#it's a wonder he gets up every day and keeps going

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 2 | masterlist

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Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him. 

“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression. 

You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.

He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway. 

You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair. 

“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply. 

It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat. 

Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.

That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch. 

The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap. 

It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings. 

Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months. 

You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days. 

John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.

He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly. 

His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften. 

“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son. 

“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”

I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby. 

Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t. 

When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again. 

“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”

“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”

You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now. 

There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself. 

The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice. 

“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details. 

He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.

Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.

With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it. 

“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?” 

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck. 

“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive. 

You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down. 

He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy. 

You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth. 

“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile. 

“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting. 

He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are. 

“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass. 

You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down. 

He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”

And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back. 

You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you. 

Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.

So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness. 

You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.

In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.

You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture? 

The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 

“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way. 

That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous. 

“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs. 

“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”

Your eyes widen.

“Wait���I don’t need to—”

You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin. 

There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place. 

He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel. 

“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do. 

“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.

With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet. 

His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.

“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations. 

“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy. 

“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—” 

Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep. 

Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts. 

“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest. 

You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun. 

You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric. 

Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent. 

The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”

He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple. 

The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—

You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root. 

The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better. 

All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room. 

Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead. 

At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast. 

You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep. 

“Not bad,” you whisper. 

Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.

[euthymiya]

Sukuna who never was close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[ruruumin]

hi!! I came across you and I thought your work is really amazing!! This is my first time asking something like this haha but for everything a first :) I really love figure skating and I was wondering if you could make a oneshot or any headcannons of the reactions of blue lock characters haha (mostly rin nagi and sae)! (sorry if I made some mistakes, English is t my first language)

ice, ice, baby!

₊˚ ᗢ blue lock various x figure skater! reader.

⤷ what kind of relationships rin, sae, and nagi (separate) would be in.

itoshi rin

“if you’re going to do something, do it with your entire heart.”

rin met you when he was only ten years old. you were his next door neighbor with a feverish dream to become the best figure skater in the world. although it may have been one of the loftiest dreams anyone might hear, he believed in you the same way you did for him. and together, he will see you perform all over the country, with him in arms waiting.

so when a cold rainy day comes and the two of you were walking home together under a shared umbrella, he wanted to say something. but you beat him to it. standing in front of your door, you turned around and smiled, saying only two things: i will be leaving to russia tomorrow morning to train with a new coach. 

this first part came as a no brainer to him, of course you would leave. just as sae did a few months ago, you were beginning to flap the wings you were blessed with. however, the second part was what kept him on his toes, heart punching up to his throat: and i love you, rin.

after departing in the morning, he would stay up late to watch your performances on television. even when he had early practice, it was complete habit to see you on screen. your presence on the ice was unmatched by many of your cohorts in russia. cold and calculative, yet free flowing. like a confident stream you graced the fields with a polished play. alongside a perfectly timed quad axel, it placed you right at the top of the world.

the ultimate power couple. when you’re at the kiss and cry, you’ll say his name to the camera before blowing a kiss. meanwhile, whenever he scores a goal, he’ll raise his fist in a catching motion, bringing it up to his lips as he hides his faint smile behind his hand. your performances will always be dedicated to each other and it drives the press mad (rightfully so). 

when you return to japan, he’s the first person that you see at the airport. in only a matter of seconds, with his extremely long legs and speed, he is wrapping his arms around you tightly, inhaling your scent as he lays his head on your shoulder. 

he would immediately take you back to all your favorite places. during your time away, he had taken a multitude of pictures and sent you dozens of instagram reels of cafes. now that you were here in his arms, it made going to them all the more real (or maybe not, with you sitting in front of him, enjoying a mont blanc and latte, it feels like the perfect dream). 

sleeping in the same bed as him had never felt any better. while you knew him to be a drooler, you would have never expected him to be clingier than a koala. he is keeping you flushed against his chest the entire night. if you think about getting water, he will follow you with arms tangled with yours. 

itoshi sae

“i’ll carve my name into ice while you all watch in awe.” 

the only other person with the same amount of arrogance as him was you, a rebellious teenager he found on the streets of spain. you tried to pickpocket him on his first day in the country. instead of reporting you to the police, he asked you one simple question that changed the trajectory of your life: if you had the chance to do anything, what would it be?

some people viewed you as a lost cause in the figure skating world. having started extremely late compared to your other peers, your name was rubbish and caked in dirt. however, it never stopped sae from coming to see you after every practice, watching as you practiced your spins and salchows underneath the dim lights of the arena with a coach he’d hired. to him, you were a diamond in the rough that just needed a push.

he didn’t think much about your relationship until it was late at night. you were walking back with him to a hotel, face covered with masks to avoid intruding paparazzi. it started off with small talk, like family and friends (you learned he had a very cocky but sweet brother back in japan), but it quickly diverged into something more intimate that had the two of you walking into his room with intertwined pinkies.

when it came time to perform in the qualifying rounds, you had plunged the stadium with wails and tears. overcoming the country’s beloved skater by a wide margin, you stood above everyone, head raised high as you pointed up to the cameras, hardening your gaze as you mouthed sae’s name. you must have known he was watching from the corners of the locker room. 

the world of figure skating was going to change with you, a new generation skater that rose from nothing. 

sae feels immense pride when it comes with you. even though there were many curve balls thrown in your direction, whether it be from bad press or his persistent fanbase, the smile you hid beneath the covers reassured him that you were going to stick it out. nothing in the world could compare to the happiness you felt when you were with sae. because with him, you knew you could do anything.

dates typically consist of fancy meals or sightseeing trips. he isn’t particularly drawn to these activities himself, but what motivates him is the thought of treating you to something new. whether it be a pretty dessert from down the street that costed an arm and a leg, or seeing the stars as you walk along the beach, he’ll dedicate a huge chunk of his income to letting you see the world in its fullest.

matching photocards on the back of your phone cases. sae uses a clear one so he can flip his phone around and stare at you before every game. while some think he’s admiring your smile (as beautiful as it is), he’s actually sees you as the perfect rival to his games. although you were both in different sports, the two of you constantly pushed each other to your limits, showing the world what it means to be the very best. 

nagi seishiro

“there is no point in anything if you aren’t going to have fun.” 

he wasn’t interested in figure skating until he came across one of your performances on youtube. it was really early into middle school when he started watching you. one of the reasons why he started was because you skated to a lot of his favorite songs from video games he liked. the second reason was because you looked like you were having fun. 

unlike most figure skaters he’s seen, you made the sport look enjoyable (he thinks everyone else looks extremely constipated when they’re too focused). with a beautifully confident smile, you danced across the ice, performing triple axels and a perfect biellmann spin. you skated as if you truly loved this sport, and this was the selling point for him (maybe this is when he started to be called a certified fanboy).

when he arrived to blue lock, the first thing he wanted to win back was his phone so he could keep up with your recent uploads. even when you aren’t posting something figure skating related, your miniature q&a sessions were entertaining enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night, much to reo’s dismay (he wanted to sleep early for once).

the best thing reo had gifted him were a pair of tickets to see you perform at one of the biggest skating rinks in the country. nagi was almost shaking in his seat in excitement, eyes wider than saucers when you stepped into the arena with the prettiest outfit known to man. you blew kisses and waved to the audience, giving them your signature smile. you suddenly stopped in your tracks to deliver a long kiss in nagi’s direction, something that sent him into an early cardiac arrest.

your relationship with him blossoms after seeing him at the local convenience store. the two of you had awkwardly reached for the same cup noodle. even though you were dressed in a simple, oversized black hoodie and a mask that hid half of your face, he easily recognized you by the sound of your voice. nagi’s phone would have dropped to the ground if it wasn’t for you catching it midway. when the screen lights up with a picture of you as his wallpaper, you smile and type in your number, throwing his phone back to him as you take the cup noodle and leave.

you and him would text consistently. after every practice he would immediately rush over to his phone to see if you had left any messages. expect a lot of back and forth photos. nagi’s pictures consisting of things he saw that reminded him of you while you sent him photos of yourself at practice or a recent choreograph. 

imagine how shocked your youtube fanbase is when you show up with your 6’3 boyfriend who barely shows up on camera because hes too tall for your tripod. you’re teaching him how to ice skate and although he started as a wobbly giraffe, he easily picked up a lot of tricks. he might not be the best at doing jumps but his footwork was impeccable (you like to tease him about switching careers but he lazily replies with his face in your shoulder about how much work it’ll be). 

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 12)

summary: without another word from jack, you and hugh continue your relationship without any issue or distraction. filming comes close to an end and there's one scene that hugh needs your assistance with. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+, mdni), lots of oil (duh, someone's gotta lube hugh up for that end scene), dirty talk, teasing, sex in hugh's trailer, oral - f & m receiving, unprotected p in v, swallowing, missionary, hugh covers your mouth (to keep you quiet), implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 3.6k a/n: ok, this is complete filth lol. i had to write something about this scene because when hugh said that there were people whose sole job was to lube him up??? well, let's just say my mind went places lol. hope y'all enjoy! (needed some good fluff / smut before we get back into the angst hehe) as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

Filming continues and you’re grateful that Jack hasn’t tried to reach out to you nor does he try to look for you either. Knowing that he got the hint that you no longer are giving him control of your life, it gives you relief. You feel like you can finally breathe again, can finally move forward with your life, with Hugh. 

Without worrying about Jack coming back, you’re able to get back to enjoying your day-to-day responsibilities of continuing to take photographs on set of the movie. Every day, you wake up feeling immensely grateful for Hugh, Ryan, and Shawn for giving you this opportunity. While you normally take photographs of couples who have recently gotten engaged and have occasionally worked a small wedding, being an on-set photographer and capturing behind the scenes content is so much more enjoyable. It gives you a glimpse of how movies are made, shows you the passion and dedication of each cast and crew member. 

But Hugh… you had always been a fan of his work and being able to see him in his element left you speechless every time. The way he’s able to switch into character so easily and become Logan Howlett - a character that you’ve always loved. 

Throughout filming, you’re just in awe of everyone on set and to be able to see the movie unfold right before your eyes is an experience that you’re sure will only happen once in a lifetime. 

And as the end of filming fast approaches, you embrace every second of every day you’re on set. You find that you fall more in love with Hugh, watching him interact with every single person and making sure that they feel seen and heard - he truly is perfect, and a really good man, and you have to wonder what you did to deserve him. 

Hugh hadn’t brought up Jack in months since the last argument you both had and you’re grateful. You never wanted Jack to ever be the reason to get in between you and Hugh. While you feel partially responsible, you have come to realize that it was bound to happen eventually. It was naive to think that Hugh wouldn’t have reacted the way he did. 

“So,” Hugh says, pulling you from your thoughts as you both remain lying in bed, limbs entangled after yet another intimate session of lovemaking. 

“Hm?” You ask, turning to look over at him as your fingertips run across his bare chest. 

“How are we going to go back to New York and not be with each other every night and morning?”

You arch a brow in his direction. You know what he’s implying and he’s just staring at you with a small smile. A hopeful smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to have my own space after–,” you tease, trying to keep a straight face. 

Hugh narrows his eyes and moves to hover above you, hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your heads. You’re both still naked and he makes sure to press his hips into you. You can feel him getting harder and harder by the second. 

“Wanna say that again, baby?” 

“How are you getting hard again?” You ask, lifting your hips to roll against his. 

“You make it easy,” he winks. “Now, don’t go and change the subject.” 

“Well, that’s really difficult when you’re literally distracting me!” 

Hugh smirks, his grip around your wrist tightening as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. “You ain’t gonna miss me?” He whispers, moving his hips as his tip brush against you. “Not gonna miss sleeping next to me and waking up next to me, baby?” 

“Hugh…” your eyes flutter and your legs wrap around his hips, locking your ankles at his lower back. “I will… I will miss you. I was just teasing and–”

Hugh grins and slides into you in one thrust, growling as your walls surround him. “That’s what I thought.” 

—

Later that week, you’re staring up at Hugh who’s grinning down at you. You’re in his trailer and he’s already in his Wolverine suit - albeit a little dirtier than when he first put it on and his arms now in full display. 

“You’re telling me that I will need to oil you up?” You ask, eyes wide. “For what? Why? Oh my god, I’m gonna– How will I do that?!” 

“Well, you put oil on your hands and–”

“Okay, ha ha.” You roll your eyes playfully, feeling his hands move to your hips. “Hugh…” 

“What? You want someone else to oil me up? That it? First you say you won’t miss me when we go back home, that you want your space, and now you don’t wanna touch me?” He teases with a smirk. “What’s next, baby?” 

“Oh stop, you’re being dramatic.” You laugh quietly, looking into his eyes. 

“So, you’ll oil me up?” He grins. 

“If I must,” you tease. “But you owe me.” 

“Oh, baby, just you wait.” He winks. 

“What does the scene even consist of where I have to put oil on you?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“Not even a hint?” 

Hugh shakes his head and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Nope. I will say, though,” he whispers, moving his lips along your jawline to your ear. “I’m gonna try my very best not to get excited when your hands are all over me.”  

“Oh my god, you’re going to be shirtless, aren’t you?” 

His lips grow into a wide grin as he gently nips along the side of your neck, hands gripping your hips. “Yeah, baby.” 

You look at him from top to bottom, biting down on your lower lip as your gaze darkens at the thought. You clear your throat and look back into his eyes, slowly shaking your head. “Yeah, you owe me because I don’t know how I’m going to oil you up without wanting to–”

“Oh, I know,” Hugh chuckles, interrupting you. “Good thing it’s the last scene to shoot before we call it a day.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that after that scene, you’re going to take me back to the hotel and…” you wiggle your brows together. “You know.”

Hugh smirks, hands slowly moving from your hips to wrap around your waist, dipping low to rest on your backside. “I don’t know,” he lies. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ll be doing when we get back to the hotel room?” 

“You’re gonna let me have my way with you,” you grin, nodding excitedly. 

“Oh, I’m gonna let you, will I?” 

“Yes.” you answer, matter-of-factly. 

“Love the confidence, baby,” Hugh grins as he leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Gotta get back on set. I’ll see you later.” 

“You’re such a tease.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, Hugh,” you answer, pulling back and looking up at him with a small pout on your lips.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he winks. “You know I will.”

“You better.”

“I promise,” Hugh says. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smile. 

—

Throughout the rest of the day, you find yourself distracted with the thought of having to oil Hugh up for the last scene of the day. While you’re still in awe of the acting from both Ryan and Hugh, you can’t help but your eyes deviate to Hugh’s arms as he says his lines. 

And even as that scene approaches, Shawn is the first one to walk up to you, a teasing grin on his lips. “So, you’re okay with oiling Hugh up for this last scene?” 

“I think it’d be weird if I wasn’t,” you tease, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. 

“That’s true,” he chuckles. “Ryan’s been teasing him all day about it,” Shawn points out. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” you smile. “How much oil will I have to put on him, by the way?” 

“Um,” Shawn grins. “Quite a lot and depending on how many takes we’ll need to get the right one…”

“Okay, so we might need more than one bottle.”

“Oh, we have plenty.” 

“And this scene…” you begin, playing with your camera strap. 

“It’s a good one,” Shawn finishes for you. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t be Wolverine if there wasn’t at least one shot of him without a shirt, right?” 

Shawn laughs quietly. “That’s right… Speaking of the devil,” he nods his head over your shoulder and you turn slightly to see Hugh without his shirt, simply dressed in only the yellow and blue pants with the matching boots and cowl. 

You clear your throat at the sight of him, his muscles clearly defined as you bite your lower lip. Your eyes linger on his chest and abdomen, moving along his strong arms and shoulders. Ryan’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you turn your gaze on the other man, who’s dressed in his entire Deadpool gear.

“You might want to pick up your jaw off the floor,” Ryan chuckles. 

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, gently smacking his chest. “I see this every day, it’s nothing new to me,” you lie.

Hugh places his hands on his hips, staring at you with a slight tilt to his head and a small smirk on his lips. He can see your eyes flitting back to him, can see the way you're gently gnawing at your lower lip and he knows exactly what kind of look you’re giving him. 

“I know,” Ryan sighs dramatically. “Lucky you.” 

“Got the oil for you,” Hugh says, handing it to you and breaking you out of your thoughts. You take it from him slowly, fingers brushing against his. 

“Right. So, we’re doing this now.” you say, gripping the bottle of oil tightly in your grasp. 

Shawn nods and then looks over at you. “Don’t put too much,” he advises. “Just enough to make his skin glisten, like he’s sweating.” 

“Right, right,” you nod, clearing your throat. “Not too much, but just enough.”

Ryan and Shawn quietly chuckle to themselves before giving the both of you some privacy. You look up at Hugh and bite your lower lip, eyes lingering on his lips as it moves down the side of his neck, to his chest and down his abdomen and back up. 

“You nervous, baby?” Hugh whispers. 

“N�� No,” you stammer. “I just don’t want to mess up.”

“I don’t even think that’s possible,” he chuckles. “I’m ready for you, love.” 

You nod slowly and then open the bottle of oil, squeezing just enough onto your palm. You set the bottle aside and rub your hands together to evenly distribute the oil before you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders, slowly moving them up and down before you move to his chest. 

Hugh smirks, flexing his chest for you and he lets out a quiet chuckle when he hears you quietly gasp. “Love feeling your hands on me, baby,” he whispers. 

“Stop distracting me,” you tease, pouring just a bit more oil onto your hands before you reach out to spread it along his chest down to his abdomen, feeling each ridge and muscle of his abs. Your hands move dangerously closer to the waistband of his pants, feeling Hugh’s hand immediately dart out to rest on your hip. 

“Careful, baby.”

“Just making sure I got everything.” Slowly, you pull away and look at him, his upper half glistening with the oil you just applied. “I think– I think you’re ready to go.”

Hugh smiles and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Thank you, baby.”

“I miss seeing your eyes,” you point out, motioning towards the cowl that’s placed atop of his head. “But I can’t lie… this is just as good a view.” 

Hugh opens his mouth to say something, but hears his name being called by Ryan and Shawn. “Duty calls.”

“Try and get this in one take so you can take me back to the hotel.”

Hugh smirks. “Impatient, aren’t you?” 

“Do you see yourself? I’d jump you right here if I could.” 

“Naughty girl,” he whispers lowly. 

“Hugh!” Ryan calls out. “Come on, buddy. I’m sure she will oil you up soon enough.” 

“Go,” you say quietly. 

Hugh nods and then turns on his heel to take his place on set. 

—

It takes more than one take to complete the scene. After about two and a half bottles of oil and intense sexual tension radiating off you and Hugh, Shawn finally calls cut. Hugh walks over to you and takes the towel from your hands to wipe off the immense amount of oil that’s dripping from him, but he can’t help but watch your eyes ogle him. It always made him feel so special and borderline shy when your eyes linger on him, especially with the way you’re staring at him now. 

“Just gotta head back to the trailer and change,” Hugh says. “Then we can go back to the hotel.”

Anticipation courses through your veins as you keep a tight hold on Hugh’s hand, fingers laced together as you walk alongside him. Once at his trailer, Hugh shuts the door and locks it behind him. 

Before you can even ask what he’s doing, Hugh turns to face you and removes the cowl to set it aside. His gaze darkens at the sight of you and in just a few strides in your direction, he’s wrapping his strong arms around your waist and lifting you off your feet. 

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and your arms move around his shoulders. Letting out a quiet gasp, Hugh gently rests you on your back against the couch, kneeling on the floor between your legs.

“Hugh, what are you–”

“Been wanting you all day,” he says, his large hands moving to your jeans and undoing the button and zipper of it all too quickly. “Can’t wait anymore.”

“Baby–”

“Shh,” Hugh whispers, tugging your jeans down your legs and tossing the fabric over his shoulder. He looks up at you and then moves his hands to the waistband of your black lace panties, slowly tugging them down your legs as well. Once your lower half is completely exposed for him, Hugh holds your legs apart and growls at the sight of your slickened sex. He leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against you, hands gripping your legs tightly. “Goddamn, baby. You’re already so wet for me.”

“It was because of all that oil,” you whimper, moving your hands to rest in his hair. “Please…”

“And here I thought you were gonna have your way with me,” he grins, pulling back just enough to brush the pad of his thumb against your bundle of nerves. Hugh looks up at you, watches you tilt your head back and your eyes fall shut at the lightest of touches.

“Oh, I will,” you groan. “But first, how about you do what you need to do and–”

“So demanding lately,” he grins, leaning in to lick a stripe along your soaking heat. A loud moan escapes your lips and Hugh smiles, pulling away. “Baby, you gotta stay quiet for me. There are still people on set and we can’t have them hearing you, hearing what I’m doing to you.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, nodding and moving your hands from his hair to cover your mouth instead. “I’ll try my best,” you mumble.

“Atta girl,” he praises and leans back in to lap at your juices, your wetness slowly beginning to trickle down his chest. Hugh grips your hips, holding you firmly against the couch as he moves his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue against it as he brings one hand between your legs. Without hesitation, he slides in two fingers as he sucks at your clit, beginning to pump his two digits in and out of your depths. 

The sounds of your wetness squelches with each thrust of his fingers and he stares up at you to see how hard you’re trying to stay quiet. He smirks against you and slowly adds a third finger, a loud whimper escaping your lips at the intrusion. 

Hugh turns his head and places soft kisses on the inside of your thigh as he leans back, continuing to move his fingers in and out of your depths as he leans over you. With his free hand, he gently removes your own from your mouth and leans in to brush his lips against yours. 

“Feel good, baby?” he whispers, keeping his fingers deep within your depths as he begins to curl them inside of you. “Oh yeah, I can feel you trembling…”

You stare up at him, biting your lower lip as you try to hold back your moans. “Hugh, baby…” 

“Doing so good for me, staying so quiet,” he grins, his fingers curling inwards as your walls begin to tremble and he knows you’re close. Knows that you’re about to reach a heightened pleasure that he leans in and presses his lips against yours in hopes to quiet your moans. 

You reach down and grip his wrist, fingertips digging into his skin as you arch your back. You moan against his lips, feeling his tongue slide past your own and the sensations are just too much, too overwhelming. Hugh pumps his fingers in and out of you to help you ride out your climax, slowly pulling away to hold up his fingers in your direction.

“Look how wet you are for me,” he grins. 

You look up at him, biting your lower lip as you watch him suck on his fingers, cleaning your slick free from his digits. “Hugh…”

“So fucking good,” he winks. 

You’re breathing heavily, but you reach down for his pants and tug on it, seeing the length of his manhood pressing against the yellow fabric. “Take these off.”

Hugh smirks. “Yes, ma’am.” He makes quick work to remove his boots and his pants, kicking them off to the side carelessly. He looks down at himself, his manhood at attention and he settles himself once more between your legs. He holds onto the base of his length and runs his tip across your sex, growling lowly. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he groans. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

“Being such a good girl, baby,” Hugh smirks, slowly sliding into you in one thrust. He groans at your wetness, your warmth walls surrounding every inch of him. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, pulling his hips back before he slides back in. 

“Hugh, I don’t think…” you moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. “I can’t– I can’t stay quiet and–”

“Shh,” he whispers, moving his large hand over your mouth as he delivers a sharp thrust. “Yeah, you can, baby.” 

You let out a loud moan, muffled by his hand as you stare up at him. Hugh pulls out to his tip and slides back into you in one thrust, your legs moving to wrap around his waist. 

Hugh rests his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he keeps his hand over your mouth. Your moans and whimpers are muffled by his large hand and with each thrust, he can see the way your eyes flutter. Hugh’s thrusts continue at a rhythmic pace, your walls sliding along each inch and vein of his manhood. You’re so wet, so tight and warm and Hugh knows he can’t keep this up any longer. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna–” Hugh’s hips begin to stutter, but you reach down and push him away from you, causing a loud groan to escape his lips. He’s quick to grasp his manhood to slide back into you, but you shake your head and sit up on the couch, urging him to stand up. “What?”

“I want you to come in my mouth,” you tell him, biting your lower lip. “That’s one way you can keep me quiet.”

Hugh growls and nods, standing up like you asked. He brings a hand down to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your soft skin and gently tucking a fallen strand behind your ear. “Well?” 

“Now, who’s impatient, hm?” you grin, reaching up to wrap your hand around his slick coated base as your lips move to his tip. Wrapping your lips around him, you begin to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as your hand strokes the rest of him. You keep your eyes focused on him, watching as he tilts his head back and a hand moves to tangle his fingers into your hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, the grip in your tightening as you continue to bob your head in time with your strokes. Hugh can feel the tightness build once again in the pit of his stomach. He looks down at you and groans at the sight, your eyes staring up at him with his cock in his mouth. 

God, if he could spend the rest of his days like this, Hugh would die a happy man. 

“I’m close, I’m gonna–” Hugh’s voice cuts off as you take him even deeper into your mouth and he can feel the tip of his length hit the back of your throat. He groans loudly and gently brushes your hand away from him as he takes a hold of his base. He strokes himself once, twice, three times before spurts of his come release into your mouth. 

You feel his warm spend fill your mouth, a mixture of salty and sweet taste. You swallow it eagerly, slowly bobbing your head as you feel him shudder against you, his hand in your release loosening its grip. When he pulls away, you smile up at him and gently place a soft and light kiss on his tip. 

“Did you really just–”

“Swallow?” you finish for him and nod. “Yup… Is that okay?” 

“Is that okay?” Hugh repeats. “Baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

---

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[zepskies]

And I'm SO happy you're back, my lovely Wayne!! Of course, you decide to spoil me with this review the minute you dip back into this hellsite. 😘

(yesss, and don't think I didn't see that chapter you dropped of Polaris! When I get back from my vacay I will be diving into that. I need to know what happens next with our favorite cowboy sheriff 🤠)

I'm very glad and grateful you made the time to start ESC! I had so much fun figuring out Russell Shaw and the Tracker cast -- especially with all them Deanisms. 😏

Diving into the rest of your awesome comments below!! 💕

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

Oh he's a piece of something, all right. 🙄 She could def pull a Rachel on his ass. And Russell...lmao, you already saw where he's heading with this. 😂

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

LOLL the way it didn't even occur to me when I was writing this (at first) that I was writing another professor paired with a law enforcement (sort of, in Russell's case), man of action type, like in Take Me Home with Beau Arlen. 😝 I came at it with the thought of, "what if she was Dory's best friend, and they worked together at the university?" I must have a thing for writing nerds who get the rugged, sexy Mountain Man. Not at all fulfilling a personal fantasy.

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro... And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Fuck YES, I'd be high-stepping up and down his spine fr. 🤣 Ignorance is bliss, I guess? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

Oooh my God, now THAT's crazy! A whole subway ride(s)?? I've worked/gone to school on some big campuses, but that takes the cake. I guess you get your daily workout one way or another lol!

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

Big YEP lmfaoo, and he likes her already because of it. 😂

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

No it would not, lmfao! But that is something that will be explored (how much she knows) in the chapters to come, for sure!

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

Ahaha I had to do the little callback to sriracha fries (and figure out how tf to spell sriracha, first of all. 😂)

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

Ooh that's SUCH a good point (and yumm). It's making me hope that we get a flashback of Russell in his military days someday in Tracker.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

Oh, very much a toss up/personal preference there lmao. I've loved Justin Hartley since his Smallville days as Green Arrow. 😆 But in this case, I felt like Russell would try to claim top billing there loll.

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂 If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

Honestly, it's amazing how many red flags you ignore when someone's charming and handsome. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

Ha!! True, it's beating out Russell's crusty motel of the week by far, I'd say.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

Oh don't worry, we're getting to that callback. 😏

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰) PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

In fact, he does not! lmfao That was what I loved about it too -- like maybe half of him is serious, and the other half just wants to needle Colter. 🤣

Aw I'm glad you caught that! lol I'm not Jewish, but for some reason it just felt right for these characters. 💜

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

He absolutely did!! And this time, it actually worked! 🤣🤣

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏 Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life?

Ooh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear that, friend! You're right. I don't think I full on state it, but "casual" is typically not her style. Also, Russell is Dory's brother, so she doesn't want there to be any weirdness or awkwardness between them if something happened or fell out between the reader and Russell.

She already knows his relationship with Dory is kind of fragile, in that they're still in that "reconnecting" phase. You'll see more of that dynamic and her thoughts in Part 2, but the rest of your questions will most definitely be explored throughout this little series. 😏

And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

There's a lot to unpack there, right? There's a great deal that she already knows through Dory, and some things that are going to be revealed along the way...

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

You make me blush!! Thank you so much. 😭🥰 If you like this chapter, then I think you're going to enjoy the rest of the series. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!! 💕💕

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk. 

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor. 

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

 You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.” 

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely. 

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad. 

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

 And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

 “Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.   

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[hedwig221b]

Witch or magical Stiles recs..?

Hi! I did magical!Stiles fic recs here! This time, let's focus on witch!Stiles (my beloved)

A Thousand Fiery Suns of Angst - Just Press Play by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

The Wolf in the Tower by exclamation

Too many people are scared of witches so when Stiles accidentally sets a building on fire with magic, he is taken prisoner and dragged before Lord Hale. Rather than leave an untrained magic user free, Peter Hale thinks he might be able to make use of Stiles' skills and hands Stiles over to his sorceror Deaton to be trained. Stiles is still unsure about his future, but he's even more confused when he finds out that one of his new duties involves feeding the black wolf imprisoned at the top of one of the towers. There's something very strange about this wolf and Stiles can't help wondering if magic might be involved.

Dead Things by standinginanicedress

Derek blows some more smoke out. He chooses to look at Stiles’ mouth instead of in his eyes, again. “I need you to bring someone back.” “Back.” “From the dead.” “Absolutely not,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “Not for you, not for all the money in the world.” Derek looks at him, just looks. He is not going to accept no for an answer, and Stiles knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because Stiles will not do that. He cannot do that, not again. “Why not for me in specific?”

For My Flesh Had Turned to Fur, and My Thoughts Had Turned to You by literaryoblivion

They’ve known about the other pack for quite some time now. They know the pack is young and small, formed together more by accident and necessity than anything else. But, they haven’t done anything about them because they’ve been fairly quiet, kept to themselves, and haven’t caused any trouble. That is until the Hales start hearing rumors about the McCall pack acquiring a very young and inexperienced but powerful witch. So Alpha Hale sends her eldest son, Derek, for all intents and purposes, to spy on the McCall pack and their so-called witch, to see what the truth of the situation is.

The Ink Under My Skin by rainsoakedshoes

Derek is looking for an Emissary. What he finds is Stiles Stilinski; resident witch. Stiles would do whatever it takes to protect the Hale pack and his Alpha. “I want to protect my pack as well as I can,” Derek continued. “Emissaries traditionally keep balance, having someone who wants to tip the odds in our favour may come in handy.”

Destiny is the Rising Sun by asswords

Stiles and Derek are best at keeping secrets – the biggest one being the fact that they knew each other long before Scott had to go and become a werewolf. (The second biggest secret belongs to Stiles, something about how he’s not allowed to tell Derek he’s the trusted advisor and kind of a witch.)

your fangs against my skin (the sound of your bones)

This was it, then, huh? It was that easy for Derek to invite someone to his den. Someone other than Stiles. He healed the wolf. Stiles killed his tormentor, mended his blood and bones, and let him sleep beside him. But none of it was enough. He wasn’t a spark, after all, but a witch — evil and alone, locked up in his tower. Witches didn’t get happy endings.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life. There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

These Scars Tell A Story (But It’s Not Mine) by HappyJuicyfruit

Derek’s eyes widened in confusion as Stiles babbled at him. “I know it’s not up to you, but you’re like, my guard, right? You’ve been keeping an eye on me? Tell your mom I wouldn’t lie about this, my dad deserves to stay here. He’s happy here, please let him stay!” Guard? Keeping an eye on him? “Stiles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stiles face crumpled, his hands clung to Derek’s shirt tighter as tears and snot dripped off his chin. Derek frantically tries to think of the right thing to say. “You think- you think I’m your guard? That I’ve been watching you to, what, make sure you don’t do any magic? Stiles, that’s ridiculous. Beacon Hills is a sanctuary for supernaturals. We allow people to use their magic. I was just trying to be your friend.” Stiles breath hitched. “My friend?”

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | mafia | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse

[starkwlkr]

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to you showing up at their work

SCOUPS: his first instinct is that something is wrong. rushes up to you with worry in his eyes and asks if everything is okay. brightens into a big smile when you tell him you just wanted to see him! excuses himself from practice to join you for lunch before dropping you back home. it hurts that he has to leave you to go back to work but your surprise has rejuvenated him.

JEONGHAN: smirks to hide how unbelievably happy he is to see you. makes fun of you, asking if you really missed him that much?? it's only noon, baby. miss me already? gets flustered when you say yes. pulls you into whatever shenanigan he's cooking up with the members.

JOSHUA: is a little shy to interact with you properly in front of the members. whines when they make fun of him for looking at you with such loving eyes. pulls you to the side to express how grateful he is that you came to surprise him at work.

JUN: initially upset he even had to work on a day off, your presence cheered him up so much! feels his energy coming up just from seeing you. drags you over to meet his members, bragging about how he has a wonderful gf and they do not.

HOSHI: cannot stop looking at you during practice. it's the only time the other members see him distracted during work, esp during dancing. he just can't help it - how can he work when you're right there?? rushes to you immediately once break is called.

WONWOO: is very flustered and caught off guard that you're here. chides you for making the trip over here, saying you could've just called him if you missed him sm. shows his appreciation through actions, leaving practice early to show you around, taking you out on a date after.

WOOZI: he's so in the zone he doesn't notice you've entered his studio until your arms are around him. flinches thinking you're Hoshi coming to annoy him, but melts into your arms once he realizes its you. apologizes that he still has to finish a couple more songs, orders you food and dessert so you can be comfy while waiting. gets inspiration for his lyrics just by seeing you sit there.

THE8: is so happy you're here. although he tries his best keeping his cool in front of his members, he can't help but giggle every time he sees you're acc here. death stares every member that tries bothering you, claiming that you're here for him, not them. (¬⤙¬ )

MINGYU: eats up all the attention. brags to his members openly about how lucky he is that he has a girlfriend who surprises him at work! brags even more when you pull out food you ordered for them all. nags until all the members thank you profusely, making you flush under the amount of attention.

DK: screeches when he sees you within company walls. you look so out of place here! but so pretty! AH! his brain fries a bit, clinging onto you as he tells you he never expected you to show up at his work. is sosososo excited to show you exactly what he does as an idol.

SEUNGKWAN: becomes the coolest idol persona ever the moment he sees you're here. he's trying his hardest to impress you like - yes bby this is how i usually am at work, so cool right? - introduces you to EVERYONE possible. knocking on enhypen's door? yes. showing you to the manager? yes. the building janitor? you're saying hi to him too.

VERNON: his face turns SO red the moment the members point out you're here. gets all shy (the 218 bro vlive with DK) and hides behind his jacket/beanie. cannot say more than 5 words to you the entire time, knowing he'll malfunction and forget about working. expresses how grateful and loved he feels once you guys gets home.

DINO: solidifies in his mind that he IS the main character. parades you around to show everyone he has a gf!! clings onto you the whole time - basically gets nothing done the whole day. it's like he can't be more than 2 feet away from you or he'll die. you end up getting a text for S.Coups telling you you can't come back or else Dino will never get anything done.

[minswriting]

Do I Wanna Know? - Step-Brother Spencer Reid x Reader

About: It’s not easy fucking for your nerdy and hot step-brother when feelings become involved.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, step-cest, step brother spencer, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, guilt, shame, unspoken pining, etc.

Word Count: 1702

“Have you got color in your cheeks?

Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift

The type that sticks around like summat in your teeth?

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you’re in so deep?

I dreamt about you nearly every night this week.”

Your mother married her husband a few months ago. At a time when they had only been together for a few months but they apparently just “knew” it was meant to be. Who were you to judge, really? If you know, you know. You were just glad that your mother was relatively happy. There was also that added bonus of having a very new step-brother.

Spencer Reid, a profiler for the BAU and now your step-brother, was this nerdy guy. He had an eidetic memory, dressed like a grandpa, and was extremely hot for no reason. The day you met him, you were overwhelmed by his attractiveness. And he was so awkward too, adding to the appeal. You don’t see him often strictly due to his work and the fact that he lives in D.C while you live in Las Vegas. But when he does, it’s as though you’re in heaven. And tomorrow, Spencer is flying out to visit.

“How many secrets can you keep?

‘Cause there’s this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow

And I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep

Spilling drinks on my settee.”

Spencer: I can’t wait to see you.

You: I can’t wait to have your face buried between my thighs.

Your phone buzzed with another text.

Spencer: That will be divine.

You couldn’t help the smirk that traveled on to your face. You remember the first time you ever initiated anything with Spencer. It was a month after the wedding. He had flown back to Las Vegas for a case he was working on and decided to stay at the house rather than in a hotel with his team members. You noticed the way he had looked at you whenever you guys saw one another. Like you were forbidden fruit. But he was always too awkward, too shy to say anything to you. You guys hardly spoke unless necessary.

That was until you cornered him one night after he had gotten back at three in the morning after his case had been concluded. You remember the words you had spoken to him. “I see the way you look at me,” You had said quietly but seductively. That night you had gotten on your knees and gave him the worlds best blow job imaginable. And ever since then, the two of you had a very secret thing going on.

Late night phone calls, sexy photos, videos of one another sent privately. The past few months had been absolutely blissful. The amount of orgasms that you had every week was astounding and you were absolutely never sick of it. Because you got to hear the hot and sexy sounds that Dr. Spencer Reid, your step-brother, make.

As the months had gone on, these late night phone calls would turn into more than just sex. Talks about your days, life, books you both had been reading, the shows you’ve been watching. What was supposed to be nothing more than physical was slowly becoming emotional. At least for you. These days you often wonder if Spencer felt a similar way. But that didn’t matter as much. You would never allow yourself to cross the emotional territory. Or at least you’d never actively admit it.

“(Do I wanna know?)

If this feeling flows both ways?

(Sad to see you go)

Was sorta hoping that you’d stay.

(Baby, we both know)

That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day.”

The day Spencer had arrived, you spent the day teasing him. You wore a red dress that covered just enough to be considered appropriate. But if you bent over in the slightest, which you certainly did, you could see the sexy red lingerie set you wore underneath, Spencer’s absolute favorite on you. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see it in person until now. After your family dinner and your parents had gone to bed, you had dragged Spencer to the bedroom, not even bothering to take your time.

Maybe it’s the way his tongue moves around your cunt, lapping up your juices. Or the way Spencer sucks on your clit, doing whatever he can to bring you the most pleasure. All you know is that you have to try your damn hardest to keep quiet, to make sure neither your mother or his father wake up to hear what their children are up to. Spencer’s face is buried in your pussy, tonguing your hole while his nose runs against your clit. If hell were real, you definitely would be going with how much you enjoy fucking your step-brother. And it would be absolutely worth it if you get to live this lifetime underneath Spencer.

When you finish twice from his tongue, Spencer finally removes his face from your cunt. His face glimmering from your juices as he reaches his hands to undo his shirt. You were already naked, something Spencer had done as soon as you closed the door of the bedroom. As he took off his shirt, Spencer licked his lips, looking at you with a look that you couldn’t quite interpret.

You knew this was wrong. So ridiculously wrong. He was practically family, at least legally. He was supposed to be your brother, someone you can depend on. Well you certainly depend on Spencer for something. And it’s certainly not for anything family friendly either. You’ve tried calling it quits. Three weeks in, you tried leaving it be by not calling Spencer or texting him. You only lasted a day before you started craving him again.

“Crawling back to you

Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?

‘Cause I always do.

Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.

Now, I’ve thought it through

Crawling back to you.”

With you laying on your back while Spencer pounds into you like his life depended on it, you were absolutely trying so hard not to moan like the slut you know you are. You had a fist to your mouth while you looked at Spencer, who was leaned over you, arms on either side of your head, while his cock was thrusting in and out of your tight pussy.

“You’re so wet,” Spencer whispered shakily, looking at you in your eyes. “So tight. I could be buried inside you forever.”

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips as you looked back up at Spencer. The look in his eye. the one you can’t quite put a name to, was still there. Lust? Guilt? Love? It couldn’t possibly be the last one.

“Have you got the guts?

Been wondering if your heart’s still open

And if so, I wanna know what time it shuts

Simmer down and pucker up

I’m so sorry to interrupt, it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp

Of trying to kiss you

I don’t know if you feel the same way as I do

But we could be together if you wanted to.”

His lips went to yours, kissing you like you were his last breath and he needed you to hold on for life. His cock plunging into you at a rapid pace. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of skin slapping skin and the wet sounds of your pussy. Had your mother and his father been awake, they’d certainly question the noises going on.

“(Do I wanna know)

If this feeling flows both ways?

(Sad to see you go)

Was sorta hoping that you'd stay

(Baby, we both know)

That the nights were mainly made

For saying things that you can't say tomorrow day

Crawling back to you (crawling back to you)

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? (You've had a few?)

'Cause I always do ('cause I always do)

Maybe I'm too (maybe I'm too busy)

Busy being yours (being yours)

To fall for somebody new

Now, I've thought it through

Crawling back to you”

You could feel the heat building in your abdomen as Spencer’s cock hit your g-spot repeatedly. “Oh fuck,” you whisper moaned, breaking off the kiss. “So close, Spence.”

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he whispered back. “Cum for me like a good girl.” He continued his movements, fucking you to completion.

You let out a whine, trying hard to not be loud as your orgasm grew closer. Spencer reached down between the two of you, rubbing your clit. And you gasped loudly, bringing your hand back to your mouth as your walls tightened around Spencer’s cock. Within seconds you were cumming, hard, spilling your juices onto his cock and onto the mattress. Your back arched as you came, your toes curling from the best orgasm you’ve ever had.

Spencer followed you, cumming inside of you with ropes and ropes of his cum, filling you with not a single care in the world. Maybe it was a sick thought on his part. Maybe if he got you pregnant, he could finally claim you as his. Or maybe that was just your fantasy. You were on the pill, it was very unlikely.

Afterwards, it’s the cuddling. The soft words spoken about how beautiful you are and how good you did that make your heart flutter in your chest. The way Spencer looked at you with that same look. And in your heart you absolutely knew what that look was. Love. Adoration. Mesmerized by you. Your step-brother loved you. Just like you loved him.

But you’d never admit it out loud. Neither of you would. Because your circumstances wouldn’t allow for such a thing to happen.

So in the shadows you guys remain, caught in your own little bubble where it’s nothing more than sex. But the calls while he’s away become more frequent, more about missing one another and wanting to hear each other. Many words spoken and yet many remained unspoken. Just as it will remain.

[izukumidoriyanumber1]

Alastor With A Seemingly Innocent S/O

-He wonders how the fuck you’re in hell

-like, someone as perfect and sweet and kind as you? No chance.

-until you tell him how you brutally murdered a huntsman and hand to hand strangled his three dogs after killing your boyfriend.

-coincidence? I think not.

-Alastor knew this story sounded awfully familiar but couldn’t quite place what it was he remembered about it. 

-anyways

-Alastor would try to change how he acts, especially around you.

-so no killing or maiming when his s/o is around. 

-the only time your not your sweet, innocent little self is when Angel Dust drags you into a terf war or something. 

-then hes laughing and cheering you on from the sidelines. 

-As you know, Alastor loves to dance and sing.

-so expect him to turn on some swing jazz and quite literally sweep you off your feet in the middle of the lobby. 

-lots of spinning, dipping, and side stepping.

-he’ll also sing along to whatever is playing, too. 

-if its a slow song, expect to be held close to him as one of his hands clasps tightly to yours and your chest is pressed against his.

-his other hand will wrap around your waist as he hums along in your ear. 

-but this kind of dancing normally only takes place behind closed doors and within the comfort of your shared room.

-speaking of rooms, he would love it if you’d stay with him at night. 

-he doesn’t sleep a whole lot, so make sure he gets the well deserved rest he needs. 

-he’ll hold you close while petting your hair or running his hands up and down your arms to help you fall asleep.

-in the most non-creepy way possible, he loves to watch you sleep.

-he finds it so wholesome and heart warming that you choose to lay next to him every night.

-Alastor has never been a huge fan of sex, but when its you, he can’t help himself. 

-especially when he’s in a rut. He almost always cant keep his hands off of you.

-as much as he cant, he loves to breed you

-he constantly praises your body and loves the bump that forms at the bottom of your tummy when he fills you up.

-saying things like “darling, you take me so well, gonna fill you up so nice” like AHHHHHHH

-aftercare is a given. He’s an old timer, he knows how to treat a woman.

-expect to be carried into the steamy bathtub as he crawls in next to you and scrubs you clean.

-pda is a little iffy with Alastor. 

-he could either be all over you, a hand on your waist, shoulder, or arms linked 25/8

-OR he could have a no touching day (which you are completely understanding to)

-i think you would deny his request of proposal many times. 

-maybe you are trying to redeem yourself and you dont want to hurt him if you do end up going to heaven.

-but either way, you ended up saying yes, and the wedding was held at the hotel with minimal guests. 

-im sure he would invite rosie and mimzy, too.

-who both absolutely adore you

-rosie ends up being that of an older sister to you

-mimzy is just kinda…there.

-you dont like her very much.

-on top of it all, he loves you so very much and wont be afraid to show you just how much. 

-he would do absolutely anything to have his way, and if someone (like Vox) were to get in his way, he’d make sure it wouldnt happen again.

message me for more <3

[mkmas]

Jude Jazza - A story about a ruthless and arrogant man and an unfulfilled promise (JP ECB)

as usual I don’t own the story or characters, they belong to cybird. some things might’ve translated not as smoothly but i tried to get close to the original tone + eng isn’t my first language so forgive any mistakes ;-; also beware of some spoilers about his backstory

I wonder when it happened.

When my sister was still alive, she and I had a high fever.

(I was in so much pain l felt like I was dying.)

(I remember her asking me to distract her from the agony of the high fever.)

Jude: “What do you want to do when you’re rich?”

It was a playful way to forget, even for a moment, the pain of the day.

Jude’s younger sister: “Anything?”

Jude: “Sure.”

The pained look on my sister's face breaks into a little smile of joy.

Jude’s younger sister: “If that's the case, let's see… I want to go to the moon!”

My sister's eyes, which are the same amethyst color as mine, look towards the highest point in the sky. There, like a jewel dropped into the deep sea, there was a round moon floating in the jet black.

(...... Ha, the moon.)

Jude: "Idiot, even if I had that kind of money I can’t do that.”

(I've never heard of humans going to the moon.)

Jude’s younger sister: “But the Queen’s got the whole world on her palm, right?”

Jude’s younger sister: "If we can go around the world, can't we go to the moon?"

How much money does the Queen have? As I was thinking about whether it was really possible to go to the moon with that kind of money...

Jude’s younger sister: "Hey, brother, promise me. When you become rich, take me to the moon."

A human being going to the moon is a dream too ridiculous to be true. But my sister, who might die tomorrow, needed hope at this moment.

Jude: "I got it. I'll use money, magic, anything to get you there.”

Jude’s younger sister: “Brother, it's lame to think you can use magic.”

Jude: “Keep quiet.”

Jude’s younger sister: "I'm going to go to the moon. I have to get well soon."

Jude: “That's right. We have to get you better."

Only when I was with my sister, I felt something like the outline of happiness. Every time her small hand grasped mine, a warm feeling spread across my chest. But before the feeling of happiness could develop, I always felt sorry for her. Just when I was thinking that one day I would make my sister happy. She was bought with money, and then she died after.

And then I - I swore revenge.

By the time I started my trading company upon graduating from public school, I had the noblemen who killed my sister completely by the scruff of the neck.

Even though they were already busy dealing with taxes, it piled up even more with debt.

-- After their mansion and land were all seized, I went to meet the people who bought my sister.

Jude: “Thank you very much for your time.”

Nobleman: "W-what are you? W-Wa...!"

I grabbed the hair of the most pompous looking nobleman sitting in the chair as hard as I can.

Jude: “You guys are the ones who buy poor children and make them do bad things."

Jude: “There's no point in trying to make excuses. Everything can be backed up."

The nobleman’s eyes widen as I flung the report that contains numerous misdeeds I’ve already investigated.

I dragged him down and stamped on his head as hard as I can with my shoe.

Jude: "Confess. A few years ago, you bought a kid with asthma from a longshoreman."

Nobleman: “Well that’s… Uh.”

Jude: “Confess…!”

No matter how much I hurt them, the noblemen didn't speak.

Then I realized.

They really don’t remember.

When I threatened the servant, he trembled and spilled everything.

Servant: “I buried so many people in the garden that I can't remember who's who…”

When I headed for the garden of the beautiful mansion, I found that only one corner had been dug up in an unnatural manner.

Jude: “…….”

-- So so many. I sit in front of one of the piles and gently touched it with my fingertips.

Jude: “Brother is here... Answer me.”

I didn’t hear anything.

I didn’t even know if she was here.

All I know is that it was already too late.

So then I introduced the nobles to my father and brother, who were still working at the port, sipping muddy water.

(Isn't it great to do hard physical labor with the person you sold your daughter to?)

I had my subordinates watch over as they were weakened by the humiliation of the harsh labor.

I did nothing, I just watched.

Soon after, the nobles, my father, and my brother were all dead.

I killed them all.

-……De.

-……Jude.

Ellis: “Jude.”

(Ellis….?)

(……Ah, I fell asleep.)

It seems that because I didn't get enough sleep, I passed out while sitting.

(--- Even if it's)

Ellis: “What kind of dream was it?”

Jude: “Hah?”

Ellis: “You sounded like you had a nightmare.”**

Jude: “It was a shitty dream.”

Ellis: “I see. Jude is unhappy even in his dreams.”

Jude: “Shut up dumbass.”

Ellis smiles and looks somewhere else.

When I followed Ellis' line of sight, I saw a full moon floating there.

Ellis: "I guess Jude won't be happy until he gets to that moon."

(I know the truth. Even if I went to that moon, I wouldn't be happy.)

My sister whom I promised to is dead.

I can't take her to the moon.

The crazy dream I have is a promise that will never come true.

Ellis: "Hey, Jude. Can you breathe on the moon?"

Jude: “Ah?”

Ellis: "I'm just worried if Jude dies there before I can kill him."

Jude: “You really are fucking crazy. It can’t be helped.”

Still, I only have this promise.

That's why—.

(Someday I'll go to the moon.)

**Just in case this small detail matters (not really but) he was making sounds like people usually having nightmares do. i bet he gets these nightmares often;-;**

*If anything got deleted and i didn’t notice it’s probably tumblr being weird on my ipad bc of storage ahajaj)

TN: OK wow after reading his backstories… my crack theory about jude and the moon some time ago turned out to be at least 70% right? also jude has always been pretty snarky/sarcastic haha even to his younger sister (a little) i have a loooot of thoughts on his backstory but ill dump it after finishing his route. it really is dark and horrible how the rich people bought children and just…. did all that…. i support jude torturing crazy nobles 🙂‍↕️

[wxxpingangxls]

YAYO

+content/warnings; gun play, mentions of guns, allusions of cheating, perverted behavior, getting caught, lap grinding??

boyfriend's icky dad toji who always told his son that girls weren't shit, men weren't piss and money was where it was at, until he met you.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who leers at you every time you're over, insisting that you stay longer to "keep megumi company".

boyfriend's icky dad toji who suprisingly puts a lot of effort into his appearance every time he hears your coming over, shaving his beard, even going as far as to making home cooked meals that he notes you love so much.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who always praises you for helping do the dishes and tidying up, claiming that one day he was going to give you a reward for being so good to him ( and megumi i guess ).

boyfriend's icky dad toji who takes any chance he can to get his grimy hands onto your soft and sweet skin, even going as far as to put his hands on your waist as you're doing the dishes.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who makes sure to check on you (and megumi) whenever you were sleeping around, just to make sure the two of you were ok, even though he'd never done that before when it was just megumi.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who, every time you can't sleep invites you to watch a movie with his until you get sleepy, watching those tiny shorts crawl up your fat ass.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who takes all the chances he can to 'acciedentally' walk in on your undressing, before you catch on and start locking the door.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who watches your eyes gloss over as he tells you the story of megumi's mother and why he was so stoic and stone-faced.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who has to physcially stop himself from grabbing you and fucking you hard, knocking the wind out of you and stuffing your cunt full.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who wonders if you're on birth control, but then the image of you pregnant with his child comes to mind and suddenly his mouth starts watering.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who starts to let his mind wonder every time he sees you, imaging your stuffed cunny leaking his cum, with your big tummy carrying his child.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who doesn't even feel bad about feeling this way towards his son's girlfriend and gets sloppy when trying to hide it.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who, whenever you're in the shower takes a pair of your dirty panties and stuffs them in his pockets, and whenever you ask him about his dodgy laundry he always alludes to megumi stealing your stuff.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who gets caught jerking off with a pair of cute panties on his face by his son, claiming they were from a one night stand.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who not only sniffs these underwear that he's stolen but full on soaks them with his saliva before drenching them in his thick semen.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who starts having wet dreams about you and realises something is really wrong, and he needs to do something about this.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who finds himself humping the erection away at the mere thought of you and figures that maybe just sleeping with you once will be enough to satiate his insatiable hunger.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who shows you his gun collection when megumi's out at a party that you couldn't attend because of a sprained ankle, in an attempt to cheer you up.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who watches your eyes light up as he promises to take you shooting one day if you're good - whatever that means.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who watches your eyes tear up and voice break as you begin to explain how his son was fucking around with someone else.

boyfriend's icky sticky dad toji who suddenly wishes to take back everything he'd taught his son, seeing how bad that mentality had fucked him over.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who tries to make you feel better but the only way he can think to do that is to suck on your pretty lil' clit.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who nearly chokes on his beer when you tell him that you and megumi were back together with the same mouth you used to suckle on his cock.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who swears up and down that he could do you better than his son ever could, despite every thought in his head telling him how disgusting that was.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who genuinely believes he could treat you better than any man your age, he swears he'll spoil you despite not even having a good paying job.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who figures that since your so keen on being an independent girl, he should show you how good it'll feel to have a real man by your side.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who aches and yearns and feigns for your soft lips on his, and finally convinces you to lay and relax while he shows you how a real man treats you.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who is undeniably shocked when he finds out that megumi rarely went down on you especially when you cunt was so juicy and sweet.

boyfriend's icky dad toji who is even more shocked when you suggest grinding on his thigh with a gun to your head, watching as you leak and ooze and drip all over on to his plaid pants.

He watched intently, eyes thinning, as your tits jiggled with each grind of your hips against his flexed thigh. One hand on your throat and another holding a gun to your head. Whether it was loaded or not you had no idea, but that was all part of the sick thrill you had flowing through your veins. Megumi had told you all about his father's sick work and the different escapades he'd been on, but having put a gun to your head was an entirely different experience.

It was deliriously sick, twisted and sinister even. It was beyond demented and dangerous. What if his finger slipped on the trigger? Your brains were sure to be blown out of the back of your head. Maybe that was why drool seeped from between your pouted lips and tears welled up in your eyes. Maybe that's why your nose was all scrunched up and sniffly while your cheeks and ears were hot red.

Your hips tried embarrassingly hard to keep up with the bouncing of his leg but it was like no matter how hard you grinded, you couldn't cum. Was it the fear of having you tongue blown out of the back of your cranium? No, it wasn't that. After all, this was all your idea.

As sweet and innocent as you looked, your eyes held a certain insatiable and disturbing thirst behind them. Not the some what normal fantasy of being held by a signifacntly older man while he rearrgenged your guts, but the idea of danger. Crossing the line between right and wrong.

It wasn't as if you didn't shove your used, slick and dirty underwear all the way to the depth's of Toji's throat just to suck the soul out of his hard cock, dribbling messily all over it, disgustingly spluttering and making a hot mess of yourself all over him while he sat there choking on your panties like a whore. Your cunt was throbbing, and your throat hurt like nothing before as you coughed and constricted around him numerous times before gulping his hot and thick load down shamlessly.

So why now, after being to desperate you flick and play with your cunt, could you not get off on Toji? You whined and squirmed and sobbed and cried, feeling nothing but frustation as your fists balled up on the creases of his pants. Your whimpers died down in your sore throat and Toji's hand against it did nothing to soothe the ache.

A part of him relished in watching you struggle to get off, watching a pretty young thing like you yearn for his help with your eyes. He felt a certain urge however, to flip you over and shove his filthy dick between your - no doubt - sopping folds, and show you how good girls get rewarded, but felt as if you needed to be warmed up first. "You need help, beautiful?" he finally spoke after long minutes of watching your pathetic and helpless cries simmer down in your throat.

You groaned out, squinted your eyes in an attempt to ask if he was being serious with his stupid question, hips occasionally stuttering. "Hey, hey, relax baby..." he soothed, removing his hand from your throat despite the hand with his gun never moving from your head. His hand slowly moved from your neck down as his thumb brushes against your nipple and placed his hand on your hip.

"Take it slowly, ok princess?" he reassured. A part of you was surely confused. This whole time Toji had been nothing but sadistic with you. The two of you were as equally as sadistic with each other, you tying his hand up whilst riding his cock to no end. But now he was guiding you towards an orgasm. "Thereee you go, sweets," his hand that was once on your hip now cupped your face as he moved closer, nose in the crock of your neck. This was intimate to say the least, and you were sure he was going to come up to give upon those beautifully glazed lips.

You whined out loud, feeling his breath tickle your neck, but that was the least of your problems as now you could surely feel a big wave coming. Toji saw as your hips twitched and your toes curled and uncurled: "Oh? Are you gonna cum, sweet girl?" He could feel your naked cunt throbbing hard on his clothed thigh. He immediately sat up, green eyes on your own big ones, watching as you silently pleaded. Pleaded for what, you had no idea, but he surely did.

He knew you wanted to make a massive mess all over his trouses. Completely soak him in your sticky fluids and watch as he gets turned on even more. With every exhale you made, his pupils dilated even more, as if he was getting higher and higher on your impending orgasm. His hand never once left your face and with every deliberate roll of your hips, he pushed that cold metal gun further into your skull.

You stuttered out cries of his name, before attempting to stand up. It was far too much for you, and your orgasm was going too soon. But you were too slow, for his entire arm snaked around your waist, keeping you on his lap, watching as you soaked his leg with your cum. You gushed uncontrollably, begging Toji to let you go as he just snickered in your ear, telling you to hush down and stop freaking out.

He figured that this must've been the first time you've squirted, as you're shaking non stop. Your mascara was dried up on your cheeks and lip gloss all smudged from earlier. Almost ironically, as you came down from your intense high, the outro to Floods by Pantera came on the radio.

Toji was a sick and an icky man, and he lay in seamed in your fluids with zero shame, while his son lay asleep in the next room. He watched as you took in hard and deep laboured breaths, still trying to compose yourself. I guess now you knew how he felt when you went down on him. Him seeing you squirt all over him, confirmed the thought of wanting to see you stuffed full with his own icky fluids. He finally moved the gun from your head before placing it down.

"Would you have really shot me?" you whispered out, voice still coarse.

"Are you crazy? That gun was empty." He scoffed, scratching his stubble.

"That's a stupid question, Toji, and I would've loved for the gun to be filled to the brim," Your cunt throbbed as you imagined Toji's huge cock pounding you hard, hefty arms keeping you in place.

[finniestoncrane]

OH BOY! How about Office Eddie nsfw headcanons? I love that dweeb at the office with a dark streak and honestly just want anything about him 💚

Dano!Riddler x Fem!Reader Headcanons oooooooooh yeah!! i've started writing a little outline for something like this but longer!! this is a good excuse to test some things out and see what works >:3c 🐀💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: voyeurism, pervert eddie, peeping tom, spying, non-consensual stuff, masturbation, unintentional cum swallowing

listen, employment in a nice office isn't all that common in gotham, and you're lucky you're not behind a bar serving sleazy wannabe rogues or hustling for what little money you can get, so you're willing to put up with your shy and quiet and kinda dweeby co-worker

but that's only because you have no idea about all the weird stuff he's up to...

eddie is smitten immediately by you, but he doesn't speak to you at all for the first two weeks you're sharing an office with him

it makes you a little uncomfortable, but he slowly warms up and offers you a hello and a goodbye

when he starts talking to you a bit more, it's about quite dark and deep subjects

it's almost like he's trying to guage your response to decide if you're a good person

or one of the people he goes on about, the undeserving masses

he's nice enough though, and you find that he's very helpful and willing to guide you with the tasks

and you quickly notice that he's far smarter than you, and is willing to hold himself accountable for your training

this seemingly kind gesture isn't selfless, however, it's actually his way of getting closer to you

and to have you depending on him for your job

it's not something you notice at first, if at all, but edward always offers to look your work over before passing it on to the bosses

he's changing it without you knowing though, making sure there are little mistakes that have you reprimanded

eddie delivers that bad news of course, and offers to show you how to fix your errors

you're so grateful that you hug him, or compliment him, and so he can hardly stop doing it

besides, the stupider you feel, the more you'll have to rely on him, and the more you'll view him as smart and wonderful

and in order to keep you thinking that, he'll criticise you sometimes

nothing too mean, not too obvious

but enough that he can see your pupils widening and your skin flushing when he does compliment you

"don't worry, i won't tell the bosses"

gosh, you owe him so much... maybe he'll cash in the favours someday

eddie has the keys to the office and he unlocks it every morning, since he's always there a lot earlier than you

you never question why, but it's so he can set things up

you wouldn't believe how many cameras are hidden in the little space you share

under the desk, in the toilet, in the stationary cupboard

and the work laptop he offered to set up for you?

the webcam is hacked, so he can watch you at home

because at a certain point, he can't stand not to be around you or to know what you're up to when you clock out for the day

and that includes when you leave the room to go to the toilet

he had to drill a hole in the wall of the cupboard between the office and the bathroom, just so he can keep an eye on you

and he finds his behaviour escalating, like an experiment to see how far he can go

it starts with him touching himself under his desk, rubbing his hands over his erection and trying to keep quiet

rubbing against you in the elevator, placing his hands on your shoulders as he stands behind you, staring down your blouse

asking you to reach up high or down low to watch the way your clothes move to expose you

messing with the ac, watching you sweat when it's too hot, watching your nipples harden when it's too cold

then he starts messing with the cables under his desk a lot, something with the wiring you don't understand

but it's an excuse to stare at your legs, trying to get a peek up your skirt

and then before you know it, your sweet coworker is masturbating into your coffee creamer

waiting to see if you can taste the difference, to see if you recognise him on your tongue

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.

Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)

Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.

THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.

Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.

No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.

Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.

Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.

Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.

The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.

Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.

The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.

You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.

As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze. You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.

You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.

The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.

The man smiles. He winks at you.

You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.

DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.

You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.

Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.

When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.

Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.

The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.

The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.

Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.

Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.

Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.

He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.

“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”

“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”

And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.

Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.

They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.

“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”

You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.

“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.

“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”

“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”

At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?

But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.

“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.

“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”

And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.

And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.

“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”

Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.

A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.

The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?

“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.

As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.

You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.

As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”

You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.

“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”

You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.

“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”

Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.

With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.

“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.

“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”

“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.

You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.

Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.

“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.

“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.

He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.

“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.

Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.

It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.

“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?

Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.

Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.

“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.

“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”

You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.

“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”

You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.

You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.

Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.

So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.

“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”

Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.

“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”

What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.

“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”

“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”

Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.

“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.

“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.

Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.

The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.

Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.

Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.

Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.

He was unsure if he ever would.

You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.

Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.

Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.

Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.

The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.

Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.

You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.

And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.

Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.

“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”

“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.

“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”

“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”

“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.

“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.

The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.

He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.

Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.

It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.

“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”

“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”

And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.

“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”

You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.

He tugs you between his parted legs.

“Do you trust me?”

There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.

“Yes.”

His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.

Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.

He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.

You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.

Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.

“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”

Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.

“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.

You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.

“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”

Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.

“Are you calling me a whore?”

He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.

He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.

“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”

Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.

Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.

“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.

THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?

You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.

What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.

The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.

You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.

The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.

Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.

“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”

Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.

Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.

She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.

Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.

Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.

You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.

The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.

It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.

You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.

“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.

When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.

“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”

“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.

“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”

“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.

“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”

You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.

“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

His girl. There is nothing you would like more.

“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.

You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.

He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.

“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.

MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.

Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.

Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.

You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.

A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.

Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.

The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.

Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.

You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”

You laugh, a bit watery.

“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”

“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”

“Attempt?”

“I doubt he would succeed.”

“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”

Daemon's mouth opens and closes.

“You little..!”

You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.

“If the two of you are done..?”

“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”

And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Slow Burn ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics {M, 113k}

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

2️⃣ got the sunshine on my shoulders by @hattalove {E, 124k}

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

3️⃣ Collision by itjustkindahappened / @tequiladimples {E, 226k}

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

4️⃣ Flightless Bird by audreyhheart {E, 97k}

AU where Louis Tomlinson is a principal dancer with The Royal Ballet. When his rival from ballet school, moody dance prodigy Harry Styles joins the company, old wounds are reopened and old passions reignited. During the company's production of Swan Lake the secret that doomed their love is finally revealed, but will it be too late?

5️⃣ Shake Me Down by @agreatperhaps12 {NR, 208k}

Harry's new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 This Multiplicity of Powers by @helloamhere {E, 149k}

Maybe in another universe he isn’t different. Maybe he hadn’t been given an impossible choice. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost everything and broken everything and then fallen impossibly, irrevocably in love with the first next thing that was kind. Maybe in that universe he doesn’t feel like he’s never breathing, always pretending, teaching the kids even though they all have to learn alone, trying hard not to read the headlines, and so afraid, every day, that he won’t be a good enough teammate to the superhero he can’t live without. He knows that love isn’t supposed to feel this way, slid secret under your skin like a surgical razor, an invisible war held close over the tender vein that keeps you alive. On the other hand, Louis wonders, had he ever known how to do it any other way?

Maybe there’s a universe where he doesn’t have to keep all his secrets on the inside.

But this isn’t that universe.

//an X-Men AU.

💎 ghost of you by beckywritesthings / @beckydoesthings {E, 109k}

As a rule, Mandalorians and Jedi do not get along.

So when Harry Styles, esteemed Jedi Knight, finds out he has to work with the hot-tempered Mandalorian Duke, Louis Tomlinson, he’s prepared for it to go poorly. But it doesn’t, testing both of their boundaries of what they deem acceptable for a partnership.

It’s the start of something, and as the galaxy dissolves into war, they find themselves clinging to each other, even as it drags up things better left in the past. As it turns out, nothing between them has changed.

Or, a Star Wars AU where Harry is Obi-Wan, Louis is Satine, and somehow there’s a love story between the cracks where there shouldn’t be.

💎 don't be afraid to love (and love again) by localopa / @voulezloux {T, 83k}

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different. There’s always been something at odds about how he felt.

As the eldest daughter of seven kids, he knew something was wrong with his body. Something was off, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His mum dressed him in dresses and tights, plaits in his hair as he wandered around with the local neighborhood boys. They called him a girl, called him she and Rosemary when his name is Louis. He had told the boys as such, but they would tell him Louis is a boy’s name, not a girl’s.

Louis is a boy. He knows he is.

or the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

💎 Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence {NR, 83k}

The summer before Louis and Gemma's senior year of college was supposed to be their last big hurrah before they graduate college and become Real Adults in the workforce. They had it all planned and it was going to be filled with mornings skateboarding, afternoons at the pool, and evenings hanging out with as many of the neighborhood kids they grew up with as they can.

Of course, Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

As the summer goes on, the adventures and day to day happenings allow Harry and Louis to spend a lot more time together than either of them ever anticipated and Louis finds it more difficult to keep his growing feelings in check than he ever thought it would be. After all, there wasn't a chance that Harry would ever be interested in Louis... right?

💎 When the Lights Go Out by thelarenttrap / @antidotetogo {E, 79k}

“Louis, what do you have to say about how last week ended?” the reporter asks. There’s a moment of silence. Harry is looking at the reporter, but eventually gives in and looks down the table at Louis. He’s looking straight ahead, as if Harry isn’t even in the room. “If you can’t take the heat, then get out of the kitchen.” Harry leans forwards, placing his arms on the table and leaning onto them to get as close to his microphone as he can while looking at Louis. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Louis turns to him, his icy blue eyes meeting Harry's. “Driving is your fuckin’ job, act like it.”

In its near eighty years of existence, Formula 1 has never had an out gay driver. In 2017, Harry Styles signs a contract with Scuderia AlphaTauri alongside his childhood friend and competitor, Louis Tomlinson. The next decade of their careers is some of the most tumultuous press--on and off the track--Formula 1 has ever seen.

aka the one where Louis and Harry are childhood friends to enemies to lovers over the course of 15 ish years.

[sunnie-angel]

Part 13: The Coworker

part 12 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: a strange holding pattern develops where nothing really happens and all you can do is bury yourself in work while jason keeps hiding things from you

tags: angst, reference to off screen violence

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.2k

a/n: more of a set up chapter before the next big plotty thing happens. umm don't throw tomatoes at me?

Jason Todd is lying to you. Or at the very least he’s keeping things – important things – from you. Knowing that, being unable to close your eyes and turn the other way anymore, it fractures you a little more in ways you had thought you were long past. Still, stupidly, you love him. You keep waiting for the day when it gets easier to breath and your stomach stops swooping anytime Jason Todd is in sight. Hope rises and falls. His kindness mixed with cruelty burns but you can’t stop drinking it down as though you’ve been days in the desert.

In some ways, not being around Jason and the friends you share is easier, not having to wonder with every stilted interaction what there is left to hold you together. Much easier then, to bury yourself in work, in school. Lose yourself to distractions until the fear and paranoia dogging your every step fade into the background with the hum of routine and the mindless chattering of people who don’t know you well enough to hurt you with their well meaning questions.

It feels silly to plan for your future when it might very well come to an end in an alley, but the thought of a next month, a next year, a next moment keeps you clinging to sanity like a life preserver. So you put your head down and work, fingers crossed that all your effort will pay off with the summer research position currently being dangled over the heads of all the English department interns. A stepping stone, maybe, to being able to work your way through grad school that certainly no one else but you and your student loan from Gotham Trust will be paying for. For 15 hours a week you can tune out the present, get lost in the daydreams and the work of building that future which rests just hazily out of your reach, beyond the taint of murderers creeping in the dark and a love that seeps like poison.

Something close to regret always passes over you when the work day ends and Jason stands at the door waiting for you. Maybe even something ugly, a twisted up anger, jagged and sharp, that buries itself under your breastbone. Your life is held together with duct tape and sticky glue, balanced precariously on one wobbly leg, but no matter what happens to you, Jason will be fine as always. In a few months he’ll have his degree and a family that apparently doesn’t hate him as much as he’s implied and he’ll go swanning back off to wherever the fuck he mysteriously appeared from. After graduation, who’s to say that you’ll stay friends at all? That he won’t move on with his life and maybe, occasionally, he’ll think fondly of the girl he was friends with for less than a year while he’s off saving the world, saving the Alley, from yet another idiot villain. The future is yours, shining and pristine, but yours alone. A shining knife that’s lodged itself in your chest and twists in anticipation of the moment when he’ll let you go.

You don’t let any of those thoughts show on your face though. Don’t want to ruin any of the dwindling moments you have left and so you bury it down inside, pack the soil down on top hard and cross your fingers that it won’t grow any poisonous fruit.

The first time you stay late, you’re apologetic when you ask Jason to come back in a few hours but there’s none of the usual claustrophobic sensation. Jaimie had asked for help and you had volunteered to give it to her, any excuse not to go home and sit in your tiny apartment and flinch at the wind outside. It’s the first time you stay late but not the last.

Really you had never intended to be so distant from the other research interns but when all the seniors are competing really for the same opportunity, one that would make or break your future plans, it’s not hard to see everyone else as competition. People to be polite and helpful to, but not people to get close to in the eventuality that they break your heart by getting the position or you break theirs. But in searching for more and more reasons to stay distracted, to prolong the moment just before you see Jason again, before you fall into his arms again begging for scraps, it’s hard not to get to know them better.

There’s sweet Jaimie with her bottle thick glasses who only started this semester, Amira with her nearly magical knowledge of the library’s cataloguing systems, and Louisa whose German accent only comes through when she gets annoyed. Stoic Miguel that never really says much but doesn’t have to in order to get his point across and Ian whose charm has even crabby Dr. Duvall smiling broadly. They’re friends, all of them, or at least on friendly terms. It’s hard not to thaw towards them when suddenly you’re making a point to spend so much time with them.

Probably, you should be on your guard. Probably, you should listen to the paranoia whispering at the back of your mind about strangers and hidden motives. But with all the lights turned on in the tucked away office for interns, the space heater warming the old bricks and mild laughter and offers of help freely given, it feels safe in a way. That this space makes them safe even if you couldn’t name their birthdays at gunpoint (you really hope you’ll never have to do that). Here you can leave all of your messy emotions at the door, all the bagging and sleepless nights forgotten in the face of people that don’t know you.

Three weeks and never once does Jason complain about the hours stretching later and later. He never mentions how your feet seem to trudge slower and slower to him where he waits at the door. How the lightness seems to leave you as you hit the cold night air. Three weeks until his patience hits its limit.

“Seems like you’ve been working more than last semester,” he drops leadingly into conversation one morning as he rolls out of the side of your bed he’s claimed for himself.

“Seems like it,” you reply as you struggle to get your bra hooked on right. He comes up behind and does the clasp for you, hovers like he wants something more he’s not sure he’ll be allowed in the bright light of day.

“I just worry about you, yeah? Don’t want you to work yourself sick with— with everythin’ else goin’ on.”

“Well don’t,” you tell him, harsh words that drip with your frustration as you dig through your drawers for a sweater. Dannika and Lina have already been on your case about all your overtime hours, not to mention Rei’s quiet concern. “Don’t worry about this, okay” You say more gently, turning back to him as you tug the sweater over your head. “Work’s the one place where I don’t have to deal with—” you gesture expansively “—all of this.” Quickly you register the way his eyes go blank and shuttered. “With the fear, I mean. No time for serial killers when I’m trying to collate lists of possible sources for Dr. Higuchi’s next book.” He nods, and then doesn’t bring it up again. 

It’s a Tuesday, so it’s only you, Amira, and Miguel working. The office is quiet without Jaimie’s constant questions and Ian’s little asides but its a cosy kind of quiet. Slowly the quality of the light changes as the sun creeps below the skyline and eventually you have to admit that there’s nothing more to keep you there for the day. You pack up simultaneously, Amira bumping your elbow with her overstuffed satchel as she swings it onto her shoulder.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I didn’t ding you too hard did I?” She apologizes. It was a pretty solid hit, the several hardcovers in her bag as good as bricks but she didn’t mean anything by it and so you don’t take it personally.

“No harm done,” you let her know, shouldering your own bag as you do.

“Any plans for tonight?” Amira asks.

“Just tackling some readings for class, nothing interesting,” you reply with the conspiratorial tiredness that all students have by this time of the year.

“Hmmm okay, what about Thursday?”

“Thursday? Why?” You ask, a tightness to your spine. She’s never asked, none of them have ever asked before. There’s been the usual how was your weekends and have a good nights but never anything this direct.

“Well most of us sneak into the grad student bar on Thursday for their trivia night and you need five people for a team only Louisa’s got that paper due Friday and probably won’t come. So, if you’re free, would you want to join us?”

“I— uhm I’d have to check?” You tell her, suddenly panicked because this wasn’t what you’d been expecting at all. Yes, you’d been getting on with your coworkers better but you hadn’t thought that you’d been getting on well enough to be invited to their plans outside of work. And yes, technically a Thursday should be fine, should be safe, no one’s gone missing on a Thursday. But to meet? Outside of the office, outside of the place you’d neatly marked as ‘safe’ with people that you barely know? “When does it— when does it usually end?” You ask instead. “Just with everything going on I usually have a friend—” the word catches in your throat “—walk me home at night.”

“Hmmm like eleven or so?” She cocks her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t even think of that. It’s so scary and I don’t even look like a potential victim.” Amira smiles at you pityingly and you can already feel the sympathy curdling in your stomach. “You know what, why don’t you bring them along? The teams only have to be a minimum of five but they can go all the way up to ten.”

“I’ll see if he’s free but I’ll let you know?” It’s pathetic at how easily just the thought of Jason’s presence makes you breath easier, feel more up to accepting what’s probably a genuine invitation. Amira happily gives you a number to contact and you part ways. Jason’s waiting, like always but it takes you a while to figure out exactly how to phrase your request to take up his time with something so trivial.

“I got invited out by my coworkers today,” you tell him, staring out the bus window as you speak. He’s folded himself into the aisle seat beside you, something you’d snorted about earlier and muttered about a clown car until he’d scowled from swallowing his laughter.

“Do I know any of them?” He asks, grumbling as he tries to find a position kinder to his knees.

“Maybe I introduced you to Jaimie?” You rack your brains thinking back. “Anyway, the point is they invited me to trivia night with them and when I was worried about making you wait for so long to walk me home they invited you too,” you say in a rush.

“When?” He cranes his neck to check the next stop as he asks.

“Thursday, ends around 11.”

He sighs through his nose. “If it was any other day I’d say no problem, yeah? But I’ve got a thing.”

“A thing,” you deadpan.

“Yeah, a thing,” he evades.  The two of you get off at the stop, the bus kicking up dirty slush in its wake.

“You should go, have a good time,” Jason tells you in front of your building. “I’ll make sure to be there at 11 and I’ll still make sure you get home. But you should have some fun, yeah?”

He’s hiding something again, isn’t he?

It’s silly to be so distracted by a maybe but you can’t stop thinking about it. You miss a very obvious trick question on the publication of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, though Ian smiles very kindly when he changes the original date you had written to the date the book was first published under the author’s real name. Even without doing anything at all Jason still manages to knock you off balance. You don’t regret it, coming out with your coworkers, even if the bar starts to get more rowdy as the night goes on. That sense of safety, of oh these people won’t hurt me, isn’t restricted just to the office it would seem. Miguel still doesn’t speak very much but he smiles more and Jaimie is strikingly confident when she isn’t wrestling with spreadsheets. It’s almost, almost enough to distract you from thoughts of Jason by the time the evening is wrapping up.

You’re laughing freely at a sly joke from Amira you wish Dannika was there to hear too when you finally spot him. He’s leaning against the wall outside the building, phone still cupped to his ear when you run up to him, the snow muffling the sound of your foot steps. Even in the low lighting of the bar’s neon sign he still looks beautiful and you’re loath to disturb the moment. He’s just ending the call as you get closer, fat snowflakes catching in your hair.

“...yeah, yeah love you too Barbie.”

Oh.

a/n: on the other line, barbara's threatening to castrate jason for making dick sad