no sound came out.

When you woke up, your chest was heaving, your hands trembling as you clutched the blanket. Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears, and for a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. The vividness of the dream lingered, the emotions raw and real as though you were still trapped in it.

Your gaze darted around the dark room, the faint outline of the furniture reminding you that you were in Joel’s guest room, not your childhood home. But it didn’t stop the shaking or the tears that pricked your eyes.

You sat up, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to ground yourself in reality. The dream felt too real, too heavy, and the weight of it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You swallowed hard, your throat dry, and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table.

The cool liquid did little to calm you. The images of your dad, your mom, and Joel still swirled in your mind, their voices echoing faintly in the back of your head. The ache of their disappointment, their distance, their coldness—it lingered like a ghost in the room.

You debated getting up, wondering if Joel was still awake. Part of you didn’t want to bother him, didn’t want to burden him with your fears and anxieties. But the thought of staying in the dark room, alone with the echoes of the nightmare, felt unbearable.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, taking a shaky breath as you tried to steady yourself. Maybe Joel would understand. He always did. And right now, you needed that comfort more than anything.

t he trembling in your body refusing to subside as you stood. The cold floor beneath your feet sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t enough to shake the lingering dread. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you opened the door to the hallway, your breath shallow as you stepped into the faint glow of the nightlight near the stairs.

Joel’s room was just down the hall. Each step toward it felt heavier, like you were wading through the thick fog of your nightmare. When you reached his door, slightly ajar, you stopped, gripping the frame tightly.

Through the small gap, you could see him. Joel was lying on his side, the blankets pulled up to his chest, his breaths slow and even. The soft rise and fall of his body told you he was deeply asleep.

You stood there for a moment, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You wanted to knock, to call his name, to do something to close the gap between you and the safety he always seemed to bring. But something held you back. Maybe it was guilt, the fear of waking him for what you thought might seem trivial.

Your breathing hitched as the images from your dream flickered in your mind again—your dad’s anger, your mom’s coldness, Joel’s cruel words. You knew they weren’t real, but the way they clung to you, heavy and suffocating, made it hard to convince yourself.

Joel stirred slightly, his arm shifting as he adjusted in his sleep, the quiet sound pulling you back to the present. You exhaled shakily, wiping at your damp cheeks. Part of you wanted to turn back, to retreat to the guest room and let him rest. But another part—the part still trembling, still craving comfort—kept you rooted in place.

You swallowed hard, taking a hesitant step closer. Your voice was barely above a whisper as you called out, “Joel?”

No response. His breathing stayed steady, undisturbed.

You hesitated again, your fist hovering near the doorframe as you debated knocking. The silence pressed in around you, the faint creak of the house settling only amplifying the loudness of your own thoughts.

Finally, your resolve faltered. “Joel,” you whispered again, slightly louder this time, your voice cracking. The vulnerability in that single word hung in the air, waiting for him to wake—or for you to walk away.

Your hesitation melted away as you took a step closer, the trembling in your hands still present but quieter now. You gently pushed the door open, careful not to make a sound, and slipped inside. Joel’s steady breathing filled the room, a soft and rhythmic sound that grounded you as much as it pulled you forward.

Without a word, you lifted the edge of the blanket and slipped into the bed beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you held your breath, worried you might wake him. But Joel didn’t stir.

You curled up at his side, your head resting just shy of his shoulder. The warmth radiating from his body immediately began to chase away the cold that had seeped into you since waking. The faint scent of him—familiar and comforting—wrapped around you, and for the first time since that awful dream, you felt yourself begin to relax.

Your hand tentatively brushed against his arm, needing the contact, and you let out a shaky breath. The weight of his presence, solid and reassuring, was all you needed in that moment. The vivid edges of the nightmare started to blur, its grip on you loosening with every beat of Joel’s steady heart.

A small sound escaped your lips—part relief, part exhaustion—as you pressed closer to him. The tension in your body drained away, replaced by a quiet calm you hadn’t felt in hours.

Joel shifted slightly in his sleep, his arm brushing against yours, but he didn’t wake. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, the warmth of him grounding you completely.

The echoes of the dream lingered faintly in the background, but here, with Joel’s body beside yours, the fear no longer felt insurmountable. You let out one last deep sigh before sleep began to tug at you once more, pulling you under into a far gentler darkness.

Joel stirred in the middle of the night, the faint pressure of something—or someone—against him pulling him out of sleep. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. He felt your small frame curled into his side, your head resting lightly on his chest.

For a moment, he simply stared down at you, his brow furrowing in concern. What’s she doing here? he wondered. You hadn’t mentioned anything earlier that evening that suggested something was wrong, but the sight of you nestled so closely to him made his chest tighten with a mix of emotions—concern, protectiveness, and something far softer.

Joel’s gaze softened as he took in your peaceful expression, your face relaxed in a way that suggested sleep had finally brought you some relief. He noticed the faint traces of dried tears on your cheeks and frowned, the worry deepening. What’s got you so shaken, darlin’?

He considered waking you, asking why you were here, but the idea of disturbing you felt wrong. You looked too peaceful, too vulnerable, and he didn’t have the heart to pull you out of whatever comfort you’d found in being close to him.

Instead, Joel shifted slightly, careful not to wake you, and wrapped his arms around you. His hand rested gently on your back, his touch warm and steady as he pulled you closer against him. The faintest sigh escaped your lips, your body instinctively pressing further into his, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name—relief, maybe, that you trusted him enough to seek him out like this.

“It’s alright,” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible. “I’ve got you.”

As he lay there, holding you, Joel’s mind wandered. He couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at the back of his mind, wondering what had driven you to his room in the middle of the night. But for now, he decided, the answers could wait. Whatever it was, he’d make sure you felt safe—whether that meant holding you like this or waiting until you were ready to talk.

His thumb traced absentminded circles on your back as he rested his head against the pillow again. The steady rhythm of your breathing lulled him back toward sleep, the warmth of your body grounding him just as much as his was grounding you. Whatever had brought you here, Joel knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t letting go.

——

Joel woke up to the faint light of the early morning filtering through the curtains. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, only to realize he was teetering on the very edge of the mattress.

Glancing over, he saw you sprawled across the bed, your limbs splayed out in every direction. One of your arms draped over his chest, while your leg had somehow managed to pin down most of the blanket. You looked utterly peaceful, your face relaxed in a way that made him chuckle quietly.

“Really takin’ over, aren’t ya?” he murmured under his breath, amused as he shifted slightly to relieve the cramp forming in his back.

Joel propped himself up on one elbow, careful not to disturb you as he took in the scene. The once neat bed was now a mess, the pillows scattered and the blanket barely covering either of you. Despite the chaos, he found himself smiling, a warmth spreading through his chest.

He leaned back slightly, shaking his head in amusement. She could’ve stayed in the guest room, he thought, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret in his mind. Having you here, even if it meant sacrificing his own space, felt right.

Joel let out a soft sigh, debating whether to get up or let you keep sleeping. In the end, he stayed put, propping his head on his hand as he watched you for a moment longer. The sight of you so relaxed, even after what must’ve been a rough night, eased some of the worry still lingering from the previous evening.

“Guess I’ll just take what’s left of the bed,” he muttered with a smirk, shifting carefully to avoid falling off entirely. He reached over to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch light and unintrusive.

With that, he settled back onto his small sliver of the mattress, content to let you sleep a little longer. Whatever had driven you to his room last night, he’d wait until you were ready to talk about it. For now, he was happy just to be here, sharing the morning with you in this quiet, unguarded moment.

You stirred awake, the soft light of the morning casting a warm glow in the room. Stretching slightly, you noticed something unusual—the bed felt strangely vast, like you had all the space in the world. That’s when it hit you: you were sprawled across almost the entire mattress.

Your eyes widened as you quickly shifted, pulling your limbs back to your side of the bed. Embarrassment surged through you, and you adjusted the blanket awkwardly, trying to act as though nothing had happened.

Glancing to your side, you saw Joel lying there, staring at the ceiling with a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. The sight of him—his messy hair, his relaxed expression—only made the heat rise to your cheeks.

When he turned his head to look at you, catching your flustered gaze, his smirk deepened. “Mornin’,” he said, his voice low and warm, carrying a hint of teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to muster some sort of coherent response. “Uh, morning,” you stammered, your voice still thick with sleep.

Joel raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Comfortable, were you?” he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his tone as his eyes flicked to the now-disheveled blanket.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning softly. “I didn’t mean to take up the whole bed,” you mumbled, peeking at him through your fingers.

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” he said, shaking his head. “I managed.”

Despite his reassurance, you still felt a mix of guilt and embarrassment. “You should’ve woken me up or something,” you murmured, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“Nah,” Joel replied, leaning back against the headboard. “You looked too peaceful. Didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

His words sent a small flutter through your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile, despite your embarrassment. “Still,” you muttered, glancing down at the rumpled sheets. “I’ll stay on my side next time.”

Joel’s smirk softened into a smile as he shook his head again. “You’re fine,” he said gently. “Besides, you keep things interestin’. Can’t say I’ve ever woken up clingin’ to the edge of the bed like that.”

You laughed despite yourself, the tension easing as his lightheartedness made you feel less self-conscious. Whatever awkwardness lingered from the moment quickly melted away, replaced by the easy warmth that always seemed to settle between you and Joel.

The morning passed lazily after Sarah left for work, her goodbye quick and casual as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door. The house was quiet, just the two of you lingering in the kitchen as sunlight spilled through the windows. Joel leaned against the counter, nursing his second cup of coffee while you fiddled with the toaster, trying to coax it into browning the bread just right.

"Y'know, you don't have to babysit it," Joel teased, watching you with a crooked smile.

You shot him a playful glare. "And you don't have to drink half a pot of coffee before noon."

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he set his mug down on the counter. He stepped closer, his boots scuffing lightly against the tiled floor. "Gotta stay awake somehow," he murmured, his tone low as he moved in behind you.

You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his hands settling lightly on your hips. A shiver ran up your spine as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"But I can think of a few other ways to wake up," he murmured, his voice rich and teasing.

Your heart skipped a beat, your hands freezing on the toaster as Joel pressed a soft kiss to your neck. "Joel," you said, your voice a mix of warning and amusement, "we're in the kitchen."

"So?" he drawled, his lips trailing a slow path along your skin. "Sarah's at work.

It's just us."

You turned your head slightly, giving him a look that was meant to be stern but didn't quite land, not with the way your breath hitched when his hands tightened on your hips. "This is hardly the place," you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Joel hummed, his hands sliding around to your waist as he pulled you back against him. "Seems like the perfect place to me," he said, his tone full of mischief.

You twisted in his grasp, turning to face him with an exasperated smile. "You're impossible," you said, though the warmth in your eyes betrayed your fondness.

Joel grinned, leaning in close enough that his breath fanned across your lips.

"And you love it," he said, his voice soft but certain.

Your resolve wavered as he tilted his head, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started slow but quickly deepened. The toaster dinged behind you, but neither of you paid it any mind.

Joel's hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen faded away.

But just as things began to heat up, you broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, placing a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. "Alright, cowboy," you teased, your cheeks flushed. "Breakfast first, then we'll see about your... other ways to wake up."

Joel chuckled, his hands lingering on your waist as he stepped back, his grin smug and satisfied. "You're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he said, his voice low and warm.

You grabbed your now-perfectly-toasted bread, shooting him a playful smile over your shoulder. "Good thing you've got plenty of coffee to keep you going," you quipped, leaving him standing there with a soft laugh as you carried your plate to the table.

The morning continued with an easy warmth between you, the promise of more lingering in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

Joel followed you to the table, his coffee in hand, the soft smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. He sat down across from you, watching as you spread butter on your toast, the moment comfortable and warm.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying a nostalgic edge, “I remember a time when you and Sarah were just kids, runnin’ around here like you owned the place.”

You glanced up at him, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. Your dad brought you over one Sunday, I think you were maybe ten, and Sarah was five. He wanted to watch the game with me—Cowboys versus Eagles, I remember it clear as day.”

You smirked, your interest piqued. “Did the Cowboys lose?”

Joel shot you a mock glare. “Don’t start,” he teased, shaking his head. “Anyway, while your dad and I were in the living room yellin’ at the TV, you and Sarah took it upon yourselves to turn the whole backyard into a mud pit. You were playin’ some kind of game—pirates or adventurers or somethin’. By the time we found you, you were both covered head to toe in mud.”

You laughed, the image of your younger self and Sarah wreaking havoc bringing a warmth to your chest. “That sounds about right,” you admitted.

Joel grinned, his eyes softening as he continued. “Your dad just about lost his mind, yellin’ about the mess. I remember Sarah tryin’ to blame it all on you, and you, bold as ever, just crossed your arms and told him, ‘It’s an adventure, Mr. Miller. You can’t have an adventure without a little dirt.’”

You covered your mouth, laughing so hard you almost choked on your toast. “I did not say that!”

“Oh, you did,” Joel insisted, his grin widening. “And I think your dad was so stunned he didn’t know whether to laugh or keep lecturin’. I just about fell out of my chair tryin’ not to lose it.”

The memory filled the room with an easy warmth, and you could see the genuine fondness in Joel’s expression as he spoke.

“Y’know,” he added after a moment, his tone quieter, “you’ve always had that fire in you. Even as a kid. Always knew what you wanted, never afraid to stand your ground. Guess some things don’t change.”

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words, but you smiled, the compliment settling deep in your chest. “Well, I’m glad I left my mud pit days behind,” you said, your voice teasing.

Joel laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, darlin’. You’ve still got a way of stirrin’ things up,” he said with a wink, his tone playful but warm.

The two of you shared a laugh, the memory lingering like a soft glow between you, a reminder of how far you’d both come—and how much history tied you together in ways that felt impossible to ignore.

Joel’s laughter faded into a thoughtful silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious.

“I wonder what your dad would think about me having feelings for you,” he said, his words soft but weighted, as if he’d been holding them in for a long time.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you looked up from your plate. Joel’s eyes were fixed on the table for a moment, his thumb tracing the edge of his coffee mug. When he finally glanced up, his gaze met yours, searching for your reaction.

The room felt smaller somehow, the air charged with the gravity of his confession. You swallowed, unsure of what to say at first. “Joel…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled faintly, a hint of nervousness in the way his lips twitched. “I mean it,” he said, his tone steady but vulnerable. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot. Feels like every day, it gets harder to pretend this is… nothin’.”

Your chest tightened as his words sank in, and the sincerity in his expression made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned back slightly, taking a shaky breath.

“What do you think he’d say?” you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and fear.

Joel shrugged, his smile turning rueful. “Probably punch me in the face,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “But then… I think he’d see how much I care about you. At least, I hope he would.”

The vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable, and it made something inside you soften. You reached across the table, your hand brushing against his.

“I think he’d come around,” you said quietly, your fingers curling around his. “Eventually. He’d see it too.”

Joel exhaled a small breath of relief, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “Guess it’s a good thing he doesn’t know yet,” he said with a wry smile. “Gives me time to prove it—to you, to him, to anyone who matters.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You don’t have to prove anything, Joel. I already see it.”

The weight in the room eased, replaced by a shared understanding that felt like a quiet promise. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

Joel leaned back in his chair, his fingers still lightly brushing against yours. His expression shifted slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Or what he’d say when he finds out we’ve been intimate together,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a teasing edge.

Your face instantly flushed, and you pulled your hand back, covering your cheeks as you groaned. “Joel!” you exclaimed, though your tone was more flustered than angry.

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eyes gave him away. “Just statin’ the obvious.”

You shot him a glare, but it lacked any real heat. “Do you have to say it like that?”

Joel chuckled, leaning forward again, resting his forearms on the table as he looked at you with that easy, confident smile. “What, you want me to sugarcoat it? Pretty sure the word ‘intimate’ was me bein’ polite.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled up despite your embarrassment. “I swear, you enjoy embarrassing me.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But c’mon, darlin’. You’ve thought about it too. What he’d say, what he’d do if he knew.”

Your blush deepened as you looked down at your plate, fiddling with the edge of your toast. “I try not to think about it,” you muttered.

Joel softened at your obvious discomfort, his teasing easing as he reached out to gently touch your hand. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’m not tryin’ to scare you or nothin’. Just… y’know, wonderin’ out loud.”

You looked up at him, your heart softening at the sincerity in his eyes. “He’d probably lose his mind,” you admitted quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But eventually, he’d see that you’re not just messing around. That you really care.”

Joel nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Damn right I do,” he said firmly.

The seriousness in his tone sent a shiver through you, grounding you in the moment. As much as the thought of your dad knowing made you nervous, Joel’s unwavering presence reminded you that this was real—and worth whatever challenges might come your way.

Joel’s expression hardened slightly, his playful smirk giving way to something more serious. He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening as he regarded you.

“Honestly,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I wouldn’t care what that bastard would think anyway, with the way he’s been treatin’ you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his tone. Joel rarely spoke about your dad like this, but the frustration in his voice was undeniable.

He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “You deserve better than that,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Better than the way he’s been actin’. Walkin’ out, comin’ back like nothin’ happened, and then expectin’ you to just go along with it.”

Your chest tightened, the familiar ache of disappointment in your dad rising to the surface. “It’s… complicated,” you murmured, not sure how else to respond.

Joel scoffed, his eyes locking onto yours. “Ain’t that complicated,” he said firmly. “A real man doesn’t treat his daughter like an afterthought. Doesn’t leave her to pick up the pieces while he plays house with someone else.”

The anger in his voice wasn’t directed at you, but it still made your breath hitch. Joel rarely let himself get this worked up, but seeing him so protective sent a strange mix of emotions swirling through you—gratitude, sadness, and something deeper.

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “Sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I just… I hate seein’ you hurtin’, darlin’. Hate seein’ you doubt yourself because of him.”

You reached out, your hand finding his on the table. “Thanks,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “For caring. For… everything.”

Joel covered your hand with his other one, his touch warm and steady. “You’re worth it,” he said simply, his gaze steady and sure.

In that moment, the weight of your dad’s actions felt a little lighter, Joel’s words wrapping around you like a shield against the hurt.

The knock at the door was loud and insistent, making your stomach twist. Joel glanced at you, his brow furrowed as he set down his coffee and moved to answer it. You followed cautiously, dread building with each step.

When Joel opened the door, your dad stood on the porch, his face tight with frustration. His eyes immediately locked onto you.

“We need to talk,” your dad said sharply, barely acknowledging Joel.

Joel didn’t move from the doorway. “Maybe you should take a breath first,” he said evenly, his hand resting on the frame, blocking your dad’s entry.

Your dad’s eyes narrowed, his voice rising. “I’m not here to talk to you, Joel. I’m here to see my daughter. Don’t act like you can keep me away from her.”

Joel’s expression hardened, but he kept his tone calm. “No one’s keepin’ you away from her. She’s been here because she needed space. Her choice, not mine.”

Your dad’s glare snapped back to you, his frustration boiling over. “Space? Is that what you’ve been telling him? I’m your father! You don’t need space from me, you need to face what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Joel stepped forward slightly, his presence solid and protective. “She’s been facin’ a lot, more than you’ve given her credit for,” he said, his voice firm.

That was the breaking point. Your dad’s face reddened, his anger spilling over as he pointed a finger at Joel. “You need to stay the hell out of this!” he shouted. “You think you can just swoop in and play protector? She’s my daughter. Not yours. This is between me and her!”

Joel didn’t back down, his own frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. “She’s an adult,” he said slowly, his tone icy. “She gets to decide who’s in her life and who’s not. And from what I’ve seen, you haven’t exactly made it easy for her to stick around.”

Your dad’s fists clenched at his sides, his glare intensifying. “You think you’re some kind of hero?” he spat. “You’ve been keeping her here, filling her head with who knows what. You don’t know anything about what we’ve been through.”

Joel’s voice dropped, quiet but sharp as a knife. “I know enough to see she’s been hurtin’ because of you. And I know she deserves better.”

The tension was thick, the silence that followed almost unbearable. Your dad turned to you, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You really think he knows you better than I do? That he cares about you more than your own father?”

Your chest tightened, tears stinging at the edges of your eyes. “It’s not about that,” you said, your voice trembling. “It’s about what I need, Dad. And right now, I need time. I need space. And Joel… he’s been there for me when you weren’t.”

Your dad looked at you, his expression flickering between hurt and anger. “Fine,” he muttered finally, stepping back toward the porch. “If that’s how you feel, then I guess I can’t stop you. But don’t think this is over.”

He stormed off, the slam of his car door echoing through the quiet street. Joel closed the door behind him, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled heavily.

“you okay?” he asked, turning to you, his voice softening.

You nodded, though your hands still shook. “I think so,” you said quietly.

Joel stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. “You don’t owe him anything you’re not ready to give,” he said gently.

You looked up at him, the warmth in his eyes calming the storm in your chest. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, leaning into him.

“Always, darlin’,” he replied, pulling you into a reassuring embrace.

The weather had started to shift, the chill of winter giving way to the warmer promise of spring. The faint scent of fresh grass hung in the air, and the sunlight filtered through the windows a little brighter each day. Joel seemed to notice it too, though he probably wasn’t even aware of how much.

You caught him one afternoon standing on the back porch, his hands on his hips as he stared at the old grill like it was a long-lost friend. He didn’t say anything at first, just tilted his head slightly before letting out a small hum of consideration.

“What’s got you so deep in thought?” you teased, stepping out onto the porch with a cup of coffee in hand.

Joel glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just thinkin’ it’s about time to clean this thing up,” he said, nodding toward the grill. “Haven’t fired it up since last summer.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Getting ready for BBQ season already?”

He shrugged, running a hand along the side of the grill. “Gotta be prepared. Never know when you’re gonna need a good steak or burger,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Is this your way of saying you’re craving grilled food?”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s also just… somethin’ about this time of year. The smell of a grill, the sound of people laughin’, kids runnin’ around. It’s the kinda thing that makes life feel normal, y’know?”

You leaned against the railing, watching him as he opened the grill’s lid, inspecting the grates like he was planning a battle strategy. It was endearing, the way he was so focused, like getting this grill ready was the most important thing in the world.

“Well,” you said, sipping your coffee, “if you’re planning on grilling, you better make sure you’re stocked up on propane. And maybe replace those grates—they’re looking a little rough.”

Joel shot you a mock glare. “You tellin’ me how to do my job now?”

“Just offering some helpful advice,” you replied, grinning.

He shook his head, laughing softly as he closed the grill lid. “Alright, smartass. You’ll see. I’ll have this thing up and runnin’ better than new in no time.”

You watched as he headed back into the house, already muttering something about cleaning supplies and tools. It was such a small thing, but seeing Joel so quietly invested in something so simple made your chest warm.

Spring was creeping in, and with it, the promise of more shared moments like this—moments of normalcy, comfort, and maybe even a little bit of joy.

The realization hit you as you stood on the back porch, watching Joel fiddle with the old grill. Had it really been nearly a year since the last barbecue? Time felt slippery lately, blurring into itself as the days passed.

Without a steady routine for so long, you’d lost track of seasons and milestones, each day blending into the next. Now, with your part-time job creeping closer to full-time hours, you were starting to find your footing again. But the void your dad had left still lingered, the weight of his absence something you couldn’t shake entirely.

You leaned against the railing, the warmth of the sun on your skin a small comfort. Joel glanced over his shoulder, catching the pensive look on your face. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked, pausing his work.

You nodded slowly, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah, just… thinking,” you replied, your voice distant.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push. He simply nodded and turned back to the grill, giving you the space to collect your thoughts.

Working had helped. It gave you purpose, a distraction from the tangled mess of emotions you were still trying to sort through. The paychecks were starting to add up, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you were moving forward—maybe even toward something of your own.

An apartment. Your own space. It was still a distant thought, but the idea filled you with equal parts hope and apprehension. Could you really do it? Could you stand on your own after everything that had happened?

“You seem far away,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he closed the grill lid and wiped his hands on a rag.

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” you murmured. “Just… thinking about how much has changed. And how much hasn’t.”

Joel leaned against the railing beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. “You’ve been through a lot,” he said quietly. “More than most people could handle. But you’re makin’ it through.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made your chest ache. “I don’t feel like I’ve done much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel shook his head, turning to face you. “You’ve done more than you think. Workin’, tryin’ to get your own place, dealin’ with all this mess—it ain’t easy. But you’re doin’ it. And that’s somethin’ to be proud of.”

You looked up at him, his steady gaze grounding you in a way that nothing else could. “Thanks,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

Joel nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said, his voice warm. “And when you do get that place of your own, it’s gonna feel damn good.”

The thought made your chest swell with a flicker of hope. It wasn’t going to be easy, but with Joel’s quiet support and your own determination, you were starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could make it happen.

[mumms-the-word]

May prompts: I need borrowed clothing involving either ardynn/halsin or freyr/minthara

I was going to say “bold of you to assume Freyr can fit into Minthara’s clothes” and then I was like “oh wait” not that Halsin can fit in Ardynn’s clothes either but that’s what my brain gave my first lol

Ugh both are so good how am I supposed to CHOOSE? that’s a rhetorical question I know exactly what I’m gonna do

Edit: Also I’ve been informed that this event is meant to be written about other people’s Tavs and Durges but for the purposes of this request I'm just going to respond with a normal little fic!

But because I appreciate YOU I'm including some of your awesome photos of Ardynn in this :>

Story under the cut!! Warning, it is super silly.

~*~*~

Ardynn and Halsin had finally settled into their new home in the Reclaimed Lands, making a home out of a haphazard cabin that was formerly the ruins of a farmstead. To say that Ardynn loved her new life here was an understatement. She and Halsin had worked together to patch up the walls of the cabin, using a combination of old boards and climbing vines, mortal ingenuity and natural solutions. Thaniel had helped raise the collapsed roof of one room by growing a tree inside the structure, allowing dappled sunlight to stream in through the branches of the tree and the hole in the ceiling. Their home was a living home, built up and bending around a healthy tree and its roots, with flowering vines creeping up the sides and sunlight streaming in through the windows and roof. It was everything she dreamed it could be.

On this day, Ardynn was continuing to work on their home, arranging furniture and organizing their few (but growing) personal possessions. Halsin was out with the children, ambling about as a bear to give them rides on his back and play with them, and she didn't expect him back for some time. She sat cross-legged on the floor, folding away her clothes and his, thinking idly to herself that they would have to obtain warmer clothes for the winter.

After a moment, she picked up Halsin's leather and green fabric shirt, running her thumb over the patterns carved into the leather. He had taken the Emerald Grove emblem from the front a few days ago, so the front looked almost...empty. She wondered if there was something she could replace it with.

As she was examining the shirt, she noticed other markings she'd never noticed before. Pressed into the leather, near the collar, were little magic symbols, runes that were somehow familiar. After a moment of studying them, she realized they made up an enchantment to disappear or morph the shirt during his wildshapes, so that when he turned into a bear, or perhaps something even larger, or even stopped wildshaping halfway through to become a kind of hybrid man, the shirt wouldn't just rip into shreds.

She wondered...

She glanced over her shoulder, as if he might be walking into the door at any moment, and then stood up. She pulled off her own shirt and then hesitated, standing in nothing but her trousers, feeling silly all of a sudden. But the curiosity was greater, and she pulled Halsin's shirt easily over her head.

For a moment, it was comically large on her, the armholes alone big enough to fit several arms of her size instead of one. But then, just as she suspected, the shirt shrank down, fitting itself to her body until it pressed against her breasts and ribs. A perfect fit.

She moved to stand in front of a dingy-looking glass they had recovered from some wreckage a few days ago, turning this way and that. She had to admit, she looked pretty good with Halsin's shirt hugging her body. Add a few leather arm straps and maybe...

In the looking glass, she saw movement near the open front door and whirled just in time to see Halsin ducking into their home. She froze and then he froze, staring at her with eyes wide with surprise.

She didn't know what to say, and she could feel her face getting as red as her hair. This had to be the most embarrassing thing she'd ever done in front of him, bar none. But she couldn't move or unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

He blinked once, twice, and then lifted a hand as if going to gesture to her. "My heart. Is that..."

"I can explain," she blurted out, and that just made things worse because no, she couldn't actually explain. She wasn't just wearing his shirt, she was wearing his shirt that was now shrunk down and shaped as if it was tailor-made to her body.

Halsin closed the door behind him--something they rarely did except when they didn't want to be disturbed--and took a few slow steps forward. He stopped just a foot away, looking down at her. She held her breath as his eyes roved over her form, following the patterns on the leather and fabric as they curved over and around her body.

"It suits you," he said quietly. Huskily. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized that the look in his eyes was no longer confusion or surprise but...hunger. He reached up and skimmed his fingertips along her side, causing her to shiver. "In fact, I think you wear it better than I do."

She swallowed, trying to keep track of her thoughts. "I was just...I saw the enchantment runes and I..."

He didn't seem to hear her. He smoothed his hand down her arm, seemingly distracted by her. "I am tempted to let you keep it. But, I fear, it would become a distraction."

"A distraction?" she breathed.

A faint smile graced his lips and he leaned in, bringing his lips down close to her ear. "I shall be unable to think of anything but you in my clothing, my heart. Even now, it is difficult to focus."

Her heart began to race in her chest. As he pulled away to look down at her, she met him gaze for gaze and found herself torn between wanting to diffuse the situation (it was the middle of the day) and wanting to tempt him further.

Her baser nature won, in the end.

She tilted her head, trailing her fingers along the bottom hem of the shirt. "Should I...take it off?"

She felt a little proud of the way his eyes followed her fingers, only to glance back to up to meet hers, hazel eyes already faintly glowing with a thin ring of gold.

"Yes."

~*~*~

More pictures to cool everyone off 🥰

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

The tell-tale heart

It’s the first night together after Corin had reclaimed Din and the little bean from Tiem’s clutches. Despite doing little but resting all day, Corin still feels beat up and sore, which means he’s deep asleep in Din’s arms when it happens.

Din shoots up into a sitting position and half-flails as if trying to reach something he can’t see. Equally as sudden, the light is switched on and it floods the bedroom with horrible brightness, blinding Corin and leaving him horribly unprepared for Din diving down to grab a hold of his face and touching it with almost a bit of desperation.

“Are you okay?” Din blurts out.

Horribly confused, having no idea what is happening, Corin stares at his reflection in the t-visor and nods as much as the hands will let him.

“You’re okay?” Din demands to know, even though Corin just confirmed he was and Din can easily see for himself. He touches Corin’s face some more. “You’re really okay?” His hands are shaking.

“I’m… fine.” Corin offers with some hesitation and a lot of concern. “Are you?” What is going on?!

Din is out of breath, sounds more breathless than after hunting down a tricky bounty, and it isn’t just his hands that are shaking, it is his entire body. And he can’t stop touching Corin’s face. “You’re okay. You’re not... You’re... You’re okay.”

And that is when Corin’s brain finally activates and puts the pieces together. “Did you… dream?” About him dying. He can only imagine what Din had gone through yesterday being blind and helpless while Raga and Paz had tried to jump-start Corin’s stupid heart, not once but twice. If the roles had been reversed, Corin would be having nightmares too.

Din doesn’t answer the question, just keeps studying his face a bit longer before switching focus and gently places his fingers to Corin’s chest, where the bones had been broken due to the efforts to save his life.

Seeing how distraught Din is, Corin has to do something. Say something? But what? Words are weak against the horrors of the night, he knows by personal experience, but there has to be something he can do? Especially as it is Corin’s fault that Din is traumatized like this. How can he convince him his heart is fine now? Din won’t believe him if he simply says he’s fine. How can- Wait. Maybe if he…

“Din.” Corin moves up to ease the reluctant Din into lying down again. “I’m okay. I promise.” He settles on his back and manoeuvres Din to rest his head on his chest. “I’m okay. Adjust your settings and listen to what’s under your head; my heart is working just fine. Listen to my heart beating. Can you hear it?”

Din sluggishly presses something on the side of his helmet not resting against Corin’s skin and adjusts his position a little so his head is on top of where Corin’s heart is going nice and strong.

“Can you hear that? I’m right here with you, Din.” Corin whispers. “Just listen to my heart. I’m fi-” No, he can’t use that phrase. That would probably just set Din off again. “I’m okay, Din. Everything is okay.”

Din shudders, curls a little closer and hugs him a little tighter. He doesn’t say anything, but Corin’s stupid suggestion does seem to help as he slowly relaxes and keeps listening to the sound of the steady heartbeat until it carries him back to sleep, and luckily the bad dreams stay away after that.

Until the next night. Though, this time Corin knows what to do and Din listens to the sound of his heartbeat again until the dread leaves his body once more and he can drift back to sleep.

Eventually the nightmares start to fade as the incident grow more distant, more time goes by between the bad dreams until they go away entirely, but after a stressful day Din will still occasionally rest his head on Corin’s chest and listen to his heartbeat for his own enigmatic reasons.

Corin doesn’t mind. At all.

[madneedshelp]

Hiraeth - Danny Wagner x FReader

Hiraeth: a deep longing for a home to which you cannot return

Summary: You thought life would hurt less if you broke off your painful long distance relationship, but it turns out that’s quite the opposite, and now you have to fight to reclaim the home you once had in him.

Warnings(i guess?): language, breakup, angst to comfort, happy ending bc I’m a softie

“You can’t lay in bed forever. Your boss is bound to fire your ass if you don’t get it together, babe.” 

You looked up at your best friend as she stood above you. She was right. You were a grown woman, and here you were wallowing in bed over a breakup that happened two weeks ago. 

“Just leave me alone. I appreciate you trying to help, but I just need to be alone.” You grumbled and rolled over. 

Things had been okay for a while. Right after the breakup, you had went about life as normal. That lasted for about a week. Then you started realizing that you felt so much worse than you had before you ended your two year relationship with Danny. 

It made sense to breakup. He was a drummer in a famous band, which meant he was always gone, and you felt the connection between the two of you fading. It took a lot of debating, but you finally came to the conclusion that you should end it. 

Now you were starting to think maybe the connection hadn’t been fading, but you had just stopped trying to make it work. 

“Please just get dressed and go get some coffee with me. I need to see you get out of the apartment. You’ve been holed up in here for a week.” Your friend pleaded. 

“Are you really not going to leave me alone?” You sighed, turning to face her again.

“Nope.” She stated firmly. She was a law student, and very very good at getting her way. 

“Fine.” You pulled the cover back and crawled out of bed. “Let’s get a coffee then.” 

She grimaced and scanned your rumpled appearance. “How about you shower and change first?”

You looked down at yourself and accepted that she was right again. Another wave of sadness hit you as you thought about how you let yourself get in this state. You had to fix things. 

An hour later, you were showered and dressed and on your way to get coffee. You made sure to put some effort into your appearance because you thought it might make you feel better. It didn’t, but at least you didn’t look as bad as you felt. 

“Isn’t this better than staying in a fetal position under your comforter?” Your friend sighed and took a sip of her iced latte. 

You shrugged and sipped your own drink. “I don’t know. I guess.” 

She shook her head. “You can’t keep wallowing. I love you, but this is not healthy.”

“I’m not wallowing!” You fumed, but she raised and eyebrow and you caved. “Okay, maybe I’m wallowing, but what else am I supposed to do? I royally fucked up with Danny, and now I go home to an empty apartment from a job I hate, and I feel so lost. I don’t know what my endgame is anymore.”

“I keep saying you should call him! If you feel this bad and you genuinely think the breakup was a mistake, you two should talk about it. At the very least, you’ll have closure.” She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.

You ignored the growing uneasiness in your stomach. “I don’t think I can just call him up and say ‘sorry I dumped you, but I still love you and I fucked up’ out of the blue.”

Your friend leaned over and put a hand on your arm. “Listen, babe, I’m gonna level with you right now. I have not liked any of the guys you’ve dated before, except for Danny. He’s a good one, and if you think there’s a chance to save things and if that’s what you really want, I think you should try.”

“But it’ll still be long distance, and clearly that didn’t work before.” You huff. 

“I’m not going to tell you how you should conduct your relationships, but I will say that he did make an effort to visit you and call you. I know you, and I know that you like to shut down when you’re hurting. When you called me and said you felt like you were in a rough patch, I could tell that you were already telling yourself it was over. All I’m saying is that if you both really try, I think maybe you could make it work.” 

You looked down at the drink in your hands. She did have a point about the shutting down. It was a defense mechanism that you put in place after one too many douchebags treated you like shit, but it honestly wasn’t fair that you deployed it on Danny. 

He sent you flowers when he couldn’t be home in person. He called you almost every day, and texted if he couldn’t. He flew home to see you as often as possible. He was a good person. You were just scared. 

You couldn’t be scared if you wanted him back. He felt like home to you, and you’d never felt so alone with him gone. If you wanted to change things, you had to fight. What was that thing his brother Josh liked to say? ‘Fuck fear…’ something something? Whatever, you just had to be brave and go fix the mess you made.

——————

That’s how, several hours later, you found yourself just outside of Nashville. The drive was long, but you were a little grateful it gave you some time to plan your speech. You would’ve bought a plane ticket, but you couldn’t really drain your savings, so the drive it was.

Danny had a place near Nashville, like the rest of the band. He didn’t stay there too often, only when he had work. He mostly stayed at your apartment when he was off, but you still knew where to find his place. You just hoped he’d be there when you showed up. 

You pulled in the driveway and shut off the engine. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you forced your door open and made yourself walk up to the door. You came all this way to talk to him, and you couldn’t let yourself get too in your head. 

You rang the bell and waited. There was a long moment of silence, but then you heard a light shuffling inside. You knew you should’ve been relieved that he was home, but your heart seized up. 

It’s just Danny. You’ve talked to him for thousands of hours. You love him. No matter how many times you repeated that in your head, you still felt like you could either pass out or burst into tears. 

The door swung open and you were met with the sharp brown eyes of the man you still loved. 

“Hi,” you croaked, practiced speech immediately leaving your head. 

As he stared at you, his eyes seemed to soften slightly. God, you loved his eyes. Oddly enough, you even missed them. 

“What do you want?” He practically whispered.

You swallowed thickly. It seemed you were leaning closer to the burst into tears side of things, and you were trying so hard not to do that. “To talk. If that’s okay.” 

He nodded and stepped aside so you could enter. He shut the door quietly and led you into his living room. It seemed a little messier than usual, and it looked like maybe he’d been sleeping on the couch. 

“Do you, uh, need anything? I’m guessing you drove and I know it’s a long trip.” He asked.

“No, I’m good.” You shook your head, trying to keep your voice from quivering. 

He sat down on the chair opposite yours and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So what did you want to talk about?” 

You hated how nervous you were, and how unprepared and scattered it was making you feel. “I just…I don’t know where to even start…I guess I should start with I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Dan, I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. I ran from you instead of talking. I’ve been a shitty girlfriend, and that wasn’t fair. I’m just so sorry for all of it…and I miss you. I miss you so badly that I don’t know why I thought ending things would fix my hurting. I messed everything up so much, and I wish more that anything that I wouldn’t have…wouldn’t have…have left…”

You broke off the end of your rant unwillingly as sobs took over and you couldn’t keep going. You felt pathetic, and you were sure that’s what he was thinking too. Here you were, having driven all the way to Nashville, groveling and crying in his living room. He had to think you were a crazy ass mess. 

In the midst of your mental spiral, you felt the seat dip down next to you. Warm, strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you close. Danny didn’t say anything for a while. He just held you against his chest and let you cry, which you honestly needed. 

“I miss you too.” He murmured into your hair.

You pulled back enough to look up at him. “You do?”

His own eyes were a little watery, but he seemed to be doing a better job of holding it in than you were. “I do. So much, honey.”

“Do you think we could try again? I know I need to work on a lot of things with myself, but I promise I will be better. I won’t shut down and I’ll make a better effort at communicating. I won’t take it for granted. I love you so much Dan, you’re my home and I can’t lose that.” You met his eyes, hoping and praying that you had a chance. 

In answer, he leaned forward and kissed you. It had been entirely too long since he’d pressed his lips to yours, and you felt yourself melt into him. 

He broke away, just for a second. “I love you too. I know I travel a lot, but it only feels like coming home when it’s you I get to come back to.”

You felt a great relief sweep through you and a fresh wave of tears began to trickle down your cheeks. This man was your whole world and you intended on spending the rest of your life making sure he knew that. 

“Hey, don’t do that. It breaks my heart when you cry.” He swiped some tears away with a brush of his thumb. 

“They’re good tears. Not like the psycho begging tears from earlier.” You added with a shaky chuckle. 

He chuckled softly with you before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t think those were ‘psycho tears’.”

“Really? I drove all the way here to ask for you to take me back, that doesn’t seem crazy to you?” You laughed, snuggling into his side.

He seemed to hold you closer too. “Love makes you do crazy things sometimes, I guess. But honestly, no, I don’t think it was crazy.”

“Why not?”

He nodded towards the front door. “See that bag? I packed that right before you got here. I have a plane ticket to go see you for a flight that leaves in an hour.”

Before you started to cry again, you leaned up and kissed him again. It brought you some comfort to know for sure, even though you already knew deep down, that you’d always come back to one another.