#if he had let himself be honest instead of driving himself away‚ if he had COMMUNICATED WITH COSETTE AND GIVEN HER A CHOICE FOR GOD'S SAKE

[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[crazycurly-77]

He's mine!

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: little bit of cursing and lots of fluff

You and Gibbs just returned from getting coffee. Chatting, you got out of the elevator and were about to head toward your desks when a colleague rushed towards you screaming.

With a shrill cry of "He's mine, you fucking bitch!" she tried to attack you, but Gibbs quickly shoved his coffee mug into your hand and intercepted the raging woman before she could reach you.

So she could calm down, he quickly brought the thrashing, screaming woman into the interrogation room.

There he snapped at her: "What's going on? Have you lost your mind?"

You didn't understand what the problem was or what you had to do with it, but it was clear that the boss was furious and had no desire to put on such a show.

What will he do? You watched the events unfold with excitement from the surveillance room.

Evelyn, that was the colleague's name, had stopped lashing out. Instead, she crossed her arms in front of her chest like a petulant child and stared poison darts at the one-sided glass.

"She's on the other side, watching us, I know. She's probably happy to be driving a wedge between us. But I won't let that happen..." she said.

Gibbs just stood there, staring at her in disbelief, and then said emphatically: "There is no 'us'."

"Yes! Of course there is, Jethro!" she cried, beside herself.

"How do you figure that?" he demanded.

Yes, you would be interested in that too. Did the two ever have an affair? And what did you have to do with it?

Evelyn fixed her gaze on him and tried to approach him, but he backed away.

"We dated, you know that perfectly well. And then you suddenly pulled away and went out with that bitch!!" she practically spat out her insult, pointed in your direction, and then continued, "I see the way you look at her!"

Gibbs continued to stare at her and then ran his hand over his face in annoyance. It was clearly a mistake to casually go out to dinner with her every now and then...

"You've never looked at ME the way you look at HER!" Evelyn continued to snort.

That was interesting...he raised his eyebrows. "How am I looking at her?" he asked.

She exhaled forcefully, "Like a schoolboy who's head over heels in love. It's pathetic the way your eyes always follow her."

Caught. If he was honest with himself, he actually did. You were the most enchanting woman he'd ever seen, which is why he simply couldn't help himself. He HAD to follow you with his eyes. But he hadn't expected it to be SO obvious.

Nevertheless, he had to settle this first. So he went to Evelyn, gently took her in his arms, and whispered, "There is no 'us.' And I'm sorry I made you believe otherwise."

She cried. She cried bitter tears of disappointment from which she'll probably never fully recover, because in her fixation on him, he was absolutely the man of her dreams.

He held her like that for a few minutes, and when she'd calmed down enough, she whispered to him, "I wish you both the best of luck. But please talk to her so there are no misunderstandings."

He looked at her intently and nodded. Then she broke away from him and left, while he watched her thoughtfully. She was probably right with her advice, but how would you react if he told you the truth?

Well, he'll soon find out, because he decided to explain to you right now what had happened over the last few minutes...plus a little more information.

Determined, but with his heart pounding wildly, he walked over to you in the surveillance room and closed the door behind him.

"What's he up to?" you asked yourself in amazement, unable to explain what was going on.

As he turned the key and locked the door, he looked at you and explained, "I have something to explain to you, and I don't want us to be disturbed."

Your heart raced. What was going on here? Jethro never explained anything. This was way out of the ordinary and only concerned the two of you. That much was clear. But what was so private that he only wanted to tell you this in private?

After he finished, he stood for a moment with his back to you and his head down, gathering his courage. Then he took a deep breath and turned to you.

And what you saw in his eyes left you speechless. His bright, sky-blue eyes locked on yours, and in them lay a gentle expression full of love that concealed nothing. Completely without protective walls, silently hoping for mercy and pleading not to be hurt.

He slowly approached you to give you time to step back. But you were so captivated by his presence and the situation that you couldn't move, and you wouldn't even dream of doing so.

There was a tremendous spark and the atmosphere was charged with tension. Both of your hearts were beating so hard that their combined drum roll should have caused an earthquake.

He stopped right in front of you, gently cupped your cheek with his large hand, which was calloused from working with wood and tilted his head. When your noses touched, he paused briefly. Then he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against yours.

Only very gently, as if he were asking for permission. And yet, fireworks exploded in your hearts. You closed your eyes too, and when you began to return his kiss, he intensified it. He pressed his lips to yours and as he pulled you closer, you snuggled up to him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and hips, while you buried your hands in his wonderfully soft hair and pulled him even closer.

You both felt as if you were floating on clouds. Could it really be true? Do you really return his affection? And does he really return yours?

But as wonderful as it was, at some point you had to catch your breath. So you reluctantly separated from each other.

Still completely dazed and overwhelmed by your feelings, your eyes searched his. You tenderly stroked his cheek and whispered, "What do you have to explain to me?"

He smiled. He smiled a beautiful, warm smile that lit up his face and made him look much younger. He answered hesitantly, "About Evelyn."

Shaking your head, you replied, "You don't have to explain."

"Yes, I do. I want to," he answered excitedly.

But how should he tell you?

Very simple. Straightforward, as always. He gently took your head in his hands and prayed that you wouldn't push him away at what he had to say. Because he would serve you his heart on a silver platter and hope for the best.

He took another deep breath and then explained in a low voice: "I met Evelyn for dinner a few times, but nothing happened because it was completely noncommittal on my part. She probably saw it differently and saw you as competition, but I clarified that with her earlier."

Okay, that explained her behavior, but not his. And when you wanted to ask him, he continued: "She understood and gave me some advice, which is why I'm standing here revealing my heart to you."

Your heart did somersaults. You had buried your feelings for him deep inside of you until now, because you couldn't imagine that someone like him could have even the slightest interest in you.

You looked at him in disbelief with wide eyes: "Wow, I've never heard you say so much."

He laughed briefly: "That's because it's never been as important as it is now."

With a cautious smile, you frowned: "And what exactly do you want to tell me?"

He began to sweat with nervousness, but he had to go through with it.

"What I want to say is..."

He paused and started again: "What I want to say is..."

He stopped again.

So you took the initiative, pulled him back to you, pressed your lips briefly but passionately against his and whispered: "I love you."

His reaction was immediate. He pulled you to him as tightly as he could, whispered, "I love you too," and took your breath away with a deep and passionate kiss that catapulted you both to cloud nine again.

And your hearts filled with the overwhelming feeling of all lovers that the word “belonging” carries within it.

The End

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Masterlist stories Part 1 - finished ones

Masterlist stories Part 2 - finished ones and ongoing ones

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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[sonnet-of-skalitz]

The Whole World Turns Around Henry (Part IV)

(Henry and women, through Hans Capon's eyes. Just what is it about that blacksmith’s son that drives the noblewomen mad with lust...?)

Hans found Henry in the Ruthard manor courtyard, where he’d expected, feeding that grey mare of his an apple and crooning sweetly at her with his free hand in her mane. She looked freshly groomed, no doubt by Henry’s own hand—didn’t the poor fool know he could browbeat any servant in the palace into doing that kind of dirty work for him now?

The sight made Hans inexplicably sour. When was someone going to feed him an apple and sing him a sweet song while they ran their fingers through his hair? Fuck, it had been too long since he’d visited a bathhouse—a real one, with actual walls, and pretty wenches who’d do anything for a flattering word from the future Lord of Rattay.

“So!” Hans clapped his hands, startling the horse and drawing a disapproving frown from Henry—which he handily ignored. “I hear you and the fair Lady Rosa had quite the adventure. To hear her tell it, the two of you laid siege to this place, fighting back-to-back against the occupying horde.”

“Well, I did have to kill some looters.” Henry responded to his ribbing with a simple sincerity. “Hardly a horde.”

“Ah, well, there you go,” Hans spread his arms. “Perhaps sweet Rosa has been reading too many of those adventurous books of hers and fancied herself the hero. Poor thing.”

“Oh, no, she did help me,” Henry said. “She shot one of them with a crossbow all the way from the window. It was quite impressive.”

“Hm.” Hans’s teasing smile fell away for a moment before lifting right back up. “And then the two of you spent the night together—Henry, you devil.”

Apple all gone, Henry gave the old nag one last pat on the neck and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Oh, come now.” Hans waved him off. “I understand protecting a lady’s honour from the likes of Dry Devil and those other louts—but you can be honest with your liege lord.”

“Radzig’s my liege lord,” Henry reminded him.

“Well, if you’re going to be all proper about it.” Hans scoffed, though he felt a little chastened. It was so easy to forget that Henry had never officially sworn himself into Hans’s service—more that he had been badgered into it by circumstance and the unstoppable force that was Hans’s uncle.

Was it… Had Hans been naïve all this time, to believe that Henry would choose to remain thus, when given the opportunity to leave? Why had he never given a thought to that?

Feeling sourer than ever, Hans returned to the matter at hand and pressed, “Come on, Hal—the two of you, all alone in this big, lonely castle. You, the gallant protector. Her, the grateful maiden. One bed in a cold room. We both know how this bawdy tale goes.”

“You’re wrong.” Henry shook his head, taking some oil and applying it to his saddle. “I slept in the servants’ quarters.”

Hans peered in close. Bloody hell, but the poor bastard wasn’t lying—truly, nothing had happened.

Feeling suddenly light as a feather, Hans let out a giddy laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, well—chin up, my good fellow. It can’t be the first time you’ve met a woman impervious to your rustic charms.”

“Oh, no—I got the feeling she would’ve gone for it, had I kissed her,” Henry said simply—and from anyone else it would be the most boorish of boasts. From him, though, it sounded frustratingly earnest. “But I didn’t, and she didn’t. So, we didn’t.”

He topped it with a little shrug. Hans wanted to strangle him.

“Christ, that sea monster between your legs is wasted on you,” he said, instead. “Might as well be a eunuch.”

Henry scoffed, though he did so through a smile, and kept working the leather. Hans lingered.

Chewing on a thought, he eventually ventured, “You know that you could trust me, to keep your confidence—if you had bedded a noble lady, no matter how high above your station. Even should the matter produce… consequences. I would not betray you—I’d only hope you’d trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Hands ceasing their work, Henry looked at him. “What are you getting at?”

“Word is Lady Stephanie of Talmberg is with child,” Hans said.

“Aye.” Henry squinted at him, crossing his arms. “So I’d heard.”

“Anyone with half the sense they were born with—including Divish, himself—knows her husband can’t possibly be the father.” Hans watched him closely.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t see why he couldn’t be.”

“Oh, come off it!” Hans sputtered. “The man’s 8,000 years old!”

 “Stranger things have happened.”

“Why so stiff, hm?” Hans needled him. “Does the topic make you uncomfortable?”

“It does, if you must know.” Henry was frowning now—a real frown, not just the way his face always looked. “Sir Divish has been very kind to me. I don’t enjoy talking about him in this way.”

“His wife was very kind to you too, as I heard it.” Hans refused to let it go. “Gave you lots of… personal attention.”

“I was an injured lad who’d just lost his home,” Henry said through gritted teeth. “She felt pity for me. And, aye, she was lonely.”

“Lonely, eh?” Hans smirked, though there was a roiling in his gut. Well, if that didn’t cinch it. “Look, you might as well know—I’m not the only one talking about this. You’re at the top of a lot of people’s list of suspects.”

“Look, maybe she—” Henry stopped himself and rethought whatever he was about to say. “Whatever Lady Stephanie felt, or wanted, or any of that—it doesn’t matter. I am telling you, the child isn’t mine.”

Hans’s reply was cut off as Henry faced him squarely and took his shoulders in those strong blacksmith’s hands of his.

“Hans,” he said, squeezing, looking him in the eye. “I never touched her.”

Hans found himself swallowing, throat strangely dry. With a nod, he acquiesced, “Alright, Henry. I believe you.”

Slumping a little in relief, Henry gave Hans’s shoulders a pat before releasing them. He smiled, and Hans found himself smiling, too. Business concluded, there was really no reason to dawdle in the courtyard. Hans unhurriedly began to peel himself away.

“Can I really trust you?” Henry’s words stopped him just as he had turned his back. “Would you keep my confidence?”

“Of course,” Hans said, spinning back to face him with sincerity. “Always.”

Henry, who had himself turned back to oiling tack, spoke with his expression hidden from Hans. “There was someone. A noble lady I took to bed. Shagged her good and proper, I did. We went all night.”

“Who was it?” Hans asked, breath caught in his throat.

Slowly, Henry turned his face so Hans could see the serious set of his brow and jaw as he confessed, “Your mum.”

There was a beat of silence. Henry’s lips quirked up just the tiniest bit as Hans let out a howl and grabbed him by the hair.

“You impudent little arsehole!” They both laughed as Hans tugged his head. “You’re so revolting, Henry! I should have you stripped naked and flogged!”

“Like mother like son, eh?” Henry only brayed harder as Hans sputtered and pulled him rougher. “Oof! Ow, you’re not as tender as your mother, that’s for sure.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Hans managed through breathless laughter. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re a madman. What if I said I’d had your mother, hm? You’d cry!”

“Ah, what would my mother want with that skinny noble arse?” Henry tried to pry Hans’s fingers loose, then gave up. “She likes beef, not chicken—agh!”

It felt good—Hans knew Henry felt it, too. To laugh. To use the present tense. To smile around the word ‘mother’ once again.

When they both eventually came in from the courtyard, no one even bothered to ask why Henry’s hair had been half pulled out and Hans was wearing a grin that simply wouldn’t shift. Lady Rosa was the only one to spare them more than a glance, her gaze lingering on the ruddy cheer on Henry’s cheeks.

There, you see? She missed the smug look Hans sent her in turn. I suppose you weren’t that good a shot, after all.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

A thousand times yes! This gave me so much to think about. Specifically, your point about how his name represents his old self/identity is very interesting to me, given what we see from him with Cosette towards the end of the novel.

I find it striking that Valjean tells Cosette to refer to him as "Monsieur Jean," out of all things. It makes sense that, because of his conversation with Marius and their belief that he must be cut out of Cosette's life, he wouldn't allow her to call him "Father." And, even though he literally has a full, sobbing breakdown in front of Marius when it seems like Cosette will find out about his past (the only time we see him cry in front of someone else, I'm pretty sure?), he doesn't go by Fauchelevent to her. Cosette likely would've found that less unusual, since we see her refer to him as "my father Fauchelevent" quite naturally, and it would make sense that Valjean would want to minimize her suspicions. But his great denied desire, as he expresses to Marius, is to be a part of a family; that's exactly what he felt he couldn't do as Fauchelevent. Keeping that name would mean he would always be worried that "the mask would suddenly be torn away," and he would be driven out as a monster. He wants to be accepted and loved for who he truly is, and while this isn't by any means complete honesty, in confessing to Marius and dropping the alias with Cosette, maybe he feels a little closer to what he's longed for.

There's also the social and metatextual significance of having Cosette call him "Monsieur Jean." First, in dropping his alias (which supplied Cosette's maiden name), he further severs any perceptible social tie between the two of them. "Jean," as you mentioned above, is a homonym of gens, which is fitting, since JVJ views himself as having become "just another person" to Cosette. And yet, calling him by his first name indicates some level of familiarity; social norms at the time meant that formal address used the last name. "Monsieur Jean" is oddly straddling the line between distant and personal (as Valjean himself is attempting to do).

Maybe most interesting of all is that, as many have noticed, Hugo almost exclusively refers to JVJ by his full name, Jean Valjean. This is one of the only instances in which the last name is dropped, which is part of why it stood out so much on my readthrough. It feels noticably more intimate, but also incomplete. And I think it ties into what (as you mentioned above) his last name means: "voilà Jean/gens": "behold the man." He's not ready for Cosette to know the full truth about who he is, so narratively, it's fitting that the withheld last name (which would allow her to learn about his past) is one which itself references a full and raw perception. It was first used of the suffering Christ, naked and humiliated and condemned and innocent; Valjean, in his fear and self-loathing, does not allow that revelation of himself.

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word “gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

❧ prompt:  "Why are you so worked up?" "Because they wouldn't stop fucking staring at you like they wanted to eat you." From here.

❧ the act’s performers: kiyoomi sakusa x f!reader

❧ wc: 1.7k

❧ warnings: swearing, jealousy, kissing, insecurity (let me know if I missed stuff)

❧ a/n: just a little something lolol idk I hope ya'll like it!

"You're not my type."

"And you think you're mine?"

Sakusa Kiyoomi could not believe the conversation he was forced to participate in. A mixture of disgust and amusement contorted his features at the woman staring up at him with a devious glint in her irises. Over the last year, it was almost nonstop bickering between the two of you. Well, according to Atsumu it was flirting on your end and bickering on his friend's end.

To be honest, a study needed to be conducted on why your presence alone could drive the wing spiker to insanity. From the way you would push past his physical boundaries without hesitation to the siren-like expressions, you would toss his way during class. It stripped him of his rationality and delivered him straight to madness.

All he wanted was to focus on college and volleyball, and yet sometimes all he could focus on was you.

"If I'm not your type, why do you only bother me?" The black-haired male surveyed your face for a nonverbal answer to his question. However, as always, he was greeted with a flirtatious bat of your lashes rather than a clue as to what was going on in that head of yours.

"How are you so certain that I only bother you?" Bringing your index finger to your mouth, you lightly bit down on your nail with a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. Your answer evidently caught the male off guard, as there was a momentary crack in his usual nonchalant demeanour. "How arrogant of you to think you're the only one."

"If you have other toys, go bother them instead. I'm busy." Sakusa shifted his gaze away from you, with tension applying to his jawline. He had to bite back the urge to pout. Where was his mask again? Why did you have to catch him in a moment when he was shieldless?

"Really? You won't miss me, pretty boy?" The hand that was once near your mouth was now extended so that you could guide his attention back to you. To both of your surprise, he did not stop you immediately when your finger applied light force on his chin. Though once his dark eyes landed on yours, he was prompt in swatting your hand away.

"First, don't call me that. Second, why would I miss you?" The volleyball player's words were coated in venom, but he ignored the bitter taste. It was nothing in comparison to the emotion flooding his chest right now.

And the last thing he wanted to admit was that his heart was drowning in jealousy.

"Okay, pretty boy. Just remember... Be careful what you wish for." After dipping an eyelid into a wink, a harmonic laugh follows your words as you step away from the male.

Sakusa instantly regretted his choice of words, and yet all he could do was glare in response.

****

Silence and peace accompanied Sakusa for the following two weeks, along with bright warm spring days. His volleyball team even secured a win against their rival, one that had the hallways of the college buzzing in excitement. But the male could not find himself satisfied with his victory - not when someone was missing from the stands. A certain someone who attended his every game to shamelessly flirt and ward off the fangirls.

It was becoming progressively clearer just how much your absence impacted his daily life. Just how much he did not truly care for quiet days. And just how much he missed your mischievous mannerisms.

Atsumu practically snapped at his team-mate on day 13 - claiming that Sakusa was merely ruining his own chances with the girl he obviously liked. Sakusa cursed out the blonde-haired boy in response, but he secretly agreed with everything that was said.

But what was stopping him from seeking you out? Over the last year, you were the one who pursued him. Should the tables not turn anyway at some point? It was only fair that he chase after you now. Even if that meant going against his better judgment.

Who said emotions were supposed to make sense?

It was day 16 when Sakusa was finally successful in diminishing the distance between you two. Well, rather than being successful in his mission, it was pure luck that caused him to accidentally stumble onto your location. However, luck was truly a nasty creature, as the scene he had entered was one that had a storm brewing inside of the male's chest.

A sickening realization had suddenly plagued the male.

He hated the idea of you "bothering" someone else. Why the hell did he send you into the arms of another!?

"If I had known there were such pretty girls in Japan, I would have come here earlier." The blue and blonde-haired male towered over you with a smirk on his mouth. Based on his accent, he was a foreigner who likely transferred to the school recently.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm pretty enough to move across the globe, Kaiser." A cheerful smile painted across your lips as you interlocked your fingers behind your back. It was more friendly than flirtatious, yet Sakusa felt rage burn in his palms.

When he made the comment about your other toys, he did not think you'd actually give him space. In the past, he had made all sorts of snarky remarks. How many times did he tell you to go away? He had lost count. But what mattered was that you never acted upon his harsh words.

What changed now? Were you fed up with him?

"I'd do a lot more than that for someone as pretty as you, y/n." This time the male named Kaiser lightly grabbed onto your chin, forcing your head to move skyward. And as he leaned in closer, his eyelids dropped just a smidge which even had someone like you blinking in slight astonishment.

But before you could register what was occurring - a new individual entered the stage. Warm fingers were wrapped around your wrist, and with one swift motion, you were pulled away from Kaiser. A familiar scent of laundry detergent tickled your nose. It didn't take you too long to realize whose chest you were currently pressed against.

"Kiyoomi?" His name was breathed out with a fascinated laugh as you peered up at him. Although, his consideration was not on you at all. No, he was engaged in a staring match with the foreign soccer player.

"Y/n. I didn't know you have no standards." The comment comes from Sakusa who refuses to release your wrist. A grimace moulds your features at his incorrect and disrespectful assumption.

"Oh-oh, what do we have here? You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend, y/n." Kaiser raised an eyebrow with a humourless chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"I don't have a boyfriend, that's why." Sakusa tensed up at your retort, which only brought laughter to flow past your lips. "But I do have a grumpy cat it seems." A quick glance was stolen of the male beside you who remained focused on what you realized he considered his love rival.

"But your heart isn't owned by the grumpy cat, now is it?" The soccer player discovered far too much entertainment in the situation. Sakusa was practically sending daggers in his direction, and yet it was all just simply amusing. Kaiser was not interested in you enough to willingly enter a fistfight. But he could not keep himself from teasing the unknown male. "I'm sure I can satisfy your needs much better than he can, my sweet y/n."

"We're done here." It's the latter comment that has the wing spiker suddenly dragging you down the hallway. However, right before leading you away, he released your wrist and instead tangled his fingers with yours. Butterflies sang a melody inside of your stomach as a number of curses were mumbled against the fabric of his mask, causing you to stifle back a titter.

"Why are you so worked up?" The inquiry is posed once Sakusa leads you into an empty classroom. The black-haired male only realized he was holding your hand when his feet stopped carrying him to his destination. A light blush could be seen peeking out from the top of his mask.

It was ridiculously adorable.

"Because he wouldn't stop fucking staring at you like he wanted to eat you." His words were huffed out as his fingers were sent to toy with the strings looped along his ears.

"Eat me? Oh, I'm sure he wanted to do much more." Since ending the physical contact, Sakusa remained a meters distance away from you. A calculated decision on his part, clearly. But you were prompt in destroying that distance with a few steps forward. "I thought you wanted me to play with my other toys, hm?"

The volleyball player elected to remain silent, instead his dark irises bore into yours. Even when you extended your hand to lightly remove his mask, he did not utter a word. Nor did he disturb your movements.

When he brought you here he was not thinking straight, he had no plan. He just wanted to separate you from that man.

"Kiyoomi, if I had known you were such a jealous boy, I would have used this to my advantage earlier." The admission was exhaled with a dramatic sigh, but the playful edge to your tone was difficult to miss. "If you want me, pretty boy, I think now is the time to confess. Unless, you want me to go back to -"

The soccer player's name was swallowed back down as Sakusa's lips suddenly crashed against yours. There was no way in hell he would ever allow you to say another man's name in a romantic context again. The pads of his fingers brushed over your cheeks so lightly you could have confused it for a breeze. The earlier feelings of jealousy melted away with each passing second, as Sakusa bathed in the thrill of finally giving in to his desires. And when you broke the close proximity to catch a breath of air, he was quick to bring your mouth back to his in an urgency you had never expected from the male.

Well, it was needless to say... Operation jealousy was a success.

[no-144444]

the grid: meet-cutes!

Day 2 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Alex Albon, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Charles LeClerc

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Oscar Piastri: 

Oscar Piastri was an easy child to be around. He was sweet, polite, and didn’t kick up a fuss about anything. 

That was, until you sat beside him in Ms. Smith’s Grade 3 class. You were the quiet, shy, new girl who didn’t really want to make new friends. You were in Australia for one thing, your skating career. Even at age 8 you were incredible, there was even talk of you going all the way to Russia to train with the best of the best, but all that would come later. 

“Hi,” the boy beside you smiled. 

“Hi,” you mumbled back, not exactly looking at him. 

“I’m Oscar,” he held out his hand to be shook (much too formal for an 8 year old boy, but whatever) and you shook it. 

“Y/n,” you answered simply. 

“Where are you from?” he asked. 

You didn’t answer, uninterested in making friends. You had friends, even if you only spoke to them through a phone screen, you still had friends back home. 

“Where are you from?” He asked again. 

“Why do you care?” you asked. 

“I want to be your friend,” he answered simply. 

“Why?” 

He went quiet and a slight blush appeared on his cheek. “I think you’re pretty.”

“Well, that’s-”

“Oscar! Y/n! What are we talking about?” Ms. Smith scolded. 

“Nothing Miss,” you answered. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“Oscar just told Y/n he loves her!” Ryan, the boy sat to the left of Oscar, shouted. The classroom was soon full of ooo’s and aww’s, and you were left shaking your head while he hid his head in his hands. 

You two did become friends though, then best friends, then boyfriend and girlfriend. Then you two got married, and he spoke about that very moment in his vows.

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Lando Norris:

Clubs weren’t your thing but when it was the second last night of the family holiday, you somehow got away for long enough to find yourself in one. Your little brother was driving you insane, and you genuinely couldn’t keep up the fake smiles anymore with your parents constant bickering. This was supposed to be your holiday, where they celebrated your graduation. You’d just finished aerodynamics in Cambridge and you were sick of the numbers, and your family. You just wanted to get away. 

Suddenly, your dancing was cut short when a guy decided to spill his drink all over you and not notice. You huffed as you dragged yourself to the bathroom, only to find the longest line ever. Quickly, you looked around, then dipped into the empty men’s bathroom. 

You lined your top up with the hand dryer, and waited as it slowly dried. 

Empty men’s bathroom, or so you thought. Then, the door to one of the cubicles opened to reveal a very tanned, very pretty, and very confused man about your age. 

“Oh shit did I go into the women’s bathroom?! I-I’m so sorry-” he immediately began apologising but you cut him off with your own embarrassing truth.

“Nope,” you sighed, accepting your fate as the ‘strange girl who went into the men’s instead of the women’s to dry her stupid top after some stupid guy spilled his drink on her’ “This is the men’s, I just… needed to dry my top.” 

“Oh, alright, carry on,” he nodded, relief filling his voice. You chuckled at the absurdity of this moment. 

“You’re not going to ask me to leave?”

“Should I?” he asked. 

“Probably,” you informed him.

“I’d just be worried about you to be honest,” he finished washing his hands. “Guys are creepy. Just be careful.”

You nodded. “You’re an actual gentleman,” you laughed. 

He smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“Do you wanna dance?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting his lips to stop himself from grinning like a little boy. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Then let’s go,” you smiled, taking his hand and dragging him back out to the dance floor. Wet top long forgotten…

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Max Verstappen

You weren’t exactly supposed to have run out of your father’s office, nor were you supposed to have ended up at the media shoot for the new Toro Rosso drivers, but you did anyway. 

“Y/n!” Carlos smiled, wrapping a hand around your waist in a hug. “It is so good to see you!”

“Hey Carlos,” you smiled. You’d met Carlos already, at one of those boring galas your dad had sent you to. I mean, you were only 17, what was he expecting? You to enjoy spending time with rich old dudes who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves? I don’t think so. “How are you?”

Behind him stood Max Verstappen, no him, you’d heard about. Though, he didn’t seem as intimidating as you’d imagined him to be. He seemed kind of… normal. Just like any other random teenage boy your age. Kind of awkward, kind of annoying, and pretty good looking. 

“I’m good hermosa, you?” Carlos smiled. You caught Max staring at you, and offered him a soft smile. His eyes darted away from you both. 

“Good thanks.”

You took the initiative and went up to him, holding out your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/n Horner.”

“Max Verstappen,” he shook your hand, avoiding eye contact. 

“Max thinks you’re pretty,” Carlos smirked, drawing a laugh from you, and a harrowing look of betrayal from Max. 

“Carlos! Why don’t you even shut up?!” He whined, making you laugh harder. 

“What? It is the truth, no? You think she is-”

“Carlos!” Max scolded. 

When you’d finally stopped laughing, the pair of them had been called to go back in for photos. Before he walked away you slipped your number into Max’s hand with a smile. “I think you’re pretty too,” you whispered, leaving him flushed and flustered. 

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Alex Albon:

You weren’t exactly privy to all the goings on of an F1 garage, but you knew well enough to not touch the cars, or get in anyone’s way. 

Somehow, you failed both of those things within about 5 seconds, all because of one man. James Vowels, that stupid idiot bumped into you as he laughed and sent you flying into one of the engineer’s desks. 

“Sorry!” you immediately rushed out as someone helped you up, telling you that it was alright and there was no harm done. 

“To be fair, that was James’s fault,” Terry, one of the engineers, pointed out. 

“Excuse me?” James’s voice went up four octaves. 

“You knocked right into her mate!” he laughed. 

“It’s impressive that you missed someone that beautiful,” Alex chuckled at his boss, then stopped after he realised what he’d said. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-”

The garage was alive with laughter as Alex stuttered through an apology, and you chuckled along, desperately trying to end the whole ordeal. 

“It’s alright,” you cut him off. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, blushing madly. “And I’m sorry- again.”

“Ask her out!” One of the engineers shouted. 

“I’m so sorry, I absolutely won’t-”

“Yes,” you agreed in a split-second decision. 

“Yes?” He confirmed with you. “Alright then!”

“How did you manage to accidentally get a date?!” James laughed. 

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George Russell: 

“George, this is your new race engineer, Y/n Y/l/n,” Toto announced. George’s other race engineer had just taken maternity leave after his wife had given birth to a beautiful baby boy just days prior. 

“Hi,” you smiled, holding out your hand. He stood there, just staring. 

“George?” Toto nudged his arm. “George.”

“Yes? Oh-umm, sorry, very rude of me, I’m George,” he was flustered. Lando watched from the other side of the room with a smirk on his face. His friend was in love, how sweet?

“George?” Lando called over. “Did Toto matchmake you?” 

Your professionalism was already thinly wound because of the hoops you had to jump through to get the job in the first place, and now two men who were being fucking annoying and dickheads were testing you. “I’m his new race engineer,” you explained with a pleasant smile. 

“Really? You’re pretty enough to model,” Lando smirked, playing up the sleeze so that George could swing in and be your ‘knight in shining armour’. Well, knight in… black and turquoise armour. 

“Lan, what the hell are you saying?” George gawked. 

“I’d love to ask the same question,” you nodded. 

Lando broke character and laughed in your faces for a solid minute. At least he’d broken the ice. 

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Lewis Hamilton:

You walked into the room with your head held high. Your client was nowhere to be seen, probably busy doing cocaine in the bathroom, but you didn’t care. This was the afterparty. No cameras, no inhibitions, and no babysitting. 

You sat at the bar, ordered a martini, and fell back into one of your favourite past times, people watching. You watched as celebrities you used to idolise,  danced on each other the same way horny teenagers did. You watched as the time ticked by before you could leave. 

“Long night?” he asked, a kind smile on his face. 

“You have no idea,” you chuckled. “Celebrities aren’t easy to deal with- no offence,” you smiled. 

“None taken,” he chuckled. “I find them all pretty difficult to be around too.” 

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “I don’t know if you get to say that when you are a celebrity.” 

“Sure I do,” he shrugged. “At least I can keep my hands to myself, unlike Mr. Styles over there,” he chuckled, ponting out some of the most awkward pairs out on the dance floor. 

You laughed, trying to hide it with a sip of your drink. “We probably shouldn’t say that,” you chuckled. “Even if it is true.”

“Why not?” he smirked. 

“Not all of us are celebrities Mr. Hamilton, some of us may lose our jobs,” you smiled. 

“Who’s your client?” he asked, catching onto the fact that you weren’t a glitz and glamour-y actor or singer. 

“You don’t even want to know,” you sighed, chuckling lightly. “He’s the actual worst.”

“Oh, so it’s one of the old ones?” he guessed. 

“I’m not answering that,” you shook your head. 

He smiled at you. “How about a bet? If I can guess who it is by the end of the night, I get your number.”

You smiled. “Deal.” 

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Charles LeClerc 

Charles may have been one of the most well-rated drivers in Formula 1, but his parallel parking was… abysmal. It was embarrassing, to be honest. 

You walked out to your car after another 12 hour day at your gruelling office job, already on the verge of crying thanks to your asshole boss screaming at you for getting her coffee order wrong, and apparently the dickhead who parked beside you, decided today would be the day to back up into your car. 

“Fuck!” you groaned as you watched him do it. “What the hell are you doing?” You asked, going over to the window. 

“I am so sorry!” he immediately apologised. 

“Holy shit, you’re that Formula 1 driver,” you stated, taken aback. 

“I am so sorry about your car, it was a complete accident,” he explained. “I’ll pay for the damages.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. Here’s my number, and my insurance’s number,” you started writing down the numbers on a piece of paper, then handed them to him. 

“I’m Charles, by the way,” he introduced himself, a soft smile on his face. 

“Cool,” you nodded. “Give me a call.”

You turned to go back to your car, it wasn’t bad enough to not be able to drive it home, just a few scratches. 

“W-wait!” he called after you. “I didn’t give you my number,” he stated. 

“I know,” you nodded. “I doubted that you gave out your number to random people.” 

“Well… for the insurance, right?” 

“I don’t care mate,” you sighed. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s been a very long day.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled. “Here’s my number, I’ll give you a call, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks Charles,” you nodded, taking the piece of paper out of his hand. 

“Sorry again,” he smiled. 

“It’s seriously alright,” you nodded. "Just... one question?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Shouldn't you be a better driver? Like you're an F1 driver, right?"

He chuckled. "Parallel parking isn't exactly covered in the super liscense."

"It should be."

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Daniel Riccardo

You sighed as you walked through the paddock. Being Adrian Newey's protege was slowly sucking the soul from your body ever since he'd left. You were now the saving grace for everyone, and you had no idea what you were up against next season. Aston Martin would be throwing money at the wall, and you were unsure of whether you could build the fastest car.

"Y/n, for fuck's sake," he demanded. "I needed these numbers done yesterday and you didn't finish them! That's just plain disrespect!"

"Sir, I finished what I could with the data you gave me, I can't make equations with no universe to place them in, it doesn't work like that," you explained, done with this 2 hour long meeting.

There was a knock on the door and you internally blessed whoever it was to end this hellhole of a meeting.

Daniel's head popped through the door. "Christian, what did you want me for?"

"We're in a meeting right now," Christian growled.

"Not anymore," you deadpanned. "I have some maths to do, goodbye Christian."

"We need to talk about this!" he called after you.

"No, you want to complain to someone, and talking to a brick wall would be easier than trying to explain how fucking impossible your 'dream scenario' is. Goodbye Christian."

With that, you left the meeting room, making a reminder in your phone to send Daniel a bouquet as a thank you gift.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen

[j-jinxee]

[ ⟡​ ] — PULL OVER,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Sim Jaeyun x Reader

✦ [warnings – head (receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, cumming inside, swearing]

─────

Being Jake's passenger princess was the best job ever. One of his hands resting on your thigh while the other controls the vehicle, and all you had to was your sit there and look pretty, occasionally telling him which way to go. Your eyes mostly landed on him throughout these drives, much more interested in his gorgeous side profile than the road ahead. His beautifully sculpted hands gliding across the wheel, taking good care of you, keeping you safe. Snapping you out of your thoughts, you noticed his hand almost stuttering, becoming as stiff as a board. Jake felt the urgent need to get closer to you, to take you right this second, but the road ahead prevented him from doing so. Hearing his breathing get heavier, you pretended not to notice. However, you were slightly concerned when Jake took a wrong turn, did he do that on purpose?. You were meant to head onto the freeway, instead you're headed out to a more secluded, rural area. Was he really that lost in thought? You actually couldn't tell if he just made a honest mistake, or if he was thinking with his dick. You'd soon find out, it was the latter.

'Jake?' you said quietly.

Before you knew it, both of you were cramped in the back seat, Jake's face buried in your cunt. 'mm-mmh!' You squirmed, your hands tugging at his hair to steady yourself. Jake ended up going halfway up a curb and not even turning the car off, so desperate to feel you. He rushed to climb into the back seat, and you followed, how could you say no to this pleading boy? He looked like a lost puppy, so needy for you all the time. Practically drooling at the sight of you, he ripped your tights at the crotch, along with your underwear. You'd gotten used to Jake's animalistic traits when he got like this, the first couple times he ripped your clothes you were worried they were gone for good, but he'd always buy you new pairs of whatever he destroyed.

'mm-m fuck!' You cried louder than ever, as you were finally in a place where no one could hear you. Jake's tongue felt so fucking good when he sucked your clit, he somehow never needed his fingers to bring you to the edge, his tongue knew everything you needed. He pulled away right before you reached your high, of course he can't have you cumming already. Moving upwards to connect his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He removed his jacket and shirt, only disconnecting your lips to pull it over his head. His hands new exactly where to go, gliding down your body and haulting at your hips. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, reaching down to stroke him through the fabric. His desperation was contagious, making you all hot and needy for him aswell, rubbing your already stimulated clit on his clothed bulge. Not long after, Jake was frantically unbuckling his belt, pulling down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his aching member. Fuck he looked so good like this, all drunk and desperate for you, his hair messy yet still framing his face perfectly, and the cute little whines he let out when you so much as grazed him. 'm sorry baby, I just needed you- right now' he panted though your lips.

'Awh, pretty boy couldn't wait till we got home? So desperate' you teased.

'fuckkk- don't call me that' your voice hypnotised him, intoxicating him with every octave.

His cock glided up and down your folds, threatening to split you open at any second. He stroked himself a few times before gently slapping his length on your clit, only making more of your slick leak down to the car seat below. Your already very stimulated bud now had a pretty coat of Jake's pre all over it, glistening in his eyes.

Jake didn't even glance back down before he slowly pushed himself deep into your folds. Loving the sight of your pupils dilating as you felt his tip kiss your cervix.

'fuckkkk' you whined as he bottomed you out instantly, his usually strong eye contact immediately faltered. His eyes rolling back and his posture falling forward. Adding the sensation of his hot breath on your neck followed by his whiny little moans right at your ear, you were experiencing nothing short of pure ecstasy.

He looked up from the gorgeous sight to be met with one even more so, your eyes. He adored making eye contact while he buried himself in you, practically imprinting his shape into your walls. It didn't matter how rough or how gentle he'd be going, his eyes would always find their way back to yours.

It's like he was programmed to pleasure you, the way the smallest touches made your body feel like it was on fire. The way his cock filled you so well, the way his tip kissed your cervix so delicately until you'd come undone for him over and over and over again. As much as you weren't in the mood like he was, you thanked his weak will for taking you like this in the middle of nowhere, you could never let out moans like this in your shared apartment. Your mixed noises only made it more erotic, sounding so incredibly pornographic you barely recognised your own voice.

'Fuckk baby 'm– 'm gonna cum already ah!'

His rough strokes always hit so fucking deep, even just thinking about it would have you hot and bothered any day. You felt a twitch inside you before thick ropes of his hot, white seed painted your walls so delicately. You tensed, sucking him in even more if that was possible. The warm, filling sensation tipped you over the edge, just like it always did. Jaeyun's words became almost ineligible, his pussy drunk mind all foggy from his release. His words were pure sin, all of it so shameless, and you fucking adored it.

'ffuck baby so fucking good for me, ah! mm fuck you feel so good. Feel me? Feel my cum so fucking deep- a-ah!'

His lips laced your neck, threatening to mark you as he made his way back to sitting upright. Catching his breath, it was truly your favourite part. His hair messy and damp, face highlighted by the dim light glistening off his sweat, abs tensed as he still remained inside you. You felt so full, and warm, wishing you could stay like this forever.

This was however, Jake's least favourite part. He hated seeing his cum leak out of you, inevitably it was impossible to keep it all in, but god dammit Jaeyun will try. Pulling out at a stupidly slow pace, quickly replacing his cock with his fingers at the first sight of the white syrup. 'Let's try n leave it for a bit, right baby?'

Fuck, he was so cute. As much as you both knew it wasn't possible, and it was no where near the right time, you knew he dreamt about you having his children. Didn't matter the circumstance, he'd subtly fill his fantasy in someway everytime you had sex, and it was adorable. 'Ok baby' you smiled.

─────

Do I like this? No it's shit,, has it been in my drafts for about 5 months? Yeah,, I just want it gone so take it lmao ( ´-ω-) I'll write smt better for Jake soon cuz my god I love this man sm ok bye.

[daemonbrain]

a/n: Shamelessly inspired by the fact I hit a curb, ran a stop sign, and almost hit a mailbox within 5 minutes of each other. So I present to you Graves x reader who can't drive! Feel free to drop a comment 🫶

Phillip Graves who loves exactly three things: His shadows, his truck, and his girl.

The downside? He has to keep the three things as far from each other as possible.

He would be damned if he let his pretty girlfriend know about all the questionable things he did for work. All you needed to know was he handled things, brought home the bread, and came crawling right on back as soon as he could.

But as he sat in the passenger seat of his F-150, he knew damn well he'd tell you every shady dealing or national secret him and his shadows have ever learnt to get you the hell away from the wheel.

He thought it was a joke when you hopped into the drivers seat! You had booked a reservation for some sushi place you liked and he had taken a little too long to get ready, only hurrying down when he heard the yell of his name.

"I'm comin', i'm going!" He mumbled.

You stood ready by the door with a smile. You dangled his keys in front of your face and to be entirely honest Phill didn't pay attention to a word you said.

How could he? Your hair all done up, a nice pair of heels, and a dress he's never seen before but is sure that it's somewhere on his bank statement. Too much time staring at your moving mouth, not enough time on it.

Interrupting you mid-sentance, he pulls you in for a gentle kiss. When your hands went to caress the stubble on his cheek, he responded with a groan and a bite on your lower lip, feeling his heart beat with fondness for the lovely lady in front of him.

Pulling away only a fraction, you look up at him with those eyes he could never resist.

"Is that a yes then?" You said, excitement clear in your tone.

Leaning back in, he presses his mouth to yours again. After a moment he digs his fingers to your waist, causing you to swat at his arm.

"Earth to Phill?! Yes or no?" You repeated. Groaning, he rolled his eyes and reluctantly separated from your body.

"Whatever you want sweetheart."

Which is how he finds himself in this precarious position. It was no ones fault but his own and now he was gonna pay big time. You had hopped right into the drivers seat leaving your dumbfounded partner to connect the dots on his own.

He should have objected thinking back, he really really should have. Commander Phillip Graves who has been around the globe, shot at, and knocked around more times than he can count did not want to deal with the fallback of wrangling you out of there.

When you reached your hand out to switch the gear, instead of holding the break like you should've, the loud sound of the engine revving blasted in his ears as you pressed the accelerator. You jolted in your seat, instinctually grabbing his forearm.

"Baby! You hit the gas."

Upon seeing his widened eyes, you couldn't help but chuckle. Laughing it off, you apologize and start up the truck.

At least that incident was stationary. It got so much worse.

"Shit, that was a trashcan."

"Phill turn up the music. That ambulance siren is distracting me."

"Did I just roll that stop sign?"

He was gonna die in this metal box. The two things he loved most were going to kill him. Phillip Graves death by bomb? No, Phillip Graves death by his wonderful girlfriends horrible driving.

In fact, he'd probably have a better chance if he had been in that tank than with you.

"Hon you're uh- this is a 35 zone and you're goin' 58."

You made a pfft sound and waved him off. Gosh he really wished you kept both of your hands tight on that wheel at this speed (at any speed really).

"Those things are like suggestions. This could totally be like a 45." You said.

"You'd still be- oomph!" Phillip was interrupted by his body being jerked against his seatbelt. Without a moments delay, his arm shot across your chest to keep you firmly pressed to the back of the seat.

Without a second of acknowledgment you slap the steering wheel with a scoff.

"Come on, that was bullshit! Hardly enough time to stop." You complained while staring at the shine of the red traffic light.

"Well maybe if you-"

Nope. Not gonna do that. He didn't even have a chance to raise his voice a note higher before you were glowering his way. No thank you ma'am.

"Nothin'. You're right. Bullshit."

He would hide the keys away from you from now on. He'd dig through your purse when you went to the washroom and snatch them up before you'd even have the chance to ask to drive home.

If Phill was gonna die any other way than old age amongst the horde of kids and grand-babies y'all would have together one day, it was not gonna be because you flung him into a fuckin' electrical pole.

Suddenly, the truck began to move faster...

and faster...

The moment he heard your squeal, his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Phill! Phill my heel is stuck-" The panic in your voice was palpable, the sight of cars in the distance coming closer in view by the second. Tears had begun to gather at your lash line in alarm.

With the reflexes as a man with his own PMC, his unclicks his seatbelt and practically flings himself over the console. Grabbing your foot, he jiggles it from the wedge it trapped itself and pushed on to the break you had made no attempt to use.

Another hard stop, but one made just in time before any collision could take place. Snapping out of your stupor, you allow the truck to slowly roll for a moment while a red faced Phillip looked at you with fury that knew no bounds.

"Pull over."

With a grimace, you attempted to reply. Only to have Phill grab the wheel and fully turn you to the side of the road, signaling and all.

Clicking on the emergency lights as he opens, exits, and closes his door while you still reeled from your miiiiinor incident.

Opening your door, his stern expression warranted no argument as he held a hand out to help you down.

"Out right now. No buts or nothin'."

Hastily complying, you slip your palm into his and scampered to the passenger seat.

After you buckled your seatbelt in and Phill had time to huff and rejoin the road, he uses his free hand to grab on to yours and press a tender kiss to your knuckles while keeping his blue eyes stubbornly fixed forward.

…

Safe to say you let him play his own music this time.

[secriden]

Wild take, but when Style says, "It's okay to love," I really don't think it's actually about love at all.

Let's consider the context leading up to this point: Fadel drives Style to an abandoned factory in the woods and leaves him alone to go and brood for a while. At least part of Fadel's goal is to scare Style, to give him a hint that Fadel is more dangerous than he seems.

But Style doesn't back down, doesn't go running, evidences no sense of self-preservation or worry; and at least on some level it's a clear sign that he trusts Fadel. Despite Fadel literally punching him in the stomach; despite Fadel mocking Style's honest and wanton desire; despite Fadel chasing him away, he still trusts Fadel to keep him safe.

Imagine how frustrated Fadel must be feeling. Style was only gone for one morning, but it was enough for Fadel to become painfully aware that he did not actually want Style gone from his life. He knows now that he won't have the strength to keep refusing Style's relentless pursuit, so he needs Style to be the one to walk away from him instead.

And I think this was a final, last-ditch attempt to make Style run away.

Notice that Fadel starts out rather threatening: "I don't like you messing up my life. My life has been planned out. You're disrupting it." At this point, Fadel could have still turned this violent; attack Style and leave him injured in an abandoned warehouse, and I'm not sure that wasn't still on Fadel's mind at this point. He's incredibly aggressive at first: shoving Style back against the bar, caging Style in between his rigid arms, rattling the metal frame behind Style to show his anger.

But oh, in the heat of the moment, the truth slips out. Fadel is admitting that Style has the power to bring change into his highly regimented and structured life. He's admitting that his desire to keep Style in his life has eclipsed his need for control and structure, in spite of himself.

The truth breaks Fadel open in ways that none of Style's machinations and schemes could. He finally recognises that it is his own feelings that are the true cause of his anger and frustration.

This is the point when Fadel finally gives up on the idea of hurting Style to chase him away. His voice softens (Joong's delivery of "I miss you" makes me weep), his shoulders finally relax, he stops caging Style against the bar and instead it's almost a tentative suggestion of a desire to hold Style.

And I think Style understood this on some instinctive level. Because if you watch Style very carefully, there's a moment of genuine fear when Fadel first shoves him against the bar and then he takes a grim breath like he's fighting off a sense of despair at the at the start of Fadel's rant. Like he could tell this one was going to be a 'make or break' kind of situation.

But when Fadel begins to unravel, when he admits that he was looking for Style when he was gone, there's this almost hopeful, anticipatory look that slowly blooms on Style's face. He's so hungry to see where this goes, and he's gets this intense almost wild look on his face when Fadel pauses to search for his words.

It's incredibly important that Style waited at this point. Style, who talks endlessly and without thought. Style, who demands that his story and his thoughts are aired first. Style, who has been telling Fadel this lie time and time again before Fadel’s feelings made it true... Stops. Waits. Stays silent. Because Fadel had to get there himself or not at all.

Dunk does something incredibly subtle here, but it blew me away: Style does not blink once throughout the entirety of Fadel's rant UNTIL he says "I don't like that I miss you". And that's when Style finally blinks as if it’s finally safe to take his eyes off Fadel. As if there's a wave of relief washing over him as the tension (and sense of danger) finally breaks.

He also does this incredible thing where he softens the look he's giving Fadel right before he drops his eyes down to Fadel's lips. (Joong has always been excellent at this, but Dunk didn’t really get that many opportunities to do this in previous roles). Style is treating this moment so carefully, and there's a purposefulness to this kiss that was entirely absent from the ones Style initiated in the locker room in episode 2.

I also think it's really important that Style was the one to kiss Fadel here. Not just because it juxtaposes the kiss in the store room, but also because Style has shown a strong preference for Fadel taking the initiative. He has been consistently creating opportunities for Fadel to lay hands on him, right from episode 1 when he put the Heart Burger pin on his chest and put his arms behind his head in welcome (and surrender).

But for this to be a functional relationship, Style has to take ownership of his own desire for Fadel. He cannot remain physically passive any longer, because this is the start of something bigger than just the thrill of being wanted. Style is looking beyond what he wants, potentially for the first time, to what his partner needs.

And I wonder, is this maybe the first time Fadel has allowed himself to be kissed since his ex left? There's something so fragile in the wide-shot. The way Fadel only has one hand barely touching Style's hip, while he's still got his other hand clenched tightly around the metal bar like he's desperately holding onto a lifeline. I have so many emotions about this.

Which is why I think this line wasn't really about love at all. This was Style responding to the vulnerability he sees in Fadel and offering reassurance in return. Because Fadel is strong and doesn't need protection, but oh yes he does, for it is his heart that is in danger of shattering.

There's an incredible line in episode 13 of Love In The Air, when Sky (in the aftermath of an extremely traumatic event and after finally revealing the full truth that he was sure would drive Prapai away) turns to Prapai and asks, "P'Pai, can I really love you?" Sky is asking if his fragile heart is really going to be safe in Prapai's hands.

And I think this is exactly what Style is getting at here: He's telling Fadel It's okay to love me. That Style is safe to love. That Fadel can take the risk to let Style into his heart because Style isn't going to take it lightly.

And it's this reassurance that finally allows Fadel to let go: both figuratively (as he starts to take control of the kiss and the encounter) and literally (as he transfers his hold from the metal bar to Style's body). Even the contrast in the wider shots between the kiss before Style says "It's okay to love" and after is startling.

This wasn't really a love confession, not in the conventional understanding of it. But for Fadel, who's mother "loves" Bison and himself for their utility and usefulness, perhaps the assurance of safety is more important.

And for Style, who seems so naive and inexperienced and ignorant of the way the world works in ways that suggest he's never truly had to grow up, this is far more significant. Because he's taking responsibility of someone else's heart for the first time in a way that I don't think he's ever allowed himself before. I said before that Style would be forced to grow up and I do believe this is what we are seeing here.

So no, I don't think this was the moment of "falling in love" but I do think this was the start of something real and meaningful and purposeful that could have eventually blossomed into love for the both of them.

[apomaro-mellow]

Steve let out the greatest sigh he'd ever heaved. "I can't believe I have to fuck him."

Robin's head whipped to him so fast like he just said he was gonna jump off a building. "You don't have to."

"No I'm gonna", Steve said, eyes not leaving Eddie. He was biting his thumb like he couldn't wait to get alone with him.

Robin looked back at Eddie, who was filling up his plate with things from the picnic table. "I don't see it."

"Because you're a lesbian."

"With taste. And standards. I mean what exactly has got you twirling your hair right now?"

"I mean look at him!"

Eddie had a plate in one hand that already had an open burger on it. The fingers of his other hand danced like they were trilling a piano as he was deciding on what to put on the plate next. He grabbed some chips on the side and then placed the plate down to figure out what he condiment he wanted.

Eddie put his hand on his chin like it was the utmost important decision. Then he grabbed the mayo and the mustard in one hand and squeezed them in a swirl.

"You gonna kiss him with must-ayo breath?", Robin snickered.

"I wish I was that burger", Steve said as he watched Eddie sink his teeth into it. Steve bit his lip while Eddie was licking som stray sauce off his fingers and Robin felt uncomfortable.

"Um, do you, Eddie, and the burger want some privacy."

If Steve was being honest, he didn't fully trust himself to be alone in a room with just Eddie and whatever he was currently feasting on.

--------------------------

Eddie wasn't drunk. He wasn't even buzzed. No this particular evening, he was simply loopy on lack of sleep. He'd meant to go to bed, honest. But an idea popped into his mind and things kept adding in a delicious stew of inspiration and he just stayed up all night.

When Steve heard that, he nearly cursed him out for driving like that to his house.

"We were supposed to meet today, Steeeeve."

"It could've waited."

"Hmm, one doesn't make the king wait."

Eddie collapsed onto his couch and Steve thought he might conk out right away, but he was valiantly staying awake. Steve sat next to him and thought he might wait to see just in case Eddie fell asleep in the next 15 seconds.

Instead, Eddie reached out slowly with his pointer finger and booped Steve's nose. "It's so pointy", he said in a croaky voice. "Bet the girls loved that."

Steve snorted. "What?"

"When you ate 'em out."

"Dude!", Steve laughed. Eddie was always pretty candid, but this was another brand.

Then Eddie began to draw circles on Steve's face with his finger, all while drawing out that croaky sound before saying "Phooone hoooome."

Steve giggled and Robin finally spoke up from the loveseat.

"Yeah, I'm still here. But you know, movie night can wait or whatever."

----------------------

Steve's hands were in his face as he sat on the edge of his bed. Robin was patting his back reassuringly.

"There, there."

"It's just... Robin you should've seen him."

"I've seen him, babe."

"Not like this he was just-he was so into it!"

Steve had gone to pick up Eddie from the Wheeler's. He figured he'd find the other either with Mike, or maybe even Nancy. But no. Eddie had been in the backyard, in the middle of a very intense game of pretend with Holly. It had taken Steve everything not to strip and beg Eddie to give him his own babies.

"Have I...always been this much of a slut?", Steve asked.

Robin thought for a second before answering. "Yyyeah. But also, you've always been a goofball. Now that I think about it, you and Nancy had kinda an opposites attract thing. But maybe you don't need to opposite. You need someone as silly as you."

"Steve!", Eddie nearly crashed through his door. "We're making a blanket fort downstairs, you in?"

Steve rubbed his face and looked to Robin, admitting defeat with his eyes and then looked to Eddie. "Yeah. I really do."

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!

➺ PAIRING | gyutaro shabana x fem!reader.

➺ CONTENT WARNING | a little suggestive towards the end. 0,9k words not proofread

➺ NOTE | happy valentine's day to those who don't celebrate 🧚🏻‍♀️ I wanted this to be a janitor bot at first but I didn't want to 'waste' the idea on a bot :') I'm gonna be honest with y'all, the last few months have been pretty rough. I hate everything I write, and it's only getting worse with time. Im not sure if i'll ever get out of that state of mind at this point but oh well, haha. it is what it is I guesssss

Gyutaro had never cared about Valentine's Day before he met you.

Now, he’s pretty sure it’s his favorite day of the year. Not because he likes the holiday itself—no, he still thinks it’s ridiculous how people cling to shallow gestures and empty words, acting as if love only matters once a year when it’s wrapped in ribbons and chocolate. But you? You made it different. You made it...meaningful.

This year you had insisted on celebrating properly, saying something about making up for all the years he never got to experience it. Gyutaro had scoffed at the idea, grumbling about how pointless it was. But deep down, a part of him—one he barely admitted to himself—had been looking forward to it for weeks.

So now here he is; laying on your futon, watching as you carefully set up a tray with all the things you’ve prepared for him. Handmade chocolates, a cup of warm tea, and a tiny wrapped gift.

“You’re spoiling me too much, y'know,” he murmurs, scratching absently at his arm. His nails dig a little too hard into his skin but he barely notices. A small, barely noticeable smirk creeps onto his lips as he tilts his head at you. “Aren’t you worried I’ll start expecting this every year?”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” you tease back, kneeling beside him. Before he can respond, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips, the tender gesture making him freeze.

God. Why'd you have to be so goddamn perfect? He hates it. Hates how easily you manage to drive him crazy with the simplest touch. How badly he wants more. How he's already fighting his own body so that he doesn't pounce on you and take your right here and there on this futon before you even have the chance to go through with the date. He’s pathetic, isn’t he? The thought makes him dig his nails a little deeper into his palm — but before it can get to the point of drawing blood, your hand is on his wrist, gentle as always, guiding his fingers away from his skin.

“Hey. None of that, baby.” you interrupt his train of thoughts, bringing his knuckles to your lips. “No self-loathing allowed on Valentine's day, 'kay?"

Gyutaro immediately looks away and huffs, heat quickly creeping up his neck. Fuck. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you so fucking much his throat tightens with the need to scream it on top of the roofs. He's not sure why the universe suddenly decided to bless him with a love like yours, but, hell. He isn't about to take it for granted.

With a slightly trembling hand, he plucks one of the chocolates from the tray in front of him and pops it into his mouth, desperately needing to shift the focus off himself.

“You made those yourself? Eh, they're not bad, I guess..." he teases, letting out a quiet hum of approval.

“Not bad?” you gasp. “I spent all evening making these, and all you’ve got for me is ‘not bad’?”

Gyutaro grins, watching the way your lips purse in mock indignation. The way you tease him so effortlessly, like he’s just a guy and not the ugly loser he knows himself to be — it makes something warm stir inside him, his dick hardening and twitching traitorously in his pants. But he ignores it, not wanting to out himself as a complete creep to the girl he loves. Instead, he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly delicate. His fingers brush against your cheek, feeling the heat of your skin beneath them.

“Yeah, alright, fine..." he rolls his eyes playfully. “They’re perfect. Just like you.”

Your eyes widen for a moment, your lips parting and closing again in shock. Then you let out a laugh, tilting your head to press a kiss to the heel of his palm. “Mhm, that’s better.”

“Hey, don’t get all cocky with me now,” His smirk widens, fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s not every day I hand out compliments, y’know. Don't get used to it.”

You squeeze his hand, your fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. “Well, I guess that just makes them even more special, then.”

Gyutaro doesn’t argue. The truth is, he'll probably shower you with compliments every day after that. He knows it, and he knows you do too.

His heart beats an unsteady rhythm against his ribs, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He likes this. Likes you.

When you shift closer and tug him into your arms, Gyutaro doesn't resist. He lets you guide his head to rest against your chest and exhales a long breath, his entire body relaxing when your fingers start threading through his messy, tangled hair.

A long silence settles between you then, but it isn’t uncomfortable. He tightens his grip on you, letting his fingers curl into the fabric of your clothes as if that will somehow ground him.

Gyutaro closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest as you kiss the crown of his head. For once, he doesn’t feel like a monster. He doesn’t feel like something broken. He's just... a man, held in the arms of someone who loves him. And for the first time in a long, long time, he thinks that maybe—just maybe—happiness isn’t entirely out of his reach.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Hot in Herre

Author’s note: Here we are, I’ve been bitten by the Joe bug. My first Burrow fic and my first time in a LONG time not writing Justin so here we go!

“Oh baby, there’s absolutely no way you’re getting out of this. A bet is a bet remember?”

If looks could kill, you’d be long gone by the death glare that you’re met with. “This isn’t fair. How in the world did you eat that entire plate without reaching for your drink once? Monster.” He thinks his nose may be running and his lips are on fire but you seem to be relaxed and carefree sitting across from him on the couch. You pat him on the leg as a sign of pity, which you know he hates. You’re just celebrating your win appropriately, silently rubbing it in his face. You know it’d be much worse if the roles were reversed so you don’t feel as bad.

He carefully moves his leg out of your reach, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing his mini temper tantrum, all because of one little challenge that he didn’t win.

You scoot closer to him, grabbing his hand, “now Joseph, don’t be a sore loser.”

“Have you ever met me?” He cracks a smile, no matter how badly he doesn’t want to. You making small circles on his hand with your thumb almost always makes him melt, like putty in your hands, just for a second until he remembers his devastating loss. “Be honest with me,” he narrows his eyes, “how did you do it?”

Leaning in without breaking eye contact you whisper, “I will never reveal my secrets. And I’ll be making a reservation for two on Friday night so I expect you to be ready.” With a swift kiss on the cheek, you leave him stuck in his seat.

The day started out as any normal bye week Wednesday, Joe got up early to get a workout in, his body fully recovered from the recent beatings he’d taken during games, and spent most of the afternoon mulling over ever life choice he’s ever made on the couch or in his office. You could practically hears the gears turning in his brain, pondering the different scenarios that needed to happen in order for the Bengals to scratch and claw their way into the playoffs.

Of course you wanted to be a positive and supportive partner, a shoulder to cry on when needed and someone to bounce ideas off of, but the fact of the matter was that this may be a long shot and the season looked more over by the minute. Not that you would ever say that out loud. So instead, you suggested a little game for dinner, Joe’s second of the night and your first and only. Most of the time his eating schedule was hard to keep up with.

You knew that he loved spicy food and his chef just had some Carolina Reapers delivered, some of the hottest peppers he could find. Desperately trying to get him out of his head, you made two noodle dishes with the peppers, stating that the first person to take a drink loses. If he won, he’d get three uninterrupted video game nights a week whenever he wanted for a month. And if you won? A karaoke date.

Which led you to today and would explain Joe’s visceral reaction at the thought of singing. Or having any fun during a very NOT fun time in his life. Alas, you were determined to make this an enjoyable experience for everyone involved. Hopefully.

As much as Joe dreaded it, Friday came and it was time to go. He watched somewhat happily as you bounded down the stairs, snatching the keys on the counter and asking him if he was ready to leave. You could tell he wanted to ask you why he couldn’t drive, but he swallowed his pride and let himself be the passenger prince for once. This week was meant for relaxation, letting his hair down and stepping away from the disappointment of the team underperforming based on his and the entire NFL world’s expectations. The more time passed, the more people were starting to believe that maybe their best days were behind them. That 2021 playoff run was in the rear view mirror and the possibility of getting back to that caliber looked near impossible.

You spent the entire drive thinking about how the weight of it all was clearly weighing on him and you just wanted to help him lighten that load by doing something you both considered silly and meaningless. Joe’s unwavering focus and need for a routine during the season was impressive and admirable, but you needed to let him know this week that life was still full of little pleasures. You hoped that day would serve to remind him of that.

The two of you walked into the dimly lit room, ushered through the back where your private karaoke space awaited. Neon lights adorned the place and made you feel like you were in some coming of age film, except you already had the guy you wanted.

“This place is huge,” your boyfriend notes, looking around suspiciously. “It’s just gonna be the two of us, right? Because I’m not singing for an audience.”

“You play in front of 65,000 people at home games but THIS is where you draw the line?” You laugh.

He shrugs his shoulders, taking a seat on the leather couch with a water bottle firmly in hand. “That’s different, I spend all week getting prepared, studying my opponent, going to practice. It’s just football. This is…not my area of expertise.”

“I don’t want you to be perfect, I want you to have fun.” Joe sighs at your words, glancing towards you slightly in awe as you mindlessly look through the song selection. You set your sights on the perfect song, gently grabbing the mic and getting yourself mentally prepared.

Joe playfully rolls his eyes at you tiny imitation of him meditating and getting in the zone before a game. “You ready?” He asks.

After a firm nod, you hear the music play, Chandelier by Sia blasting on the speakers. Joe had heard your rendition of the song in the shower on many occasions, but now he’d be listening to you on the big stage.

You loved having his full attention for a few hours, the way his icy blue eyes looked softer in this light, the way the smile reached his eyes when you sang a note a little off key and kept going…you might have even started singing a little louder to really drive the performance home. He gave you a standing ovation when you were done shaking his head as he laughed, the previous tension in his shoulders had disappeared and you were grateful because it was there so frequently you thought it had become permanent and he’d never relax again. But there he was, bright eyed and highly amused at your conviction in committing to the bit and your ability to never take yourself too seriously. It was one of his favorite things about you, the confidence you had in yourself and your ability to make those around you at ease. And he felt bad for not telling you enough how much that really meant to him. The least he could do now was give you the performance of a lifetime.

“Alright,” he sighs walking closer to you, grabbing the purple mic off the rack, “watch and learn.”

“Oh? The reluctant student has become the master. I like where this is going.” A subtle hint of his cocky demeanor sends shivers down your spine, and you try your best to ignore whatever is going on between your legs.

Even if you did try to tell anyone tonight happened, they wouldn’t believe you. There’s no way on earth that Joe Burrow actually got up and sang the entirety of Hot in Herre by Nelly without missing a single word. No chance. And yet…here you were witnessing a moment in history that fascinated and mesmerized you so much that you didn’t even reach for your phone to record it. Living in the moment, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you waist, pulling you in so that your bodies were close enough to use the same mic while you did the ad-libs was everything you could’ve asked for, and more, out of this karaoke date night.

When the music stopped playing, you were too gobsmacked to even laugh let alone form a coherent thought. “Where the hell did that come from?”

He’s always keeping you on your toes, that’s for sure, but this came out of left field. Way left.

“I don’t know,” he laughs, parking himself next to you running his fingers through his barely there blond tips. “Saw you have fun with it and I just thought, why not do the same?”

“Well I’m very impressed. And I think we should do another song.”

So you did, for the next hour. Kid Cudi was on the Setlist of course, a little Beyoncé thrown in there and by the end of your reserved time neither of you could remember the last time you’d laughed as hard or as often during football season. All of that just reenforced the fact that he really needed tonight.

You let Joe drive the two of you home, feeling him pause before pulling out of the parking lot.

“What’s on your mind?” Your voice was gentle, soothing him and making seemingly all of his problems vanish into the night.

He grabs your hand over the center console, looking over with so much love in his eyes. “I just wanted to thank you. For today. For—for everyday. I know this isn’t the most fun time and I haven’t been the easiest or most fun to be around but, you’re always here for me and I appreciate that more than I can say out loud. So this is me…trying to be better.”

“Honey, I am so proud of you. Just couldn’t keep sitting there, letting you blame yourself for everything that’s going wrong. You deserve the world and I can’t give you that but I can give you goofy little date nights. I hope that’s enough.”

The quarterback smiles, letting one hand rest on your cheek, “it’s more than enough. I just wish I could do more for the team you know? I don’t play defense but maybe I’m not leading them enough or motivating guys to be at their best?”

“No, stop. A year ago you were about to have season ending wrist surgery that no quarterback has ever gone through before. Now you’re statistically the best quarterback in the league and you’re playing the best you’ve ever played in your entire life. I know you’re not happy with where the team is at but you should be over the moon about how far you’ve come and how far you can go. I’ll be with you every step of the way, you know that.”

You can tell he’s about to open his mouth to downplay your words so you continue before he can put a stop to it. “If your performance post injury isn’t enough of an example or enough of a motivation tactic then that’s on them. You are putting your best foot forward daily and if they aren’t matching that energy then things need to change. Things that don’t include you. I may be biased but I think you’re perfect,” you give him a peck on the lips, feeling the smile on the corner of his mouth beginning to form.

He put the car in the drive, shaking his head. “You’re just saying that because I sang Nelly for you.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement. I’m just very glad I won the bet.”

[reaping-the-benefits]

found your medic reader x price au yesterday and to say i have been OBSESSED is an understatement.

got me thinking about price getting invited to a dinner with the bigwigs, commendation for a job well done. after dinner the when they’re all loose lipped from good whiskey, some of the men start making crude comments about medic reader. how lucky the 141 is to have a good bit of eye candy, handy for a lot of things out there wink wink. and price just listens to them calmly, puffing away at his cigar until they run out of jokes and start to realize he’s not laughing.

“that’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.”

Anon, you got me giggling and kicking my feet. I haven't had any proper time to dedicate to their story (want to write how they met maybe, if anyone's interested.) And I love love LOVE this idea!!!

Content warning: MDNI suggestive content, misogynistic comments, drinking and smoking, brief mention of violence.

Price never really cared for these stupid dinner parties. It's like that one saying: if you've been to one, you've been to them all. And if he's being honest, he'd much rather be at home, with you and the cats.

But the task force has been doing exceptionally well, catching terrorists and breaking up crime rings, so it's about due time that he gets invited to another one. Technically, he could decline his own invite, send Ghost to it instead. But that feels like a punishment for Ghost, and Price isn't looking to be dealing out punishment. Or dealing with a pissed off Lieutenant.

So, here he is, dressed in a suit and sitting in some stuffy parlor. The only good thing about these events is that the Colonel has good taste in cigars and whiskey. For the most part, Price can drown them all out, thinking about you while he's sipping his whiskey.

You. The sweet thing that keeps his bed warm and only occasionally drives him up the wall. You, who had been on your knees not even ten minutes before he was supposed to leave. Your hands on his belt loops, a pretty pleading look in your eyes, your mouth on his -

A cacophony of laughter breaks Price from his thoughts, He blinks, turning his attention back to the group of men he's sitting with.

"Lost in thought there, Captain?" one of them asks, humored by something Price must've missed.

"Cut him some slack. I would be too, if I worked so closely with that pretty medic of theirs," another says.

"Pretty, but they've got such an attitude," the first one comments.

"Bratty thing like that just needs to be bent over the Captain's knees."

"Or a desk. Isn't that right, Price?"

The men laugh again, the sound filling the parlor. And it's only when they settle down, laughter dying in quiet chuckles, that they realize Price isn't laughing along. In fact, he's holding onto his glass so tightly, it's a miracle that it hasn't broke yet. Before any of them can say anything, Price tells him, his voice low and tone full of warning.

"That's my wife you're talkin' about."

These men might be above him in rank, but Price has never really cared about any of that anyway. The 141 doesn't run the way it does by following the rules. Getting things done, regardless of any of the rules one might be breaking, is how the world runs.

They could've talked poorly about him, talked poorly about the 141, and he wouldn't be as seething mad as he is now. But no. Your name came out of their mouths, followed by blatant disrespect for you and all your hard work. As your husband, Price will not be letting that slide.

And as he slams his knuckles into the Colonel's nose, Price thinks of you. The pretty little thing he's got waiting for him at home. Maybe he should bend you over his desk. Heaven knows you're overdue for a good fuck in his office. But that will be after you bandage up his hands, chiding him softly for hurting himself. He won't tell you what happened at the dinner party, or why he came home with bloody knuckles, but the flowers you receive from the Colonel a week later gives you all the insight you need to know.

[unluckilyimnot]

“You’re like, in love with me?” With the Tsunderes of windbreaker? Fluff pls

1 “you’re like, in love with me ?” + sakura, kaji, toma

m.list | rules | from this

Note: hiii thank you sm for participating ! I got carry away with sakura this time, sorry. And I had toma there because it was the same number <3 hiragi fans are the sweetest for real 😭

Sakura never understood why he minded having you around. It made him nervous from time to time obviously; you were a little too comfortable around your friends, leading it to a lot of small touches or hugs which made him drive him crazy. But after spending time with you, he first of all realized why you were going along so well with Nirei, and then that you were just like this. He even comes to love spending time with you as you hang out with them after school, back there or at Kotoha’s place.

You were loved by many and to be honest, he slowly learned why despite himself. You weren’t a particularly smiling person, but you always spent time with your friends and the one you loved, talking for hours – giving them your time. In a way, you reminded him of Umemiya. It didn’t help how he felt around you though. You were always leaning onto him, asking a lot of questions – dying to know more about him – but it simply made him a blushing mess as he couldn’t express himself without screaming.

So he shouldn’t be surprised when you asked him to hang out when both of you ended up alone after school one day, he really shouldn’t. Panicking wasn’t really the best way to react, but at first he almost screamed at you to leave him alone but he’s got this intrusive thought that he’s boring to be around since he doesn’t talk much with you. Not that it means he didn’t care about you – he did ! A lot, even.

You grab his wrist at the gate to force him to come with you, nothing much in mind but still going as if you were the master of the world. You never minded doing all the talking with him, guiding him around the town even if he knew it by heart too now. Hanging out with you was easy in fact. You’re the type to walk around with a drink from some random vending machine and snacks from your friend’s parents' small shop. He likes it that way, he was used to it. It was familiar and sometimes he wondered if you were doing this on purpose.

“Oh there’s a park with a swing that way ! Let’s go,” you exclaimed, taking his wrist again and running to the location. He never has enough time to answer, he’s always screaming too late and he’s sure that’ll make you laugh – but it’s ok. Because you were the only person to make him do those things he used to do alone with someone.

“Push me !” you commanded with a big smile only for him, and even if he argued a bit he just started to do it with a blush on his cheeks. Your laugh was priceless, he couldn’t help it but accept anything you ask for. He just kept on pushing you again and again, even if you had enough run-up.

“Do you like it ?” asked at some point, your voice just loud enough for him to hear you. You were slowing up, you just wanted to talk with him now. He frowned at you from the side, he took a seat on the one next to you and started to swing back and forth lightly. “Hanging out with me, I mean.”

“Yeah… I guess. It was weird at first but you’re… nice.” He didn’t dare look you in the eyes but he could feel you smile from behind.

“Great, I like it too.” You shyly answer and it was your turn to look at your feet so you won't catch his eyes. 

“Hanging out with me ?” He asked, a little confused. 

“You in general, I think.” 

Sakura's face flushed in a second, and he wanted to leave so you'll never get to see how embarrassed he looked right now – but he tried to compose himself the best he could instead. He started acknowledging all the things you two did together and suddenly everything made sense to him : you were always doing things he likes or making him comfortable. So you knew how he felt around you. 

“You're like,” his throat was as dry as desert suddenly and he had to clear it before continuing, “in love with me ?” 

He heard you squeal but when he turned to your side to see what was wrong, your face was hidden in your hands. He catches your eyes glancing at home quickly.

“Maybe yes…”

You didn’t notice Kaji walking up to you until his hand pulled you behind him. You were arguing with some random guy in the street because he assumed you were walking into him – when you certainly didn’t. You almost feel bad for him when Kaji stepped in with some done-dirty glances because if he tried to fight him, he would lose. Not so surprisingly, he left right after that, almost making you sight in boredom.

“What are you sighing at, huh ? Stop getting into trouble for real.” Kaji nagged while turning around to look down at you. “Are you alright ?” he followed up, already looking around your arms and hands – since he still has your wrist in hand – without letting you place an answer to him.

You blushed at his behavior, it was natural, he swore to protect the people around here, but never once you’ve seen him act like this for others. His grip wasn’t tight at all, probably to prevent hurting you and you felt all weird inside because of his touch. Not that you weren’t used to it.

It wasn’t the first time you got into an argument with an unknown and thankfully for you, for some reasons Kaji’s always been around to help you. You’ve also lost count of how many times he had to carry you away from people because you were the actual problem, but it was another question. Things are, it never flustered you as much as it does now, even if it was simply holding lightly onto your wrist.

You pushed him away, assuring that you were ok for him to stop trying to scan you up ; it didn’t work. It does the actual opposite. Now he was sure that you were lying to him when you just wanted for him to take a step behind because your heart was racing in your chest, menacing to jump off of it. His cologne was intoxicating you and he was simply driving you crazy. You had to push his chest for him to let you breathe.

“You’re like, in love with me or something ? Why are you– ”

“Yeah, why would I bother saving your ass every time if not ?!” he cut you out before you could even end your sentence, with an angry look yet a small blush on his cheeks. “Now are you hiding something away from me or what ?!”

Your eyes widened but you still shook your head so he would stop screaming at you. That clearly didn’t help your heart slowing down, but now you just wanted to hide away from him and scream. How can he confess he loves you just like that ?! You were going crazy, thinking about a million things before he took your hand in his.

“Come, I was going to eat at first.” he explained without looking at you.

“Hum, ok. I’m paying, you know. To thank you.”

In the end, he couldn’t let you pay on the first date.

Toma never felt this bad in his entire life. He never wanted to walk into you and Tsubaki talking when he got to the rooftop. He was looking for Umemiya ; but based on the conversation you two were having, he figured out he wasn’t there either. So it bothered him, to not know where his boss was, but what was bothering him even more – making him anxious even – was that he just overheard something he shouldn’t have. His stomach started to hurt again.

You’ve always been close to Tsubaki more than any other captains, talking to them about any issues or insecurities – they all know you two shared secrets about others but none ever had the heart to confront you. He would’ve preferred for you to whine about his behavior, telling you that you couldn’t stand him than that.

“You should talk to him !” Tsubaki exclaimed out of nowhere, or maybe he was thinking too much to pay much attention to what you were saying until that.

“No never ! I already feel like I’m bothering him to tag along too much with his team,” you complained to yourself.

He sighs to himself, hearing you being unsure of yourself hurt him deeper than he thought it would. He needed to talk with you about it, but it will wait for a bit – he still needed to find Umemiya first.

Later that day, Toma decided to stay until you came down to leave and go back home. It was the best timing he could’ve thought of to not let you go home as down as you must have felt earlier. He was anxious, he had no idea how you’d react and even if he seemed calm with his arms crossed on his chest, he wasn’t at all.

“Toma ? Why are you still here ? It’s late already.” And he almost missed you on top of that, great. You tilted your head at him, checking if he was doing fine.

“Yeah I wanted to talk to you,” he said straight, not wanting to spend hours talking about it because it would just make it worse for the both of you. Tsubaki who was just behind you passed through, waving at you two as a silent goodbye.

You two stayed still in front of each other, you were waiting for him to talk but he knew it would be awkward. He didn’t know where to start, how could he tell you that he overheard you earlier ? It was getting messy.

“You’re like, in love with me ?” he asked you straight away in the end, but still unsure and obviously intimidated. You freeze at his question but it was only normal, it was coming out of nowhere from your perspective.

“I– I overheard you earlier when I was looking for Umemiya… I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you that you never bothered me or anyone. I actually like it a lot.” he was digging his own grave and your blush was now impossible to hide. He could tell that you were upset but at the same time there was a small, reassured smile on your lips that you couldn’t keep away.

“I am but I never plan on telling you like this…” you giggled a little bitterly, but you were still happy that it was done.

“You’re taking me home ?” you asked, daring him to in your tone and he couldn’t back down now. 

[l0vesecretsociety]

KEEPING TABS

“For some stupid reason, I keep on believing.” 

tags: ekko x fem! reader, angst. oneshot. warnings: none. art, not mine.

Ekko should’ve seen this coming. For all the ways he has been treating you, how he’d wrong you, he knew you’d eventually drift away and the both of you would soon break. But the thing was,  he’d still be pacing back and forth over at his worksop, thinking about all the ways he could’ve done something. Something to prevent this, instead of tinkering with a new invention to prosper his home. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he bangs his head lightly on the bark of the tree. He tells himself to move on, that it’s your loss, not his. He tries so hard to go back to work but his brain just automatically malfunctions because it's flooded with your image. He’s angry at every little mistake he makes and throws it away to make up for it. 

Then a bulb pops up above his head. No. He shakes his head, let’s not do that. 

But he does anyway. Ekko flies over in the middle of the night while everyone is fast asleep,  the sound of his engine clunks as he zooms through Zaun. He had to know what you were up to these days. Logically, you would’ve been asleep now, but knowing you, you’re probably buried your nose deep into a book. And he just had to know you were doing what his mind imagines, maybe then he’ll work better. Seeing you was close enough. And when he does arrive at his destination—aka your small apartment, he sees you and as he guessed, sleeping on top of your book, a pen still in your hand. Ekko purses his lip at the sight, he wants to place a blanket over you to make you feel warm, but he knows he’s already crossed the line. He swallowed hard, at truth—at the reality of it all, that you were no longer his.  He sighs, taking one more look back at your figure before leaving to go back home. 

Funny is that word, home. Where is that now, when there is only a cold room he traps himself in and nothing of you. He could no longer feel your warmth, he desperately yearned. He clenched his jaw and ran back to work. Work. That’s all he ever does even as you were there beside him, and you’ve been there for him, always, and he appreciated so much—but then you slipped away from his grasp. Took him long enough to realize that. He really needs to get over you, but the ghost of your warmth hovers over him in a constant  cycle. 

Everyone could tell he was out of it. Scar tries to leave him alone for a while, letting him cope on his own. Scar has been through that kind of heartbreak before and he knows what’s best. Even the kids are bothered, and kids can see through lies, you know. They’re more honest than the law, and they’re not shy to point out what's happening with Ekko right now. Ekko just brushes them off with a smile and a good excuse (not really), but the more he lies to them, the more they ask. 

“You’ve been distracted lately.” Scar says, arms crossed, leaning on to the door frame. 

“I’m fine.” Scar thinks, no, knows it was bs. What started as one night thing, something for closure, now became a nightly thing. Mission after mission, he’s been disappearing into the fog. If he wasn’t out on the mission, he took the night when everyone else was asleep. Scar knows where he was going, where he was running back to. It’s truly spine chilling what you’ve done to him, a guy whose painfully and awfully focused on his work—on his goal of building a wonderful community, now going around town looking for you causing bits of mishaps here and there. He thought it was just one of your quarrels, a small trouble in paradise, not a full on separation. Scar felt guilty of not being able to help out Ekko and convince you to stay.  Why should he? It was not his to begin with, but it was driving him to the edge the way Ekko was acting right now. 

“I’m serious, Ekko.” 

“Well, I am too.” That he was, he’d become humourless the past few months. “Could you just… leave me alone,” he says, calling back his focus on his new ‘invention,’ and knowing him, it was just another crap idea he pulled out of his ass.  It was true, there was no lie to that. Ekko, despite his circumstances, was smart. He was a bright engineer who embedded all sorts of science and math into his work, but now- at this point, he’s just glueing cogs together. Everything he created reminded him of you. Your favourite flowers, your little book idea, and your nerdy phrases on the books he reads. It frustrated him because deep inside, he kept on believing that you felt the same too. That you pretend you were there with him on the bed, snuggled together, sharing each other’s warmth the same way he did.  That your ear perks up too, every time you hear his name like he does. 

He really needs to get over you. He tries, he does, really. But he can’t help but want to see you all time, when wearing your Academy uniform and the cute bow completing your look or in your own outfits. You were glowing, flourishing, without him. He wants to talk to you, and get this over and done with. He wants his heart to stop clenching every time you talk to another guy or smile at them, he wants his head to think straight, he wants to rid himself of you. The troubling thing was, he can’t and a part of him doesn’t want to. Ekko knows he should move on, he knows that he’s hurt you, he knows he shouldn’t be keeping tabs on you—that he should let go of you. He could only wish you back, will you to walk the same path towards the firelight tree as him because he knows, you’ll never do anymore.

[eeerrrrewsd]

Fractured Wings Pt2

Dick had never been a patient person.

It was one of the things Bruce used to scold him for—his inability to wait, to step back, to breathe before charging into something.

But for the first time in his life, he had no choice.

Because you had walked away.

And he wasn’t sure if you were coming back.

Days passed.

Then a week.

And another.

You weren’t ignoring him, not really.

You still picked up when he called, your voice polite but distant. You still answered texts, though your responses were short, clipped.

It wasn’t the cold shoulder.

It was worse.

Because this was you letting go.

And for the first time, Dick felt what it was like to be on the other side. To be the one grasping at frayed edges, trying to hold onto something that had already started slipping away.

It was unbearable.

He wasn’t sleeping much.

Hadn’t been since that night.

So when his phone vibrated at 3 AM, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

You.

Dick didn’t hesitate, answering before the first ring even ended. “Hey.”

Nothing.

Just silence.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Reader?”

Your voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“…Can you come over?”

His stomach twisted.

You never asked him for anything.

Not anymore.

But you were asking now.

“I’m already on my way.”

He barely remembered the drive.

The city blurred past him, but all he could think about was you.

You, alone in your apartment at 3 AM.

You, calling him after weeks of distance.

You, sounding like you had been crying.

By the time he reached your door, he was practically vibrating with urgency.

He knocked once, and the door unlocked almost immediately.

And then—

There you were.

You looked exhausted.

Dark circles under your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself like you were holding yourself together. You weren’t even looking at him, just staring at the floor like it hurt to even stand.

Dick’s chest ached.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t demand answers.

He just… waited.

And then, finally, you spoke.

“I don’t think I’m okay.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly—

You weren’t holding yourself together anymore.

Tears welled in your eyes, your breath shuddering, your body trembling under the weight of everything you had been carrying alone.

And that—

That was all it took.

Dick moved before he could think, before he could doubt. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you collapsed against him.

A choked sob escaped your lips as you buried your face in his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt like you were afraid he would disappear.

But he wouldn’t.

Not again.

“I got you,” he murmured, pressing his chin against your hair, his hold tightening. “I got you.”

Your whole body shook, silent cries wracking through you. And all he could do was hold on.

He had spent so much time pushing you away.

Now, he just wanted to be close.

Minutes passed before you finally spoke.

“I hate this.”

Dick’s fingers traced gentle circles against your back. “Hate what?”

“Feeling like this.” You exhaled shakily, your grip still tight on his shirt. “Like I’m always reaching for something that isn’t there.”

His throat tightened.

He knew that feeling.

Knew it too well.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “I swear I am.”

You hesitated.

Then—

“You weren’t before.”

A knife to the chest.

Dick’s arms instinctively tightened around you, like he could hold the guilt in place before it crushed him. “I know.” His voice was hoarse. “I know, and I’m—”

He stopped himself.

Apologies didn’t mean anything unless they meant something.

And words?

Words weren’t enough.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on either side of your face. Your skin was warm, damp with tears, but you didn’t pull away.

Didn’t push him away.

“I should have been here,” he admitted, raw and honest. “For you. For us. I should have seen you.”

our breath hitched, but you stayed quiet.

“I won’t ask you to forgive me,” he said. “I just—I just want to be better. For you. If you let me.”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable.

Hesitation.

Hope.

And then, finally—

You leaned into his touch.

Your forehead rested against his chest, your hands sliding around his waist, holding him as tightly as he held you.

And in that moment—

It was enough.

Dick didn’t leave that night.

You fell asleep curled against his side, your breaths finally steady, your fingers loosely gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

And for the first time in a long time—

He stayed.