#just!!!!! he felt so safe and comfortable there

[moonlightwritingf1]

Number One | LN4

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ summary ━━━━━━━ At a Christmas party, Y/N nervously gives Lando a Secret Santa gift with a very special meaning. 

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.1k

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ author's note ━━━━━━━ I know I said I wouldn't be accepting requests until next month, but this request was so good that I had to write it.

The flat was warm with the familiar hum of Christmas music softly playing in the background. It was the kind of night where everything felt just right—the snow falling gently outside, the lights twinkling like stars, and the chatter of friends mingling with bursts of laughter. Pietra and Max, the evening's hosts, had turned their cozy London flat into a festive haven. Friends filled the space, each holding glasses of mulled wine or eggnog as they celebrated the holiday season together.

Y/N stood near the kitchen, quietly adjusting the string of lights on the small tree in the corner of the living room. The colorful lights reflected off her wool sweater, casting a soft glow. Her breath came out in puffs as she concentrated on the decorations, though her mind was elsewhere. Among the gathered friends was Lando Norris—the one person who had made her heart race from the moment they met.

Lando, with his easy grin and mischievous charm, stood out effortlessly. His glistening eyes had a way of locking onto hers, making her feel like the only person in the room. She had noticed his attention before, but tonight felt different. There was an energy between them that she couldn’t ignore, and it left her both nervous and exhilarated.

The evening had started hours earlier when Y/N braved the cold London air, walking briskly toward Pietra and Max’s flat. The holiday season had transformed the city; streets sparkled with twinkling lights, and festive window displays adorned every corner. Despite the magic of the season, Y/N carried mixed feelings about Christmas. It always reminded her of the fractured ties in her family—estranged relatives back in her home country, and the quiet distance that had grown between her and her parents after years of unresolved drama. The holidays, for her, were bittersweet.

Still, she pushed those thoughts aside. Tonight was meant to be about friendship, warmth, and celebration. Pietra and Max had created a safe space for their circle of friends, and Y/N cherished these moments of connection. She had met Lando through this same group a little over a year ago. From the start, it was clear that Lando had taken an interest in her.

His gestures were subtle yet unmistakable: lingering glances, playful teasing, and the way his demeanor softened when he spoke to her. Yet despite his obvious affection, Y/N had kept her emotions carefully guarded. Her shyness and cautious nature acted as walls she wasn’t ready to let down. Falling for someone like Lando—whose glamorous, fast-paced life was worlds apart from her own—felt too risky.

Y/N stepped into the flat, the familiar warmth wrapping around her like a comforting hug. The scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of carols. She could hear bursts of laughter from the living room, where Pietra and Max had outdone themselves with their decorations. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, and a massive Christmas tree stood proudly by the fireplace, its baubles catching the flickering light.

Tugging nervously at the hem of her sweater, Y/N’s fingers brushed over the gift she had brought with her. She had drawn Lando’s name for Secret Santa, and the thought of giving him something personal made her stomach flip. It was one thing to be around him in their usual group settings, where his flirtatious remarks were playful and easy to laugh off, but this felt different. Intimate.

She hadn’t seen him yet, though she knew he would be there. Her heart raced at the thought. Lando always had a way of making her feel seen, and for someone like her, who preferred blending into the background, that was as thrilling as it was terrifying. She’d spent so much time building walls to protect herself, but tonight felt like the night to take a chance—to allow herself to believe in the magic of the season, and maybe even in the possibility of something more.

''Y/N!" Pietra called out, her voice bright with excitement. “You made it!”

Y/N smiled and made her way over to her friend, who was standing next to Max. They greeted each other with a hug, and Y/N’s eyes briefly flicked around the room. There, near the corner by the Christmas tree, stood Lando. He was talking to some of the guys, but when he caught her gaze, he smiled that signature grin—the one that made her heart flutter in spite of herself. He was leaning casually against the wall, looking effortlessly handsome in a dark jacket and a white shirt that highlighted his toned frame. But it wasn’t just his appearance that captivated her. It was how he made her feel when he looked at her.

As their eyes met, the intensity of his gaze was enough to send a shiver down her spine. But she quickly looked away, trying to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. She had a gift to give, after all. Lando’s Secret Santa gift.

“Everything okay?” Pietra asked, noticing Y/N’s distracted expression.

Y/N blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. “Yeah, just... thinking.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Pietra teased, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think you’re overthinking something.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Maybe.”

“Just do it already,” Pietra said with a wink, nudging her toward Lando. “You’re both miserable, and I’m tired of watching you dance around each other.”

For the past few weeks, she’d been agonizing over what to get him. A Formula 1 driver. What did you get someone who had everything? After much thought, she’d come across the idea of something symbolic. Lando had achieved so much in his career, and though he hadn’t won the World Drivers' Championship yet, to her, he was already a champion. The T-shirt she’d ordered, with his name on the back, but instead of his usual number 4, it had the number 1. It was bold. It was daring. And it was her way of saying, in the quietest way she could, that she believed in him—no, more than that. She admired him. And more than anything, she wanted to show him that in the most personal of ways.

But the T-shirt wasn’t just a gift. It was a confession.

For months, Lando had been nothing but open with his affections toward her. He would tease her, give her that irresistible, sideways grin, and often say things that made her heart skip. Every time they were in the same room, it was impossible to ignore the way his gaze would linger just a second longer than necessary, the way he would find reasons to stand closer to her, brush his hand against hers. It had been maddening, especially since Y/N had tried so hard to keep her feelings hidden.

Tonight, however, something felt different. The atmosphere, the way Lando looked at her, the way she felt about him—it was all coming to a head. She could feel the pull of his gaze across the room, like a magnetic force. Every time she looked up, he was watching her.

After about an hour of mingling, Y/N found herself surrounded by a small group of friends, their laughter and easy conversation helping her momentarily forget the nerves fluttering in her chest. She sipped on her wine, smiling as one of Pietra’s friends recounted a particularly funny story about a disastrous skiing trip.

Despite her best efforts to stay engaged, her thoughts kept drifting to Lando. She could feel his presence in the room, even when she wasn’t looking. Every so often, her gaze would flicker to where he stood, effortlessly charming everyone around him. The way he laughed, the way his face lit up when he was telling a story—it was impossible not to notice.

“Y/N.” Pietra’s voice cut through her thoughts as she appeared by her side, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

Y/N turned to her friend, her brows knitting slightly in curiosity. “Sure. Everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Pietra replied with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s. “I just think you could use a change of scenery.”

Before Y/N could protest, Pietra gently steered her away from the group, weaving through the crowd in the cozy, softly lit flat. The scent of mulled wine and pine lingered in the air, mingling with the low hum of festive music and the sound of cheerful chatter.

They stopped near a quieter corner of the living room, where the soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the Christmas tree cast a warm, golden hue. The noise from the party was more distant here, the space offering a reprieve from the bustling energy of the main room.

Pietra turned to face Y/N, her expression shifting to one of gentle seriousness. “Alright, spill. What’s going on with you tonight?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been half here all night,” Pietra said, crossing her arms and giving her a pointed look. “And I know it’s not the party or the people. It’s him.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped, and she let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pietra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. You’ve been sneaking glances at Lando every five minutes. And, spoiler alert, he’s been doing the same thing with you.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest but found she couldn’t. Instead, she looked down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” Pietra said firmly, her tone softening as she placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You like him. He definitely likes you. So what’s stopping you?”

Y/N sighed, her fingers brushing the edge of the gift bag she still held. “I don’t know, Pietra. What if he doesn’t see me the way I see him? What if—”

“What if you’re overthinking this, like you always do?” Pietra cut in, her voice teasing but kind. “Y/N, trust me, anyone with eyes can see how much he adores you. You just have to let yourself believe it.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart pounding. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes naturally seeking him out. Lando was standing by the fireplace now, deep in conversation with Max. But even as he spoke, his attention seemed to drift, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. When their gazes met, his face lit up, and he gave her that boyish, lopsided grin that never failed to make her breath catch.

“See?” Pietra whispered, her voice breaking Y/N’s trance. “He’s not even trying to hide it.”

Y/N turned back to her friend, her cheeks burning. “What do I do?”

“You give him the gift,” Pietra said simply, her smile encouraging. “And maybe—just maybe—you tell him how you feel.”

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the small bag tucked under the Christmas tree, its festive wrapping suddenly feeling like a spotlight on her nerves. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sweater, the anxiety bubbling inside her making it impossible to stay still.

“Y/N, what’s going on with you?” Pietra’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Y/N shot her friend a nervous smile, trying to brush off the question. “Nothing... just second-guessing, I guess.”

Pietra narrowed her eyes knowingly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Second-guessing what? The gift? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s going to love it. You always put so much thought into these things.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “And let’s be real—it’s Lando. You could hand him a lump of coal, and he’d act like it was the most thoughtful, perfect gift in the world just because it came from you.”

“Pietra,” Y/N warned, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she swatted at her friend.

“I’m just saying!” Pietra laughed, raising her free hand in mock surrender. “You have no idea how obvious it is to everyone. He’s absolutely crazy about you.”

Y/N glanced at the bag again, her heart pounding harder. “I don’t know... It’s just a T-shirt. What if it’s not enough? What if he doesn’t—”

“Stop.” Pietra cut her off firmly, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N’s arm. “It’s not about the gift itself. It’s about what it means. You’re showing him that you believe in him, that you see something special in him that maybe even he doesn’t fully see. That matters way more than whatever’s inside that bag.”

Y/N’s lips parted as if to protest, but she found herself falling silent. The sincerity in Pietra’s voice made her heart ache with a mix of hope and fear. “What if he doesn’t get it? What if—”

"Y/N, I swear, if overthinking were a sport, you’d have a gold medal by now," Pietra interrupted with a soft laugh, her expression warm. “Y/N, it’s not just about what he thinks. It’s about you letting him see how you feel. You’ve been holding back for months, but it’s so obvious that you care about him. And trust me, he knows. He’s just waiting for you to say it.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

Pietra’s smile softened, her hand giving Y/N’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re better at it than you think. And besides, Lando doesn’t need perfection. He just needs you. He’ll understand, Y/N. He always does.”

Y/N glanced back at the bag under the tree, her heart fluttering with both anticipation and dread. It wasn’t just a gift—it was her way of saying something she’d been too afraid to put into words. And tonight felt like the moment she could finally let herself try.

“You can’t keep hiding forever,” Pietra added gently, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “You’ve got this.”

Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage that felt just out of reach. “Okay,” she said softly, nodding as determination began to edge out her nerves.

After her conversation with Pietra, Y/N made her way to the kitchen, seeking a moment of solitude and hoping another drink would give her the courage to finally give Lando his gift. As she stood by the counter, pouring herself a glass, the sound of laughter drifted from the living room, breaking the quiet. Instinctively, she glanced over. There, in the doorway, Lando stood with a playful grin on his face, his eyes locked with hers. The moment their gazes met, it felt as though the world around them paused, his smile widening as he excused himself from the conversation and started toward her.

"Hey, there she is," Lando's voice was warm, low, and filled with playful intent. He leaned casually against the counter beside her, his presence filling the small space. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me tonight."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked down at her drink, her pulse quickening. "Just... getting another drink," she mumbled, trying to steady herself.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the small Christmas tree in the corner. "It’s a bit much, don’t you think? We’re not all here for the holiday cheer, you know."

She chuckled softly, her cheeks flushing. "It’s festive."

"Festive, huh?" Lando’s eyes flicked over her, and for a moment, it felt like there was something deeper in his gaze than just the usual teasing. "You’re looking good tonight. Not that you ever don’t, but... tonight, there’s something about you." His voice dropped slightly, and he leaned in just a little closer. "I’ve been looking forward to seeing you."

Y/N swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. "Thanks," she whispered, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her at his words.

Lando straightened up, still casual but with an intensity in his eyes. "So, where’s my present, huh?"

Y/N’s stomach flipped, and her breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to ask so directly. "I, uh... I got you something," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let me grab it."

Hastily, she moved toward the big Christmas tree, grabbed the small gift she had carefully wrapped, and returned to the kitchen. Her heart was racing now, nerves bubbling under the surface. Lando’s eyes followed her every movement, and as she handed him the gift, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of self-consciousness under his gaze.

"Oh? I’m honored," he said, his voice teasing. "But you didn’t have to get me anything. You know that, right?"

Y/N shrugged, her voice quiet but firm. "I wanted to. It’s... it’s something special."

Lando’s fingers tore into the wrapping with childlike excitement, revealing the black and orange McLaren T-shirt neatly folded inside. At first, he looked at it with that familiar grin, his fingers tracing over the name on the back. But when he noticed the number, his expression faltered, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. The playful banter he always carried slipped for a moment.

"Wait..." Lando muttered, his fingers brushing over the number. "This isn’t... this isn’t my usual number."

Y/N’s stomach tightened as she met his gaze, her nerves suddenly spiking. "No," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Number one."

Lando’s expression softened as he studied the number, his lips parting. "This isn’t..." he trailed off, his voice barely audible as he looked back at her. "You... had this made?"

Y/N nodded, a sense of vulnerability creeping in. "I just thought... It’s not... I thought it suited you better. You’re already number one to us. I mean, your friends. Not us... not like that. But—"

But then, something shifted in Lando’s gaze. His eyes softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. "You’re incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The room around them seemed to quiet as Lando carefully set the T-shirt down on the counter, his hand reaching for hers. Y/N felt her cheeks burn as he gently took her wrist and pulled her closer. "You’re amazing," he repeated, his voice low, sending a shiver through her.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, making her heart race even faster. "You have no idea what this means to me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "No idea."

Y/N shook her head, trying to brush it off. "It’s just a T-shirt," she muttered, wishing she could disappear into the floor.

"No, Y/N. It’s not." Lando reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. The tenderness of the gesture made her chest tighten. "It’s... God, I don’t even know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot."

Her heart was pounding now. "Say what?"

Lando took a deep breath, looking into her eyes with a vulnerability that took her breath away. "That you mean more to me than anyone else ever has," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I don’t care if it’s too much or too soon or whatever, but I can’t keep pretending that I’m just happy being your friend."

The world around them faded as the gravity of his words settled between them. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she processed what he had said. She looked into his eyes, feeling the weight of her own confession stir inside her.

"Lando..." she began, her voice trembling. "I... I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now, but I didn’t know how." She hesitated for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. "I like you. I really like you. And I’ve been too scared to say anything, but... but when I saw you tonight, when I gave you the gift, I couldn’t keep it in anymore."

Lando’s eyes searched hers, the quiet understanding in his gaze making her feel as though her words had finally found a place to land. "I’ve been waiting for you to say that," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her wrist. He whispered her name, his voice so tender it made her pulse quicken. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she met his gaze, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. The weight of her confession was heavy, but the way he looked at her now—so soft, so full of emotion—made everything feel worth it. "I was scared..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Scared that it wouldn’t be enough. Scared of how I felt."

Lando stepped even closer, closing the distance between them. "You don’t have to be scared. You never have to be scared around me."

His words, his closeness, left no room for doubt. She smiled softly, feeling the tension in her chest slowly start to ease. 

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she looked up at Lando. The world around them seemed to slow down, the sounds of the party fading into a distant hum. It was as though there was only him and her in that quiet space, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. His eyes held hers with an intensity that made her knees weak, and his hand reached up, gently cupping her face. His thumb brushed softly across her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I..." Lando began, his voice low and earnest. "I think I’ve been falling for you for a while now." His words were soft but filled with a certainty that made her heart race even faster. "And I don’t know how to make you see that, but this... this is more than just a gift. You’ve got me, Y/N."

His confession hung in the air between them, and for a long moment, Y/N couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. His words seemed to fill every inch of her, making it hard to focus on anything but the warmth of his touch and the intensity of his gaze. But then, as if everything had fallen into place, she found herself reaching up, her hand trembling slightly as it touched his.

"I’ve been falling for you, too," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the weight of everything she had been holding back. Her heart felt like it might burst from her chest as Lando’s expression softened, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"You’re everything I’ve ever wanted," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from hers. "And I’ve been too afraid to admit it."

Before she could even process his words, he closed the gap between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that started slow and tender, as if he was savoring the moment. It was everything she had imagined, yet so much more. His lips were soft, warm, and every touch sent a rush of electricity through her. But as the kiss deepened, it became more urgent, more desperate—as if all the feelings, all the tension between them, had finally reached the breaking point and erupted in a single, beautiful moment.

Y/N’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back, her heart racing in her chest. This was what she had always wanted, the connection she had dreamed about. Everything else in the room faded away, leaving only the feeling of him—his hands on her waist, pulling her closer, his body pressed against hers. Every second felt timeless, each touch a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Lando looked at her with a smile that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. His eyes were full of something deep and tender, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile back.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," Lando admitted, his voice husky, a mix of emotion and disbelief at the moment they had just shared.

Y/N searched his eyes, her heart full to the brim. "Me too," she whispered, the words almost too simple to capture what she felt.

Lando cupped her face gently with both hands, his expression serious now, his eyes never leaving hers. "I meant it, you know," he said, his voice steady, but thick with emotion. "You’re everything to me. And I promise, no matter what happens, you’ll always be my number 1."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as a smile spread across her face, her heart swelling with the weight of his words. She had confessed her feelings, and now Lando had done the same. She didn’t need anything else. In this moment, surrounded by the warmth of his affection, everything felt perfect. For the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe it. She had found something real, something she never thought she’d have—and it was right here in front of her, in Lando’s eyes.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(im back, christmas break is here!!)

tw: mentions of abuse, violence, sexism (but secondary gender), omegaverse dynamics, crying, heavy angst no aftercare (again)

The uncomfortable tension in the room was palpable as they all sat in their usual debriefing room. Usually, the nest was a place for such a personal and volatile topic such as this, but none of them felt worthy of being there now. Not with how they’d treated you.

Soap was tapping his foot against the floor, the pattern uneven and sporadic, until Gaz snapped at him.

“Could you quit it, mate?” It had come out harsher than he’d meant. Soap huffed through his nose but obliged. They were all tense and on edge, their usually oh-so-controlled scents now sour and bitter with unease and anxiety.

In the field, they had their skills and weapons to fix problems, to take out the enemy. But here, back home? They had absolutely nothing in this fight. No amount of backup or fights could win this for them. In this fight, they were the enemy, and the only way to win this was by fixing the sacred little strand keeping you together that they had so carelessly unwound until it had snapped.

Ghost looked to Price. His hand was in his beard, thoughtfully running through the hair, stressed as Ghost has ever seen him. A sour pang of guilt shot through him. If he hadn’t tried forcing you to his scent gland, then you wouldn’t be in this position, and he wouldn’t have messed everything up, again—

“Y’re thinking too much.”

Price muttered, Simon’s feelings clear through the thick scent that somehow seemed to overpower everyone else’s in the air. He swallowed thickly. They needed a plan of action, some way to fix this, and the only way Price saw things being mended was by a lot of time and effort.

Gaz let the silence simmer for a moment, before speaking up.

“Cane Baker Syndrome, I looked it up yesterday night, it’s just like the med’ said. PTSD. Do you think…?”

An alpha being abused wasn’t as commonplace as it had used to be. Only 50 years ago, if you’d stepped into the common era, you’d see alpha’s being forced to work for a family they’d been forced into providing, their protective instincts abused. Among the more insane practices had been scratching out an alpha’s scent gland, so they couldn’t scent or get attached to their offspring, meaning the omega got the child all to themselves.

Awful things such as that had been outlawed years ago, but still happened in little forgotten corners of the world where loopholes existed.

“We can’t know for sure, but based on their reaction, I’d say we have a safe assumption. When they’re in a better….state of mind, we can ask a few questions.”

Price answered, voice heavy with an edge of guilt that seemed to grow richer by the second. Soap’s incessant tapping started up again, anxiety clearly chewing away at him. He couldn’t defuse you or the situation they’d created so easily like any other bomb he might during a mission.

“Could we get a background check on them?”

He asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. All he wanted was for you to be better again, for things to go back to normal, for a second chance.

But as they all split up, and he went to the nest, usually all so warm and comfortable and smelling of their sweet, rich scents combined, all he found was isolation among his team, sour scents mingling with rotten ones, a few sniffles and the salty scent of tears, he knew one thing.

They’d made their bed. Now they had to lie in it.

(sorry for the short part I’ve been playing cod bo6 multiplayer a lot and I’m kinda addicted + depressive episode, but there’ll be more soon I promise!!)

Part 1 | Part 2 |

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 5/?)

Negotiating with the devil is a delicate dance — every offer comes at a cost, every promise demands a sacrifice. And when Silco is your devil, the price is always more than your soul.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,6K

Warnings: smut, sexual tension, light bondage (restraint without having sex), jealous Silco, semi-public carnal acts, masturbation (m!receiving), accidental exhibitionism (it will make sense I swear), orgasm denial, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

What can I say? I'm a fan of the "under the table" cliché, so I had to make my own version... Silco's little monologue at the end was me trying to make references to Silco's monologues in arcane (it didn't turn out so well, but the intention is worth it) Btw I'll make a banner for this story so I can pin it to my profile and make it easier to select chapters AND I'm considering making a playlist for this series, so if you have any song suggestions please let me know.

You woke up suddenly, gasping for air, as though you had just surfaced from underwater. Your mind, still foggy, stumbled between that memory and reality. You were okay now. It was just a memory, a fragment clinging to the recesses of your mind. Your chest rose and fell frantically, but as the environment around you started to take shape, the cold, dense air of the room grounded you back in the present.

Taking a deep breath, your senses began to return, one by one. Muffled sounds reached your ears—voices filled with authority and disdain. The familiar smell of tobacco invaded your nostrils, mixed with the scent of aged leather. Your skin registered the coarse yet oddly comfortable fabric draped over you. Despite the initial confusion, it brought a strange sense of relief. You were alive, but not exactly safe.

You moved, testing the motion of your limbs, feeling the stiffness gradually ease. But then came the worst sensation in the world: your throat was parched, so dry it felt as though it might crack at any moment. A discomfort that yanked you back into the limbo between wanting to rise or succumbing to the exhaustion that still clung to you.

You chose the latter. Slowly, the recent events began to piece themselves together. It was a fragmented mosaic, but soon you realized you were lying on a couch. Not just any couch, but the one in Silco's office.

"That boy is ten minutes late." the deep, cutting voice filled the room—the kind of baritone that could command respect or instill fear with equal ease. It wasn't hard to identify the speaker: Silco. He sounded irritated, though his irritation was controlled, like a blade kept sheathed. "He'll wait another ten for his arrogance."

"He's going to hate that." another voice replied, this time feminine, yet deep and brimming with authority much like Silco's. The kind of voice that seemed to belong to someone accustomed to commanding presence without raising their tone. You recognized it immediately. It was her—the same woman who had handed you Kate's necklace.

"Let him throw a tantrum." the metallic creak of a chair shifting broke the silence, indicating someone—certainly Silco—had leaned back, adopting a deliberately relaxed posture. "These fools have the bad habit of forgetting who they're dealing with." there was a pause, followed by an audible sigh. "Such an unnecessary headache."

For a moment, you considered remaining still, listening to the conversation, pretending to still be asleep. But the pain in your throat became unbearable, forcing you to act. Slowly, trying not to draw attention, you attempted to sit up on the couch. The blanket—that's what had been covering you—slid slightly as you adjusted your body, but the movement, subtle as it was, didn't go unnoticed.

Two pairs of eyes fell upon you.

"Welcome back." Silco's voice hit you like a snap. It was provocative, laden with that familiarity that made your stomach churn. Your eyes met his, and the shrewd, controlling glint that always inhabited his gaze was more evident than ever. He looked pleased, almost as if he knew exactly what you were thinking and feeling at that moment.

He then shifted his attention to the sturdy woman standing still, unmoving like a statue. Her posture seemed that of someone used to following orders without question but not without an intimidating presence.

"Leave us." the command was clear, direct, his tone leaving little room for hesitation or questioning. It was so natural you could imagine she had been waiting for it. "I need to have a private conversation with my guest."

The woman—whose name still escaped you but who, now that you looked closer, didn't seem entirely unfamiliar—hesitated for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before complying. Her gaze lingered on you, carrying something between suspicion and curiosity, though you couldn't decide which was more prominent. With a final glance, she left the office, her footsteps echoing softly on the floor until they disappeared down the hall.

When the door closed, the room felt even more claustrophobic. Silco turned his attention back to you, his sharp eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher something. He tilted his head slightly, studying you before finally speaking.

"How are you feeling, dove?" his voice was a mix of calculated concern and veiled disdain. "I trust you've recovered from our little... incident."

You raised your eyebrows, a mixture of disbelief and irritation washing over your features. The word "incident" felt like a bad joke, a blatant attempt to downplay what had happened. Your voice came out rough, dry as sandpaper, as you confronted him.

"Incident? You bastard! You drugged me!"

Silco's face remained unreadable, a mask of unshakable calm, as though your accusation were nothing more than a leaf carried by the wind. Without saying a word, he reached for the glass decanter on his desk, pouring water into a tumbler with almost ceremonial precision. Then he stood and, without hurry, offered the glass to you, like someone extending an olive branch.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but thirst won out. You grabbed the glass from his hand and emptied it in large, desperate gulps, the water sliding down your throat with such immediate relief that it almost drew a sigh from you. Only when you finished did it occur to you that you hadn't even checked if there was something mixed into the liquid.

"I sedated you." Silco corrected, his tone calm and almost didactic, as if explaining something trivial. He refilled the glass with the same patience, setting it aside without pressuring you to take another. "To prevent you from doing something stupid. Something you'd regret."

The serenity with which he spoke was unsettling. Each word was meticulously measured, as if he controlled even the impact he intended to have on you. "And technically." he added, and you immediately knew you wouldn't like what came next, "You were the one who pulled the trigger that released the gas."

Your glare of disdain was more eloquent than any verbal response could have been. Your expression said it all: how much you detested the way he twisted the facts, transforming what was so obviously his fault into a wordplay that absolved him. But, as always, he seemed to simply ignore it.

"Satisfy my curiosity, dove." Silco leaned casually against the edge of his desk, legs slightly spread, arms resting in an unnervingly relaxed manner while his intense gaze seemed to pierce into the darkest corners of your soul. He positioned himself strategically, the difference in height between you two magnifying the aura of dominance he exuded. "What exactly was your plan? Come here, grab my own weapon, and put a bullet in my head? Or was there something more elaborate behind it?"

You swallowed hard but held his gaze. Silco knew you weren't stupid. He had always known. And that was exactly what made the tension between you so unbearable. He didn't underestimate you. Quite the opposite—he believed you were capable of far more than anyone else would ever imagine.

"You're no fool." he tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with that blend of fascination and menace that made him impossible to ignore. "You knew I'd have precautions. You wouldn't be the first to try killing me in my own office."

He pushed off the desk with predatory grace, approaching you with slow, almost dragging steps. The tension in his body was palpable, every muscle ready to react, but you knew he wasn't afraid. Not of you, not now. He seemed to feed off the nervous energy radiating from you, as if it sustained him.

"So, tell me..." he purred, his voice so low and rough it felt almost tangible, like velvet sliding across your skin. "What game are you playing?"

You lifted your chin, refusing to yield, even though the disparity of power between the two of you was glaring. The posture was symbolic, almost theatrical. He stood tall, looking down at you with the gaze of a judge about to hand down a sentence. You, seated, staring back from below, yet without a trace of submission in your eyes.

It was a stalemate—a power struggle in which the cards were visibly stacked in his favor.

If you had listened to reason, you would have submitted by now. Apologized, played the victim, begged for your life. After all, even if this had been a trap Silco orchestrated from the start, the fact that you had actually pulled the trigger against him was a crime that could easily seal your fate.

"Maybe..." you began, a dry, bitter laugh escaping your lips. You turned the now-empty glass of water between your fingers as if deliberating something far greater, then placed it on the table with a dull thud. "Maybe I just came here to appeal to whatever's left of your common sense." your words dripping with sarcasm, laced with a wild courage, almost suicidal. "To try and reach whatever humanity you might have left, if there's even any left at all."

Bowing your head to Silco had never been part of the plan. Submission wasn't who you were, and this constant battle for control, for power, was part of the game you played. The game that, in some twisted way, kept the two of you tethered. So, instead of accepting the vulnerable position he seemed intent on placing you in, you decided to flip the board.

You rose from the couch, your legs as steady as steel, and faced him directly. Your eyes met, and the distance between your bodies was minimal—far too close for what should have been a casual conversation. But Silco, of course, didn't believe in personal space. And if he could ignore that convention, so could you.

"You're right." your voice was light, though the weight in your tone was unmistakable. "Trying to kill you like that wasn't the plan, but the opportunity was there, and I couldn't let it slip by. I would've done Zaun a favor if I'd succeeded."

The words were spat with a caustic pride. There was no fear in them, and certainly no regret. In your eyes, Silco's death wasn't just a desire—it was a necessity, a moral duty. If Zaun was poisoned now, it was his doing. If you felt so intoxicated by him that it bordered on hatred laced with desire, that was his fault too. Everything was his fault. He was the cause and the consequence, the poison and the unattainable cure.

Your fingers slowly rose to the fabric of his suit, the texture familiar—a bitter, sweet memory all at once. It was the same gesture you'd made the night you first met, and just like then, he didn't move to stop you. He allowed you to touch him, as if the vulnerability it implied wasn't a problem. Perhaps, just as he unraveled your rationality, you unraveled his. Perhaps you were each other's weak spot, exploiting that frailty in a selfish, destructive game.

"But since we're talking about games." your voice taking on a provocative tone. "Shall we talk about yours as well?" your gaze slid over his body, lingering at his hip, where you confirmed what you had already suspected: the holster was empty. Clever bastard. "I know how ruthless you are." you said, an almost casual note in your words, though the tension in the air was palpable. "You've eliminated everyone who stood in your way, everyone who dared challenge you. Every single one who raised a hand against you is now dead."

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. The scene might have been mistaken for a romantic gesture, were it not for the heavy atmosphere, laden with ambiguous intentions. Your proximity was suffocating, both for him and for you, yet neither of you pulled away.

"But I'm still here." your smile was almost childlike, innocent, but your eyes burned with something entirely opposite. "I've challenged you so many times... slapped you, shot at your head..." your voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. "You know how much I want to hurt you. How much I want to kill you."

A pause, tense and deliberate.

"And yet, here I am. Alive!"

You felt Silco's arms wrap around your waist, his hands pressing firmly against your back, keeping you close. The way he made a point of leaving no space between you was almost suffocating. His possessiveness in that touch was unmistakable, as if he were staking his claim, but his face—oh, his face. The severity etched into his features betrayed more than just control. His narrowed eyes and tense jaw reflected two conflicting emotions: irritation and desire.

Silco was not a man who dealt well with direct confrontations, especially when challenged. Yet, he remained silent, as though intrigued by where your words and actions were leading him. You could almost hear his thoughts, trying to decipher your moves while his patience slowly frayed.

"You said I make you feel alive, didn't you?" 

Slowly, you began to push him back, your bodies still pressed together, but the movement was unmistakable. One step, then another, until he was backed up against the edge of the desk. Your gaze darted around, scanning the objects within reach. Anything would do, as long as it was useful. Your eyes settled on a small dagger, resting atop a stack of freshly opened letters. That would be enough.

"Does the idea of my hatred excite you enough to make you not want to kill me?" the question was laced with disdain, an implicit challenge, as your hand moved slowly toward the desk, your fingers inching closer to the dagger's hilt.

Silco didn't respond immediately, but there was something in his expression—a glint in his eyes, a slight curl at the corner of his lips—that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. And yet, he seemed to be enjoying it, accepting the challenge.

"Your hatred?" he mocked, his voice low, almost a growl. "I'd rather the thought of breaking you."

"Good to know." you leaned into him, reducing the already minimal space between your faces. It seemed like a gesture of surrender, as if you were about to give in, to initiate a kiss. But as your lips drew closer, your fingers finally brushed the dagger's hilt.

It was quick. Too quick. Before you could raise the weapon, Silco's hand shot out, gripping your wrist with an ironclad hold, crushing any hope of movement. He barely had to try. With a single, fluid motion, he reversed the situation entirely, pinning you against the desk. Your back collided with the wood in a thud that echoed in your ears. The dagger slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor.

His grip on your wrists was unrelenting, pinning them above your head as his weight bore down, keeping you entirely immobilized.

"Tsk, tsk." the sound of his tongue clicking carried an almost casual disdain, but his eyes betrayed him—there was something more there, a spark of amusement. He seemed to relish the mistake you'd made, as if waiting for you to misstep in exactly this way. Yet, there was a tilt of his head, a faint gesture of acknowledgment, as if he recognized something in you. "So predictable, dove. You'll have to do better than that if you want to catch me off guard."

You thrashed against his grip, your body twisting with enough force to wreak small havoc on the pristine desk. Papers slid to the floor with a muffled rustle, others crumpled beneath you, and carefully arranged objects toppled into minor chaos. It was a ridiculous, rebellious spectacle, but at its core, it was necessary. You were the disorder Silco seemed so intent on containing—the point of chaos in his calculated control.

And even though rationality screamed that another attack was practically impossible, there was something vital in showing Silco that you wouldn't give in so easily. Not without a fight.

"Now." he began, his voice tinged with a mock deliberation as he tilted his head to look directly into your eyes. "What should I do with you?" his fingers tightened around your wrists—not enough to hurt, but firmly enough to remind you who was in control in that moment. "Punish you for your insolence? Or reward you for your... enthusiasm?"

Your body was on fire. The rage burned under your skin like embers, but it was accompanied by another sensation—one you knew well enough to feel a flicker of embarrassment.

"Give me your worst." you snapped, your voice cutting through the air, a mix of anger and something that sounded almost like... anticipation. It was the heat from before, the way Silco's touch, even in restraint, left marks that went beyond the physical. Your body, damned and contradictory, reacted to the stimulus in ways your mind refused to condone.

Silco noticed. Of course he noticed. His smile widened, curving into something not just triumphant but dangerous. "You don't know what you're asking for." his voice low and gravelly as he tightened his grip on your wrists. The pressure wasn't painful but evoked a strange sense of anticipation.

"I'm not asking." you met his gaze, chin tilted upward in defiance. "I'm demanding, Silco."

The words came out sharp, like razors, and you knew what you were doing. It was like pulling the trigger of a gun without knowing where the bullet would land. You saw the change in him immediately. His breath hitched—barely perceptible, but you were close enough to catch it. His eyes narrowed, not in anger but in focus. He was searching for something in you—lies, hesitation, any crack in your armor that would reveal you were bluffing.

But he found nothing but resolve.

You both remained there, suspended in a limbo where the air felt electrified, so dense it was almost impossible to breathe. The tension was tangible, nearly solid, like metal on the brink of being forged under intense heat. You could feel the smell of gunpowder before the inevitable explosion, but just as the moment threatened to erupt, a sound shattered the silence.

A knock on the door.

"Ten minutes, boss."

That same female voice cut through the charged atmosphere, interrupting what felt like an inevitable escalation between you and Silco. His gaze, once locked on you with an almost primal hunger, shifted, overtaken by frustration. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling heavily—a sigh that carried more than annoyance. There was a hint of resignation in it.

"Damn it." Finally, he released your wrists, stepping back just enough to grant you the space you had longed for—though now it felt strange, uncomfortable. Silco ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair back in a mechanical gesture, one you'd seen him do whenever he needed to collect himself. The desire that had overflowed mere seconds ago was pushed down, though you could swear it still lingered in the air like an invisible presence.

"Of all the goddamn timing..." he murmured under his breath, adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to reclaim the composure he held so dear.

You, in turn, rose slowly from the table, feeling the tension in your muscles. Your fingers instinctively moved to your wrists, massaging them. There wouldn't be any marks—you were sure of that—but the phantom of his grip still burned there, hot and real as if his fingers were still on your skin.

"We'll continue this later." his voice now colder as he adjusted the collar of his suit and smoothed out his clothes. The attempt to return to his usual image of impeccable authority was almost laughable, especially after what had just happened. He sat in his chair, picking up the crumpled papers and organizing them with quick fingers, but you could tell he was still irritated.

Then he looked up at you, his expression carrying a clear warning. "You're staying."

The way he said it made your whole body tense. You turned your neck so quickly to face him that you heard the crack of your joints, an uncomfortable sound that echoed through the room. "Staying?" you repeated, as if he had just suggested something absurdly foolish. "Not a chance. One chemical baron is enough. Two is too much."

Silco let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if to ward off an impending headache. His patience was clearly wearing thin. Maybe it was the meeting that bothered him, maybe it was you, or—more likely—a combination of both. His eyes narrowed as he straightened his shoulders, reclaiming the unyielding posture that seemed so natural to him.

"You. Will. Stay." the words were spoken slowly and, each one landing like an inarguable sentence. The firmness in his voice made your shoulders stiffen, an involuntary reflex in the face of the authority that radiated from every syllable. "I'm not asking, dove. I'm ordering."

The irony of the moment wasn't lost on you, and his choice of words was a clear provocation—an intentional twist of the very words you had used to confront him earlier. Before you could retort, Silco gestured toward the sofa with a sharp wave of his hand, a silent but impossible-to-ignore command.

"Sit. Behave. And for fuck's sake, try not to stab anyone else."

The sarcasm in the last sentence was almost tangible, but his tone left no room for argument. Silco wasn't in the mood to negotiate. Not now, not when he already had so much—and now you—to keep under control. The tension in the air lingered, but you knew pushing the issue now would be pointless. You rolled your eyes but reluctantly obeyed.

"Good girl." his voice dripping with mockery. "Perhaps I'll give you a reward later."

You bit your tongue to avoid a biting retort, but the phrase kept reverberating in your mind, especially those damned words—good girl.

The door then opened.

The man who entered did so as if he owned the place. Confidence was evident in his stride and posture, but what really caught your attention was his appearance. He was young, with a face that, if you were honest, was attractive—but not to you. Your tastes leaned more toward the man on the other side of the room.

He was remarkable, though. The golden prosthetic jaw gleamed under the light, almost as if designed to demand attention. A vibrant yellow jacket draped over his shoulders in a way that screamed status and vanity. His skin was nearly a living canvas, adorned with black tattoos.

"Silco." he greeted the man with a cheerfulness that seemed superficial but still carried a touch of cordiality.

"Finn."

Silco gestured to the chair in front of his desk, indicating that Finn should sit. He did so, adjusting his coat as he settled in. Meanwhile, Silco leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes burned with that cold, calculated intensity you knew so well.

"I've heard there's been some... chatter," Silco began, his voice low but steeped in professionalism. "About my recent actions. My decision to sponsor a certain protégé."

"Yes, well." Finn chose his words carefully. "It's... unorthodox, to say the least. Sponsoring a prostitute? Not exactly the kind of image we want to project, is it?"

His gaze was sharp, as if trying to gauge Silco's reaction as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together. "The other barons are concerned this could reflect poorly on all of us. That it might undermine our credibility, our authority."

He paused.

"And then there's the matter of your... personal involvement. We all know what happened with Jinx. The last thing we need is another scandal, another distraction. Especially now, with the situation in the Undercity so volatile."

Jinx. The name echoed in your mind, and you couldn't help but think of a certain someone whenever you heard it. But the question was: Was it the same person? If that was even possible...

Finn opened his hands in a theatrical gesture of appeasement, trying to appear conciliatory. "I'm not saying you can't do what you want, Silco. But perhaps... perhaps it would be wise to distance yourself. To make it clear this is strictly business and nothing more."

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with tension. Even without looking at Silco, you could feel the irritation radiating from him, though his expression remained impeccably neutral. It was clear that Finn was walking on thin ice.

You weren't particularly pleased either. The presence of two barons in a confined space wasn't exactly comfortable, but hearing the way Finn referred to you, as if you were nothing more than an object, was particularly unbearable. Truthfully, you had the impression Finn hadn't even noticed your presence in the room.

"My personal life is my business." Silco finally broke the silence, his voice low and laden with authority. "It doesn't concern you or any other baron."

"I have certain doubts about that statement."

You watched Finn as he repeatedly flicked open and closed the golden lighter he held between his fingers. The metallic sound echoed irritatingly, punctuating the loaded silence. The young man didn't look the least bit satisfied with Silco's response. His eyes gleamed with discontent, though he maintained a forced facade of calm.

You had seen this kind of dynamic before, especially at the brothel, where men with inflated egos competed for control. Both wanted to dominate the situation, and neither seemed inclined to back down. It was a dangerous game, but you'd always had a tendency to get involved in things you shouldn't. Against all logic—and perhaps your instinct for self-preservation—you decided to add fuel to the fire.

Reaching for one of the cigars casually tossed on the table along with the lighter, you stood up from the sofa, your steps light enough not to draw immediate attention. Finn seemed so absorbed in his irritation that he didn't even notice your approach. But Silco... oh, Silco noticed. Of course, he did. He didn't say a word, merely tilted his head slightly, his expression indifferent. But you could see it in his eyes—he was wondering what on earth you were up to.

Holding the cigar between your fingers, you offered it to Silco with an air of nonchalance as you stood beside him. He didn't hesitate. He took the cigar in one smooth motion and brought it to his lips. When he leaned slightly forward for you to light it, your breath almost synchronized with his. And then, you decided it still wasn't enough.

With a small pivot, you turned Silco's chair slightly toward you, and before he could react—not that he needed to, because you knew he would allow it—you settled yourself in his lap.

Silco simply adjusted, shifting his posture so you fit perfectly in his space. One hand rested on your waist, the grip firm but not intrusive, while he held the cigar in the other. His expression remained unchanged, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

The same, however, couldn't be said for Finn.

The young man's eyes finally noticed your presence. And not just that—they scanned every detail of you, from the tone of your skin to your smallest gestures. His face was a mixture of confusion and barely disguised indignation. It was obvious he hadn't expected there to be a third person in the room, much less someone who displayed such familiarity with Silco.

"The situation in the undercity is precarious, I'll grant you that," Silco resumed, completely ignoring the look Finn cast at the two of you and the earlier tension. His voice was as steady and controlled as ever. "But that is all the more reason for us to remain united, to present a strong front to the Topsiders. And now, the last thing we need is petty doubts over personal matters."

Silco paused to take a long drag from his cigar, letting the smoke escape his lips with almost cruel slowness.

"So here's what's going to happen, Finn. You're going to go back and politely inform the others that everything is under control. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Finn replied, with a smile that was a disconcerting mix of amusement and insolence. He seemed genuinely entertained by the dynamic between the two of you, as if watching a particularly intriguing play unfold. "Well, I must say, I can see your point now, Silco. Excellent choice... I have to admit, I'm a bit annoyed I didn't come across her first."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. If the room had been tense before, now it felt as if all the air had been sucked out entirely. It was almost like watching someone willingly step off a cliff. You weren't sure if Finn was suicidal, stupid, or simply incapable of reading the room. Because saying something like that, so openly, in front of Silco... well, that was the very definition of digging your own grave.

"I'd advise you to choose your words more carefully." Silco's response came quickly, but it was dangerous. "My tolerance for nonsense is running thin."

Finn, however, didn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Or perhaps he did and simply didn't care. He laughed. "Don't take it personally. I'm merely complimenting your excellent taste. It's no sin to admire a fine new acquisition."

Finn's eyes slid over you again, this time even more blatantly. It was the kind of look that made your skin crawl, but not in a good way. The difference between Finn and Silco was stark—while Silco's gaze was warm yet never intrusive, Finn's was filthy. As if he was deliberately trying to reduce you to nothing more than a sexual object.

Whatever was holding back Silco's patience was on the verge of snapping.

Without thinking too much—actually, without thinking at all—you acted. Your hands slid downward, moving so casually that it seemed like an innocent gesture. But you knew exactly what you were doing. And, by the way Silco immediately tensed, he knew too. At first, it was just a light touch, almost experimental, but enough to elicit a reaction from him. He couldn't completely hide the rigidity that took over his body.

You rested your head on his shoulder, assuming an almost relaxed posture. Pretending to pay attention to the conversation, you let your fingers trace down his side, caressing him over the fabric.

The table between you and Finn was high enough to conceal what you were doing. From Finn's perspective, you were simply lounging in Silco's lap, like an ornament adorning the baron's throne. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silco tense even more. Not just physically—his entire body seemed on high alert. The way he adjusted his posture was subtle but unmistakable.

Your intentions with that move were... multifaceted. You wanted to distract Silco from his growing desire to do something that would end in yet another corpse; you wanted to alleviate some of the crushing tension in the room; but most of all, you wanted revenge. It didn't matter if it was for the gas he'd used against you or for Kate's death—something inside you craved a small victory.

And, frankly, what could be more satisfying than turning the tables on Silco in the middle of an important meeting?

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

He should have known that the woman was up to something when she disobeyed him like that. A part of his mind really thought that she would behave herself for once, especially in the presence of another baron since she seemed quite furious when he ordered her to stay. Maybe that was karma punishing him in the form of the woman who tormented him so much.

He could have stopped her. Stopped what that wicked mind of hers was about to do, but still he didn't. He allowed it, and God he wondered why.

Silco's breath hitched in his throat as her fingers brushed against his crotch, her touch light and teasing but unmistakably deliberate. He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. He could feel himself growing hard, could feel the blood rushing to his groin, his cock twitching and straining against the confines of his trousers.

But he didn't react, didn't move, didn't give any outward sign of his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on Finn's face, his expression cool and impassive, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Inside, though, he was seething. Fury and lust warred within him, a potent cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to grab her, to throw her down on the desk and fuck her until she screamed. He wanted to wipe that smug, knowing smile off her face, to make her beg for mercy. That damn woman.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to regain control as he took another drag of his cigar. "Now that we've gotten this personal issue out of the way, I think we can talk business. The Chemtanks are ready for testing?"

He forced himself to focus on the conversation, on Finn's words. The other baron was talking about something; answering his question, but Silco couldn't quite concentrate on the specifics. All he could think about was the feel of her fingers on his cock, the subtle pressure and friction that sent sparks of pleasure racing up his spine.

"Yes, everything is in order," Finn replied, his tone carefully neutral. "We should be able to start the tests by the end of the week."

He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to adjust himself, to find some relief from the growing ache in his groin. But her hand followed him, her touch unerringly accurate, her fingers tracing the outline of his shaft through the fabric of his pants.

"And what about the vaporization systems? They changed it to be towards the helmet instead of into the bloodstream"

Silco's heart pounded in his chest as her nimble fingers worked at his zipper, the sound of the metal teeth sliding apart obscenely loud in his ears. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, his palms slick with sweat. He could feel the heat of her breath on his neck.

"Renni is taking care of that part, but she is confident that we'll have a working prototype within the month. And with your approval, we can begin mass production shortly thereafter."

He could feel her fingers wrapping around his cock, her touch sure and skilled. She stroked him slowly, teasingly, her palm gliding over the sensitive skin of his shaft. "Good." it was unclear whether he had said that to Finn or to her. "But we'll need to increase production of shimmer." Finn was saying, his voice starting to get distant and muffled, as if he were speaking from the bottom of a well. "If we want to keep up with demand, we'll need to double our output, maybe even triple it."

"Agreed. Sevika can..." he paused, his breath catching in his throat as her thumb brushed across the sensitive head of his cock. He could feel the pleasure sparking through him. "Sevika can handle that part. I'll ask her to recruit more workers."

Her hand moved faster, her grip tightening around his cock, her strokes becoming more purposeful, more demanding. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, could feel the familiar tightening in his gut, the ache in his core.

"Is everything alright, Silco? You seem... distracted."

"I'm fine."

No, he wasn't.

Silco's breath came shorter, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale. He could feel the pressure building in his groin, the tightening coil of pleasure that wound its way up his spine. His cock throbbed in her hand, the wetness of his pre-cum easing the way, allowing her fingers to slide effortlessly along his shaft.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain his composure. But it was getting harder, the pleasure overwhelming his senses, clouding his thoughts. He could feel his hips moving, could feel himself thrusting involuntarily into her touch, seeking more friction, more stimulation. Just a little more… Then, just as it came suddenly her hands slid out.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Silco felt the sting of having control wrested from his grasp—a sensation he was far more accustomed to delivering than receiving. The experience of being denied his climax, especially in such an unanticipated manner, reverberated through him, setting his nerves alight with a volatile mixture of frustration and smoldering irritation.

Of all the things that woman could have done, this was not one he had foreseen. Not in the slightest.

With a sharp inhale, he reached for the cigar balanced between his fingers, now nearly burnt to its stub. His anger found an outlet in the force he applied as he stubbed it out against the ashtray, grinding the glowing ember with such aggression that sparks flew into the surrounding air. The scent of burnt tobacco mixed with the acrid sharpness of his rising temper. Damn her.

"Anything else, Finn?" it was a question in name only—a rhetorical barb meant to dismiss rather than invite further conversation.

Finn hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before responding. "No. That's all for now. I'll have my people send over the updated schematics for the Chemtank prototypes."

Finn lingered for a moment too long, as though weighing whether to add anything further, but Silco's unyielding stare settled the matter. The younger man rose from his seat and made his exit, the faint scrape of the chair against the floor marking his departure.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Silco leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a moment to exhale through his nose, slow and measured. His hand drifted to his temple, fingers pressing lightly against the scarred skin as if to quell the tension building there.

Silco's eyes narrowed as he watched her slip from his grasp, her smug smile a taunting reminder of his own vulnerability. The audacity of the woman, to toy with him so brazenly, to push him to the precipice of release only to deny him the satisfaction of climax. It was infuriating, maddening... and oddly enticing.

Her voice had been laced with an infuriatingly sweet sarcasm that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. "You look frustrated."

He reached down to adjust himself, his mechanical movements as he tucked away his still-hard cock. The action did little to alleviate the ache of denial that pulsed through him, but it served to restore a modicum of decorum.

"Frustrated?" he repeated aloud, his voice low, smooth, and dangerous — a razor-thin veneer of calm. "You could say that."

His hands came up once more to rub at his temples, as though the motion might stave off the inevitable migraine brewing behind his eyes. He didn't want to argue with her. Not now. Not again. He lacked the energy—or, frankly, the will—to engage in one of their maddening back-and-forths.

"What were you thinking?" he drawled, his tone a silken purr that concealed the steel thread beneath it. The warning was clear, though wrapped in deceptive softness. "Teasing me like that, in front of Finn, of all people. Do you have any idea what could have happened if he'd caught on?"

She didn't seem the least bit concerned.

Instead, she moved around the room with the casual curiosity of someone utterly unbothered, the faint sway of her hips deliberate — or was he imagining that, too? Either way, it irked him. No, it infuriated him. His eyes tracked her every movement as she circled the table, fingers brushing against objects with absent-minded interest. She was far too comfortable, far too bold, as if oblivious to the storm she'd stirred in him.

"Nothing?" her tone was almost mocking, far too calm for his liking. "What would he do? You're the Eye of Zaun. You could order anyone dead, another baron even, and no one would stop you. Hell, you could have fucked me in front of him, and Finn wouldn't have done a damn thing."

She turned slightly, just enough for him to catch the faintest glint of mischief in her eyes as she asked. "Tell me if I'm wrong?"

"Things are never as simple as they seem, dove. It's not about what I could do. Any fool with a gun can make an example of someone. It's about keeping up appearances."

She wasn't wrong, per se. His position afforded him certain luxuries, certain freedoms. Those who dared to cross him rarely lived to regret it. Fear was an effective tool, and he wielded it as masterfully as a craftsman handles their blade. But ruling Zaun wasn't just about fear. It wasn't even about power. It was about control.

"Finn," Silco continued, his lips curling into a faint sneer. "May not have the power to challenge me directly. Not yet. But power in the Undercity isn't always about strength. A single misstep on my part, one poorly chosen action or a rumor twisted out of context and I could find myself surrounded by wolves. The other barons would pounce at the first sign of weakness, tearing this city apart in their greed to claim what I've built."

Silco's sharp gaze followed hers, narrowing slightly as he noted the peculiar way her eyes lingered on the ashtray. The mundanity of it all didn't match the focus she gave it. Unease prickled at the edges of his mind — instincts honed by years of treachery and survival whispering that something was amiss.

"Power is a delicate thing." he began, his voice low, methodical, as though he were delivering some carefully honed lecture. "To wield it effectively, one must be shrewd. Brute force alone will only get you so far before the weight of your own arrogance collapses around you. Perception..." he drawled, emphasizing the word, "Is the key. You must understand how others see you, why they see you that way. And then you twist that perception to suit your needs."

He straightened, his lithe form unfolding as he rose from the chair. With unhurried steps, he moved around the table. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence, the subtle heat of him at her back. He placed his hands on her hips, a gesture that was both possessive and unyielding, his grip firm without being bruising.

He wasn't sure why he was telling her this, sharing fragments of the philosophy that had carved him into the man he was now. Perhaps it was arrogance, a desire to make her understand the weight of his world — of his choices. Or perhaps it was something far more insidious: the compulsion to see her molded into something sharper, something dangerous.

He waited for her retort, some sharp-edged barb or sarcastic deflection — but none came. She remained quiet, almost too quiet, her body unnaturally still beneath his touch. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on the ashtray, as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the room.

And that — her strange fixation — gnawed at him.

"And what, pray tell, is so fascinating about my ashtray?"

"Children's scribbles," she remarked, her tone devoid of her usual sarcasm, which only made the statement more unnerving. It wasn't a jab, not a provocation—just an observation. Her eyes lingered on the ashtray, tracing the faint, uneven lines etched across its surface. Lines that, to her credit, most wouldn't have noticed. "Who's Jinx? Your daughter?"

If looks could kill… Silco would have killed her right then.

"She's not someone you need to concern yourself with." his tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable, a predator's growl beneath a diplomat's poise. "Do I make myself clear?"

"So she really is your daughter." her voice carried a subtle lilt of satisfaction, as if she'd confirmed some unspoken theory. He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling—he could hear it in the faint inflection of her tone.

The silence was... unsettling. He'd grown accustomed to her sharp tongue, her acerbic provocations. They had become a twisted rhythm between them, a game of verbal knives that he had learned to parry and, on occasion, savor. But now, her silence was a void, one he couldn't read, and it gnawed at him in a way few things dared.

She was lost in her own thoughts — that much was clear. Yet what she was thinking remained maddeningly out of reach, and Silco's patience was wearing thin. The flicker of distrust in his chest grew stronger.

Jinx wasn't a topic he discussed lightly, much less with her. The subject was volatile, fragile — a fracture point he refused to expose. And yet, he couldn't shake the suspicion that the wheels in her mind were turning dangerously close to that particular edge.

"Working in a brothel teaches you a lot of things." she began, her voice slicing through the charged silence. Her tone was calm, even resolute, but there was an unmistakable allure in the way her words rolled off her tongue — calculated, as always. "One of them is that everything has a price. That anyone can be persuaded to see things your way, given the right terms."

Silco inclined his head slightly, intrigued but cautious. He let her continue, sensing the trap she was laying but curious to see how she planned to spring it. "You should know better than anyone, Silco."

"Is there a point to this, dove?"

She met his gaze then, her eyes sharp and unflinching. For a brief moment, neither spoke, the air between them crackling with tension.

"You wanted to renegotiate the terms of our... relationship." she said at last, her voice softer now but no less resolute. She let the words hang in the air, weighted. A faint smile ghosting her lips. "I'm open to negotiations now."

Silco's brows arched ever so slightly, his surprise masked by the practiced neutrality of his expression. The day had already veered wildly off course, oscillating between chaos and control at an alarming speed — all thanks to her. Now, this? He had expected resistance, perhaps even defiance. He had anticipated having to employ more persuasive methods to ensure she stayed within reach. But now? What an unexpected turn of events. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Part 6 PS: I don't think I'll be able to post an update before Christmas, so happy holidays and a Merry Christmas everyone! ↓ ┊ TAG LIST ┊ ↓ (No need to open. Adding people to the list will probably end in some future updates as it is getting too big, so take advantage now to ask to be added. If you want to continue receiving updates consider following me.)

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[tan1shere]

Freaky Deaky

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: I got this idea when this song popped up on my Spotify the other day. I hadn't listened to it in soooo long but omg this idea SPRUNG into my brain - this is inspired a bit by the music video so if you haven't seen it go watch it !!! And lastly enjoy 🥰

Summary: she wasn't use to this from you. But on valentines day, you decide to let that side of you show.

Warnings: smut ! Daddy kink yall 😋 reader is super girly, and many more kinky surprises 😈

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @brat-at-the-disco @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu

Masterlist

"I've been feeling freaky deaky."

"You're on your way to see me."

14th of February. The day of love. Some is passionate, sweet, loving. And some is freaky, which is what tonight was for the both of you. You only got the courage to do this when she asked you to be her valentine. The usual flowers, chocolates and a sign. But, there was a small bag. You look inside to be faced with some lingerie. It was pink. Your favorite color. Not just any pink, a hot pink. The sexy kind of pink. It impelled you to be a bit more confident and open with her. You've had sex, sure. Countless times. But you haven't been dating for long, so ofcourse there were kinks and fantasies neither of you knew about. That changes, tonight.

You had been laying on your bed, the pink fluffy sheets felt great on your skin. You were about to get up and get ready for your night with Billie when you get a text from her.

Bills💗

- "I'll be there in 25 baby."

- "Awesome can't wait ;)☺"

- "Me too mama.😈💋"

A smile spreads across your face, rolling over on your bed with a giggle. You adored the way she made you feel, forever giggly. You never really showed that side of yourself from past experiences but she brings a comfort, a safeness no one in your life has ever brought for you before. So, you can be your true selfaround her. You go to your vanity picking out the right makeup, moving onto your hair. You put it up in a cute messy but styled bun. "Cute." You say softly to yourself, messing with a few strands on the sides. Getting up and heading to your closet to pick out this satin pink robe, putting that over the lingerie Billie had gotten you.

The pink lace hugged your body just right, and she was very excited to see you in it. It'd be a lie if she said she wasn't dreaming of how you'd look in it. Shes finally getting to live that dream, and many more. You spray some nice smelling purfume on from Victoria secret, sealing the whole look. Feeling amazing. You hear a knock on the door going to open it, looking at her with a grin. Her eyes wander, going over your tits, sitting pretty in that bra. So perfectly. Your waist, hips. The see-through satin robe hid hardly anything. So she was looking. Loud and proud.

You invite her in, letting your hips sway as you go over to your bed. "The lingerie fits nicely, thank you for getting it for me." You say to her sweetly. So sweetly infact you hear her gulp. "It fits you very. Well." She joins you on the bed. "I got you a little something. Two little somethings." Her head shakes. "I told you I'm fine baby it's ok, I don't need anything." You move to grab it. "Too late. Open open!" You say handing her the pretty bag it comes in. She peeks inside seeing a strap and dildo both pink to match with everything. She looks at you, but you nod your head for her to look at the other thing.

It was these two chunky rings she had been after, you just had to get them for her. "Mama." She says looking at you. "Those were incredibly expensive, I would've gotten them." You just shake your head. "You've been so good to me I really wanted to return the favor." Your eyes were soft and genuine. "God I'm gunna fucking ravish you tonight." She growls, not standing anymore of the distance between the two of you. Her hands reach out, grabbing your face and kissing you with such lust. She slowly pushes you back on the bed hovering over you.

Her hands fiddle with the silky strings on your robe, getting it to come undone and take it off. You go to take the rest off but she stops you. One of her fantasies was to fuck you while you had something sexy like this on. She was adamant on fulfilling that. "Keep it on.." She trails off as if she wasn't done with her sentence. Her hand moves to the bottom of your underwear, snapping back a part near the crotch. You gasp as cool air hits you, biting your lip. You had no idea it had an opening. Your eyes look to her, she's just smirking. "I have things all planned baby, don't you worry." You blush, not that it was noticeable with the amount you dabbed on.

She reaches for the strap, the band being sparkly and pink, the dido being a lighter shade of that. She takes her shirt and pants off, grabbing the harness and then attaching it to herself. You watch Intently, deeply intrigued as she always just had it on whenever the two of you fucked. She notices this, slowing her movements. Almost as if she was giving you a little show. She lines up, observing how noticeably wet you were. Just for her, because of her. She was proud. Her fingers touch the skin of your pussy. Feeling the wetness. She gathers some, bringing it away and straight to her mouth. She moans at the taste, making your breath hitch.

The tip prods at your entrance, causing light moans to fill the room, whimpers. She soaks it up, repeats it in her own brain at how beautiful you sounded. She slowly sinks into you, nearly bottoming out but you grab her bicep. She kisses your head, letting you know she's right there. "Good girl, you got it." Her kisses move to your cheek. "Pretty girl, so good for me." The praise was going straight to your head. Causing your eyes to shut as the pleasure builds up. She begins to move slowly. But even at that pace it provoked your eyes to roll back, biting your candy pink lip once again. Her kisses move down to your neck, sucking hard. Marking you up. Her hands rest beside your head as she speeds up.

You move your head, opening your eyes and looking up in the mirror. Her back muscles flexing. Making your head spin as she hits the perfect spots.

Got the mirror on the ceiling...

You're in the mood to please me...

"Going to break your back." She snarls into your neck, far deep into her lust. Adoring how you'd arch into her thrusts. You moan into her ear. "P-please." She chuckles. "You want that? Want me to break your back?" You didn't even know this yet as she hadn't told you but it slips out past your lips. "Yes daddy, fuck!" Her eyes grow darker, needing to make sure she heard you correctly. "Say that again?" Then you panic, did she not like it? "I- uhm-" Her gentle hand makes contact with your jaw. "What'd you call me?" Her hips snap harshly, making your eyes yet again roll back. "Daddy!" You moan, loudly. "Fuck." She breathes. That was the thing she'd touch herself thinking about. And to actually hear it.

From the rightful source made her want to cum right then and there. "You drive me insane baby." Her tongue runs along your neck, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver

I get so infatuated and erotic with you.

Her thrusts become relentless making it impossible for you to hold on. "Mmm, please. I'm so close." She doesn't falter. "Yeah? Go on then, want a reminder of tonight. Never going to wash this one. Wanna keep it locked away for safe keeping." She was truly feral for you and it sent you off the rails. "Bills fuck!" You screech as you cum hard all over her, feeling your legs shake. Just from seeing that, hearing and feeling everything. It makes her close. The fact she could make you feel such pleasure makes her feel powerful. Wanting to protect you. She grunts feeling the base hit her perfectly. "Fuck you have no idea what you do to me."

She says, listening carefully to your moans. And within seconds she's now cumming, it leaking out, slightly onto you aswel. Your breaths were heavy together, calming down from such an intense round of pleasure.

Abd that was just the first of many. Many rounds that night.

[ahqkas]

“WHEN YOU’RE LOST IN THE DARKNESS, LOOK FOR THE LIGHT — dick grayson.

PAIRING dick grayson 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS he was completely frustrating. him with his cheeky grins and perfect teeth. maybe that’s why it didn’t anger you when he took an interest in you WORD COUNT 5.6k WARNINGS / TAGS artist!reader, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, unedited NOTES yes the title is inspired by tlou & yes i compared dick to a blue jay. i decided to mix 2 different reqs ( req 1 & req 2 ) because they worked well together for me soo i hope it’s okay! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IN ART, WHAT WE WANT IS THE CERTAINTY THAT ONE SPARK OF ORIGINAL GENIUS SHALL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED.

Said Mary Cassatt, and her words had echoed in your mind for as long as you could remember. There was something comforting in the idea that creativity—pure, untouched, and entirely your own—could endure even such cruel punishment as darkness. Darkness was a language you understood well, especially living in Gotham, where shadows devoured the city inch by inch until there was nothing but colorless void. The darkness wrapped itself around you, slowly seeping in to claim your soul as well, like the chill of a cold winter night creeping into your bones.

But even in a city this unfair, you believed there was still some beacon of light. Hidden, of course, but not extinct.

And so, you painted. You drew. You created. Every stroke of your brush and pencil felt infinite. Art was the closest thing you felt to immortality, and you clung to that belief like a child did to innocence.

Your small apartment was more than just a simple place where you lived. Every inch of the space bore a trace of you and of your determination to carve something special into the world. The walls, once peeling and beige, were now alive with color. A breath of life you granted the old home. It wasn’t much, your apartment, but it was yours.

The darkness couldn’t quite reach you there, and the light found you within your search for it.

It was late past midnight when you met him. The hour of the night was silent despite the fact you were living on one of the most dangerous streets of Gotham. Silent, but far from safe. The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce through the dark clouds that blanketed the whole night. Every so often, the moonlight would break free and shimmered a silver beam that barely softened the shadows.

You sat curled up on your old, beaten couch in your living room, aching legs tucked beneath you. The thrifted mustard-yellow couch sat beneath a gallery wall you’d arranged with so much focus you were unmistakably proud of the piece. The light from the fairy lights strung above the paintings softened the sharp edges of your apartment.

The pencil between your fingers moved along the paper with practiced movements of an artist as you clutched the sketchbook close to you with your free hand. You brought the drawing of a blue jay to life. Its small, delicate body was perched on the middle of the page, its head tilted slightly to the side as if caught mid-movement. The blue jay’s wings began to take a lively form beneath your hands.

You loved sketching birds—the way they had an open opinion of freedom in their feathers, how they could fly away from the weight of everything below on earth.

The quiet was broken by a dull thump.

Your pencil stilled, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate beak of the blue jay as you tilted your head towards the sound. It came again, heavier this time, right outside on the fire escape under your living room window. Living in Gotham meant you knew better than to ignore suspicious and strange sounds, especially at this hour.

Setting the sketchbook down on the coffee table, you slid off the couch with a pounding heart and bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The window was already cracked open, letting in a cold breeze of night air. It prickled at your skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You moved with an intention to investigate, your hand gripping the window frame when you leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Before you could fully stick your head through the opening, something shifted — a flash of movement so sudden that you instinctively took a step back to avoid bumping your head. Then, just as quickly, a figure shot up from the darkness surrounding your fire escape and you watched as his top half leaned against the window frame with effortless grace.

Anyone could recognize the symbol gracing his chest.

Nightwing was on your fire escape, practically with one of his halves in your apartment.

You blinked at him, startled at the unexpected visit from Gotham's (wait, wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?) acrobatic vigilante. He stared back without shame. His face was partially illuminated by the soft glow of your fairy lights and his forehead, plus the top of his eyes, were hidden beneath the dark strands of his hair. Damp with sweat and light spray of rain. The black domino mask was doing little to hide the attractiveness of his handsome face, although it did not tell you his identity. Or the color of his eyes. The white lenses didn’t show any signs of life, it would be almost unsettling if it wasn’t for the other features of his face.

His jaw was sharp, the bone ready to cut through glass, and his lips held a shadowy grin in them. His chest heaved as if he’d just ran a marathon, or in his case, as if he’d just been in a chase. And his suit—a sleek, midnight black with that striking blue emblem—was marred by faint fabric tears and streaks of grime.

When he spoke up after a minute of analyzing you, his voice was breathless but warm, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you by his entrance. “Hey. Sorry about the dramatics. Mind if I, uh, come in?” He glanced over his shoulder briefly, as though checking to see if someone had followed him.

You swallowed the lump that formed in the back of your throat, fingers still gripping onto the windowsill. You were pretty sure the surprise and disbelief etched into your face could be completely seen. “What? You’re joking, right?” those small words stumbled past your lips in a sharper tone than you intended. “You can’t just—“ gesturing vaguely to the fire escape he was standing on, you trailed off for him to finish the sentence himself.

But instead of an answer, Nightwing simply offered a grin, all perfect teeth. It was the kind that felt like it was meant to disarm you and melt you into a puddle at his feet. A swooning, pretty puddle.

“Technically, I can. But I’d prefer not to freeze out here while we debate it.”

Your reply to his cheeky comment died in your throat the moment you heard it—an angry bellow from somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thumping against the wet pavement. The voices were low and animalistic, only growing louder by seconds. Whoever they were, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were looking for.

Shooting him a pointed look with one of your eyebrows raised, you realized it was useless as he was already halfway through the window, ducking inside easily. He didn’t so much as flinch when his heavy boots hit the floor with a faint thud. You could only watch the trail of dirt and grime he was leaving behind himself. The sounds from outside faded into muffled whispers when he closed the window, and effectively scanned the room with a quick glance.

“You really have a way of making an entrance,” you mumbled under your breath as you gave him space and moved back towards the sofa. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to reach his ears but with the way one corner of his lips tugged up, you knew he heard every single word. Did this guy have super hearing?

The faintest glint of amusement danced on his features, despite the lack of emotion in his hidden eyes. You could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked up. “It’s part of the job description,” he replied to your remark casually, as if crashing into strangers’ apartments was just another Tuesday for him.

With a sigh, you shook your head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him move around the living room. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, didn’t even pause long enough to breathe out the weight of his situation. Instead, his gaze grazed over everything in clear sight — your paintings on the wall, the cluttered coffee table and its content, the pencils scattered across your notepad.

He was strange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” his response came quickly, he was probably distracted by the hand brushing against the edge of the window frame as he double-checked the latch.

You watched him carefully and tried to not let his presence throw you off. There was something unbelievable about seeing him there, in the heart of your apartment of all places, where every inch of the space was yours. Technically, he was in your territory now.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing added with humor etching his voice when you didn’t say anything. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Take your time,” the dripping sarcasm got out the exact same reaction from him just like before, and you watched as he smirked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that told you he was far too used to getting under people’s skin. Cheeky bastard.

This inspection of his lasted for a few more minutes before his pacing slowed down and his masked eyes landed on your beaten couch. The faint amusement in his features shifted, softening into something more thoughtful as he approached you. You stiffened when he got close enough. The light scent of cologne hit your nose from the proximity.

Gloved hand reached for your notepad, and you watched him again when he started tracing the soft pencil lines of your sketches. You seemed to watch him a lot tonight, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. He was still a stranger and you lived alone. The vigilante could take you down without breaking a sweat, no comment.

The blue jays stared back at him from the page with their wings outstretched mid-flight, the faint smudge of pencil giving them a sense of movement, like they could lift off the paper and fly toward their freedom at any moment.

“You drew these?” the question slipped before he could think of it and the raw quietness of his tone surprised you.

You hesitated before you gave him the answer. “Yeah, I did. What, are you secretly an art critic, too?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed on the sketches. “Blue jays,” the murmur was more to himself than to you. “They’re nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed back at him, a small smile ghosting your lips upon hearing his praise. “That’s your verdict? Nice?”

This time, his wide grin returned as he glanced at you from your artwork. You decided on the spot that you liked this look on him. He could be all sharp edges and rough words, but the genuine smiles and clever remarks were a part of him, too. “Hey, I don’t know the first thing about art. But they’re good. Really good. Why blue jays though?”

You shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms around yourself tightly. His clear interest in your work made you feel strangely exposed. “They’re . . . free. They can leave whenever they want, fly away from everything. I guess I like the idea of that.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment, his masked gaze flicking back to the page like he was seeing something more between the colors and lines you’d drawn. He really was strange. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “They’re tough, too. Survivors.”

For a man who’d just come crashing through your window, being chased by a bunch of angry goons, he suddenly seemed relaxed. The birds meant more to him than he was letting on.

“Guess that explains why you like them.”

“What, you think I’m a blue jay now?”

A smirk made its way to your lips, and you felt a slight hint of satisfaction brewing inside you. You finally got him. “You said it yourself. Tough. Survivors. Seems fitting.”

It was a strange image, seeing someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders standing here, in your little apartment, admiring a simple sketch of a bird. Most people assumed he was a machine under the suit, someone who did their job because it had to be done. But you saw the life in his smile and heard the feelings in his voice. Red flooded his system like any other human being possessed. A beating heart and marred skin. He was human, even under all that armor.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, effectively breaking the silence that followed your cheeky remark. “I’m glad my art could distract you from the mad mob outside.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, low and rich. You noted he had a nice laugh. Everything about him was nice, though. Maybe it was because it was the first time seeing him from up close or maybe it was simply that he got your attention.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The next few days were rather busy. You had more work on your shoulders and your family kept pressing about your upcoming visit (spoiler alert; you didn’t really plan on visiting them). Your family members lived far from Gotham, which you were particularly glad for. One boring and busy day went after the other, and so did you with your life. You weren’t going to admit it, but you missed the sudden excitement the cocky vigilante brought with him. It was something new, something that wasn’t boring.

The wind carried a chill that nipped at the exposed skin of your face, numbing your cheeks in the process. The streets of Gotham were alive despite the coldness the new day brought with itself—the city never really stopped, even when it probably should have. Your tea sat untouched beside your half-eaten croissant, warm steam curling lazily above the porcelain cup, while your hand moved steadily across the pages of your sketchbook.

You were drawing another blue jay. This one was perched on a thin branch, its head cocked slightly with ruffled feathers as if caught in the same breeze that howled right now. The pencil lines of your drawing were sharper this time, more confident, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about them—the blue jays.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your thoughts fixating on a subject, but this time it felt different. Ever since that night, when Nightwing had stood in the heart of your living room and held your sketch like it was something worth admiring, you’d been thinking about them more and more often. Birds had always represented freedom to you. A fleeting kind of beauty, one that wouldn’t last long. But now they carried something else. Something more.

You found yourself replaying his words in your mind while you shaded the curve of the blue jay’s wing, your pencil working instinctively as the low conversations and local sounds of the café faded into a hushed whisper. The bird began to take shape, its tiny body beaming with life.

The next thing you knew, the chair you were sitting on rocked slightly and your bag was violently jerked from the edge of the table.

It took you a second to process what had happened. One second, your purse was there, sitting by your side, and the next, it was gone. Snatched by a blur of unidentified movement. Your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as you whipped your head towards the stranger, catching sight of the thief bolting through the crowded street.

Panic started to settle in. Your bag. Gone. It was gone. Everything was in there—your money, your keys, your ID. The grip of your fingers on the pencil in your grasp tightened while adrenaline surged through your veins. Without having any second thoughts, you shot to your feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor and you bolted after him.

“Hey! Stop!”

The thief was already halfway down the block when you finally pushed past the crowd with alarming speed. Your boots moved without any more thinking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was quick on his feet, his figure darting between pedestrians who shouted in surprise and yelped in confusion when he pushed into them to clear his path. Your lungs burned as you tried to push against your limits and keep up with him. The strap of your bag was swinging wildly in his grip.

“Stop!” you shouted again, although you doubted he would listen. He wouldn’t. People around turned to look at the chaos, but no one made a move to help. It was Gotham, after all — everyone looked after their own self.

The thief rounded a corner, successfully disappearing into an alley, and you felt a pinch of dread forming in your stomach. You didn’t know this part of the city well, and the narrow alleyway clothed in shadows sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine. Hesitation brewed in you for a moment before you made up your mind. Fuck it. You didn’t care that chasing him was reckless. You didn’t care that you had no plan for what you’d do if you actually managed to catch up to him. All you knew was that he had your bag—your life—and you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Whoosh!

You barely registered the sound at first. Your focus was entirely on your thief, the dark shade of his jacket disappearing deeper and deeper, just beyond your reach. The puffs of air left your lips in a sharp shape and the cold air didn’t help much. But you didn’t stop running. You couldn’t stop.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur descended from above, landing right in your path.

“Whoa, hold it!”

The familiar drawl of his voice ringed in your ears before you saw him. You skidded to a halt, nearly losing your balance as his figure stepped into the sight. His arms were outstretched to block your way, and you felt a sudden burst of frustration upon his appearance. After all, you still had a bad guy to catch.

“Move,” moving to the side, you tried to sidestep him and start your chase again. Key word—tried. He shifted smoothly, following your movements like a mirror.

“Not happening,” he interrupted you firmly. “You can’t go running after some guy who might be armed. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“I don’t care. He has my purse—my money, my keys, everything! I have to—“

“You have to stay here,” Nightwing cut you off again, and you pushed the urge to strangle him away. His presence was infuriating, even though you could see every muscle in his jawline tightening and tensing. He was holding back, that much was evident.

“I don’t need your help.”

His hands shot out the moment you tried to brush past him again, gloves catching your biceps in a firm hold. It wasn’t painful, nor would leave any marks in the form of bruising, but he held you in a grounding manner. Almost as if he wanted to calm you down.

“Yes, you do,” the glint of seriousness in his gaze made you halt in your argument. He meant every single word. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed, you’re scared, and you feel like you have to do something. But this guy could have a knife, or worse, and you’re completely unarmed. He’s probably long gone by now, too. I’ll track him down and get your stuff. That’s a promise, Blue.”

You swallowed hard as the fire that fueled your intentions died a little bit. He was right, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine, but you better catch him.”

A small, reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze was all you received from the masked vigilante before he released you and took off after the thief. A moment later, you realized he gave you a nickname.

Blue.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The thick steam from your earlier shower still lingered in the bathroom, curling faintly in the air and clinging along the tiles and the edges of the mirror as you massaged moisturizer into your skin like you did every night. It was a routine by now. One you were excited to participate in. Your favorite playlist hummed softly from the phone propped up on the counter near the sink, the melody blending with the occasional rustle of the city outside your window.

Gotham was quiet tonight. No sirens. No shouts. Just silence.

You signed and leaned against the counter as you let the coolness of the white cream soothe your skin. The events of this day were rather . . . unpleasant. Your purse was gone, and the thought of all the things you’d lost still made your chest ache. Your keys, your ID, even your favorite pen you always kept in the front pocket—all gone, snatched in a moment. But at least you were safe. Nightwing had made sure you didn’t dive head first into what could have been a disaster.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. The way he’d swooped in like some kind of a movie hero. For a man who lived his life surrounded by constant danger, he’d had this unmistakably calmness about him, like no problem was big enough to not handle.

Reaching for a soft towel, you patted your face dry with it when you finished the last step of your nighttime routine. A moment of realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your sketchbook.

Your heart sank deeply in your chest, and you froze, gripping the towel tightly. You’d left it at the café. It must’ve been sitting there on the table, untouched, while you chased after that thief like a reckless idiot. You would be lucky if you found it where you’d left it lying as there was a possibility of a tired barista throwing it away.

That notepad wasn’t just another notebook to you. It held weeks, months, of drawings—ideas, experiments, half-finished sketches that no one but you had seen. And the blue jays he praised . . .

The day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your tense shoulders as you finally made your way to your bedroom. You switched off the light in the hallway, plunging your apartment into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds.

A dark shadow caught your eyes the second you stepped into the room and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. There, casually perched on your windowsill was Nightwing, dressed in shadows.

His grin was the first thing you recognized on him, the wide stretch of his lips almost haunting in the darkness. His teeth appeared almost sharp, like canines of a predator. But he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. One gloved hand held your bag, dangling it from his fingers as if presenting you a beloved prize.

“Miss me, Blue?”

“Are you insane?” hissing, your palm resting against your beating heart. “You can’t just show up like that!”

A delighted laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he stepped inside like he didn’t invade your personal space and almost gave you a heart attack. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He tossed your stolen (now found) bag on your bed with a flick of his wrist. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing but when you did, your panic gave away to stunned disbelief. “You got it back?”

“Of course. I promised you.”

The smug look on his face softened after those words left his throat. You crossed the room in quick steps, rushing to get your hand on your belongings. Once it was in your hold, you rummaged through the inside. Everything was still there—your keys, your wallet, even the blue pen you favored so much. Relief flooded your system and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. It was all returned.

You glanced at him from the bag, suddenly feeling somehow embarrassed. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you, Nightwing, for saving the day’? That would do,” the arch of his eyebrows told you he was enjoying this, if only a little. Smug bastard.

Rolling your eyes, you felt your lips tugging into a smile anyway. “Thank you for getting me my bag back. Happy?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but yeah, very.”

A minute of silence stretched between you, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable but during that time, you studied him. He was leaning against the edge of your bed, just shy away from your side.

“You’ve been drawing them a lot, huh?”

“What?”

“The blue jays,” Nightwing gestured towards your desk with his free hand, the other behind his back. He looked strange, amusing even, but you didn’t dare to point it out. You followed his movements, eyes sliding toward your desk full of stray papers. He was right, the wooden space was filled with your recent works, and among them were multiple pieces of those blue birds. “You were working on them that night. At the café, too.”

Your lips parted slightly to voice your confusion, but the words didn’t come. He had noticed? And kept track of it? You didn’t know if you should feel creeped out or honored.

You didn’t get to react much before he perked up. “Oh, almost forgot,” pulling the occupied hand from behind his back, you noticed he held a small book in it.

Not just any book, though. Your sketchbook.

“You went back for it?” the disbelief dripped from the tone of your voice as you reached for the notepad. Your fingertips brushed against his gloves when you did so, and a spark of light crossed through you at the faint touch.

“Figured you’d want it back,” he tried to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world, but even if you knew him for such a short period of time, you could tell he was just acting. The subtle tone of his voice betrayed him, along with the rosy dust painting his cheeks. Your thumb traced the broken spine of the notepad. The thought of him chasing down your thief, retrieving your stolen stuff, and then returning for your more personal thing left you speechless. He didn’t have to, but he did—again.

He was so close to you now that the faint scent of rain and city clung to him, mixing with his natural fragrance. You could inhale it all while you saw everything, too—the sharp line of the bone in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows like he was constantly deep in his mind, and even the way the moonlight caught on the pink dusting the top of his ears.

His pose shifted lightly, in a way that made the space between the two of you feel almost nonexistent. Your instinct told you to move, but your feet didn’t move.

“You’re . . . really something, you know that?”

Your heart beat against the bones protecting your ribs so loud you swore he could hear it. The white lenses of his black mask flickered all over your face, almost like he wanted to memorize every delicate detail, like he wanted to count every lash on your eye individually.

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I think I’m starting to.”

No response made its way past your lips. It died at the base of your throat, and no one could rip it out of you.

His hand reached out in your peripheral vision, slowly, like he was giving you an option to stop him whenever you felt like. There was no force between you, just purity of the actions. When you didn’t stop him, he moved bolder and louder, long fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before brushing against the damp strands of your hair. He pushed it back behind your ear, his touch lingering even there.

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, becoming one.

And then, just as you felt the unmistakable pull towards him, Nightwing pulled away. He took a step back like he remembered who he was.

“Take care of that,” he nodded towards your hold that clutched your sketchbook.

You opened your to say something, anything because what the fuck was he doing when he jumped out of the bedroom window, leaving behind the what ifs if he stayed with you.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The rooftop had become your favorite spot to disappear from your responsibilities. The view was magnificent with how the city stretched out in every direction and you could see everything. The chaos was muted up here, replaced by singing of the birds and occasional flutter of wings. This place was comforting.

You sat cross-legged on the concrete with your sketchbook propped in your lap, pencil in hand and mind open to new ideas. But the paper brewed alive with yet another drawing of a blue jay. Something about them had rooted itself in your head.

Pausing in your work to glance up at the sky, you were greeted by the most remarkable sight. Caught by the horizon where the sun dipped lower, brushing its streaks across the rooftop in a golden orange. The light breeze tugged at your hair, and you reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You managed to smudge a piece of graphite along your cheek upon the gesture. Your sketch was coming along slowly today; your mind kept wandering off and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Which you were correct about.

“Nice view,” a familiar voice drawled.

You flinched upon the sound, nearly dropping the tools on your knees as you whipped your head toward the source. There he was, perched on the edge of the rooftop, the sunset behind him painting him like some sort of an angel. Nightwing.

“Seriously? Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

The cheeky smirk made its usual appearance on his lips when he hopped down from his spot, taking slow steps towards you. It was impossible to stay annoyed at him, with that face and easy charisma. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“Patrolling,” he replied casually to your question, just like he did the night he came to return your bag. Trying to act all nonchalant, but deep down he cares. You know that. He’s acting again. You could tell by the experience and by the tone of his voice. It suggested otherwise from his answer. His masked eyes shifted to your knees, noting the open book. “Another blue jay?”

“I’m trying to capture the way they look when flying. It’s harder than it seems.”

You watched him while he watched your drawings. The vigilante crouched down beside you, his knee bumping against yours softly, almost as in unsaid greeting. He was saying hello while you responded hi back. “You’re getting better.”

Silence draped over the two of you after that sentence left his throat, this one much more comfortable than the one you experienced the week before in your apartment. His elbows were resting on his knees, which bumped into yours from time to time in a silent gesture. Your eyes found the white lenses behind the domino mask.

“You’re not gonna disappear this time, are you?”

“No.”

Your sketchbook lay forgotten in your lap as you gazed into the void of his eyes. You couldn’t read the emotion in them but you somehow could tell every single feeling brewing inside him. It was written across his face, open like a book.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

“So are you,” his reply was quick, like he knew exactly what to say the moment you spoke up.

A faintest tug at your lips brought the corners up in a smile, but it faltered the moment he leaned in, taking up your personal space inch by inch. He was moving slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, to reject him and his touch if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

His palm hovered near the curve of your cheekbone close enough to feel the warmth seeping through the glove. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if silently asking you a question he was too caught up in to say aloud.

“You’ve got graphite on your cheek.”

“Do I?”

He brushed his thumb across the smudge, wiping it away. He didn’t pull away once your skin was clean.

You noticed the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before flicking back to meet yours, searching for an answer he so desperately wanted to hear.

If you didn’t want this, he’d pull back. You knew he would.

But you didn’t want him to.

Leaning in, you closed the little distance between you, and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met yours firmly, pressing against yours like a puzzle, like they belonged there. Your hands gripped at him, fingers moving to the base of his neck to grab a handful of his black hair and pulling slightly to deliver a message.

Although the darkness around you enveloped you, clothing the day in dark, you felt a spark of light every time his lips pressed against yours more urgently, licking and biting his way inside to get a taste of you. You felt it when his gloved hands tangled in your hair, tugging you impossibly close to make you his.

His forehead came to rest against yours when you eventually had to pull away for a fresh breath of air, both his and your breaths uneven.

“Tell me I’m not gonna regret this.”

“You won’t.” That was a promise.

Because when you’re lost in the darkness, you should look for the light.

[arcanefox207]

The Wolf You Feed (Part 5)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 7.3k

Part 5 / ? (Ongoing) A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T

Summary: Set in a fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

Chapter Warnings: ANGST. Smut. POV-Switching. Rated Explicit. 18+ MDNI. See series masterlist for general warnings.

A/N: Hang in there friends. I will ease your pain soon 🧡

The next day you were, for the most part, unconsolable. Marlene let you lay around in her guest bed while you faded in between sleep and numbness. 

The pain was unfamiliar. Hurt because it was so unexpected. Amplified because you were falling so hard for him and thought he felt the same way. Hurt by the immense weight of betrayal and deception that he dumped on you last night. Hurt by the thought that he didn’t want you to know. Hurt because despite the pain you still felt a longing and prayed to just wake from the nightmare like it was all just a bad dream.

The early afternoon sun gave its best attempt to bring some life to you, but you simply rolled away from the window and wrapped yourself up in your warm cocoon. Your phone screen lit up on the nightstand for the umpteenth time and you ignored it.

The apathy you were feeling was weighing you down, paralyzing you from moving from your safe haven. It felt like time wasn’t moving either, and you were just trapped in this moment and helpless to do anything about it.

The 360 your emotions took in the span of 24 hours was unprecedented. It took everything out of you and you can’t stop ruminating on what was and what could have been. Where do you go from here? 

Last night, you don’t remember much of what happened when you left Coppers. You were inconsolable and Marlene felt too responsible for you to let you go home by yourself in your condition. She insisted you get in her car and she brought you to her apartment which was not too far away. 

She didn’t ask you any questions, and you could only assume what she could possibly be thinking about you now. You felt embarrassed and sick to your stomach whenever flashes from the night before popped into your mind. 

How could you have been so stupid?   

A tiny knock on the door caught your attention and Marlene meekly poked her head in. She wandered over to the bed and sat at the edge.

“Come on. I made us lunch and you are going to eat.” She patted your bundled up shoulder and got into your face to glare at you. This request was not optional at this point. You owed her big. She placed a bottle of water on the nightstand and you saw her eye your phone lighting up.

“Fine. Give me a minute?” You didn’t sound very convincing. “I promise.”

Marlene left you some clothes to borrow while you were there. An oversized long sleeve shirt and some sweatpants. Comfortable.

Marlene had lunch fixed for you both and slid over a hot cup of coffee as you approached the kitchen table. 

She was being far too kind to you. On the way home you remember little beyond the haze of being drunk and your breakdown. You remember sobbing and telling her you didn’t want to be alone. She ended up bringing you back to her place in town and babysat you through the night.

You were grateful to have made a friend in her and her kindness was the light guiding you through the turmoil. 

You manage a few bites from your sandwich out of consideration but don’t touch your coffee. The awkward silence is broken after a few moments, you knew the conversation was coming.

“So…” She pauses and then just comes out with it. “You and Joel, huh?” She attempts to drop the topic casually and friendly.

“Not anymore.” You feel your eyes well up again. Tears from anger, sadness and heartbreak. A trifecta of emotions that you don’t recall ever feeling before. Everything about Joel was intense and had been from the moment you met him. 

You realize that since meeting him it had all been mostly bottled up inside you. Except for some vague chatter at work, your life with Joel was mostly a secret. Something you kept private because you were shy about being judged for falling for a man so much older than you.  

You tell her everything. 

“Babe, he isn’t worth the tears.” she said so confidently, like she had so much knowledge about him that you didn’t know. 

“I had no idea about Tess.” The words spill out. “I just assumed it was only me. I would have never… How stupid-”

“Joel is an asshole” she cuts you off. Her tone is getting more heated as she gets frustrated that you are blaming yourself for anything in all of this. “What he did was wrong.” Marlene tried her best to keep her judgements to herself, but she always had been very outspoken. You knew she would be an open book if you would just ask. She seemed to harbor some resentment that was starting to slip out.

“How long have they.. You know. Been together?” you choke on the words.

“As long as I’ve known them.” she catches the way you react and takes a step back to explain. “They used to be close. Really close. Over the years they have grown apart. I think nowadays they just fuck around with each other when they are feeling lonely.” 

Your heart is in your throat and you want to throw up. You go to speak but can’t find the words, only more tears. 

“Sorry. I mean, you should know this.”

She's right, you should know this, and Joel should be the one telling you. You think back to how he was so quick to push you away at the bar and wanted to talk later. You knew something was up and he wasn’t ready for you to find out. Even if you never really defined anything between you both, he led you on. He used you. 

“Tess isn’t a saint either.” She interrupts you as if she can hear your thoughts. “This has been a long time coming. They are both toxic.” 

You wanted to know what she meant by that, but your mind couldn’t get past his wrongdoings. From where you sat last night, it looked like Tess was caught off guard by him too. 

You felt sick to your stomach the moment you realized you were the other woman. Tess didn’t deserve that.  

The tears were flowing again. You drag the back of your hand across your face to quickly wipe them away. 

“You deserve better.” She reassures you.

Do you, though? You wonder. 

You never had the best luck with men. The way Joel made you feel was not something you would be able to replace or move on from easily. He awoke something inside you that you needed to feed. He had a darkness that you were drawn to. A sexual energy that you never sought out before. It was so perfectly hidden behind some neighborly deeds and a tired man’s body.       

“Despite it all, and I know how stupid this sounds. How stupid this is. I still… can’t stop thinking about him.” You confess out loud. 

You were not a stupid person by any stretch, but you were feeling blinded by how he had been making you feel up until last night. Even after you confronted him, before you really learnt what was going on, you still felt like he was doing this for you. He wasn’t acting like the same person, but you could feel the Joel you knew was still there inside him. Like the face he was putting on was for everyone else, but your Joel was waiting in the wings.

When he had you alone by the bathrooms you could feel how much he wanted you. See how much hurt there was in his eyes when you were crying. He told you it wasn’t about you and you really wanted to believe that was true.

When he held your face in his hand and wiped your tears you knew that whatever was going on, his feelings for you were not something to question. He wanted you on a primal level and you wanted him to take what he needed from you. 

You weren’t in a formal relationship with him. You never had that talk with him. You never asked if there was anyone else. These thoughts were creeping in and making you feel stupid and partially responsible. Your conscience was desperately looking for any excuse to help Joel’s case. 

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Joel is nothing but bad news. Look at what he already did to you. Forget him.” 

Easier said than done, you think to yourself. The truth is that up until his performance he had been the first guy in your life that made you feel truly desired. It couldn’t have felt so real if it wasn’t true.

He needed you, but you also needed him.   

“Marlene…” You pause, trepidation in your tone. “I was falling for him. I think I was in l-”

“Stop.” She cuts you off. “You liked his… handsome charm, don’t confuse it for something more.” An annoyance peaks in her voice. 

You had fallen for people before and had relationships based purely on lust and attraction, but this was not it. It was something so unique that you couldn’t even put into words or feelings. A high that he gave you that you had to chase because you needed that next fix so badly. 

“And…” She pauses before cautiously saying more. “He is old enough to be your dad. Come on, this wasn’t going anywhere!” She was trying to make you see the obvious things without sounding too critical. 

You actually liked that he was older. It was so attractive if not a little bit taboo which just made it that much more exciting. He was worn on the edges but he was so confident and capable with everything he did. Not to mention no one had pleasured you like Joel Miller. You were absolutely smitten by everything he gave to you. He made you insatiable for him in every way. 

You brushed off her comments about his age. It was something you loved about him. Something that turned you on that you didn’t feel like defending.

Still, by all counts she was right. You knew the right thing to do would be to move on with your life, without Joel. 

“I’m sure whatever you had was fun, but that is all it was ever going to be.” Her matter of fact way of stating things helped to make the reality hit a little less hard. 

Maybe the reason it felt so good with Joel is because you wanted it to be something more than it was. The pit in your stomach reminds you of its presence and how this whole ordeal makes you feel sick.

There is a long silence between the two of you, and she no doubt can tell how heavy the words are hitting you. She finishes her coffee and clears the table, taking away your hardly touched plate. 

You sit with your thoughts for a moment before joining her at the kitchen sink. You hand her your mostly full coffee mug to pour in the basin.

The elephant in the room is getting too big to ignore.

It didn’t matter how you felt or what you wanted when there was someone else involved.

“What am I going to do now?” You ask her with teary eyes and a meek voice.

“I know Tess pretty well, and she can be scornful. I don’t think she knows about you and Joel, and you should keep it that way.” 

You feel yourself disassociated and want to just disappear. Go back to your Boston life and pretend you never met Joel Miller. Find a new job.  A new place to live and start fresh, again. 

“I like you, and I think you got put in a real shitty situation.” That was an understatement. “I’m not going to say anything to her, ok?” 

You nod, and believe her words.

“You are done with Joel, right?” She looks at you for confirmation. “Right?”

“Yeah. Of course.” You look away from her as you answer and the tears flow again. You weren’t sure if you were lying to her or lying to yourself, but you knew it wasn’t truthful. Whatever path you carved out next would be wrong if it wasn’t leading away from Joel.  

“Then cry as much as you need to now and put this behind you.”

She brings you in for a comforting hug and you sob into her shoulder.   

The worst part of it all is that you still have feelings for him.

—

JOEL POV - The Night Before

As he walked towards the stage to play, he was a wreck inside. Looking calm and composed was just a facade. He was nervous enough to be playing tonight with his carefully thought out song, but now knowing you may very well still be around was tipping him over the edge. There was no turning back at this point and he had to stay the course. He had to get this off his chest and had to wash his hands of Tess. Whatever comes next he would have to take it as it comes. 

The thought of hurting you in any way made him sick. 

Taking his seat he was grateful for the bright lights on him, making the audience look like anonymous shadows. At least in his mind he could pretend it was a room of nobodies. He never was one to have stage fright. He was a talented enough musician and most of the audience was drunk. He didn’t care what they thought anyways.  

He drags his hand along the neck of the guitar, feeling the strings under his calloused fingertips. Taking in a deep breath he adjusts the guitar in his lap. The light reflects off his watch and the shiny, polished wood of his instrument. The stage feels lonely as the room silences with all eyes on him.    

He strums his guitar and flexes his hand to loosen up. There is no turning back now and this is something he has to do. 

“This one’s…. for Tess.” his voice shakes as the words leave his mouth. 

This moment the only thing that mattered was that she heard this. He never was one with words or talking about his feelings, but he always had been able to lean on music when it mattered. It was the only time he truly let himself be vulnerable.  

As he started playing, he blocked out everything around him. His mind was just filled with the memories of Tess. What he loved. What he wanted. What he never got and never will. What he would always mourn but no longer desire. His time with her was over for him. He could feel his heart aching as he sang, but also getting lighter, not realizing how heavy this all was weighing on him for such a long time until he was letting it go.

As the song progressed it felt cathartic. Letting some of his anger slip into his tone and fade out into the ether, taking along his frustrations. Confronting all the feelings he had been holding in for so long. The sadness he felt was mourning, and he knew it would only get better now that he was moving on. He had already been mourning her loss for a long time without truly acknowledging it. Until now.       

Living in the memory

   Of a love that never was

He was feeling bolder and confident that his decision to be done with Tess was the right one. It didn’t erase their history or make her impact on his life any less significant. What they had was special and always would be. It didn’t have to overstay like it was in order to preserve that history. It was time to move on and stop feeding the resentment that was overtaking everything left that was good.

He would always love her for their history and she had to know so that she could move on too before the damage between them was too great. He knew she would understand and accept it; in time. 

Then you crept back into his mind. Finally he was giving himself permission to allow it to, properly. 

You filled in all that empty space that was vacant for just mere moments. Another realization that he wasn’t giving everything to you and how much he wanted to. He had been indulging in your companionship with trepidation. Reluctant to open himself up and fearful that it would be another road to nowhere. 

Afraid you might not want him and his darkness that came along once you really knew him. 

His eyes were finally adjusted to the lights just enough to make out the details in the shadows in front of him. 

He couldn’t help himself to look up and scan the audience, searching for you passively. Deep down, he knew you were still out there. He could sense that unexplainable feeling when someone is watching you intently. It made his heart race as he struggled to fight the distraction and finish his song. 

'Cause I've done everything I know

To try and make you mine

And I think I'm gonna love you

As if by instinct, he zeroed in on you standing towards the back of the room with tears in your eyes. An invisible rope tethering you together against the odds in the sea of shadows. 

When he caught your eyes he had to look away in shame. Disgusted with himself that you were collateral damage in his situationship. He choked on his final words, and they came out low and shaky.  

For a long, long time.

He strummed the last chords of his song and fought back the feeling in his throat that was bubbling up. He felt like he couldn’t breathe and the weight of his actions was crushing him. The silence in the room filled him with dread and it felt like time was standing still, like he was in front of everyone naked with his emotions raw and exposed before them. His chest was tight, bursting with an anxious heart beating rapidly with heavy thuds.  

A conflicting wave of emotions tears through him and it takes everything not to lose his composure. He takes the deepest breath, closes his eyes and it isn’t Tess that comes to mind. 

It’s you. 

With his final strum of the guitar it felt like he was releasing himself from Tess. Free after so long and fighting so hard for their relationship. Free to bring his full attention to where his heart was calling him.

Finally the room erupts in applause and he feels the tiniest pang of relief wash over him and snaps him back to reality. He sneaks off the stage and makes his way towards the back. He needed to hold you and tell you how sorry he was and at this point he didn’t care who saw him.

Familiar faces and acquaintances slapped him on the back and boasted to him about how great he did and the gauntlet of drunken patrons slows him down significantly. When he manages to break away and gets eyes on where you were standing you are nowhere to be found. 

A hand grabs his sleeve and he turns but his heart sinks when it’s Tess.

“Joel..” she whines through a shaky voice and pulls him to look at her.

He didn’t want to be cruel to her or disregard whatever feelings she was going through but he also didn’t feel obligated to her anymore. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was on her leash. He was done putting her first.  

“Tess, not now.” His voice was low and gentle. He really did feel for her out of habit, but he also knew he couldn’t let her try to reconcile. Not yet, anyways. He was open and hopeful to remain friends with her, but she needed to get over him first. He knew her reaction would be anger until she had time to cool off. 

“Really? After that you are going to ice me out? What the hell, Joel?” Her anger was increasing with every sound leaving her lips. The last thing he wanted was a blow up with her and he wasn’t going to let her control this narrative any longer. 

“Stop it.” He unintentionally uses his size to intimidate her as he steps closer. Silencing her as the remaining empathy leaves his eyes. He was never confrontational with Tess, and this was something new that she did not expect or know how to react to.   

A few nosy people nearby get quiet as they try to watch the drama unfold in front of them and pretend to be minding their own business. Joel takes a step back from Tess and furrows his brow.  

“I told you. I’m moving on. We’re done now.” He says firmly and sharply points his finger towards her. The tears in her eyes almost make him soften, but he holds firm. “Done.” He reiterates through gritted teeth.

He hated being so cold, but he had to or else nothing would change.  

Tess bites her lip and for the first time has no words. She was so used to being the boss and calling the shots and for the most part Joel let her. Not this time. She wipes the wetness that starts to fall from her eyes and walks off, angry and hurt.

“What are you looking at?” He snaps at the prying eyes watching him be a total asshole and then proceeds to walk towards the exit to continue his search. He was quickly running out of fucks to give by this point in the evening.

The bar was starting to clear out a little now that the live entertainment was done for the night. He doesn’t see you and starts to worry you left without allowing him a chance to explain himself. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he needed to see you. To apologize at the minimum and beg you to hear him out. There was so much you didn’t know that he needed to tell you.

He collects his guitar, dons his jacket and makes his way outside. There is a gentle snow falling and a coating on the cars and walkway. Footprints heavily littering the path into the parking lot and fanning out. It would be a fool's errand to pick out your prints or your car under the blanket of winter. 

He makes his way to his truck, and carelessly brushes off his windshield with his sleeve. 

He pulls out his phone and calls you, but it goes unanswered and to your mailbox. He sends you a text.

Joel: Im so sorry baby

Joel: Please can we talk? 

He leans on his truck, ignoring the cold and tries to call you again. And again. The relentless ringing is only silenced by the robotic voice of the generic voice mail operator.

After the 3rd call he left a message.

“Please answer the phone baby girl. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need to talk to you. Please.” His message was delivered with a low, calm tone, barely masking that he was afraid. 

Afraid he lost you.  

—

READER POV - Saturday Afternoon

Marlene dropped you off at the bar to pick up your car. No one was around this time of day and it felt surreal being back at the scene of the crime, so to speak. She gave you a hug and just nodded to you as you left. Urging you to believe you would be ok, and you had to move on. 

When you got home you didn’t even dare look to see if Joel was home. You went inside, took a shower and wrapped up in a blanket to watch TV on your couch.

Whatever was on you didn’t really pay attention. Your mind was just filled with Joel. You wanted to wake up from this bad dream. 

You had been vulnerable with him. You were ready to give yourself to him so quickly because you craved that intimacy only he could give. He worshipped your body and made you feel something you never felt before. 

Was that enough? Surely not to a self respecting person. It makes you feel sick to be so hesitant to do the obviously right thing.  

You so badly wanted him, and knew you couldn’t just let him treat you this way. You felt guilty about still wanting to give him a chance.

You finally gave in to looking at your phone. 

You had 34 unread messages from Joel. 9 missed calls and 3 voicemails. You fought the urge to see what he had to say and instead gave notice to your other missed calls. Your mother. She had tried to call you 3 times. You had barely talked to her this past week and didn’t really want to but you also knew she would worry if you continued to ignore her. You were afraid she might also reach out to her precious neighbor too if you gave her any reason to panic. It didn’t take much with her. 

You called your mom, lied that you were sick with the flu and that you just wanted to sleep. She didn’t make you talk long thankfully and she didn’t say anything about her handyman neighbor.

The night was getting late and you mustered up enough energy to move into your bedroom. 

Seeing Joel’s flannel shirt laying at the foot of your bed hit you hard. You had been so happy and flirty just a few nights before and you wanted that back. It felt like it was taken from you unfairly.

You hugged the shirt to your chest and breathed in his masculine scent that still lingered. The scent that drove you wild with desire.  

How were you going to get over this man who made you such a mess?

You tossed the shirt into your dirty clothes pile and got into bed, lamenting how cold and empty it was and wishing you were wrapped up in Joel’s navy blue sheets and stealing his heat. Feeling his heartbeat against your cheek as he holds you close. The ghost of his touch on your skin makes you tear up again. 

Fuck you Joel Miller. You mumble out loud to yourself. It wasn’t fair.   

You lay there for what felt like hours, your mind firing on all cylinders with no hope of slowing down. 

Curiosity won in the end, and you opened up the text thread with Joel. You scanned it quickly and saw a recurring theme of him asking if you were ok, apologizing and worried that you were not home.  

Joel: Please just tell me you are safe

Joel: I’ll leave you alone just let me know

Joel: Where are you? 

Those were texts from the morning. After your car was back home and signs of life his messages were back to apologizing and what you can only imagine to be a descent of drunken texts from this evening.

Joel: I’m so sorry

Joel: We need to talk

Joel: Please n

Joel: I m fucknig srry

Joel: Just let m tel you and ill stpo

Joel: /

Joel: I ned to talk to you

You wanted to talk to him. You needed some clarity, but you also didn’t want to be tricked into forgiving him because of your body betraying your mind. There was a nagging you could not shake that his actions at the bar didn’t undo the way he made you feel. There had to be more to it or else it would be so easy to wash your hands of him and never turn back. 

You started typing a reply and deleting until finally settling on just leaving him on read. 

You listened to his first voicemail, and hearing the pain in his voice made your heart break more. He was worried about you and he sounded like he was doing his best to be composed, but you could see through it. That southern drawl makes you melt when you hear him call you baby girl.

You slammed your phone down and regretted giving in to his attempts. It only made it harder to be mad at him.  

As you drifted off to sleep with tears leaving wet stripes on your cheeks you decided that tomorrow you would go see Joel. You would go in person and get a true gauge of where things stand. You would also try to do the right thing.    

—

JOEL POV - Saturday Night

Midday and he was worried about you. Not only were you not answering him or reading his messages, but you also had not been home. Of course you were an adult and clearly could do whatever you wanted, but he felt entirely responsible for whatever you were up to. 

He paced to his bedroom window, looking out through the blinds to see the same snow covered drive. Untouched. He was getting restless.  

He flips through your messages and can’t help but look at the pics you sent him during your bedtime photoshoot.

He could feel himself harden and palmed himself through his denim to get some relief. It felt wrong, but he couldn’t control the way his body reacted to you. He unzips his jeans to let his cock breathe as he takes a seat in the living room. 

Scrolling through the photos you sent and seeing more and more of your body made him swell. The pressure in his groin became too much to handle with a casual touch. 

Fuck he mumbles under his breath. 

He spreads his legs wider and slides a hand inside his boxers to stroke himself, imagining it was you and your gentle hands wrapped around his shaft. 

The guilt of what he did weighed heavy on his mind but didn’t hinder him from getting aroused. He needed to have you again. Feel your tight pussy gripping him and listen to your sweet moans. 

It eats away at him. It was wrong to get off to you especially after what he had done to you. 

But it didn’t stop him.

Settling on the second picture you sent, he focuses on how deranged and needy you looked. Hungry for his cock. Your breasts were perfectly in view and still partially clad in his shirt. His scent was all over you in that moment. You were his.  

His labored strokes quicken as he fucks into his fist and he comes with a stifled groan. 

Sitting alone with his release dripping over his knuckles made him feel like a dirty old man. Getting off to a woman that didn’t want him anymore.   

He woke later that evening, awkwardly slumped against the arm of his chair. The house was completely dark except for some embers from his wood stove about to give it’s last breath. He was groggy and sore. His neck ached from the awkward position. 

After getting his wits about him, he opened his phone to see you still had not replied. He stumbled over to his window and to his relief your car was parked in the yard. 

At least you were home. You were safe. Clearly you did not want to talk to him yet. 

He wanders off to his kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink and downs it way too fast before taking a shower and drinking again and again. 

As the whiskey clouds his mind and fills him with nothing but remorse for what he did, he sloppily sends you some desperate texts before passing out for the night.

—

READER POV - Sunday

The Sunday afternoon energy was heavy. You had been avoiding Joel in every possible way since Friday night. The exception being your moment of weakness and reading his texts. Instead you buried yourself in a book trying to focus your mind on another world with characters struggling with simpler problems.

The time spent alone had given you some peace to think about what your next move was going to be, but you were still battling with what to do.

If you were not so smitten with him it would be so easy to just walk away. You never questioned his character before and now it’s all you can do. Weighing the damage he did with what you had come to know about him before was not an easy task. It also made you question your own character. What kind of a person would it make you be to continue on with this? Maybe you battled with failed relationships all your life because you never found the one to balance who you really are. Maybe you are just hopelessly lusting over Joel Miller and telling yourself anything that can make it feel ok. 

Your anger and hurt was stinging less and making you feel more numb than anything. Marlene’s words of advice were lingering in the front of your mind constantly. You felt guilty for entertaining the idea of talking to him and even more guilty for settling on actually doing it. 

Looking out your front window you see his truck parked in his driveway. No fresh tire tracks and covered in snow. You had not seen any signs of life since you returned home other than some smoke from his chimney and a light or two.

The text messages from him did still trickle in at a slower pace, but you continued to ignore them. Wiping the notification off your lock screen.

Marlene also texted you periodically to check in and you assured her you were doing just fine and would be ok. 

You made an impulsive decision to go over now before you changed your mind again, not sure what you were going to say or do, but you couldn’t ignore him forever. The more you thought about what your gameplan was the more you started to talk yourself out of it.  

You freshened up in the bathroom, applying some light makeup to mask the bags under your eyes and hide the fact that you have been crying for days. You knew deep down you also just wanted to look really good for him. You wanted to spite him and make him want you but not let him have you as some sort of punishment. At least that is what you told yourself.     

You bundled up in your boots and winter jacket. Wrapped a scarf around you and put on some mittens and a hat. Your hair falling loosely around your face. You looked cute but completely covered up. 

The sun was just starting to set, but there was still plenty of light left to venture outside.

You wandered over to your mailbox and picked up the scent of burning wood. A smoky, campfire smell. It smelled inviting. You heard a chopping sound coming from the direction of Joel’s house and guessed he was outside working. Typical Joel behavior to be outdoors. 

As you make your way to his house the campfire smell intensifies and you see some smoke coming from the side of his house. There is a footpath going from his driveway and you decide to follow it to the sound.

As you round the corner, the sight is enough to make you forgive all his wrongs.

Joel’s back was to you and his silhouette is bright and familiar. You could recognize his figure in a lineup with ease. Broad and commanding.  

The frame of his body was muscular but not bulky. Toned from his manual labor lifestyle. His broad shoulders and tapered waist were perfectly illuminated by the burning fire next to him.  

He was dressed in some dirty jeans that hugged him perfectly and heavy work boots. His torso clad in a rustic, plaid flannel not too different from the one you stole. The sleeves are pushed up and bunched on his forearms and his hands protected with leather gloves. 

You see his jacket discarded on a pile of chopped wood and a small brush pile burning next to him, keeping him unnecessarily warm. It looked like he had more than enough body heat radiating off him. Uncomfortably toasty.  

The area between his shoulder blades was damp and dark with sweat. The curls in his hair were an unruly mess, especially where they met the hot perspiration on his neck. 

Seeing Joel in lumberjack mode unlocked something inside you that you didn’t even know existed. He was so primal in his ability to handle whatever task was at hand. Just as he had been when intimate with you. He could take you away and live off the grid someplace in the wilderness and you wouldn’t bat an eye. He was more than capable of taking care of all your needs.  

You feel it deep inside you. That intense heat building that only Joel can make you feel. An arousal coiling up inside you and ready to burst out if given the chance.   

He turns to place a section of wood in front of him and makes a grunt sound as he lifts it into place. No doubt it was heavy and judging by his pile, and the sweat on his body, he had been at this for a while. His outstretched arm had his flannel tightly choking his bicep as he moved to adjust the log in front of him. It was obscene to see his body flex and demonstrate his strength. The desire to have his arms on you in this moment and feel the full force of his body against you.

He picks up the axe and throttles it down again with a grunt, wood splintering in front of him as the force from his axe splits the wood into two.

He is nearly panting from the exertion, moving the split wood over to the pile only to repeat it all over again. He pulls his shirt up to wipe his brow. The hard ridges of his muscles taunt you as they shine in the light of the fire. As he wipes his sweat and pauses for the briefest moment to rest against his axe you decide to make your presence known before he realizes you are watching him.

“Hey Joel” you announce softly.

He is startled by you and turns quickly, letting his shirt fall back over his stomach. His expression softens when he meets your eyes. He tosses the axe next to him and pulls off his gloves as he steps towards you. 

The heat of his body and his smoky scent hit you all at once as he stands just in front of you, unsure if he should touch you or not.  He hesitates but you can see the desire in his eyes to touch you. 

“Sweetheart, I’m–” he pauses, and rakes his hand through his hair. “I’m so glad to see you. Lord knows I don’t deserve it.” He gives a side smirk and his best attempt at looking innocent. It almost works.

He steps towards you but you reluctantly hold your hand up. He ignores it and pushes his chest into your palm. His innocence was replaced with cunning intentions. His damp and hot chest sending a wave of desire through you, making you even more wet. You were certain he could sense it too despite your attempts to act put together.  

Before you can protest he has his hands on your waist. His fingers wrapping around you and positioned to pull you in close. His needy energy is not something you have seen before. Not like this. Assertive but stepping over a line you put out. 

“Joel, stop.” You weakly protest and take a step back from him. His hands slide off your hip as you step away and you can see some panic in his eyes that he misread what this was. 

He could clearly see how mixed you were feeling. He was letting his raw desire take the lead and hoped it would help sway you to give in to him and soften your resolve. Whether it was wrong or right, he knew that sexual tension you both had was not going silently.

He also knew that he cared about you more than just as a hookup. Truthfully you had made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was so scared to lose you before he even got to properly have you. His fear was making him act stupid and desperate and he didn’t know how to reign it back. Especially with you being just within your reach. He was tailspinning.      

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pauses. “I should have told you about her. It’s not what it looks like. I mean, it is complicated and–”

You swallow back your feelings and look him straight in the eyes. How much more cliche could he get?  

“It’s too late for that now,” you countered, realizing that confronting this now was not something you were ready for after all. 

Joel chewed his lip, wiping his hand on his chin as he fought back the urge to unleash some of his anger that he had been harboring. Anger he had towards himself that needed to escape. He was getting agitated.

He knew you were right, but he knew he couldn’t just let you go. He lets out a deep breath as he pinches between his brows, releasing a little tension as he exhales and composes his next words carefully.

“I want you to… need you to know I never did anything with her while I was with you.” His words come out desperate, pleading with you to understand. To forgive him even. 

You weren’t sure if you believed that. You couldn’t exactly trust him anymore now that the trust had been broken.     

“I swear it. There is a lot you don’t know about Tess and-”

Hearing her name on his lips is the last straw and it enrages you, reminding you that you are not here for second chances and apologies. You are here to tell him to leave you alone.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” You declare coldly and emotionless. 

Joel stares, he looks like he wants to speak but he isn’t sure what to say. He isn’t sure he heard you right, or didn’t want to believe that he did. 

You go to turn but he grabs your sleeve and holds you to face him.

“Please, I need to… don’t go.” He stumbles over his words, grabbing you harder than he meant to, desperate to make you stay.  

“You hurt me.” The tears start to fall again as you speak your truth to him. You look him straight in the eyes so he can see your pain from what he did. There was no misreading your tears. 

“I know. Never meant for you to get hurt. I can explain-” He panics, realizing you are leaving him and his chance is fleeting.

You struggle to pull your arm away but he isn’t listening and just brings you closer with his strength. He was blind to your obvious demands to stop. Clouded by his panic.  

“I owe you an explanation. Let me-” His eyes penetrate into you, begging you to look at him. 

“It's too late.” You cut him off. “Lose my number.” Your words bite. 

You pull your arm away sharply and continue to walk away. You feel him staring at you and you swear he can hear your heart beating out of your chest. It took every ounce of restraint to hold firm with what you set out to do. You were not going to let him talk you into changing your mind.

With tears welling up in your eye you continue walking forward. You hear him begging you to stop and listen to him. 

“Sweetheart, please.” he calls out after you. Pleading with you but you put more distance between him and his words as they get quieter.

Under his breath, Joel whispers “I’m sorry.” When your pace quickens and you don’t look back you swear you can hear him speak those words again and again, but you keep walking. 

To be continued...

A O 3 | M A S T E R L I S T | N O T I F I C A T I O N S

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[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m gonna loosely rant without direction for a minute.

I’ve been thinking a lot about being trans and religious in the last few days. I’m not exactly sure why. It’s just that this one thing keeps coming back to haunt me.

I’ve been happier and closer to God than ever before since I started transitioning. Never once have I felt that God had a problem with me being trans. My soul feels cleaner, happier, more open to the Holy Spirit even with all the other problems and anxieties in my life taken into account because even in my darkest moments now I’m still being my full self.

The thing that’s been bothering me is all these people out there who think I’m doing religion wrong because I’m not being who God made me to be or something when I feel like I’m being more of who God made me to be every day I get further away from the closet. God made my spirit and my mind just as much as he made my body so why is my body supposed to be the only factor in that?

What really bothers me is that people want me to give up what makes me happy, what strengthened my faith even, and go back to being sad and disconnected. And for what? Believing their interpretation of God is more valid than mine? For their comfort that’s for some reason more important than my comfort?

I would really like to work in a church or a religious college. I really would. But jobs with accepting congregations are few and far between. I feel like I have to spend my life moving between safe islands. I need to find my safe pockets and keep other Christians at a distance. And I hate that I have to do that. It weighs so heavily on me sometimes that they don’t believe my faith story.

I used to be the sort of person who would jump up and share my faith story at every opportunity with other Christians because I’m a convert that has stuck with my faith even through hard times. People love that shit. But now that my gender is a part of my story I feel like I either need to keep my mouth shut or lie. And I don’t want to lie so I keep my mouth shut.

I don’t really have a point to this I guess. I just wish I didn’t need to play a balancing act in order to be a queer Christian. Act less religious in queer spaces, act less queer in Christian spaces. There’s such small pockets of life I can fully be both in happily and loudly with no friction from other people.

Because all the friction between my faith and my queerness has always always come from other people. Never from my beliefs, never from my gender, never from my God. Other people. Other people keep trying to insert themselves in between me and God and go hey that’s not right you should feel bad about that. But like. I don’t. I can’t. I won’t and you can’t make me. The thing making me feel bad is that other people want me to feel bad. Other people want me to be miserable for their convenience. I hate that. That’s the worst bit for me about being queer and Christian. Is learning just how little other people value the happiness of strangers.

[takes1]

[final part] kuroo x hard to get!reader

ohhh this was a fun little series. thanks for the support :)

warnings. nsfw, minors DNI

details. face sitting / riding kuroo / pining!kuroo / complicated crushes / hard to get!reader / switch!reader / switch!kuroo / rbf!reader / manager!reader / whiny!kuroo / training camp setting / degradation kink / quickie / play fighting kink / kuroo with a big ego / player!kuroo / 3.3k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu here. part one. part two. requests open.

There was only a small pause, short enough for him to realize what you were doing.

"Please just come in," He sighed, candid and contrite, "Until the storm passes."

At this point, you were both locked in a tense game of chess, unwilling to sacrifice too much truth at any given point, but unable to stop playing until somebody won. You let him slip your raincoat off of you and hang it up, gentle, attentive, playing eye tag for the length of time it took to close and lock the door.

The kitchen stole your attention almost right away, filled with the sounds of a ritual slaughter. The shouting was accusatory and excited, like someone had been deeply wronged.

"Stop that before you set something on fire!" Kuroo shouted.

He picked up the peace offering and carried it towards his needy, weary team.

Your eyes widened a little at his team captain voice, safe to react because his attention was split. You trailed behind him, hesitant, towards the commotion.

"Keep it down. We've got a guest."

The noise was broken for a moment of silence at the presence of hot food, landing right on the dining table, then a million eyes on you.

It looked like everyone was dressed comfortably because there were no girls around. You averted your eyes immediately from the few that were in just their underwear and found that most of them opted for no shirts.

None of them cared very much. They all went in on the giant bag like a pack of starving wolves, shoving each other out of the way, grabbing as many as they could hold all at once. One hit the floor and was picked up, placed right into somebody else's mouth for safe keeping.

You took a step back, closer to Kuroo. He was so tame compared to them. The bag was empty in 20 seconds; it would've been less than that, had they not been fighting over lukewarm scraps.

"Where's your Coach?" You surveyed the room and found nothing but Nekoma players, munching obnoxiously.

It was the most prevalent thing on your mind. You didn't want to be 'caught,' though your surface-level intentions were innocent and backed by evidence.

Right before you left your own team's corresponding lodging, Coach Ukai was rounding up all the guys, trying to put them down for bed like twenty rowdy toddlers. If everyone sat still, you'd be able to still hear him yelling down the pathway.

A short guy you caught earlier today as Yaku answered, between three big bites of a bun, "Oh, Coach Nekomata went to bed, like, an hour ago."

The guy was ancient. It made sense that he wouldn't be as involved as Ukai in his old age, but he also had no need to. His team was well-behaved. Despite their frenzy, they were still a much quieter group than Karasuno.

In fact, after all the initial thanks and praises sung for your angelic timing, it felt too quiet. You wanted to leave, get back to your familiar and fun team, despite the weather. Kuroo could sense it in your stiffness.

The team was preoccupied with their supper. He had to make some bold maneuver, or you would voluntarily forfeit and slink back in the rain- because that was somehow a more appealing option than admitting you wanted to have sex with him.

Fukunaga clocked the complicated mess that was your current dynamic for exactly what it was. Some weirdo mating ritual. First he noticed that Kuroo wasn't eating. Then that he was only speaking to you. He was the ticking clock personified, double fisting two delicious buns without blinking. His unwavering stare cut into you from across the kitchen.

You shivered at the intensity, shifted just a little towards Kuroo with your head turned, defensive, towards the lanky guy. "He's creeping me out."

Kuroo leaned further down to mutter against your hair, dismissive, "Him? Shouhei's harmless."

He lingered, bent at the waist, just to take in another breath of your hair. You smelled so good. He couldn't let you go back just yet.

"How about we go upstairs?"

Aside from Fukunaga, nobody had a mind to notice if you left now. It wasn't a 'Yeah, let's fuck,' but it was close, so you sat in hesitation for a good, still minute.

-

The pace naturally quickened the closer to the door you got, like you were being chased by something. It was mostly the threat of time, but the predatory vibe you both got from each other was substantial, like if you let your guard down for a second, the other would eat you alive.

There was a rushed cadence to the way you entered the room and how he slid the door closed- only slowing to completely lock it as quiet as possible.

Everything was still for a moment. The end game was in sight, and neither of you could predict who would be the first to let up. Would it end here, or as you were coming down?

"What's your deal?"

"What deal?" You snapped, arms crossed, glancing about the large room filled with pallets.

This was so risky. Nothing about the danger of getting caught up here appealed to you. You weren't sure if he understood how comprised you'd be if anyone heard about this- you'd have to quit your manager job, at least.

It made you rigid, inflexible conversationally and physically. He fought the need to cross his arms, too.

"Why did you really come over?" He threw his chin up at you. When he tried to close the distance, he noticed how you took a step back.

The irony was eating him alive; you were so delicate to work with, but merciless in your methods- and you just kept coming back around, sparing no time for him to find just the right angle to work through your impossible armor.

His dismal attitude marked the next words out of his mouth, "You just- get a kick out of torturing me, or something?"

A hum- no, a laugh. He looked at you to figure out what it really was, and found your expression a little softer.

You looked around the room, head rocking side to side, "Mmm...Yeah."

Kuroo rolled his eyes at how much it took for you to be honest with him. He muttered to himself on the way to his bedding. You could leave if you wanted, but he needed to sit down. Dealing with you made him tired.

It was passive enough to get you curious again. You came around eventually, taking the time to mosey through the little aisle of space between where everyone slept. He only looked up from his hands when he felt you sit and lean against his side.

The flinch back was too strong to be ignored. He winced at the way your brows screwed up, forming a negative, probably wrong idea of him already. He could hear you being let down.

"You're all talk," Your voice was kind, dismissive, but your gaze pierced right through him.

He had to act like it didn't hurt, as if you didn't just twist a knife in his stomach.

It wasn't his fault you had conditioned him to be wary of you, if he wanted to stay in your favor- if he wanted a fair chance at pleasing you.

It frustrated him that you put him in a box so quickly, inspiring rough and ready action.

But you didn't back down from the quick, hungry kiss he stole from your parted lips. It was a challenge, after all. You met it, leaned freely into it- fingers filling with his messy, still-wet hair, while he palmed at your waist to pull you into his lap.

"You're not a-," Kuroo cut you off on purpose with another kiss, so you pushed him against the floor, eyes narrowed at his smirk, "You're not a virgin, are you?"

Fingers hooked under the waistband of your pants, searching absentmindedly for your panties, he laughed- genuinely amused.

"Fuck no," Was a sigh, distracted by the subtle but undeniable rock of your hips on top of him.

The sensation was so much better than his hand. He pushed against you, eyes scouring every inch of the perfect sight before him.

"Then why are you acting like one?" You pulled your shirt off, tossing it a reachable distance away.

That look in your eyes was back as you struggled to undo the clasp on your bra for a second; what he could now read as 'You better be worth it.'

Kuroo sat up with a quickness, forcing you to rock back and lean against his thighs, his brow sifting through the implication of your words, but his eyes ready to deliver.

"What, I can't be a little nervous?"

Big, agile hands slid behind you with another crushing kiss.

Your bra was off in half a second, replaced with his warm palms. He groaned against your lips at the feeling- you melted a little into his hasty touch, his wordless declaration of desire.

You arched into his touch, into his kisses descending in a messy, wet flurry down your collarbone and over your perky buds. The addicting sensation of his tongue made your thighs squeeze, your hips to rolling over his with a gasp as you unbuttoned yourself.

Those big hands swallowed up your sides easily, so pleasant compared to the cold air that made your skin prickle.

Soon, you were pushing him again, harder because he wasn't as easy to remove this time.

His eyes searched you, watching you get up and only concerned for a moment before you took the rest of your clothes off, standing over him. He realized he couldn't catch his breath, perfectly still in awe at your confident smile, that self-imposed nudity you used just to get a rise out of him.

"Shit," He groaned. His back of his head hit his pillow and he openly palmed himself to the sight of you.

Those cat-like eyes were blown out, so dark against the whites of his eyes, a little hitch on his breath already before you could even think about sitting back down. You nudged his shin with your foot to bring him back to the land of the living, telling him to take it all off.

The guy was a nice size- worthy of some of his cocky attitude, at least. You sat on him to slide back and forth over him.

"This what you wanted, pretty boy?" Your eyes were smiling, but your little frown was what completed the look for him.

The clipped whine, loud, though it never got past his lips, told you yes.

You put your hands on his chest so he had to watch you slide over his cock, coating him, showing him how wet you had gotten from that killer body he flaunted around so freely. He was kind of a whore, and you wanted him to know it.

It felt heavenly but he would never have guessed it, based on that pissed off pout you still had. His nails dug into the fleshy part of your thighs, a big sigh to collect himself before he let go, hands clasped behind his head. It looked casual, enjoying the view.

"You wanna know what I want?" He teased.

You cocked a brow at him, still using his slippery member to get off with little circles of your hips. He rode a fine line.

"I wantcha to sit on my face."

Kuroo blew a kiss at you. It wasn't the kiss, rather the good idea that made you slow to a stop and hum.

"Oh yeah?" Your low-lidded eyes burned into his soul as you dipped to eye level.

Your breasts squished against him, a thumb brushing his glossy lips- you took his cock with one hand and lined him up against your pussy, sensitive head rubbing back and forth.

The little bit of pressure against you, as he bucked instinctively with a throaty groan, helped your point.

He was under a spell, breath shallow, his fingers coming undone with the built-in need to steady your hips and fuck you already.

You spoke to that struggle in his eyes, "You sure that's what you want?"

Kuroo unlaced his hands and, when you thought you had him, sitting further back on his cock, he pulled you up and off of him.

"Was saving just enough room for dessert, baby," He muttered, dark and restrained, but still managing a little bit of humor to shine through.

He sure did. That slick tongue of his did more than just aggravate the shit out of you- he could guess what you wanted by how you were riding his cock. Nothing too aggressive, just dizzyingly consistent and enthusiastic.

Because it was the notion of worship that got you off. How good did it feel? How much did you want to fuck him? That depended. How bad did he want it?

"F-uck," You moaned under your hand, legs shaking under the locked pull of his arms, "Fuck-mmnh!"

Kuroo's excited, well-placed moans vibrated against you, faltering your balance at the worst of times.

You kept a rough hold in that mess of black hair and rode his flat tongue with no shortage of eye contact.

It was like you hated each other, how vicious those looks got.

You couldn't stand it. You'd be damned before you came on his tongue. He was going to give you your orgasm with his cock.

When you tried to get off, he readjusted his grip, stronger-- you had to start prying his fingers, one by one, off of your thighs. He loved how whiny and cute you got in the struggle, but noticed you never once begged him to stop.

You jumped, failing one last time to get his arm off, at his silly groan buzzing against your clit, "Ah-!"

It took pressing your palms against his face to get him to let go.

His gaze was brutal, taking in the way your legs shook, as he pushed the rest of you off of his chin and onto his aching cock.

There was no point in changing positions. It was obvious you wanted to be on top. He wanted the view.

"O-ohh," You threw your head back, eyes screwed shut, at that perfect, pretty cock stuffed in you.

Your tight pussy took the breath out of him. His hands filled with your hips, bringing you slow, up and down over what you had been too proud to admit that you needed.

His low-lidded eyes took in every curve of your perfect body, every little bounce he fucked into you, especially the shocked expression taking your face. It wasn't dissimilar to what you had looked like watching him earlier that day.

"That feel good, pretty girl?" He raked his nails gently across your thighs.

He seethed at the intense feeling of you starting to fuck him right back. It was a move he hadn't experienced yet with any other partners.

And you got to watch him completely unravel before your glossy eyes.

"F-uck-!" He gasped, "H-oh, shit," was spilling out of his mouth, between the light sounds of him bottoming out into your soaking wet cunt.

His brows were screwed up, real vulnerable- it sent a chill through you and ended swirling up fast, turning into tension in your tummy that he threatened to fill.

You prayed nobody was in the hallway, or they'd be able to hear some downright incriminating sounds.

Your palm pressed over his loud mouth, barely swallowing your own whimpering to tell him, "Shh..."

The way you threw your weight back into his thrusts demanded a very whiny cry into your hand. You knew it; you knew he was a whiny fuck. You clocked him so well from the very beginning.

Maybe he would've been more of a dominant presence if he was used to dealing with girls like you- or maybe he liked giving up some responsibility, once in a while.

His big, strong hands groped at your tits as they bounced, brushing his skin just enough to get some sharp, rolling pleasure.

He slowed, his hips rolling deep into you- he moved out of your hand and took a breath through his mouth to gasp.

"You better not cum before me," You warned, a little stilted because of how close you were, but deadly serious.

Your resting face was just so bitchy. You looked like you hated him, but loved his cock by the way you fucked him.

Kuroo kept his edge at bay with his eyes unfocused, trying not to watch you. Just for you, just so he could feel you cum first.

He was so grateful -barely holding on, just a dumb toy for you to fuck at this point-, to hear a high-pitched break in your gasps, "Mm-!"

"A-h-mmn-!" You kept your sounds muffled so well with one hand, forcing him to keep his at bay with the other.

The tension in your face was incredibly cute. Probably the only look of its kind, when it came to what you were willing to show him.

It was all he could do to fuck you to the height of it, rough but so dangerously close after that he had to pull out halfway through yours.

And boy, were you glad to be keeping him quiet. That guy could wake up the whole camp if he wanted to.

He came all over his own tummy, sweaty and out of breath, not even pushing back against your hand. He looked exhausted. You were tired, too, but didn't wear it as clearly. You spared a minute to catch your breath.

A slow, little peck to his forehead.

"All talk."

You slid your hand off of him and composed yourself enough to stand, gathering up your clothes. You grinned at the deep frown you were able to conjure while he was still swimming in post-orgasm bliss.

Kuroo groaned, sleepy and filling back up with something unpleasant, running his fingers through hair. He sat up, still glossy with cum.

You were nearly dressed when he was carefully pulling his pants back on.

He was so broody at your words, grumpy when you got a tiny glance at his face- there was a shared, quiet understanding that he still needed to walk you back, so you quietly waited for him to wipe off in the bathroom and pull a jacket on.

The journey to get out the door was comical and exaggerated in nature. Lots of looking around corners, waiting for people to get distracted, for you to slip outside. Thankfully his team weren't concerned with your whereabouts.

Kuroo still had not said a thing to you until you were back at Karasuno's lodging. You had already made your peace with this as the end of it, entirely, and understood he wouldn't want to look at you again after tonight.

When you about to turn, to go inside, he spoke up.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

It was mean and assuming. You deserved it a little.

"Did you?"

He deserved it too. It felt like you both lost, in a way.

You leaned into a last-second kiss, hands coming out of your pockets to run your fingers through his hair again. It fell naturally into a very long, lustful thing between you. His hands pulled you against him, hot and heavy, hardly ready to let go when you heard some stirring from inside.

"Fuck, no," He admitted, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

The door was unlocking.

"It's a long training camp."

You said it vague enough so Daichi would have no idea what you meant as you walked by him.

He threw a hard look to Kuroo before closing the door, who returned it tenfold.

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[msnmnt]

In The Afterglow

Notes: this was a request so I hope you like it lovely anon! There’s no real plot, just a tiny bit of smut that leads to fluff and aftercare with Mase. I hope you enjoy. 🥰

Mason gently rocked his hips into you, his steady movements making his cock expertly brush up against your g-spot with every perfect move.

“Mason…” You moaned, lulling your head back into the pillows in an attempt to fight back your orgasm that was threatening to take over so soon after your last.

You had been in a long couple of hours of bliss, often the case when Mason returned home after being away from you for any length of time. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you from the moment he walked through the door and you had barely had the chance to ask him how his flight was before he had you hoisted up on the kitchen counter, his hands prying your legs apart and his head soon buried between your legs.

You had lost count of quite how many times Mason had made you cum. With his fingers, his tongue, his cock. The pleasure was truly euphoric, so intense and surreal that it had you feeling like you were having an out of body experience, completely consumed by the pleasure. Mason had barely gave you enough time to recover before he had in another position, soon having you on the brink of another orgasm, wanting nothing more than to please you as much as he could after being separated for so long.

“Yeah, princess?” Mason’s gravely tone right in your ear made you involuntarily clench around him, causing him to fasten the speed of his hips slightly as he tried to get you over the finish line once more before he knew he wouldn’t be able to fight off his high any longer.

He bought his fingers to his mouth, quickly getting them wet with his saliva before slipping his hand between the two of you, attaching them to your overly sensitive clit and rubbing messy circles to the throbbing nub as he struggled to keep his composure.

“Mase, I don’t think, I don’t know if - oh.” Your body went numb under him and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt your felt that familiar feeling creeping up on you once more.

Mason had buried his face in your neck, trying his hardest to focus solely on the movements of his hips and not how warm and wet you felt around him as he desperately tried to make you cum again.

You dragged your nails down his back before digging them into his muscles, so deep you were sure he'd be left with multiple half crescent marks scattered all over him that he would have fun explaining when his teammates would no doubtably tease him in the changing room.

The slight sting of pain went straight to his cock which throbbed inside you, and he let out a husky moan right into your ear.

“Are you gonna come again, huh? Gonna be a good girl and come all over my cock?” In normal circumstances you would've been embarassed at the high pitched noise that you couldn’t help spilling out, but in the moment you couldn't care, locking your legs around his body so he buried himself even deeper inside you which you hadn’t thought was possible.

You struggled to reply, barely muttering out a ‘mhm’ as he completely enveloped your body with his. Your pussy fluttered around his cock as you felt the waves of pleasure jolt through your body, letting your final high of the night overcome you.

Mason quickly moved his face to line up with yours, nose to nose so he could watch your face as he claimed you, finally spilling inside you. A mutter of a string of profanities mixed with your name left his lips as he rode out his high, the build up making his orgasm so intense that he struggled to catch his breath.

He didn’t give himself too long to come down from his high, his cock twitching inside you as it softened and his eyes met your tired ones that you were struggling to keep open.

“Hey, sleepy girl. Don’t fall asleep on me yet, we need to get you all cleaned up first.” Mason’s voice was soft and gentle in your ears, making you feel safe and comfortable as your eyes closed once again.

He begun to scatter soft closed mouth kisses all over your face. Starting at your forehead, making his way down your nose and all over your cheeks, causing a smile to plaster all across your face.

“Going to pull out now.” Mason warned knowing you would be sensitive, waiting for your eyes to look at him to confirm he was okay to continue. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever come.” Mason laughed looking at how wet the sheets were as his cum begun to trickle down from your pussy and down your thighs.

You winced slightly as you attempted to move your body up the bed slightly, a small dull pain between your legs.

Mason shot you a sympathetic look, suddenly feeling a little guilty but you were quick to let him know you were okay.

“You too tired for a shower?”

You shook your head no. Aftercare with Mason was your absolute favourite. All the boys you had been with before would just roll over and go to sleep, or at best you would consider yourself lucky if they chucked some tissue your way to clean yourself up.

But not with Mason.

You were completely dazed and sleepy from your evening of pleasure, but you knew Mason would take care of you.

He offered out his hand which you gladly accepted, letting him guide you over to his en-suite. Mason was quick to switch the shower on to heat up extra hot, how he knew you liked it.

Once he was satisfied the water was warm enough for you, the pair of you got in, facing each other as you let the water cascade down your back for a little while.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” Mason asked, his big brown eyes staring so intensely into yours with nothing but love, care and adoration.

You took a moment to appreciate how beautiful he looked before your eyes shamelessly raked up and down his naked body, taking in every little freckle, every mole, all of him; thinking how lucky you were to have a man as beautiful as him.

You loved the intimacy that came with sharing a shower with Mason, something you knew he also loved, and so when your eyes finally met his once again you weren't surprised with the lovesick look that was on his face.

“I'm good.” You replied, a weak smile on your face as not even the warm water could wake you up properly from your languid state.

“I’ll be quick, okay?” You nodded and Mason lathered up some shower gel in his hands, gently swiping them over your body and cleaning you up. You stood there and let him take care of you as he had done so many times before, inhaling the sweet smells of coconut and vanilla as his hands worked their way over your body in such a tender way.

Once he was done, he quickly soaped up his own body before repositioning the pair of you so the clean water could wash away the shower gel from both of you. Mason’s arms came to wrap around your body, entirely pulling you into him and caging you in. Your bare chest brushed against his and your body erupted in tingles at the feel of his skin against yours. You finally pulled away slightly to look up at him and his heart melted as your sleepy eyes looked into his honey ones, nothing but complete trust for him as he held your naked body as you laid completely vulnerable for him to look after.

“I love you.” It was far from the first time he had said those three words to you, but you were sure you would never lose that feeling as your tummy swarmed with butterflies.

“I love you too, Mase.” You tiptoed slightly to plant a soft kiss onto his lips, letting him know you were so appreciative of how he always looked after you. “So much.”

You stayed there for a little while longer, embracing each other in the warm as you knew the cold was going to be an uncomfortable shock when you stepped out.

Mason’s lips came to leave a kiss on your shoulder before he trailed his way across your collarbone and up your neck, gently pecking at the newly formed purple marks that he had created during your love making session.

“They don’t hurt, do they?” Mason asked, a twinge of guilt in his voice but you were quick to shake your head to put him at ease.

With a final kiss to your lips, Mason turned the shower off, telling you to stay put. He retrieved two fluffy towels from the heated towel rail, carelessly throwing one around his body and tying it at the waist before wrapping you up in the other.

He dried you both off a little as you stood in a comfortable silence.

“Stay here.” Mason pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before disappearing into his bedroom. You used the time to go to the toilet and it wasn’t long before he returned wearing just a pair of black boxers, holding some of his clean clothes to dress you in.

He knelt to the floor with a pair of boxers out ready for you to step into, waiting for you to step into them before pulling them up your legs. Mason dressed you in one of his shirts, an old training top that he knew was one of your favourites. He carefully grabbed your hair that had been sucked into the shirt, pulling it out and placing it down over your shoulders, softly running his fingers through it which just made you feel more slumbersome.

Mason effortlessly scooped you up in his arms, carrying you back into his bedroom and placing you down on his bed that he had changed to some fresh bedding.

The pair of you climbed into bed and you were quick to snuggle up into Mason’s bare chest. He pulled the duvet up over you too, making sure you were covered and wrapped up by it.

One of his arms came to hold your body to his, and he slipped his other up your top to rest on your bare skin. You couldn’t help but flinch as his fingers grazed over the spot that must’ve now been bruising, the pain jolting through your body.

Mason jumped at your movement.

“S-sorry, just hurts a little from where you held me.” You replied softly, not wanting to upset Mason as you knew he would be angry with himself for hurting you even the slightest bit. “I’m okay, I promise.” You looked up to him in an attempt to offer him a reassuring smile.

Mason wasn’t sure why he felt his cheeks heat up, so he just held you closer to his chest, both his arms now wrapped around you like he never wanted to let you go. Which he didn’t.

“Promise me you’re okay? I can go get some ice-“

“I’m fine.” You interrupted him, so completely comfy and content that you couldn’t deal with the thought of being ripped out from Mason’s arms. “It’s just a little bruise probably, besides I’m sure I did far worse to your back.” The sound of your sweet giggle made Mason settle back down, a small grin appearing of his face as he thought about the scratches that he had caught a glimpse of in the mirror when he returned to the bedroom. He loved how you marked him as yours.

“Are you hungry? Is there anything else I can get you, baby?”

You shook your head, nuzzling it into Mason’s chest, your breath tickling his bare chest as you spoke.

“I’m so sleepy.”

Mason ran his hand down your hair, softly stroking and you hummed contently.

“Get some sleep, princess.” Mason’s voice was just a whisper now as he noticed how your breathing had became steady, and it was clear you were very almost asleep.

“Mason?” Your small voice jolted him a few moments later and he realised he had been drifting off to sleep himself.

“Yes, princess?”

“I love you.”

Mason held you tighter, planting a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you too, angel.”

[verstappenf1lecccc]

AM!Fernando Alonso x wife reader. While all the drivers have their annual dj nee together, they have their own diner with the Strolls. Just what I know since him and Lance are not there. Maybe they had kid(s) (you decide) And Lance being their fav uncle. Spending time, banter, sweet. Anything. Thanks!! :))

I’m sorry this is out rather late!! I’m on vacay so hehe

A Night with the Strolls

The annual driver’s DJ night was in full swing, but Fernando had decided to take a different route this year. Instead of joining the usual crowd for the glitzy and glamorous event, he and his wife had a more intimate plan—dinner with the Stroll family. Lance, being a close friend and mentor to Fernando, was like family, and his wife had grown just as fond of him over the years. The kids, their two young children—Mateo, 6, and Isabella, 4—were more than excited to be spending the evening with Uncle Lance.

The evening was filled with laughter and playful banter as the children chased Lance around the house, calling him their personal jungle gym. Lance, with his larger-than-life personality, was their favorite playmate. His laughter was contagious, and they clung to him as though he was the most important person in their world.

“I think I’ve earned the title of ‘Best Uncle’ tonight,” Lance said with a grin, lifting Mateo into the air and giving him an exaggerated spin.

Fernando, watching from the couch with his wife beside him, couldn’t help but smile. “They’ll want you to take them on a road trip next, you know,” he teased, a proud glint in his eyes as his son clung to Lance’s neck.

“Why not? I’ll just kidnap them and take them away for a few days. They’ll love it,” Lance joked, raising both kids high and making airplane sounds.

Fernando’s wife, sitting quietly next to him, couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace as she watched the scene unfold. The laughter of their children, the light-hearted teasing between Lance and Fernando, and the warmth of the Strolls’ family felt like a dream. She had never imagined a life like this. Coming from a broken home, where love had often felt uncertain and fleeting, she never thought she would find herself in the kind of family that Fernando had created. But here she was, surrounded by the kind of warmth and stability she had always longed for.

She turned to Fernando, her heart full. “Look at them,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet admiration. “They’re so happy. I never thought I would find a family like this.”

Fernando smiled, his gaze never leaving her as he leaned closer. “You gave me everything I never knew I needed. I’m the lucky one.”

As the evening progressed, they shared moments of quiet connection. The kids ran around, laughing and playing, while Fernando and his wife enjoyed the peace and comfort of each other’s company. At one point, Fernando leaned in closer to his wife, his hand finding hers on the table. Their fingers intertwined naturally, as though they had always belonged there.

“Do you ever think about how we ended up here?” Fernando asked, his voice low, almost as if speaking to himself.

She looked at him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I think about it all the time,” she replied. “I never imagined I could be this happy, this… whole. When I was younger, love always seemed so fleeting, like something that couldn’t last. But now, with you, it’s different. I feel safe. I feel like I’ve found my home.”

Fernando’s gaze softened as he took a breath, pulling her hand closer to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand, a gesture of love so simple yet so profound. “I was lost, you know. In all the glitz and glamor of racing, the fame, the attention… none of it felt real. None of it meant anything until I found you. You made me feel like I finally had a place, a purpose. When I met you, I finally felt like I was home.”

Her heart melted at his words. She had always known he was a passionate and driven man, but hearing him speak so vulnerably touched her in a way that no victory on the racetrack ever could. “You are my home too, Fernando,” she whispered. “You and our children. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.”

The connection between them was palpable, a silent understanding that, despite the world around them, this was their safe space, their place of love and trust. He leaned in then, brushing his lips gently against hers in a kiss that felt like a promise. Soft, tender, yet full of all the love he held for her.

They pulled away, but Fernando’s hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jawline. “You are everything to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “More than I could ever ask for. I will always choose you. Always.”

Her eyes shimmered with love as she gazed at him, feeling the depth of his devotion in every word. “And I will always choose you,” she said, her voice steady but full of affection. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Fernando.”

As the evening wore on, the kids grew tired, and Lance’s playful energy began to wind down. They all gathered around the table, enjoying a quiet meal together. Mateo had managed to convince Lance to tell them a new story, a tale of knights and dragons, and even Isabella, usually quiet during dinner, listened with wide-eyed wonder.

Fernando’s wife watched them, taking in the sight of the Stroll family. Lance, ever the jokester, had always been there for Fernando, and it was clear to her how much Lance admired his friend, not just as a teammate, but as a role model, a father figure.

Fernando had often told her that he had always been close to Lance, but she hadn’t realized just how deep their bond ran. Lance saw Fernando as more than just a colleague. He saw him as a mentor, a guide, someone who had been like a brother to him. When they were younger, Lance had looked up to Fernando—admired his success, his drive, and his unwavering loyalty to those he loved. Over time, that admiration had blossomed into a deep friendship, and now, it was clear that Lance adored Fernando like a father.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, man,” Lance had said more than once. “You’ve taught me more than just racing—you’ve taught me what it means to be a man of integrity, to be a good person.”

Fernando had always brushed it off with a laugh, but deep down, he knew how much Lance’s words meant. He had always tried to be a good role model, not just for his kids, but for the people in his life. And seeing Lance with his children—how the kids gravitated toward him, how he genuinely loved them like they were his own—touched him more than he could ever express.

Later, when the kids had been tucked into bed, and the house was quiet, Fernando and his wife took a moment to sit outside on the patio. The stars above them seemed to twinkle in the soft night sky, and a light breeze stirred the air. Fernando pulled her into his arms, wrapping his jacket around her as she nestled closer.

“You know,” he began, his voice soft and full of love, “I’d like to have another child. A third one. What do you think?”

Her gaze met his, and she felt a mix of love and uncertainty. “I would love that, Fernando, but I’m not sure I can go through it all again. After… everything we’ve been through. I’m scared.”

Fernando’s expression softened as he kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her in a protective embrace. “You don’t have to be scared. Whatever we decide, I’m here with you. And no matter how many children we have, we’ll have everything we need because we have each other. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her heart swelled at his words. She had always known Fernando was a strong man—on the track, in the spotlight, and in their home—but it was moments like this, when his vulnerability shone through, that made her love him even more.

“I love you so much, Fernando,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “You make me feel safe. You make me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

His lips brushed against her forehead, a soft kiss that spoke of love, of promises made, and of the beautiful life they had created together. “And I will always love you, mi amor. You are my everything.”

As the night continued, Fernando and his wife held each other close, their hearts full of love, their bond stronger than ever. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of their family and the quiet of the night, they both knew that no matter what the future held, as long as they had each other, they were home.

[msfantasy-comics]

The Ex gets Married

Bruce Wayne x Ex-Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Bruce breaks up with Y/n and ends up in a tumultuous relationship with Selina. Bruce finds out about his ex-girlfriend moving on and is heartbroken.

Warning: Bruce does not have a happy ending.

Many years before, Bruce, had to make a life altering decision.

Should he follow his head or his heart?

He loved both Selina and Y/n dearly for very different reasons.

But there was no use pondering the decision further. Selina was a safe bet.

Selina, whilst fickle, was still a woman capable of handling the rough and tough life style that accompanied his alter-ego. Selina’s life parallels his own; their secret life, their deep rooted trauma, their years of personal growth together.

When considering these factors, it was indisputable, he had to follow his head, and in the end he got exactly what he asked for.

An unbridled romantic companion that was only ever present when it suited her.

Selina was never consistent in supporting Bruce. Only being present at the worst of times, and never being available to celebrate the best of times.

Selina was incapable of bonding with his sons. It’s not like she didn’t try, the boys were just utterly disinterested in bonding with a woman who seemed to sail in and out of Bruce’s life on a whim. Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian felt Selina was not going to be around long, so they always turned her down or avoided Selina when possible.

Selina was uncomfortable with the mundane. Drama followed her where ever she went. Her constant blow outs strains Bruce beyond measure.

As usual, Bruce retreats to his cold and lonely bed. It’s been weeks since he last heard from Selina. He stares at the ceiling and wonders what his life could’ve been like had he followed his heart.

You were always the first to hold Bruce and comfort him in his times of need. You were always pushing to celebrate ridiculous milestones and insisting it was important since it was an achievement.

You put in so much effort bonding with his sons. You’d spent days in Bludhaven, looking after Dick in hospital when no one else could. You drove to Jason’s favourite dive bar, drank beer with him every Friday. You attended all of Tim’s extracurricular events. You would drink tea with Damian and listen to him vent his frustrations with his teammates.

Better yet, you were always in bed waiting for him. Arms always spreading open, ready to embrace him after a difficult night out.

Bruce missed you dearly, but he knows he made the right decision. Selina was capable of protecting herself- you weren’t.

Bruce constantly reminds himself of that time Joker almost took your life as you helplessly dangled from the building. Your survival from that encounter was pure luck. If Bruce wasn’t your boyfriend, you would’ve been safe.

So, Bruce made the right decision following his head. Following his heart would’ve brought nothing but heartache.

The house seemed unusually quite. There was no noise, no movement. He hasn’t heard anything from anyone.

“Alfred, where are the boys?” The older gentlemen continues to assemble the cucumber sandwiches, pretending he didn’t hear a single word. “Alfred?” The older man sighs as he contemplates telling the truth, to honouring the lie fabricated by the boys. At last, Alfred opts for the ugly truth.

“The young masters are attending a wedding ceremony.” Alfred answers bluntly, unwilling to be the barer of bad news.

“A wedding ceremony? Who’s wedding is it?” Alfred places the plate in front of Bruce, continuing to avoid eye contact. “Alfred, answer the question.”

He sighs as he pours a glass of water. “John Constantines wedding.”

Confusion crosses Bruce as to why his sons are attending that man’s wedding. “I didn’t know he had a significant other, who is he marrying?”

Alfred looks off to the clock as Bruce waits impatiently for the long drawn out answer. The clock strikes twelve, which floods the house with a melody to notify half the day has passed. Finally, Alfred speaks. “As of 12’oclock John Constantine has married his beloved wife Y/n Constantine.”

All colour in Bruce’s face drains, his mouth goes dry and he’s not sure if his heart is beating. “Y/n… she’s married?” Alfred nods unsympathetically.

“The women you love has married someone that isn’t you.” Alfred’s words rubs salt in Bruce’s already wounded heart. “Incase you were wondering Master Bruce… Selina Kyle had introduced the two around the time you had broken up.” Bruce’s head turns to mush at the news.

It’s not like he intended to get back together with you or anything- so why is he so upset?

Of course you would move on eventually, he knew that. That’s just common sense. Why would you be single for the rest of your life?

Yet despite all common sense Bruce’s heart continues to squeeze painfully, his head thumping away as a growing migraine takes place.

The love of his life has gone on and married someone else.

God.

Is it too late to win her back?

What was he thinking ? Of course it is.

There’s no going back.

Bruce will just have to accept his decision.

[zepskies]

Girl no worries -- dive right in! 😂 I'm so excited that you're dipping back into ESC! 💜💜

Not shady at all 🙄 He's such a mess At least he came to the realization himself, even if his solution clearly isn't well thought through 😅 I can see his good intentions, though. Hope he realizes soon enough that he needs to accept some help 💔 But then to be gone for four months???? 👀 What the hell did he get into?!

Oh. Charlie is the hottest mess. 😭😭 I love that you're curious about what he's gotten into though -- and trust me, you'll see. 😅 He did have good intentions at the start, but he's struggling for sure.

Been there 🤣🤣 (But honestly, eating pure Nutella and just spooning it out of the jar is the fucking best, even though you feel like shit after 😂)

100,000% LOL. I felt like my lovely ladies reading would relate to this Nutella part. 🤣

I love that she didn't want to call the cops to protect her brother. I'm glad she sees he's only lost and still wants to help him, no matter what (even when he apparently burns the house down 🙈). It also makes complete sense she doesn't want to lose him, considering everyone she's already lost 😢

Oh yeah, she knows Charlie is a good person underneath his addiction and whatever he's doing to try and "make it up to her." She wants him safe and pulled out of whatever the hell he's been doing, but she doesn't necessarily want him to go to jail, where he's even less likely to get the help he needs. Plus, like you said, she's lost so much already, and he's really the only family she has left. 💙

She's always so strong and keeps it together because she's always had to do that, but I'm glad she could go for a moment with Russell ❤️

We do what we gotta do in life, amirite? 😅 But she did finally let some walls come down for Russell and allowed him to comfort her. 🥹🥹

DEAD 💀🤣🤣🤣 But yeah, seriously, what the fuck was in those woods they grew up in? Magic water??? 🔥🫠

Lmfao!! FR! Some LOTR magic tree water action that made them boys grow up tall and pretty. 💖💖

Ugh, I want a full family reunion so badly on the show 😭 Thank you for this 🤍

Ahaha you're so welcome! 💜 I had to give them a family reunion moment. 🥹💞

Love her 🤍 Also, you captured Colter's personality so well! His reactions crack me up so much. He's either always super focused or gives sarcastic deadpan answers 🤣

LOL thank youu!! I did my best with Colter, whose personality I thought was harder to nail down than Russell's honestly. Just because of how stoic he is. But I also love his sarcasm/dry wit! 😂😂

And again, what the hell did Charlie get into??? Missing artifacts, and now she's getting kidnapped? I hope the guys find them before the bad guys hurt either reader or Charlie.

Oh that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? 😆😆 The "timer" starts now!!

Also, Russell surely will bite himself in the ass for not just taking her to the bar with them after this 🙈

Oh DEFINITELY you're gonna see some self-deprecating Russell in Part 3 lol.

Gaaaaah, I can't wait to read the next part! I'm on the edge of my seat 😁👏🍿

Aww yay!! I'm so glad to hear that you're liking ESC so far. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ride, 'cause it's about to get bumpy lmao. 😏💕💕

Every Second Counts - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I decided to put this chapter out a bit early due to some Father's Day stuff tomorrow. I was blown away by the response from you guys on Part 1!! Thank you so much. 🥰 I had some trepidation writing a new character, but I'm so glad you guys seem to enjoy where this little series is going so far. It makes me even more excited to bring you the next chapter of ESC! 💜

Song Inspo: “Too Late” by The Paper Kites

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: Shaw family feels, a bit of mystery, tinge of fluff and mutual pining, and a twist…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 2: “Family Reunion”

The next day after he left, you finally managed to get Charlie on the phone. He implored you not to try and find him.

He claimed he was staying with a friend for now, and was picking up some odd jobs through a connection at the museum—another security guard who knew how to get extra work. 

“What kind of extra work?” you asked. You sunk back into the couch in your living room and held a hand to your aching head. You had already lost sleep over this, worrying about where he was and what the hell he was doing.

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Charlie said.

He really knew how to frustrate you to the nth degree.

“Charlie, just come home. Please,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes, choking your words. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

You heard him sigh.

“You had a right to be mad,” he said. “I’m the big brother, remember? But I’m…I’m a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“We take care of each other, and you know that,” you said sharply, wiping at your eyes in frustration.

“Listen, I’ll come home when I can, okay? Be good.”

“Charlie! Ch—” The call ended, and you nearly tossed your phone in aggravation.

“That stubborn fucking idiot,” you muttered.

Four months later, your worry was eating you alive.

Charlie refused to come home or tell you where he was staying. The only time you got to see him was when you visited him on his night shift at the museum. You tried to talk him into coming home, but your brother remained stubborn.

“You get that from Dad,” you’d told him once, while watching him eat some leftover meatloaf you’d made for him. The two of you stood outside the museum on his break.

Charlie had smirked at you. “Yeah, well, you share the disease.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that.

But just when you thought you were starting to get through to him, now, he’d stopped answering your calls. For that matter, the museum hadn’t even seen or heard from him in a week or so.

So here you sat, in the living room of Dory’s apartment, crying into a jar of Nutella that you’d long ago stopped spreading over the strawberries she’d laid out. You had a chocolate-covered butterknife in one hand and a used Kleenex in the other.

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t want necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

You hadn’t had a chance to meet him when he dropped in a couple of months ago, but she’d told you about his brief visit to find a graduate student who had been kidnapped, and nearly killed by a professor in the Sciences department for uncovering a flaw in the man’s research. That flaw would have costed him his entire grant, and possibly his career and reputation. 

The terrible incident had caused an uproar on campus. Students were released from their classes for an entire day after the professor was arrested. 

Now, Dory considered your question with a thoughtful nod. “I’ll call him.”

You were grateful, but your face became pained as something occurred to you. You held up a hand.

“Wait, I just realized I can’t pay him,” you said. You didn’t have more than a thousand dollars in your savings account, and that was for emergencies. Like the time Charlie nearly burned the house down after a lighting mishap with his bong.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that,” Dory said. She laid a comforting hand on your arm. “He’d do this as a favor to me.”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your brows furrowing. “That’s a pretty big favor.”

She’d told you what some of Colter’s fees could run up to, but she tried to quell your reservations and promised to call him regardless.

However, the more you thought about it, you already had a phone number in your cell…for the one person who would understand the part of your brother that you might never be able to. 

After you left Dory’s apartment, you debated the idea in your head for the entire drive home. 

And when you got to the house, you picked up your cell, and you called him. Your nerves had you pacing back and forth across the living room as it rang. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help smiling just at the sound of his voice, smooth and pleased, and a hint surprised.

“Hey,” you replied, biting your lip. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You’ve got good timing too. I just came off a job,” he said.

“Oh really? Where are you?”

“Well, I’m states-side now. Just got back from South America.”

“Oh, wow,” you said, blinking incredulously.

What the hell was he doing there? you had to wonder. Maybe he was protecting some Latin American emissary. Or maybe, he was doing things you didn’t want to think about. Your brother had filled you in a bit about civilian contract jobs in recent weeks, as he’d considered going after those himself.

“They can pay very well, from what I hear,” Charlie had said. “The problem with that is, it kind of defeats the purpose of leaving the military.”

Despite that mildly troubling thought, you tried to focus on the fact that you had this man on the phone at all.

A smile formed across your lips. “Did you get yourself a nice tan?”

“Eh, not really. Was more of a night job,” he said. “But uh…how are you doing? Not gonna lie, I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m not all that good, if I’m honest,” you said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You heard the concern in his voice. You steeled yourself before you answered.

“Russell, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you for a big favor.”

“Hmm, this sounds serious,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. When you next took a breath, it came out unsteady. “My brother’s missing.”

It was a bright Saturday morning when you welcomed Russell Shaw into your house. He looked around, finding family pictures, bookshelves, paintings, candles, all things that began to shade in who you were in the comfort of your home.

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s uh, homey.”

You smiled and closed the door behind him.

“Well, it’s the house we grew up in,” you replied.

You and Charlie had of course inherited it after your parents’ passing. Their life insurance policies had helped pay off the three-bedroom house while you two were still in school. Your grandparents helped a lot back then too, and had even moved in for a time. Now they each had plots beside your parents at Grandview Cemetery.

“You want some coffee? I know you had a long drive,” you asked.

“Sure,” Russell agreed. He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on the coffee pot. You made a discreet glance at him. He looked virtually the same, with that familiar green jacket, jeans, boots, and a Jimi Hendrix shirt. You'd had a feeling he was a classic rock guy.

“Look, not that I wasn’t glad to get your call,” Russell said, “but you do know that I’m not the tracker in the family, right?”

“Dory did offer to call Colter, but I can’t afford to pay him,” you said.

“I could help with that,” said Russell. You raised up a hand to stop him there.

“I don’t want that kind of help from you,” you said firmly. “I didn’t call you for money, Russell. I called you because you’ll probably understand where Charlie’s head’s at. Better than me, anyway.”

He hesitated, but nodded in understanding. When the coffeemaker dinged, finished percolating, you turned to make him a mug with cream and sugar, as per his request.

While he waited for the coffee to cool, he admired you for a moment. Even in a plain V-neck shirt and a pair of jeans, your hair swung up in a ponytail, you were still a sight. (Your lipstick did match your shirt though. That made him smile.)

And Russell could admit, it was good to see you again.

“Me and Colter reconnected recently. Did Dory tell you?” he said.

Your brows raised high in surprise. “Oh yeah?”

The two of you found your way back to the living room with your mugs.

“Yeah. We talked for the first time in…shit, over twenty years,” Russell laughed, raking a hand through his hair.

Not only had he been able to say his piece to Colter about their…family issues, they’d also solved a case of their own, with Colter agreeing to help him find his friend Doug, who worked for the same black ops contract agency as Russell. The Horizon Group.

The aftermath of that still left Russell with a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of how Horizon would’ve left Doug to rot, if it hadn’t been for him and Colter pressing their luck and digging deeper into who’d taken his friend.

That whole mess had also made Russell begin to wonder if maybe he needed a new line of work after all. But, because the money was just that good, he’d ended up on a new job by the end of the month.

Your voice soon broke him from his thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said. You reached over and touched his arm, with warmth in your eyes. 

Russell gave you a smile. The closeness between you brought up memories of that dusty bar, and the taste of lime and tequila on your soft, supple lips. But you subtly cleared your throat and took your hand back. He hid a twinge of disappointment.

“So what’s going on with your brother?” Russell asked.

Get back on track, he reminded himself.

You sighed. “Damn Charlie.”

Over coffee, you explained that Charlie took off a few months ago, the night you got back from the bar. You had seen him only briefly, whenever you were able to catch him at the museum after work. He’d been keeping in touch with you on a weekly basis, but now, he hadn’t called in almost two weeks. You couldn’t get ahold of him on any of the numbers you had. They all seemed to be burner phones. Plus, he’d been let go from his job at the museum after not showing up for the past week. 

“What’s he into, extracurricular-wise?” Russell asked.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me,” you said in frustration. Tears prickled at your eyes, and your lower lip trembled. “He said it was safer that way.”

Russell laid a supportive hand over yours, earning your watery gaze.

“And you haven’t gone to the police?” he asked.

“I think he’s gotten into something…dangerous. I don’t want to get him in more trouble than he might be already,” you said. “I just want him to get help for his problems. Physically and mentally.”

Russell nodded. He understood that you wanted to protect your brother. Sometimes though, getting into “trouble” was the rock bottom someone needed in order to face their problems.

“Does he have friends?” he asked. “Some kinda crowd he hangs around with?”

“Not anymore. I think he’s lost touch with his Air Force buddies,” you said, though you tried to think. Your brows furrowed as something occurred to you. “He knew someone at work, at the museum. Another security guard on his same shift. After they cut his hours down to part-time, Charlie said the guy knew how to get extra work.”

“Okay, that’s definitely where we start,” said Russell. “Let me just give Dory a call. If I don’t let her know I’m in town, I don’t even wanna know the consequences.”

You laughed through your tears and tried to brush them away. 

“Yeah, do that. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Russell took one look at you, and he tightened his hold on your hand.

“Hey,” he said.

You glanced up at him, as tears clung to your lashes. His heart couldn’t help but clench for you. He really didn’t like to see you like this.

“We’re gonna find him. You’ve got my word,” he said. 

You were desperate to believe him. So you nodded, sniffling as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You were scared, for the first time in a long time. 

“All right, come ‘ere,” Russell said. When he guided you into his arms, you went willingly. You pressed your face into his chest to hide your weeping. His hold was warm and strong enough to make you feel secure. Just for this moment, you didn’t have to pretend you had everything handled.

“He’s the only family I have,” you reminded him. He nodded.

“I hear ya. We’ll get him home,” he said. “And I am going to call Colter. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll square it up with him.”

“Russell—” you protested, but he just squeezed you playfully. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pull big brother rank. He’s got no choice,” he joked. 

You shook your head, but you allowed him to comfort you for a bit longer. Because all too soon, you’d have to steel yourself again. You’d have to be the version of yourself that you always had to be, ever since you were fourteen years old.

You invited Dory over to your house, where the three of you were soon joined by the last of the Shaw siblings: the one you had yet to meet.

Colter made it in time for dinner that afternoon. The tall blonde took up your doorway with his broad shoulders and offered you a polite smile, along with his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Colter,” he said. 

You mentally tripped up a bit as you shook his hand and gave him your name. Did all the Shaw siblings have to be so damn attractive?

“Uh, yes, please come in.” You ushered him into your home and led him into the living room, where Russell stood from the couch. 

“Ahh, there he is,” Russell grinned, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder. 

“Here you are,” Colter gestured at him. “Where the hell did you take off to after last time?”

“Ah, you know. Argentina was fun.”

“I’m sure it was.”

You paused in the doorway, just watching the brothers in mystification. Dory shot you a questioning look as she came over from the kitchen. You met her with raised brows. 

“What?” Dory asked. A smile played on her lips.

“Do all of you have to be so unbelievably pretty?” you whispered over to her. Dory smirked and bumped your shoulder, nodding at Colter. 

“What, you wanna make out with him too?” she teased. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. Dory just laughed and moved on to say hello to the other blonde. She pulled him down into a hug, and he reciprocated warmly.  

Russell then laid a hand on Colter’s shoulder, as well as Dory’s. He wore a big, proud grin.

“Hey. Look at us, huh?” he said. 

Dory sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes, looking up at both of her brothers. Colter wore a more reserved smile, but he did wrap an arm around his sister and thump his older brother on the back.

You smiled. You were lingering by the kitchen doorway. If nothing else, you were glad that this whole mess had been able to bring Dory back together with her family. 

You decided to give them a moment, and you wandered back into the kitchen. There you took a beat for yourself, mainly to breathe.  

When you again thought of Charlie, you had to wonder just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Later, the four of you sat in the living room so you could explain everything you knew so far to Colter. He took all the information in with a pensive expression that didn’t reveal much to you. 

“So you said he was struggling?” he said. 

“Yes, after he got out of the military,” you confessed. “He had a hard time figuring himself out. I got him the job at the museum, but I don’t think it was enough for him.”

“Why is that?” Colter asked. He saw that you were reluctant to explain. “I need to know the full picture of who Charlie is if I’m going to be able to figure out his probable moves.”

You sighed. “Well, he was seeing a VA psychiatrist for a while. They wanted to put him on antidepressants, but he stopped going. He…started self-medicating instead.”

That part was hard to admit, but it was the truth. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t any longer. 

“What substances?” Colter asked. 

“Alcohol, mainly,” you replied. “At his worst, there were hard drugs, but I got him to tone it down just to weed every now and then.”

You bit at your thumbnail out of habit, but you forced yourself to stop, folding your hands in your lap. You didn’t see judgment in Colter’s eyes, just him taking in the information. You couldn’t help but glance at Dory, where you found her sympathy. She knew enough about what you’d been dealing with for the past few years. Russell seemed understanding as well. 

“Anything else I should know?” Colter asked. You shook your head. You felt bad about revealing Charlie’s business like this, but you knew it was the only way to help him. Still, you felt you had to defend him a little.

“Look, my brother has his problems, but he’s a good man,” you said. “He, um…he basically half raised me, after our parents died.”

Dory also knew this story. She rested a hand on your back, and you gave her what smile you could. 

“How old were you?” Russell asked. He earned your attention, and you met his sympathetic gaze.

“Fourteen,” you answered. “It was a car accident.”

He took that in, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The way he met your eyes when he said it, you believed him. You subtly cleared your throat and directed the conversation back.   

“So, I don’t have a lot of money. But I can give you something for your services,” you said to Colter. Both Russell and Dory met you with similar looks. 

“I’ve got it,” Dory says, before Russell had the chance. Colter waved her off though.

“In this case, it’s not necessary,” he said, focusing on you again. “So Charlie was working at the local museum?”

You breathed a note of relief at his generosity. Dory, Russell, and now Colter…they were all good people in their own way. You felt emotion rise in your throat.

“Yes, it’s about ten minutes away,” you managed to reply. “It’s closed now, but his coworker could be on shift. They always have security in place.”

You grabbed your purse to go with them when Colter and Russell stood, but the former raised a placating hand. 

“It’s best if you stayed here,” Colter said.

Your brows rose. “I don’t think so.”

Colter’s mouth parted, and he blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to push back quite like that; calm and matter of fact.

“Ah, well, it’s really for your safety—”

“I’m not going to sit and wait,” you said. “That’s all I’ve been doing for months. I may not be an expert tracker, or have been in the army, but I do know my brother. And we are going to find him.”

Behind you, Dory was giving Colter a warning shake of her head. She knew just how stubborn you could be. Meanwhile, Russell came up on your other side with a smile.

“What’s the harm in her coming along to the museum?” he said, sliding his brother a teasing look. “Unless the T. rex wakes up all the mummies, Ben Stiller style.”

You wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly the plot of Night at the Museum, but you held it in with a smile. You gave Colter an expectant look.

He sighed at Russell’s antics, but he turned to you with a nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. 

“I’ll head home then,” said Dory. “Call me if you need anything.” 

You gave her a hug after she gathered up her purse. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, rubbing your back. “Colter’s the best.” 

“All right, fine. And what am I? Chopped liver?” Russell remarked, gesturing wide with his hands. You all filtered out of your house, and you locked the door behind you.  

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Dory quipped back, but she gave her eldest brother a warm hug as well, then patted Colter on the arm before she left.

Russell shot Colter a playful smirk. “I got the hug.”

Colter rolled his eyes and pointed over to his big pickup truck. 

“Just get in the car, please.”

You had to smile at all their sibling teasing. It reminded you of how you and Charlie used to cut up, when things were good. On your way down the driveway, you hesitated by the Chevy Chevelle parked next to your own car. She was still black and sleek and beautiful.

You happened to glance up, and there was Russell, getting into his brother’s pickup. He winked at you across the driveway. You turned your face to hide your smile (and your blush) as you climbed into your car.

Colter noted the exchange when he buckled up into the driver’s seat. He watched Russell do the same on the passenger side, all while wearing a certain smile on his face. When he noticed how Colter was looking at him, his brows raised.

“What?” said Russell.

“What was that?” Colter asked.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Colter chuckled. He began to pull the car out of the driveway after you in your car, so he could follow you. “What, do you two have a thing or something? Is that why she called you before me?”

Russell shrugged, but his smile was telling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm. Convincing,” Colter said, but his lips tugged upward as well. His good humor diminished though, when he considered the last time he saw his brother. “How’s the arm?”

Russell gave a thumbs up with his left arm—the one that previously had a bullet run through it. It was still healing, even now.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“Sure did.”

Riiiight. Another thing Colter wasn’t sure was the truth, but he’d give Russell that one.

“And that unfinished business?” Colter asked.

Russell’s smile faded, but he nodded. “Finished.”

After a moment, Colter nodded as well. 

“Okay,” he said. 

Something occured to him then. He paused, and he reached into his pocket. He held up a small, closed pocketknife with a wooden handle, and he gave it back to Russell. It had the man's name carved on the side.

Russell's smile returned as he flipped the old keepsake through his fingers.

"Thanks for keeping it safe for me," he said.

Colter smiled back. "Thanks for trusting me with it."

Colter parked next to you at the museum. It was closed, but the security guard, Jimmy, did know your brother. 

“I haven’t seen Charlie since he quit last week,” Jimmy claimed.

“He quit?” you said. “They told me he just never came back.”

“Yeah, well, same thing,” he said.

The front doors of the museum opened, and out came Dr. Feinman, your former boss, and the Head Manager. You left Jimmy’s questioning up to Russell and Colter with a meaningful look, and you went to intercept Feinman.

“Hi, sir, how’re you doing?” you asked. Your name fell from his lips in surprise. 

“My dear, it’s good to see you, but why are you here after hours?” he asked, his British accent lilting.

“I’m trying to find Charlie. He’s been missing, well, officially for about a week,” you said. “I was actually surprised to see you here so late.”

The man cleared his throat. He smoothed a hand over his tie and suit jacket.

“Yes, well, we could’ve used Charlie’s help. We’ve had to double our security efforts,” he said. “We’re currently dealing with a sensitive issue, so the museum will be closed until it is resolved.”

“You’re doubling your security efforts… Was something stolen?” you asked. 

Feinman clearly didn’t want to tell you this, but you knew you’d hit the nail on the head by the look on his face.

“Please, keep that information to yourself,” he said. 

“What was stolen?” you asked in concern. 

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information. Not even for you, dear,” he said. “I do hope you find your brother though.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, and as a matter of fact,” you began, but Feinman waved an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m in a terrible rush just now. But call my office tomorrow and Brenda will help you with whatever you may need,” he said. “Good evening.”

“Wait, Dr. Feinman,” you tried, but he was already breezing past you and heading toward his Mercedes in the parking lot.

Meanwhile, Colter and Russell weren’t having much better luck with Jimmy. 

“Look, I really don’t know where Charlie is,” he said. “Haven’t seen or heard from him since he took off.”

“He said you connected him with someone who could give him some work on the sly,” Russell said, leveling a hand at the man’s chest. “Who did you connect him with, and what kind of work are we talking?”

Jimmy blew out a breath, like this was really inconveniencing his day. (Or night, at this point.)

“What, you’ve got somewhere to be?” Colter said. “You’re getting paid to stand right here, and we have no problem sharing your shift all night. You might as well just tell us what we want to know.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.

“All right,” he snapped. “I hooked him up with this guy I knew through a mutual acquaintance, who just needed some muscle. I guess you could call it private security.”

“A mutual acquaintance?” Colter repeated. 

“What’re you, James Bond? Who did you connect him with?” Russell pressed.

Jimmy was reluctant to talk. You came back over to join them, and the security guard became even more tight-lipped.

“You guys should go. I don’t have to talk to you, and I’ve got a job to do,” he said.

When he tried to continue his patrol around the museum, you stepped deliberately in his way. You didn’t have the patience for this, and you would no longer be a doormat, letting the Goldsteins and the Feinmans of this world push past you.

“Look, Jimmy, if you don’t give us something we can go on to find my brother, you know where I’m going to go?” you asked. But you spoke before he could respond. “To the police. And your name is the only one I have to give them. Now, if you don’t want that to be you, then give me a different name.”

Jimmy looked down at you, and then over at your intimidating shadows, Russell and Colter. Jimmy sighed.

“Eddie,” he gave, finally.

Russell raised his hands, as if to say, Is that it?

“What, Eddie Vedder? Eddie who? Come on,” Russell said.

“Eddie Mendez,” Jimmy replied in a lowered voice. “I don’t know where he lives. I don’t have his number. And that 'mutual acquaintance' is doing some time in lockup. But Eddie hangs out at a bar called Howley’s.”

You and Russell shared a meaningful look at that. You turned back to Jimmy. 

“Okay. What was stolen here at the museum?” you said. “That’s why it’s been closed, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I wasn’t on shift, and Dr. Feinman keeps a tight lid on that kind of thing.”

“We’ll need to get into his office then,” Colter said. 

You blinked wider at Colter. Wait, was he really suggesting you guys break into the museum?

Jimmy pointed to the black device attached to the ceiling above them. 

“See the cameras?” he said. “That's not happening on my dime.”

Colter looked up, and he saw the cameras strategically installed across the front of the museum. 

“Then take us where the cameras don’t see,” he said.

You, Colter, and Russell were able to break into the museum via a storage unit door, thanks to Jimmy’s texted instructions. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but it was for Charlie, you reminded yourself.

You remembered where to find Feinman’s office. You paid for a lot of your undergrad expenses, namely your books and tuition, by working full-time as an office assistant here, and the occasional tour guide. 

You led them to the room where the inventory records were kept. Colter gave you his gloves so you didn’t leave prints, and you were able to pinpoint what was labelled as missing from the latest shipment. 

“Oh great,” you muttered. 

“What was taken?” Colter asked.

“A collection of Native American weapons. Dated almost eight hundred years old,” you said, shaking your head. “The collection is valued at $1.5 million dollars.”

Russell and Colter shared a look. 

“That’s some big motive,” Russell said. 

“When did they go missing?” Colter asked. 

“Almost two weeks ago,” you said. Your brows furrowed the more you read, as you realized something. “Just a few days before Charlie left the museum…” 

The timing wasn’t lost on anyone. But if Charlie was a suspect, Feinman hadn’t let on to that at all. You checked the exact date the artifacts went missing again: a Tuesday night. Charlie didn’t typically work on Mondays or Tuesdays, you realized. And he’d left after the artifacts went missing. So maybe they hadn’t thought to question him yet. One small blessing.  

You sighed. With that information gathered, the three of you put back everything you uncovered and left the building the same way you came in. Jimmy was nowhere in sight, probably patrolling the other end of the museum on purpose.

When you all made it back to the parking lot, you turned to Colter and Russell.

“Okay, what’s next?” you asked. “Howley’s right? To find Eddie.”

“Actually, I think it’s best Russell and I take it from here,” Colter said. “We don’t know what kind of character Eddie Mendez is, but from how reluctant Jimmy was to tell us, it doesn’t sound good.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Russell drew closer and touched your arm. You could see in his face that he agreed with his brother, even though he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Look, you’ve been a huge help,” he said. “But let us work on this, okay? We’ll call you when we find something.”

Still, your lips pursed. “Russell, he’s my brother.”

“I know. Punching out drunks is one thing, but this might be a little different,” he said, grasping your arms gently. “Will you give me some peace of mind, knowing you’re home safe?”

He brushed one of his thumbs along your skin. Already you had goosebumps. From the cold chill on the air, or from him, you weren’t sure. But that simple touch, along with his earnest, imploring gaze broke you down.

“All right. I get it. I’m not the Special Ops guy,” you said. “But call me afterward so I know how it went.”

“Okay, will do,” Russell agreed. He let you go so you could go to your car. You shot the brothers one last look before you climbed in and peeled out of the parking lot.

Russell expelled a sigh of relief. He got into the passenger side of his brother’s pickup while Colter started it up.

Thanks to the late hour, and how little traffic there was on the road, it didn’t take you long to get home.

You’d debated whether you should just go to Howley’s anyway, but you didn’t want to get in the way, or make Russell worry for that matter. You smiled, despite yourself.

His touch had tingled across your arms, and whenever he absently laid a hand on the small of your back, supportive or guiding.

Thinking about him just made your heart ache. Because after this was over, he’d be gone again—on a new mysterious job, perhaps on the other side of the world.

You’d been regretting how you left things with him at the bar for months, but now you were glad you hadn’t gone any further with him that night. Your heart was too easily ensnared, it seemed, and Russell didn’t seem to be a “strings attached” kind of guy.

When you parked in front of your house, you let out a tense breath. Russell and Colter would find Charlie. You believed in them. You just hoped your brother was all right, wherever he was.

You pulled your cell out of your purse to call Dory as you headed for the front door. You wanted to give her an update and let her know that you were back at home.

The call began to ring just as you slipped your key into the lock. Unfortunately, you never got a chance to open it.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you from behind and yanked you back, and a firm hand over your mouth smothered your scream.

AN: 🫣 *Whispers* Sorryyy. But hey! What did you think of the reader's reunion with Russell, as well as the little Shaw Family Reunion? Plus, we got a bit of the reader working with Russell and Colter on the case.

Now, the real timer starts...

Next Time:

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

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[railingsofsorrow]

Back To Normalcy

[JJ Maybank x reader]

summary: JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

pairing: jj maybank x f!reader

w.c: 2.8K

warnings/content: near death experiences (flashbacks); obx4 ending is discussed (as in graphic descriptions of what happened so be aware); jj being the best whipped boyfriend; PTSD is hinted; hurt/comfort (trust me, no one dies); paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

A/N: this is kind of a fix-it and it is set after the pogues find the blue crown. it will have discrepancies regarding canon cause I didn't watch obx4 part 2. bear with me. I'm editing this in the middle of class lol. merry christmas to those who celebrate and a happy new years!!!

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“So it's like... We gotta think of everything. Yeah, we found it, but we gotta—”

“... Have a solid plan, yeah, Pope.” John B cut him off, earning a glare which made the edge of his lips quirk up in amusement. If there was one thing the Pogues had fun in doing, that thing was annoying Pope Heyward. It was just too easy. “Sorry, sorry.” The Routledge boy raised his arms, pretending to surrender but the grin in his mouth betrayed him. John B never felt the will to smile more than he did in that moment. He had his friends. His family. With him. Safe and sound. Finally. Everyone in one piece. Barely. . . And back home. What more could he ask for?

What more could any of them ask for, really?

You tuned out the conversation for the tenth time that night. You loved bonfires. Especially the ones where your friends organized, where you felt at home around their stupid jokes and drunk laughter.

But you couldn't focus tonight. Somehow you always ended up right back in the scalding sand of Morocco, blood sipping through your fingers as tried desperately to stop it. Your screams of agony even though you weren't the one stabbed echoed through your brain like you had worked hard to memorize it.

You'd rather it had been you, actually. No doubt about that.

The soft nudge in your leg made you step out of the infusion of bad memories your head had conjured up. As your eyes adjusted to the bonfire's flames, you noticed all your friends staring at you in expectancy.

“What?”

Instead of the nudge, you felt cold fingers come in contact with your thigh and you almost flinched at the coldness — that coldness — before you caught the beer bottle in his hand. With a gentle squeeze to your thigh, JJ brought you back to Earth.

“I was just tellin' them here,” he began, leaving his beer aside to scoot closer. “how I'm gonna kidnap you to South America any moment now.”

“Hey.” You forced your breathing to slow down. He didn't need you freaking out now, he needed you to be on your best sane behavior, that's what JJ needed. He needed you. “Jay? Baby, take a deep breath, it's alright.”

“He, um...” JJ's shaky hands reached yours and you shook your head when his fingers curled around your bloody ones in his stomach. “I can't— You—”

“I'm here. It's okay. It's gonna be okay, yeah? You just, you just have to keep breathing. Slowly, like me? Okay?”

Where was everybody?

“And how are you gonna do that?” You forced out, taking a long sip of your beer in a foolish attempt of drowning the memories in your head.

Sarah let out a snicker and Cleo's thick accent scolded somebody but you couldn't bring yourself to the present moment. No, you were still fucking there.

“Pope!” You bellowed now unable to control the shakiness of your hands as they tried to stop the blood. So much blood. So much blood. Why? “John B! Where is— Kiara! Baby, hey, hey!” You used one of your hands to grab his cheek, tilting his head to look at you, his half-lidded eyes showed you how weak he was. You didn't care that his pretty face was smeared with your bloody hands, you had to make him stay awake. “JJ? JJ!”

He blinked with difficulty, gazing up at you. “Hi...” And he had the decency to smile. He smiled! How can someone who has been stabbed smile and it takes your breath away the same away? You never thought you'd see his last smile and you shouldn't even be thinking of that because you both are young and have a whole life ahead of you so why would you be thinking of your boyfriend's last smile?

“Hey.” You cried out. “J, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? I'm getting help. You just have to—”

“I love you.”

Certainly, your whole body froze right at that second. That hadn't been the first time he said it, no. JJ made sure to let you know he loved you thousands of times ever since he said the three little words for the first time. And every time he said it, you felt the warmth of his arms around you, his sunbathed skin against yours and the softness of his lips curling in his favorite spot on your neck after a long day.

That's what “I love you” means when JJ says it.

Except now there was no warmth because he felt cold. Everything regarding him was cold. The kind of coldness a boy with the sun in his smile shouldn't have. There was no smile, not the same smile, at least. There was no life because your favorite boy was saying goodbye and that's what his words meant this time.

Coming back to the bonfire was almost as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed in your face. Your friends had vanished. Nobody was around but you.

“Hey.”

. . . And JJ.

You should've thought he wouldn't have left you alone.

“Hey,” you offered him a half-assed smile. “Where's everyone?”

“Inside.” He mentioned towards the house with a jerk of his head before turning back to you. His cerulean eyes studied your frame for a bit before he let out a sigh, standing up and outstretching a hand in your direction.

You stared at it and him with a raise of your brow. A question.

There was nothing JJ hated more than waiting. So, he didn't wait. He lowered fully to kiss your lips since you were sitting down, enjoying the way they parted in surprise. Stealthily, he wrapped an arm behind your back and beneath your knees and before you could react he pulled you up as if you weighted a penny.

“Jesse James Maybank!”

Oh, he was well aware he was in deep shit when you say that but hell, he missed having a reaction from you that was something other than forced smiles and blank stares.

JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

“Not the government name, babe.”

“Dude, put me down.”

A gasp. “And now I've been called dude what has this world become!”

He halted near the water, after walking across the beach for a few long minutes with you in his arms. You just stopped fighting, slapping his butt at every step he took.

“You think it's the drums or somethin'?”

“Could be.”

As he sent a look of disapproval your way once he placed you down on your feet, it pulled a laugh out of you.

His fingers — no longer cold — cupped your cheeks and brought you closer. “Do it again.”

“Do what?”

His eyes carried that glint of pure joy mixed with the ocean blue that would get you hypnotized. You just didn't know why this time.

“Your laugh. Haven't heard it in so long.”

Oh.

“That's not true.” You held his wrists just to feel the warmth of his skin when he began caressing your cheeks.

JJ hummed, the sound a gentle protest against your claim. He's come a long way to know your little tells, so he wasn't not easily fooled. With a glance in your way, he knew the hidden meanings.

“Uh, yeah. It is, babe.”

You pulled your hair behind your ears, burying your toes in the sand as you racked your brain to seek an excuse that would work to get you out of that conversation. Any excuse would do, really. But you feared you used all of them since you came back from Morocco. And he knew that.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down with difficulty.

“Are you?”

“That's not what I asked.”

You finally glanced up, finding him staring forward at the waves, almost distracted. No, not almost. The look in his eyes, you recognize in yourself when drifted back to two weeks ago and the horror took over your mind. It didn't only happen to the two of you, you remember that every time you caught John B outside in the middle of the night, arms behind his head as he stared at nowhere in particular. Or Sarah, when she would crawl up into your bed saying she missed you but you knew exactly what she meant by that. Or Cleo. Oftentimes you needed to force something out of her given everything she went through otherwise she would shove it all in and then never share. Or Pope, because he lost a lot and yes he would never say he hated the whole chasing gold adventure or Poguelandia but he missed safety and a time when you didn't have to worry about danger at your every corner. He's getting used to peace a little more now. Or Kiara, the girl who was a fighter through and through and would choose her friends over anyone in the world, but she needed reassurance once in a while and you all would coddle her a little when you knew it was time for it.

The look.

They all had it. They all suffered through stuff that made them carry it.

And not talking about it made it worse, you told Cleo that once, but since when did you ever take your own advice?

“Yeah, well, Jayj.” You begin, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind picked up. “It happened to you, not to me. It's you who should be ready to talk about it, not me.”

“I remember the blood in your hands, my blood,” JJ still didn't look at you. He was ready to talk about it, not ready-ready but he could accept what happened. That he almost wasn't here. “I remember your voice asking—pleading for me to not close my eyes—”

“Stop.”

JJ finally turned to you, his lips tugging downwards with sadness. “See? It's you who can't talk about it.”

“You almost died in my arms and you expect me to just accept that as if it was a common occurrence?!” It came out as an accusation but in reality you didn't really blame him. He had no fault whatsoever in being stabbed and almost dying. The fault relayed only on the person who caused this torture on all of you. “I can't...” Your voice cracked with newfound emotion. “I can't imagine living in a world where you're not in it, JJ.”

Before he could speak, you cut him off. The dam had broke and now everything you had been hold it in was going to be unleashed.

“You told me you loved me and then you... You stopped breathing.”

He blinked, brows furrowing in thought. JJ knew there was some things he couldn't entirely recall that day, but he didn't remember that.

“I love you.”

If his heartbeat was faint before, now it was non-existent and if felt like the weight of the world had crumbled down on you.

“Open your eyes,” you begged, grabbing his cheeks as a cry of pain left your lips. He was cold. His eyelids shut as if he was sleeping. He was calm. “JJ, open your eyes!” And that's when you felt something touch your shoulder, different hands and voices beside you. All you could focus was on him. “No, c'mon. Jay. Jay? I didn't—” you held his head to your chest, fully sobbing. It was like your heart was being ripped apart. “I didn't say it back.”

Even if she had told him she loved him as many times before, she hadn't say it one last time in time.

You flinched slightly when you were pulled into a pair of arms, fingers reaching the back of your neck to gently press you against a chest. A beating heart welcomed your ears and you didn't realize you were crying until the sobs must've echoed the entire beach.

“I'm sorry, I don't— I don't remember that.”

Your cries were muffled by his shirt. “It wasn't your fault,” you said, your chest tight. “I wish it hadn't gotten to that point cause it was... Fuck.”

JJ tightened his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck. He was still clearly shaken up by what happened, reasonably so. But seeing you like that... He would've take back every decision he made that took your group to that moment just so you wouldn't have to go through that.

He complained when you pulled back a little, drying your tears to glance up at him. Your lips stretching into a timid smile. A real one.

“I'm glad you're okay.” You said with a nod, exhaling as the fog diminished significantly. “I'm happy. But I'm so deeply sorry that I couldn't do more. That I almost let you—”

“Hey, no, no.” JJ was quick to interrupt your train of thought, grabbing your shoulders. “Do not even go there, alright? Absolutely not. Don't even— babe.” He leaned down to connect your foreheads. “You saved my life. All of you. You really think I'd be fine with going... wherever that I wouldn't be able to annoy the shit out of you? I mean— ow!”

You glared at him after punching his forearm though you weren't upset as soon as he gave you his disarming grin that turned your legs to Jell-O.

“You told me you can't imagine living in a world where I'm not in it, right? Well.” JJ brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his blue eyes full of life studied you in a serious manner. “I happen to absolutely not want to live in a world without in it either...” He tugged you closer. “It would be boring as hell and that's why I would probably, I don't know, crawl out of whatever grave I was in to tickle your feet during the night.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned with a laugh and he shut you up with a kiss, his hand crawling up on your back to press your closer.

“I can't live without your sounds,” he kissed the edge of your mouth, then moved towards your jaw. “Any of them. I can't live without your smile or seeing your lashes fluttering before you wake up. Or without seeing you when you're pissed at me and you pout the entire time, it just makes me want to kiss you but I know it would earn me a punch in the neck.”

“Yeah it would.”

He chuckled, lifting you so you could wrap your legs around his middle. He held the back of your thighs, thumbs running through your smooth skin.

“Hey.” He said softly, bumping his nose with yours as the waves crashed a few feet away, butting in on your moment. “I love you. And I'm gonna stay in your life for as long as you let me. There will be no stupid rushed goodbyes or near-death experiences that will stop that, alright?” He smiled when you nodded, pressing your lips to his. “Yeah.” He started kissing your whole face then just to listen to the inevitable sound of your laugh again. He could never get tired of it. JJ would crawl out of hell just to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“And about that South America trip—”

“I'm in.” You said, resting your chin on his shoulder, fingertips scratching his scalp as you stared at the sea. “You can kidnap me to wherever you want.”

His excited laughter echoed in your ears like your favourite song chiming in during a stormy night.

“Oh we're gonna have so much fun.” JJ started rambling on his way back to the house, you in his arms because he refused to put you down. “I'm finally teaching you how to surf! And we can visit all the beaches in Brazil, 'm gonna show you some pictures, it'll be amazin', baby, you'll see.”

“I can't wait.” You mumbled with a kiss to his temple. “Are you just gonna carry me around or...”

“Yes.” He pecked your lips, hands squeezing your waist lightly which earned a proper curse out of you and his usual untamed laugh that you were crazy about. “Just stay put and look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping both arms around his neck and didn't complain. Why would you? You had your favorite boy holding you in his arms, rambling about your future plans to South America on his way to your place. You had nothing to complain about.

You just had to get used to getting back to normalcy.

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taglist: @hoeshissworld

[mononijikayu]

blue — fushiguro megumi.

As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence. It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter. It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you. It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Long Distance Romance (LDR), Aged Up Characters (Megumi and Reader are 18!), Young Love, Innocent Romance, Established Relationship, Middle School Classmates to Lovers, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Holding Hands;

WORD COUNT: 5.3k words.

NOTE: im a bit late, i'm sorry!!! i had a whole list of chores i helped my family with and i met up with some people yesterday, since i might not see them for christmas due to schedules. but i'm here. i always imagined megumi to be the sort of person who loves so wholeheartedly and so innocently. i wanted to capture that for his birthday. happy birthday, megumi!!! you will always be so loved by me <33333 i love you all too!!! thank you for reading!!! see you for yuuji's own fic on 24th <3 (asia time)

addendum: i just want you to know that the exact number of the words are 5302. chinese/cantonese numerology expresses that 53 means my life, 0 means good and 2 means joy and sometimes double joy. it reads as 'my life is good joy' and i think between them reader and megumi, that's genuinely true <333

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THE DARK BLUE SWIRLED AROUND THE SKY TENDERLY TONIGHT. Had there been more time, he would have enjoyed it more. But he knew there wasn’t. He had to get to you, immediately. He bit his lip softly against the cold winter wind.

Fushiguro Megumi tugged the bright tender scarf tighter around his neck as the frigid wind bit at his cheeks. He caught a faint whiff of the fabric, and something about the scent felt... off.

It’s a good scent, don’t get him wrong. But it wasn’t the familiar one he was used to. Had he bought a new perfume and just forgotten about it? 

He sighed to himself. He was too busy lately, going off on missions. And now a lot of his life had become footnotes, even if he didn’t want them to be. Megumi knew he had to do better.

He had to do whatever he could to make a better pace for himself. Still, thinking about that right now is impossible. He had to brush the thought aside. There were more pressing things to focus on—like how late he was. Again. 

Megumi could only hope that you weren’t waiting too long or that you had arrived late. But now he can’t help but think if you wore that thick Arc'teryx coat he’d gotten you. Or if you wore mittens or had enough hot packs on your body at this moment. Guilt started to echo into his head as easily as it was breathing. But he can’t help but feel that.

He took a moment to breathe, his breath visible in the cold air. He hated being late about absolutely anything. He likes punctuality, after all. But he especially likes it when it comes to you.

Because that meant he’d have more time with you. And more time with you means that he’d have you with him enough to sweep the thought of missing you for a little while. 

But being a sorcerer, the job description didn’t care about holidays or plans. Or even the personal, the thoughts and moments that made one happy. It just never stops. Not even when he was supposed to take you out on a date on New Year’s Eve. Megumi absolutely reviled it. If he saw a curse, he had to deal with it, no matter the time. 

And somehow, some sort of way, still, he knew you understood. You always did. You always reassured him of that no matter what. No matter how many times his responsibilities pulled him away from you, even just for five minutes.

You never stopped smiling when he finally showed up. You don’t stop having the warmest red on your cheeks when you see him. Your eyes always shone brighter than Sirius when you both stand beside one another.

Even though you weren’t a sorcerer yourself, you tried to understand his world, even the parts that didn’t make sense to you at all. It wasn’t fair to you, and he knew it. Yet, no matter how hard things got, you never gave up on him. You just didn’t want to, even when he had tried to keep you at bay. 

That was one of the things he appreciated most about you. Megumi had never had quite a lot of joy in his life, but he was to be honest, you were one of them. You always will be. And even now, you stand by him, even if it’s hard.

You didn’t care for the hard stuff, you always said it was part of it. Because what mattered to you, was having him in your life. And he was certain he felt the same way about you.

Well, it’s obvious.

Why else would he start running in this cold winter weather?

If it’s you, the person he loved most, then he’ll find a way?

After all, he wanted to be with you for as long as possible.

He paused for a moment, staring at the message. The small emoji made something in his chest tighten, as much as it made his body feel the warmest it had ever been. Despite everything, you still cared enough to wait for him, to worry about him. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips.

The faint vibration of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket, his cold fingers fumbling slightly as he unlocked it. A text from you lit up his screen:

“Megu, baby, where are you? 🥺”

Megumi stared at his phone after hitting send, watching the little delivered mark appear. Megumi has thought about how many times he’d sent similar texts, always apologizing to you, for more often than he hoped, about being late.

He typed back quickly, his fingers stiff from the cold.

"On my way, babe. Sorry for being late."

Yet, you never seemed to hold it against him. He wished you had. Most romantic partners would be so fed up with such a position. 

Hell, most of them would have already left their partners. But not you. You never had thought of it, not even during middle school, when Gojo started to take him on his missions to observe. You were steadfast, because you saw his efforts. You saw how much he loved you. 

And that was enough. He never had to doubt that you loved him. And perhaps, that’s why he kept running. He wanted to get to you, as soon as possible. He wanted to see you. He wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted to love you.

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Fushiguro Megumi picked up his pace. He had to. He had to arrive as soon as possible. For once, he hoped the world could hold its chaos at bay. Just for tonight. He owed you that much. He owed you all of the world. And he had to make it possible, even if just for a little while.

His phone buzzed again almost immediately.

“Okay, but you better hurry, baby! It’s cold! Also… why does your scarf smell like my perfume? 🤔”

Megumi stopped in his tracks, his brain processing your words at a glacial pace. Your perfume? His hand instinctively went to the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. That was the weird smell he’d noticed earlier—the soft, floral notes he’d never associated with his usual scarf. His mind raced. If this was your perfume, then this wasn’t his scarf.

It’s your scarf. The realization hit him like a curse to the chest. Now, his heart was thumping hard on his chest. You must’ve grabbed his scarf  by mistake in a rush the last time you visited him and you forgot about it.

And now that left him with your scarf. And he hadn’t noticed at all. His face heated to warm scarlet instantly, the cold air doing nothing to cool it. Ah, this is…..

His grip on the phone tightened as he read your words. Cute. It was hard enough to deal with how much warmth you give him with your scarf, but the thought of you being so tender with him, loving to the point that he can’t take it.

Before he could come up with a reply, another message came through:

“Wait, Megu!… Are you wearing my scarf? 🥺 That’s so cute! Wah!”

He doesn’t know what to do. Everything about his love for you just grows deeper and he can’t help it. His face burned hotter, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the soft fabric around his neck.

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before typing back:

"I didn’t realize until now. I must’ve grabbed it by accident. Sorry."

Fushiguro Megumi felt like the temperature had risen ten degrees despite the snow swirling around him. He tried to clear his throat, trying to wick away the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. But it was no use. He was never going to win against you. Never. 

Your reply came almost instantly, as though you’d been waiting for it.

“Don’t apologize! I think it’s adorable. It’s like you’re carrying a little piece of me with you 🥰.”

"It’s not a big deal." he typed, trying to sound indifferent, but his fingers betrayed him as he hesitated before adding: "It does smell nice, though."

His phone buzzed almost immediately. “You’re so sweet, Megu! You better hurry so I can see you all bundled up in my scarf. I want to take a picture and enjoy the cuteness of my baby!🫶 ”

Fushiguro Megumi let out a soft groan, burying his face in the scarf—your scarf. He takes in the soft smell of your scent, while feeling your words take over him. He could feel the heat radiating from his face as he resumed walking, this time a bit faster. 

He can’t run in this case, not when he’s overwhelmed by this, by you. You’ve ruined him for any other romance. This was it for him. You were it for him. And yet still, he couldn’t believe he was blushing over a scarf. Over you.

But that’s how it is. It didn’t need explanation, it didn’t need logic. That’s how it is to love you. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not ever. But still, as much as possible, he still wanted to play it cool.

There was a wonderfully warm feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore, not when it’s caused by you. Even if it was accidental, wearing your scarf made him feel closer to you, like he was carrying a part of you with him.

"I’ll be there soon, babe." he texted back simply, though his heart was racing as he hit send.

“I look forward to it! 🫶”

“I'll see you soon.”

“Love you, Megu~”

".....love you too."

══════════════════

IT WASN’T THAT LONG NOW WHEN HE MADE THE SHARP TURN TO AND ARRIVED. The faint glow of the shrine came into view, and quite expectedly, Fushiguro Megumi’s pace quickened even more now despite the biting cold.

His own breath puffed in little warm clouds as he rounded the last corner, and there you were, just like always, waiting for him by the warm illumination of the bright red shrine gates.

You seemed to be humming to yourself as you waited for him, all  bundled up in the white winter coat he gave you and those bright purple gloves trimmed with faux fur you so dearly loved. You hadn’t noticed him yet when he stopped.

But when you did, your eyes widened almost so excitedly. There was a slightly excited bounce in your step as you waved at him enthusiastically, your beautiful face lighting up like the warm spring flowers blossoming when you started to register his presence. Megumi could feel his chest tightened at the sight. 

The stress of trying to get here on time, the hardship of not meeting, the times he missed you — every bit of that started to fade away into nothing. He was here with you. You were here. And nothing can take that away from him, from the two of you. Because he knew it too well. He was home. 

“Megu!” you called out, your tender voice cutting through the quiet winter air.

He slowed as he approached, his usual calm demeanor taking over, but the pink sunrise on his cheeks hadn’t faded. Megumi tried to casually stuff his rather cold hands into his coat’s pockets, pretending the cold was the only reason his face felt warm.

“You’re late, Megu!” you teased, though your tone was playful, and that familiar smile spread across your face.

“Sorry.” he said quietly, stopping just a few feet away. “There was a—”

“A curse?” you finished for him, watching him blink. You grinned. “I figured. You always come anyway.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering to the shrine gates. “I told you to wait here for a reason. It’s safer.”

“I know, I know.” you said, rolling your eyes with a laugh. “I always know that I’m always safe, thanks to you. But I’m also freezing, so I hope you don’t plan to keep me standing here much longer! Let’s eat dinner!”

Your grin widened as your bright doe eyes flicked to the scarf around his neck. “Especially since it looks like you’re nice and warm in my scarf.”

Megumi’s hand immediately went to the fabric, his ears turning red. “I told you, it was an accident.” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“And I told you, it’s cute.” you said, stepping closer. 

“You’re wearing my scarf too.” He mutters under the cold winter air. 

You looked down slightly, your cheeks flushing red as you smiled. “Hm! And I love it! It suits me, having a part of you with me always when I’m cold, don’t you think?”

Megumi was taken aback by what you said for a moment. His cheeks turned even redder, even though he wasn’t sure how it was possible. He hums softly, lowering his gaze shyly. “.....It does.”

The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound as you closed the distance between you. You smiled at him as you stopped in front of him. You reached up, on tip toes and gently adjusted your scarf around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for just a moment. 

“It suits you, don’t you think?” Your soft voice blossomed against the wind. Your gaze met his, as he raised his face. “Being so loved by me in winter cold too.”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat at the gesture. “You’re—you really are…..” he mumbled, though his voice was quieter, almost fond. “How can you say that so easily?”

“And you’re blushing, lover boy!” you teased, stepping back with a playful laugh. “You also said something like that too!”

“Am not.” he replied quickly, though the redness in his cheeks betrayed him.

“Whatever you say, my precious Megu~” 

You reached out and took his hand, your gloved fingers curling around his as you tugged him toward the shrine gates. You wanted to keep his hand warm from the cold too. He forgot his gloves, after all. And he knew that, his gaze turning to your tender touch on his, even though the leather.

“Come on, let’s get going before we both turn into icicles.”

For a moment, Fushiguro Megumi hesitated, looking down at your hand wrapped tightly on his own. Years together still hasn’t stopped him from being so awestruck by your touch on his.

To hold someone’s hand, it made him feel like he understood what love was like. Ever since that day he met you. You made him understand, with just a touch of your hand. And still, he continues to learn love, because of you. 

Megumi shook his head then he let out a soft sigh, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile as he followed you.Even if he’d never admit it aloud, your warmth, your wonder, your very existence, it made him whole.

And if this was a dream, he wishes he never wakes up. Because nothing of him would exist without you. He refuses to do so.

“Hm, let’s go.”

As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence.

It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter.

It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you.

It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.

This, he thought, was more than enough to ground you both in the stillness of the winter night. The two of you ceased to talk for a while, your breaths forming soft clouds in the frosty air.

Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. The quiet companionship you shared was enough, an unspoken understanding that words could never quite capture.

It was always like this with you. There was a gentle kind of closeness that didn’t demand anything more than your presence. It wasn’t loud or extravagant, but it was steady.

That was more than enough for him, to keep him grounded in a way nothing else could. Megumi didn’t have to explain himself, didn’t have to rush to fill the gaps, because you already understood. It was just like that between the two of you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noting the way the soft glow of the blue moonlight reflected off your hair and the peaceful expression on your face. A rare warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading slowly but surely, chasing away whatever lingering shadows had tried to follow him here.

Megumi’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his way of acknowledging what he couldn’t yet say aloud. This, he thought, was the kind of peace he didn’t know he needed. And for tonight, that was more than enough.

When you both arrived at the train station, the warmth of the moment lingered despite the cold metal benches and the faint whistle of the wind echoing through the platform. The faint hum of distant activity surrounded you, but it all felt muted, like the world had softened its edges just for the two of you.

You both sat down to wait for the train, your hands finally parting as you settled beside each other. Fushiguro Megumi shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out at the empty tracks.

The silence between you was comfortable, but you broke it, your voice cutting through the cold like the first hint of sunlight after a long night.

You looked up at him with a soft smile. “Happy birthday, Megu.”

He froze for a moment, blinking as if he hadn’t quite heard you. Slowly, he turned his head to meet your gaze, his brows furrowing slightly. “What?”

You giggled, the sound warm and light as you looked at his astonished face. “Happy birthday, I said.” you repeated, your smile widening.

His expression softened as realization washed over him. He let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He shook his head, as you looked at his most adorable expressions, reserved only for you.

“I forgot, babe.” he admitted quietly, glancing away.

“I know, baby.” you said, your tone teasing but gentle. “You always forget. That’s why I’m here to remind you.”

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the tracks ahead. But the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, barely there but unmistakable. He turns his blue–green eyes to you, as though you were the most wondrous thing he’d ever set his blue–green eyes on.

 “Thanks, babe.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. You always were better at wrapping presents. You had the best hands in the world, warmest to touch and the most delicate with care. And perhaps that is what made him freeze for a moment. 

“And because I know you’d never ask for anything, I got you this.”

He looked at the gift, his eyes widening slightly. “You didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to, baby.” you interrupted, holding it out to him. “It’s your birthday, Megu. You deserve to feel special, even if it’s just a little.”

He hesitated before taking the gift from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. He stared at it for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before carefully peeling back the wrapping paper.

Inside was a small, leather keychain engraved with his initials on it. Attached to it was a simple charm shaped like a wolf, a perfect reflection of his shikigami. Megumi stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the smooth leather and the delicate charm. It was clear you’d put thought into this, making sure every detail would suit him.

Everything about it was just to his liking. You always knew it better than him sometimes too. Its design is sleek and understated, free from unnecessary embellishments, yet carrying so much meaning.

It was practical, simple, and deeply personal, just like him. And yet, the simplicity is what made it even more special, just like he knew he was to you.

“You… put a lot of thought into this, babe.” he said softly, his voice tinged with something unspoken, something he wasn’t entirely sure how to express.

You smiled, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Of course I did. I wanted it to be something you’d actually use. And… well…. I thought the wolf was a nice touch.”

“It is.” he murmured, his eyes lingering on the charm. 

His shikigami were a part of him, a symbol of his strength and the weight he carried in his cursed technique. But they were something he loved too. Especially his wolves. And now, here it was, captured in this small but significant token by you. Now it meant even more. Because you gave it to him. Now, it was something he could keep with him no matter where he went.

“Do you like it?” you asked, almost shyly.

Megumi looked up at you, and though his expression remained its usual calm, there was a softness in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “I do, babe.” he said simply, but the quiet sincerity in your boyfriend’s voice spoke volumes. “Thank you.”

“I thought it could keep you company, when you’re away.” you said softly, watching him closely. “You’re always busy helping people and running around. You keep doing so much for everyone else. I wanted to give you something you could keep with you, something to remind you…”

He glanced up at you, his blue–green eyes meeting yours. “Remind me of what?”

“That you’re never really alone.” you said simply, your voice filled with quiet sincerity. “That I’m always there for you, Megu.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his fingers tightening slightly around the keychain. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. And for a moment, those rare smiles, the smiles he could only show you. You, his most precious person. That smile had trailed on his lips for a moment.

“Thank you, babe.” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—gratitude, maybe, or something even more profound that he didn’t quite know how to put into words. “I’ll treasure this well, I promise.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench as the distant sound of the approaching train reached your ears. “Happy birthday, Megu.” you said again, your tone warm and light, your words laced with genuine affection. And then, as naturally as breathing, you added, “I love you.”

The words were simple but carried a weight that made Fushiguro Megumi’s heart stutter. He froze for a moment, wide-eyed, his usual composure shattered like glass under the heat of your confession. He’d always heard you say it over and over again. And yet…..it always made him feel like he was going to drown in your wonders.

He couldn’t help but feel himself combust with your words, the warmth spreading from his chest to his ears, and then outward until he was sure he’d melt into this cold blue winter night. Before he could even begin to stammer out a response, you squeezed his hand, your smile never fading. 

“Our train’s here! We gotta go!”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, glancing at the train now pulling into the station. You tugged him forward, your fingers laced with his, as if the moment hadn’t just turned his world upside down.

Megumi let out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and fondness, as he let you guide him toward the train. His blue–green eyes drifted to the keychain in his hand, its wolf charm catching the dim station light, and then to the scarf around his neck. 

The warmth of your scarf, still carrying your faint, comforting scent. For someone who often felt like the weight of the world rested squarely on his shoulders, tonight felt light. For tonight, everything just felt like a gift. The greatest gift in the world.

The train doors slid open with a gentle hiss, and you both stepped inside, settling into a pair of seats by the window. As the train began to move, Megumi finally found the courage to speak, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re ridiculous, you know?” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

His cheeks flushed again, and he turned his gaze to the window, watching the snow-covered scenery blur past. “You can’t just… say things like that so casually and just….watch me combust.”

“Oh, you mean when I said I love you?” you replied with a grin, clearly enjoying his reaction.

Megumi groaned, pressing a hand to his temple. “Yes. That.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But it’s true, Megu!” you said, your voice softer now. “I do love you, truly! And I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you over and over again.”

He was silent for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as your words settled over him like the softest blanket. Finally, he glanced down at you, his blue–green gaze steady despite the pink still dusting his cheeks.

“…I know.” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. 

And though he didn’t say it back to you, overwhelmed by the wonders of those words on his soul, you knew that look in his eyes. That look of love, that wonder in the blue–green that said those words without leaving his lips.

It was all in his eyes that said everything you needed to hear. He struggles. But he hopes one day, he could say it to you without the struggle. 

You smiled to yourself, your gloves gone. You let your warm fingers still intertwine with his as the train rocked gently beneath you. He squeezed it even more and that had made you smile even more as you looked at him.

You hummed and leaned your head against his shoulder. His breath hitches before a moment later, his head resting on your own. You giggled at that. 

Tonight was perfect, you thought. Just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, as the world outside continued its quiet, snowy journey. And all you could see was the tenderness of all those shades of blue. That’s what it felt like when you were with him.

Everything was worth it. The cold was worth it. And so was the parting and the waiting. As long as you get to be with him and have this feeling of blue. As long as you could see those blues in his eyes.

Everything was worth it. Everything was worth experiencing. And you knew from the depths of his heart that he felt the same way too. Blue was the wonder of being with you. And he loves it too. 

══════════════════

epilogue

Later that night when you reached your house, the warmth of the entryway light spilling into the snowy night, you turned to Megumi with a thoughtful smile. He noticed the way your bright eyes sparkled.

It was a sign you were about to say something that might throw him off. He was familiar with that look since you were in middle school. But every time, he finds himself learning the depths of that mischief in your eyes. 

“So…” you began, glancing up at him with a hint of mischief. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

Fushiguro Megumi nearly tripped over his own feet. His handsome face turned a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, and he froze in place, his free hand holding your bag for you. You can see easily that he was clutching it nervously.

“W-What?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “Why—what—why would you even—?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, watching him flounder. “It’s late, Megu!” you said, your tone as calm and reasonable as ever. “The buses aren’t running anymore, and so are the trains, you know! I’d feel bad making you walk all the way back to the dorms in this cold.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you held up a hand, cutting him off before he could get a word in. You already knew that you had a card up your sleeve. You grinned at him and giggled, taking out your phone from your coat pocket and showing it to him.

“And before you say anything about it being improper or whatever.” you added with a knowing grin, “I already asked Gojo–san if it was okay.”

Megumi’s face somehow turned even redder, and his hand shot to his temple like he was trying to ward off a headache. He looked at your phone for a moment.“You asked Gojo?”

You nodded, looking far too pleased with yourself. “Yup! He said, and I quote, ‘As long as you don’t let Megumi brood in a corner all night, I’m fine with it! Take care of my precious son, daughter in law!’”

Fushiguro Megumi groaned, running a hand down his face. What did Gojo mean precious son? And what did Gojo mean about daughter in law? That was just….

Megumi didn’t know what to do anymore. He can’t even believe Gojo gave his number to you. He couldn’t help but feel his face echo a look of a son embarrassed by his overbearing father. 

“Why would you even tell him that? Now he’s never going to let me live this down.”

You laughed, tugging gently on his hand to lead him inside. “Oh, come on. He didn’t care at all. Besides I had to, he’s your guardian! He said he’d rather you stayed somewhere warm and safe than out in the cold. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t hung out late before. We’d have sleep overs before too.”

“That’s different.” he muttered, still flustered as you closed the door behind him.

“How is it different?” you teased, tilting your head at him.

He hesitated, glancing at you and then away, his ears burning. “It just… is. I just…..”

You rolled your bright doe eyes playfully and reached up to unwrap your scarf—now his own scarf—from around his neck. “Relax, Megu. It’s not a big deal. You can have the couch if it makes you feel better. Or the guest room. I don’t think my mom will mind when she comes back! She loves you too!”

He sighed, letting you take the scarf off but avoiding your gaze. “Fine, fine.” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll….I’ll sleep here tonight.”

You grinned, your victory clear. “Come on, I think I still have some of your old clothes I took from you. I’m sure they still fit you.”

“You never returned that hoodie I used to like.”

You raised a teasing brow at him. “Do you want it back?”

“No.” He says back to you, and looks at his own scarf on your neck too. “You can keep the scarf too.”

“Good. Now come on, I’ll make some hot chocolate. Consider it a bonus birthday gift.”

As you walked toward the kitchen, Fushiguro Megumi stood there for a moment as he watched you start humming, looking for the cocoa. He let out a quiet sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. 

He was definitely going to hear about this from Gojo Satoru later, but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was with you. And that was more than enough for him to not care about the world outside. 

[coolingrosa]

I never really see what Nightmare’s abilities could’ve done to help others. Everyone labels his powers as monstrous, but negativity isn’t always a bad thing, and it’s needed to keep the balance. We also know if you have the power, it doesn’t automatically make you evil, as Nightmare was the guardian of negativity and was a gentle and kind soul before the apple incident.

I genuinely believe Nightmare’s role from the very start was to help people through their grief and let them process their negative emotions rather than suppressing them with positivity. You need to feel those emotions to confront them- but his soothing aura likely assisted with this fight and could’ve allowed people a safe place to let it out. He was supposed to be a comfort. Dream was there to bring joy and play and have fun- never to be the one with soothing tendencies. Nightmare was supposed to have that role, which is why he was so nurturing to Dream. It was in his essence. His whole goal in life was likely to soothe and comfort and yet the villagers beat him.

If we keep the auras and powers in mind, Nightmare was likely so weak towards the apple incident because he was deprived of his literal job and way to fuel his power. All his essence wanted to do was help and comfort and he was given fists. Meanwhile, Dream was being saddled with Nightmare’s responsibilities by being forced to comfort others and smother their sadness with his powers- which likely overworked him and made him confused on his own purpose. Was he really supposed to do everything? He just wanted to play. He just wanted to see happiness, not pain. It hurt him, and he was nothing but exhausted at eight years old.

I like to think little Nightmare did help one person in his time being alive, because the idea that his life was pure misery and deprivation is heartbreaking. A individual who had lost a family member and couldn’t cry. They felt nothing- and wanted to get the whirlwind of emotions out so they wouldn’t feel empty. They came to Nightmare in private, and he held them in a hesitant hug, and they began to bawl due to his aura. ( I can’t remember correctly, but I believe eating the apples was only a sin due to one of the guardians doing it. I believe Dream passed around positivity apples and they were safe to eat, so it would make since that the other side of the balance also was. They just can’t be eaten a LOT. So he could’ve also given them a apple)

They cried for hours, and Nightmare was terrified this would cause this to tell the village and anger them, but when they were done, they let Nightmare go and thanked him. They left with a bitter smile on their face, but a better understanding of their grief.

He had one chance to do what his abilities told him to do, and he loved it.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

a severe case of the saddies

daddy!chan hurt/comfort

cw: crying, baby talk, pet names (i tried to keep them gender neutral this time bc ive been feeling bad about always using baby girl or princess when i know that doesn’t apply to everyone.)

masterlist

“baby?” his soft voice carried through the closed door, his knuckles softly rapping on the surface. when he received no answer, he turned the knob. he poked his head in. “angel?” his baby voice combined with your favorite pet name, caused tears to spring to your eyes. you squeezed them shut, holding the tears back, though they leaked out of the corners and onto your pillow.

he could just make out your form in the dim light of your shared bedroom, your body under the covers, stuffie hugged tight to your chest and face. you wanted to reach for him, so happy that he was finally home. but you couldn’t force your muscles to work. he crouched down next to the bed, bringing his face level with yours. he used his fingertips to brush the hair out of your face.

“baby are you takin’ a nappie?” he asked, smiling fondly at you.

you shook your head no. though you wanted to take a nap, sleep would not come. so you had been laying there for over an hour.

“is everything okay?” he asked, pouting his full lips in your direction. “are you feeling alright?” he reached out with his index finger and poked the top of your stuffed bear’s head. “is Beary doing his job of chasing the sadness away?”

the tears pooled again at your waterline. you looked up at him, shaking your head no, unable to speak. he took one look at your watery eyes and jutting bottom lip and it broke his heart. “oh my sweet baby..” he cooed. “you got a severe case of the saddies, huh?”

“let me in there.” he gently lifted the blanket, crawling into the bed next to you. you could instantly feel his body heat next to yours, warming your skin. “c’mere baby. let daddy hold you.”

he wrapped his strong arms around you, cradling your head as you buried your face in his chest. you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they flowed freely down your cheeks. “there you go, baby.” he said, kissing the top of your head. “you’re okay. daddy’s got you.”

he let you cry for a little while, rubbing your back and hair, giving the occasional kiss. you felt better with him there. felt like you could finally let everything out. everything that you’d been holding in for the last few weeks. it all bubbled to the surface and with his arms wrapped around you, you could finally let go.

“my love.. do you want to talk about it?” he asked, softly. he pulled back just enough to look down at you, your eyes red and puffy, you cheeks stained. he used his fingers to wipe at your tears. “my brave little baby.”

“everythi-ing has just been too-o much.” you said, hiccuping, your voice small.

“baby..” he soothed. “you’ve been working so hard, huh? doing such a good job. daddy is so proud of you. but i think you need a rest, yeah? your body is telling you it needs a break.”

you nodded, feeling better after your big cry. you wrapped your arms around his middle and squeezed as hard as you could. “oh so strong.” he giggled. “such a big hug, baby. thank you.” he squeezed you back.

“thank you for always taking care of me.” you said. “you’re the best— the best daddy ever.” your sentence was broken by a big yawn, feeling suddenly sleepy.

“oh my gosh you’re so cute.” he smiled. “gimme a kiss.” his plush lips found yours a few times in quick succession. “you can go to sleep baby. daddy will stay here and keep you safe from the saddies.”

you leaned away for a moment and pulled out Beary from in between your bodies, holding him up.

“oh i think Beary got a little squished.” he giggled. “serves him right for not making you feel better.”

you tucked the bear back under your chin protectively. “he did his best.” you huffed.

“oh well i guess that’s all we can ask for, huh baby?” he pulled you close again, careful not to squish Beary in the process. “and i’m always here to make things better when little Beary isn’t enough, yeah?” he rubbed your back soothingly, your eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“mm.. love you, daddy.” you mumbled against his chest, breathing in his scent.

“i love you too, baby.” he kissed your head and snuggled closer. “now go to sleep, okay? daddy’s here.”

and the weight of the last few weeks melted away, your heart was full, and you finally slipped into blissful unconsciousness, wrapped in the safety and security of his loving arms.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

if you saw my little mental breakdown on here this morning, you know why i wrote this lol i have lots of posts like this on my blog i think, but it comforts me to write them. but anyway, i’m feeling much better now. i honestly just think im so exhausted and overwhelmed that my body and mind are not having it. thanks for allowing me a space to vent those feelings and then post cute little drabbles hehe. if you’re new here, sometimes i have depressive episodes and post some crazy sounding sad shit. and that’s just something that comes with my blog. but i promise im really nice and pretty cute and you should stick around anyways. ♡