#showed up mask off with a thing that's important to her and said he was sorry!!!

[secretmaniacc]

FILL THE VOID

Pairings: the salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: After avoiding him for two days, she finds herself pinned down as he insists they go out to dinner, just as he promised in their bet. Reluctantly agreeing, she anticipates an elegant evening, but the night quickly takes an exciting and dangerous turn.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, Dom!salesman x baddie!oc, teasing, degrading, kissing, gun play, Russian roulette, knife play, semi public sex, hair pulling, mentions of blood, oral sex, male recieving, p in v, rough sex, spanking.

Wc: 6.2k

A/n: so sorry for the wait here’s pt.2 for “ride or die” since some of y’all liked it and I’m very happy for that, did some justice this time and spiced it up they can be out of character sometime so forgive me, hope y’all will enjoy it really worked hard on this one, not proofread <3

For two days, she’d managed to avoid him—strategically timing her office hours to when he wasn’t there, ignoring his messages, and pretending not to notice the way he seemed to linger just out of reach. But deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her. 

That time came at the end of a long day when she thought she was safe. She gathered her things and prepared to turn around and head towards the door, only to feel a familiar presence.

“Thought you could avoid me forever?” His voice was low, smooth, and infuriatingly smug. 

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag as she turned, schooling her features into something calm and unaffected. “I’m busy. Move.” 

He grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Busy ignoring me? Impressive effort, but I don’t take silence well.” 

“I’m not ignoring you,” she lied, stepping forward to brush past him. 

His arm shot out, blocking her path. “Really? Then why haven’t you answered my messages? Or were you too busy pondering about how much fun we had in the alley?” 

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she shot back, her tone clipped as she tried to push past him again. 

But this time, he shifted, moving to block her entirely and locking the door with a quick twist of his wrist. The faint click of the lock sent a chill down her spine, though she refused to show it. 

“Let me go,” she said, keeping her voice steady even as she felt her pulse quicken. 

He leaned back against the door, his arms crossed lazily, as though he had all the time in the world. “Not until we settle something.” 

She arched a brow, masking her unease with irritation. “And what’s so important that you’re resorting to theatrics?” 

His grin widened, his gaze sparkling with that insufferable confidence. “I’m a man of my word. And I promised to take you to dinner, didn’t I? Unless, of course, you’d rather recall how I made you feel so good in the alley.” 

She blinked, caught off guard by the reminder. “That was two days ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

“It matters to me.” He stepped closer, the teasing edge in his voice making her heart stutter. “You won, fair and square. So, dinner. Tonight.” 

“Not happening,” she said firmly, though the conviction in her voice wavered slightly. 

He tilted his head, studying her with mock curiosity. “Why so stubborn? Afraid you’ll enjoy it?” 

Her jaw tightened. “I’m just not interested.” 

“You’re lying.” 

She glared at him, determined not to let him see how her resolve faltered under the weight of his gaze. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re avoiding the truth,” he countered, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between them. “But that’s fine. Say no if you want—I’ll still show up outside your door.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, though the uncertainty in her voice made her doubt her own words. 

“Try me,” he challenged, his tone light but his intent clear. 

She sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. “Fine. One dinner. But don’t make a habit of this.” 

His grin broadened, a glimmer of triumph lighting up his face. “Perfect. Wear something elegant—something that’ll fit the place. I expect you’ll be just as stunning as you were in the alley” 

“Excuse me?” 

He ignored her indignation, leaning in close enough for his breath to ghost against her cheek. His lips brushed lightly against her skin, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth. “See you tonight,” he murmured before stepping aside and unlocking the door. 

She stared at him, momentarily thrown by the unexpected gesture. The smug look on his face only made her irritation flare, and she pushed past him with a sharp, “Don’t be late.” 

As she walked away, she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, brushing it off as nothing more than irritation. But the faint smile tugging at her lips told a different story. 

-----

She stood before the full-length mirror, the soft glow of her bedroom light catching the gentle shimmer of her crimson dress. The bodice hugged her figure like it was made for her, the delicate cowl neckline draping gracefully across her collarbones, while the fabric flowed into a silky skirt that brushed the floor with every subtle movement. Her long, black hair fell in effortless curls to her waist, framing her face with a touch of timeless elegance. A sheer wrap rested loosely on her arms, adding a layer of ethereal softness that seemed to dance with every step. 

Her phone buzzed on the dresser, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced down to see his text: "I’ll be there in five." Letting out a small breath, she grabbed her purse, gave herself one last look, and headed downstairs. 

The evening air was cool as she stepped outside, heels clicking softly against the pavement. There he was, leaning casually against a sleek black Audi A6, its polished exterior gleaming under the streetlights. He wore a tailored black suit that framed his tall, broad figure perfectly, paired with a crisp white shirt and a black tie that added a sharp elegance to his appearance. His dark hair was neatly styled, though a rebellious strand fell over his forehead, softening his otherwise sharp features. 

As she approached, his gaze locked on her, a flicker of admiration crossing his face before he straightened and stepped toward her. Without a word, he took her hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet sincere, his eyes holding hers for just a moment longer than necessary. 

A faint blush warmed her cheeks, but she managed a small, teasing smile. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

His lips twitched into a smirk as he opened the passenger door for her, gesturing for her to step inside. 

She settled into the plush leather seat, the soft scent of new car and faint cologne filling the space. The interior was sleek, with polished silver accents and an impressive digital dashboard glowing faintly in the dim light. She trailed her fingers over the armrest, the comfort and luxury surprising her. 

“You own this?” she asked, glancing at him as he slipped into the driver’s seat, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. 

He chuckled softly. “Why? Did you think I’d show up in something less fitting?” 

She shook her head, amused but still impressed, as they drove in silence toward their destination.  He would make teasing comments here and there that earned a chuckle from her.

The car pulled up to one of the most elegant restaurants in town, its grand facade glowing with soft golden lights. Outside, a long line of patrons waited eagerly, some dressed to the nines, chatting in anticipation. 

Her brows lifted in surprise at the sight. “You didn’t mention this place,” she said, her voice laced with curiosity. 

Before he could respond, two security guards stepped forward, opening her door with practiced precision. One took the keys from him while the other escorted them toward the entrance. She noticed how the murmuring crowd shifted, heads turning as they walked past. 

The guards held the doors open as they entered, bowing slightly in his direction. She bowed back out of respect, but he merely did, wrapping his arm around her waist as they stepped into the opulent dining area. 

The restaurant was stunning. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tables draped in crisp white linens. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view of the city skyline, and a soft melody from a grand piano filled the air with an elegant ambiance. 

They were guided to a private table near the window, the staff pulling out her chair as she sat. As he took his seat across from her, she leaned in slightly, her tone playful. 

“Care to explain why everyone is treating you like you’re some mafia boss?” 

He chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at her. “Let’s just say I know how to make an impression.” 

She rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

The waitress approached with a professional yet warm smile, handing them menus. “Welcome. May I offer you something to start with?” 

She glanced at the menu, the luxurious options catching her off guard. “Are there any prices on this thing, or do we just guess?” she quipped, arching an eyebrow at him. 

He laughed softly. “Don’t worry, dinner’s on me. Feel free to splurge.” 

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Good, because I was planning to order the most expensive thing just to annoy you.” 

“Be my guest,” he replied smoothly, his grin teasing. “But I hope you know that means dessert is non-negotiable.” 

her eyes scanning the intricate names of dishes written in french. Brows furrowed, she tilted the menu closer as if the words would magically make sense the second time around. 

“What is... uh, rat-a-tou-ille??” she sounded out slowly, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. 

His lips curved into an amused smile. “Ratatouille. It’s a vegetable dish—stewed with tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, and herbs. Simple but classic..” 

“Oh, okay. That doesn’t sound too bad,” she nodded before her eyes caught another word. “And this one? Coq... au vin??” 

“Coq au vin” he corrected with a small laugh. “Chicken braised in red wine with mushrooms and bacon. Very traditional.”.” 

She tapped her chin with her finger, pretending to consider it seriously, then moved on to another dish. “Bou-ya... bouillabaisse?” 

“Bouillabaisse,” he supplied smoothly. “.It’s a fish stew with a mix of seafood, Want me to keep translating, or are you planning to make me read the whole menu for you?” 

She shot him a playful glare. “Hey, these names are intimidating, okay? I didn’t grow up speaking fluent…. Uh, whatever this is."

“french” he said, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled out. “I have to admit, though, this clueless act of yours is kind of adorable.”

She rolled her eyes, heat rising to her cheeks. “Whatever. I’ll just stick to this one.” She pointed to a dish she didn’t recognize but liked the sound of. 

When he glanced at his menu filled with prices unlike hers, his smirk grew wider. “Interesting choice,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. 

“What?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh. “Just that it’s the cheapest thing on the menu.” 

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” 

He nodded, still grinning. “Repick. Or I’ll do it for you.” 

She groaned, flipping through the menu again. “Fine. You pick.” 

He didn’t even look at her menu, already knowing it by heart. “Filet de boeuf Rossini,” he said confidently.

Her eyes widened slightly. “That sounds... fancy.”

“It’s perfect,” he replied with a wink. “Trust me.”

The waitress returned, taking his order for a sole meunière and hers for the beef Rossini. “And a bottle of Château d’Yquem,” he added casually.

When the waitress nodded and walked away, she raised an eyebrow. “Château d’Yquem? What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically.

Moments later, the waitress returned with a sleek silver ice bucket, placing it on the table with a bottle of golden wine nestled inside. The light caught the liquid, making it shimmer, and her eyes widened as realization hit.

“This is wine?” she asked, pointing to the bottle. 

“Not just any wine,” he said, pouring a glass with practiced ease. “It’s... exclusive.” 

“How exclusive?” she pressed.

He took a slow sip, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re drinking liquid gold?”

He laughed at her incredulous expression, his voice rich with amusement. “Relax. Tonight’s on me, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” he replied with a wink, setting his glass down.

Silence evoked as the air in the restaurant shimmered with quiet luxury, a symphony of muted chatter, piano tunes and crystal clinks filling the room. She leaned back against the chair, her delicate fingers tracing absent patterns on the edge of the table. Her gaze flickered toward the expansive window, the city lights sprawling like a living canvas. There was an effortless grace to her, the way her crimson dress caught the glow of the chandeliers, the silk shifting like liquid fire with her every move.

He couldn’t look away.

His pupils sharpened with intensity as he studied her, the soft curve of her jawline, the way her lips parted slightly as she sighed in quiet awe. Her black hair, cascading in soft curls to her waist, gleamed under the golden light. She was a vision, suspended somewhere between elegance and rebellion, her beauty a contradiction he couldn’t quite define but didn’t want to stop trying to.

She tilted her head, her profile catching the faint light of the chandelier, and his breath hitched. As he took a sip of his whiskey, the taste burned less than the thought that this moment—her, here, now—felt like something he shouldn’t deserve.

He smirked at himself, shaking his head slightly. Get a grip.

But then she glanced back at him, catching his stare, her brow arching in question. “What?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Nothing,” he replied, his smirk deepening as he set his glass down. “Just taking it all in.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the slight tug of a smile at the corner of her lips.

Moments later their food arrived, the rich aroma wafting from her plate made her mouth water. She picked up her fork, taking a cautious bite. The moment the tender beef hit her taste buds, her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft hum of delight escaped her lips. 

“This is... amazing,” she said, already diving in for another bite. 

He watched her, captivated by the way she was completely absorbed in her food. Every little sound she made—those happy, involuntary noises—pulled his attention. For a moment, the bustling restaurant around them disappeared, leaving only her. 

“You’re staring, again.” she said suddenly, snapping him out of his daze. 

“You make it hard not to,” he admitted with a small smile. 

She flushed, quickly taking another bite. “Just eat your food, so we can get done” she muttered. 

He chuckled, cutting into his fish. They settled into a comfortable rhythm, exchanging light banter between bites. At one point, she attempted to spear a piece of his fish with her fork, but he caught her wrist with a grin. 

“Ah, ah. That’s mine,” he teased. 

“Sharing is caring,” she retorted, but he held firm, playfully shaking his head. 

He shook his head with exaggerated defiance, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You want it that bad? Beg for it.”

She narrowed her eyes, “‘Never mind,’” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm as she went back to eat.

He chuckled, leaning closer. “Come on, don’t act like you didn’t do it.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” she said, standing up abruptly and grabbing her bag.

He burst into laughter, his gaze never leaving her. “I’m messing with you,” he said, grabbing her wrist gently and pulling her back into the chair.

She shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love it,” he replied, giving her an amused smirk.

She sighed, reaching for her glass of water. As her gaze drifted across the room, it landed on a couple at a nearby table—so engrossed in each other they might as well have been the only two people in the restaurant. The man’s hand rested on the small of the woman’s back, and their faces were inches apart, whispering between soft kisses.

Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh. Get a room,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

He followed her line of sight, his brow arching before a low chuckle escaped his lips. “Jealous?”

She snapped her head back to him, her eyes narrowing. “Jealous? Please. That’s gross. There’s a time and place for that sort of thing, and it’s not next to someone trying to enjoy a meal.”

His grin widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying her reaction. “You’re awfully opinionated for someone who didn’t seem to mind when I kissed you.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly. “That was different!”

“Oh, was it?” he teased, his tone playfully smug. “Because if I recall, you were the one leaning in first.”

Her jaw dropped. “I was not! You were the one who couldn’t keep it together and kissed me like some—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Someone who’s not afraid to take a chance?”

She glared at him, struggling to find a comeback that wouldn’t dig her deeper into the hole. “You’re crazy,” she finally huffed, crossing her arms again.

“not as much as you,” he replied, his smirk softening just enough to make her annoyed

The unspoken tension hung like a storm cloud between them, unshakably present as they lingered in that charged moment. “Are you actually saying you wish you were that couple?” he asked, leaning in with a seriousness that made her heart constrict.

Her heart raced at his words, a flutter of uncertainty and curiosity mixing with annoyance. “I just think PDA is a bit much!” she shot back, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. “I mean, can’t people keep it to themselves?”

“Really?” he challenged, his voice low, brushing against her ear as he leaned closer. “Or maybe you’re just afraid of what it could feel like to let loose, to feel something real for once?”

Her breath caught in her throat as a rush of heat spread across her cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shot back, a desperate edge in her voice. She could feel the tension weave between them like a live wire, crackling with possibility.

“Maybe I do,” he replied, that daring glint in his eye making her pulse quicken. “Maybe you just need the right moment to let go.”

The couple at the table nearby erupted in laughter again, and she found herself glancing back at them, trying to refocus. But when she looked up, he was watching her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “Forget them,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, pulling her even further into his orbit. “What do you want? Something real? Or more of this… competition?”

Before she could formulate a response, he suddenly stood, extending a hand toward her. “Come with me.”

“Where?” she asked, hesitating but feeling a rush of adrenaline at the thought of doing something entirely unexpected.

“A place where we can talk,” he replied, a challenge sparking in his eyes. “Unless you’re too scared to follow.”

With her heart racing and her mind swirling with uncertainty, she placed her hand in his. He led her through the restaurant’s bustling dining area, weaving through startled diners and busy waitstaff. But there was no turning back. The thrill of being drawn into the unknown ignited something within her.

They approached a door at the back of the restaurant, and she felt both exhilarated and apprehensive. He flung it open, and they stepped into a dimly lit hallway lined with fancy doors that seemed to whisper secrets.

“Seriously, where are we?” she asked, blinking in the low light as confusion mixed with an adrenaline high.

“Somewhere more private,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, eyes flickering with mischief and something deeper. “We won’t be interrupted here.”

Her pulse raced, excitement and fear coiling in her stomach. “Is this your idea of romance?” she shot back, the challenge lacing her voice, even as heat coursed through her.

“Maybe it’s just my idea of taking risks,” he countered, stepping closer, the space between them charged in a way that made her skin tingle. “You might even enjoy it.”

The energy shifted as they stood beneath the dim glow of the overhead light, their breaths mingling in the tight space. She caught herself wanting to feel the weight of his words, the electricity in the air. “What if someone catches?” she asked, half playful and half serious, but the way he was looking at her made her thrill with curiosity.

“Let them,” he said, eyes smouldering, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between them. “Are you really going to back down now?”

She felt a rush of defiance surge within her, mixed with undeniable attraction. “I’m not afraid,” she said boldly, but her voice wavered slightly, betraying the thrill and lust she was trying to suppress.

“Then let’s find out how dangerous this might get,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, igniting the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

With that, he turned on his heel, pulling her deeper into the hall, and she felt her heart pounding with excitement and uncertainty. Each step into the unknown only drew them closer together, and she couldn't shake the thrill of what lay ahead—the thrilling uncertainty,

He paused in front of an ornate door that looked far more expensive than the rest, its golden handle glinting in the dim light. With a knowing smirk, he pushed it open, and she was met with an intoxicating scent—rich cologne mingling with something deeper, something intimate that tugged at her senses.

As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The room was lavishly decorated, a blend of modern luxury and classic elegance. An oversized leather couch sat in the center along with a table, surrounded by walls adorned with vibrant artwork that seemed to pull her in. Warm lights cast a cozy glow, and a plush rug covered the floor, offering a sense of comfort veiled in sultriness.

“wow,” she breathed, taking in the opulence, momentarily forgetting the tension simmering between them.

“Sit,” he commanded softly, gesturing toward the couch. She hesitated for only a moment before obeying, settling into the soft fabric while he moved around the room, his gaze scanning various items scattered about—a vintage record player, a collection of intriguing books, and an array of exotic liquor bottles.

Stopping at a sleek display cabinet, he opened the door and pulled out a pistol, its silver surface gleaming in the warm light. A grin played across his lips as he turned to face her, an unsettling excitement dancing in his eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Russian roulette.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you serious?”

“Relax.” He waved his hand dismissively, the light glinting off the barrel. “Only this time, we’re playing with a twist. There’s only one bullet, and each time the gun goes off, we have to strip a piece of clothing.”

A mix of thrill and apprehension surged through her. “That’s insane.”

“Maybe,” he replied, his smirk deepening, “but wouldn’t it be fun?”

With a defiant spark in her eyes, she leaned forward. “Fine, let’s play.”

He sat across from her, the couch sinking slightly under his weight, and loaded the bullet into the chamber with a casualness that both intrigued and unnerved her. He spun the cylinder and brought the gun to his temple, pulling the trigger—click. He laughed, a dark sound that echoed in the room,

“Not so scary, right?” he teased, loosening his suit jacket. With a fluid motion, revealing a fitted dress shirt that clung to his frame, accentuating the muscular definition of his arms and shoulders. The sight made her pulse quicken

“Your turn.” He passed the gun to her.

She arched an eyebrow but took the gun, feeling its weight in her hand. She couldn’t believe they were doing this. She spun the cylinder herself, heart racing, and then pressed it to her temple. Click. A rush of relief washed over her.

“Now it’s time to shed that scarf,” he said with a teasing tone. With a quick, decisive movement, she untied the delicate fabric and let it fall to the floor, feeling freer, more emboldened.

“Here you go,” she responded, tossing the gun back to him. The tension was tangible as he caught it effortlessly.

filled with a languid confidence. “Ready?” He pressed the barrel once more to his temple—click. The sound rang through the air like a taunt, a challenge freighted with electricity.

“Lucky again,” he grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“What’s next? Your shirt?” she quipped, eager to see how far this would go.

His gaze flicked to her, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he loosens the tie taking it off, before he began to unbutton his crisp white dress shirt. With each button undone, the cloth pulled away to reveal the chiselled muscles of his torso, the defined lines and curves making her breathless. He threw the shirt aside, letting it flutter to the ground like a fallen banner of surrender.

She couldn’t help but take in the sight, her breath momentarily caught in her throat. she breathed, both impressed and challenged by the game they were playing.

“Like what you see? Now it’s your turn,” he teased, giving her the gun once more, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

She took the gun, spun the cylinder yet again, and pressed it against her temple—click. Relief flooded her, but the tension was palpable.

“Let’s play it safe,” she decided, slipping off her heels and leaving her feet bare on the plush rug beneath her. The contact with the soft Fibers felt grounding after the intensity of the game.

“Back to me,” he said, taking the gun from her hands once more. He spun the cylinder, glancing at her with that effortless chill. “Here we go.”

With a languid movement, he pressed the cold metal against his own temple, a shrug of confidence reflecting in his posture. He squeezed the trigger—click. The sound reverberated, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

She felt a small knot of apprehension twist in her stomach. Could they keep going like this? The stakes were rising, and she felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

He turned to her, offering her the gun again. “Your turn. Only two triggers are left, make sure not to die.”

With a mixture of determination and nerve, she accepted the gun from him. Her heart raced as she spun the cylinder for what felt like the hundredth time.

He stood to remove his shoes, casually tossing them to the side. That simple act ignited something within her, a thrilling edge of power and vulnerability. Just as he prepared to sit down, she lunged forward with a sudden burst of resolve.

With a swift motion, she pinned him against the couch, the gun now aimed firmly at his chest.

"What’s the matter?" he teased, the laughter in his eyes shifting to something darker. “Afraid you will die?”

“Not a chance,” she challenged, taking a seat on his lap, her pulse racing. In a moment of reckless defiance, she kept the gun pointed at him. “You think this is a game?”

He laughed, a wild, psychotic sound that echoed against the walls. his hands resting firmly on her waist, the gun now pressed against his chest as he leaned in closer. “I love it when you take charge.”

“You’re going to regret underestimating me,” she said, catching a glimpse of the wild delight dancing in his eyes.

“so it’s Game over for me?” he taunted, his words dripping with boldness. His hands slowly wandered to her thighs, fingers teasing, sending pulses of electricity coursing through her. “Shame, really. I’d hate to die without pleasuring you.”

Her breath hitched at his insinuation, his cocky demeanour igniting an uncontrollable fire within her. The tension crackled like static in the air, urging her to respond.

“You wish.” she said, her voice wavering slightly with the rush of emotions surging through her.

With a fury of need and desire, she leaned in and captured his lips in a fervent kiss, their mouths colliding in an explosion of pent-up frustration and attraction. The world around them melted away as her heart raced. The moment was electric, and in the whirlwind of passion, she pulled the trigger.

But all that followed was a click.

The sound ricocheted in the silence between them, and her eyes widened in shock as she pulled away. The thrill morphed into a dizzying rush as realization struck—there had been no bullet, no fatal ending, only the raw, intoxicating energy swirling in the air between them.

That's when he took the gun from her hands, his movements quick and decisive, a spark of defiance in his eyes. With a swift motion, he tossed it across the room, the gun landing with a loud thud against the wall.

“If you wanted my tongue against you, then you’ve fucking earned it,” he spat, crashing their lips together in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging tightly, igniting a low groan that reverberated into her mouth.

"You wanted to fucking kill me, sweetheart," he growled, biting her bottom lip, eliciting a sharp whimper from her.

“It was your game,” she countered, the adrenaline pulsing through her like fire.

“And yet,” he replied, his voice dark and sultry, “I’d never kill you.”

“I wouldn’t either.” She pulled back, a smirk curving her lips as her eyes roamed over his swollen lips and messy hair, an enticing sight.

“So, why did you aim that gun at me? Say it.”

“Because I was too damn scared, you’d do it instead of me,” she admitted, feeling his grip on her loosen slightly.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you really know how to make a scene,” he murmured, his fingers deftly unbuckling his belt with confidence.

“Kneel,” he demanded, helping her rise before guiding her down so she knelt on the floor, her dress cascading around her like a waterfall.

“You want to act like a little slut? Then suck until your mouth isn’t filthy,” he spat, and she flashed him a smirk as she slid his pants down, revealing his hard on.

Her hand wrapped around the base of him, moving up and down slowly, the rhythm sending soft growls of pleasure from his lips. As she continued pumping back and forth, in a rhythmic pattern the more he strived for her lips.

“Did you not hear me? I said suck,” he snapped, frustration threading through his tone.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You call me a slut yet can’t wait a moment longer?” With a teasing glimmer in her eyes, she leaned forward, taking his tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it while maintaining a steady rhythm with her hand. His breath hitched, a bead of sweat forming on his chest as he succumbed to the jolting pleasure.

Without warning he bunched her hair up in his fist and pushed his tip to the back of her throat, thrusting himself deeper into her mouth until she gagged. The sight of her watering eyes only seemed to rile him up.

“Look how fucking beautiful you are, my darling. Take all of me, just like the good whore you are," he breathed, pleasure dripping from his words.

Her eyes glistened with tears. and he watched her head bob back and forth.

"fuck I'm going to—" he gasped, releasing her head and pulling back slightly. But before he could finish himself off, she caught his hand, her determination surging, and continued, letting the warm liquid hit the back of her throat while he moaned, curses spilling from his lips until he finished.

He fixed his gaze on her as she swallowed every drop, wiping her bottom lip clean with a satisfied smile. “You’re not finishing with me down here,” she challenged, cheeky confidence returning.

“Insanity suits you,” he replied, standing and holding out a hand to help her rise. “Now let’s see just how wet you are for me.”

He led her to the table, and a surge of vulnerability washed over her as he slammed her against it giving him full access to her clit, while her stomach pressed against the polished wood. His hands roamed the insides of her thighs, and she softly moans as he moved her lace underwear to the side, his fingers brushing against her trembling skin

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her head back, connecting their lips once more, sucking on her bottom lip. After He released her hair, his hand quickly found her clit, eliciting a moan that was both pleasure and pain.

“Make a scene, sweetheart. Let everyone hear how much you enjoy this," he seethed, delivering a sharp smack that made her gasp, her stomach hitting the table harder.

As he moved her dress out of the way, he slowly removed her thong. Her grip tightened on the table's edges, anticipation thrumming in her veins. But just as she exhaled, he pressed a blade to her neck, drawing a gasp from her lips as he grabbed another fistful of hair to pull her back.

“I’m going to fuck you until you beg to finish, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But this is on my terms. Move too much, and your blood will splatter.” She nodded slowly, and without warning he pushed himself inside of her.

She gasped, feeling every inch of him stretching her, she felt his eyes darken with lust as he fucked her against the table. Each powerful thrust accompanied by the sound of the table squeaking beneath her, the blade scratched at her skin making her hiss at the foreign pain of the knife grazing her neck.

“you like that? hmm” he asked, delight etched in his expression.

“I do. It hurts," she admitted, breathless.

“Tell me to stop,”

But the words caught in her throat, her senses overwhelmed as the blade pressed deeper, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes back in pleasure.

“ But that's the thing, you like that huh? You don't have to hide what you truly want. I know you like this blade at your neck. Watch how good you take my dick slut" he groaned into her ear picking up the pace and she could already feel herself coming close to finishing.

A few more cuts on her neck and he flipped her over, her back colliding with the table, the sharp contrast of sensations sending goosebumps over her skin.

He poured his focus on the cuts, pressing kisses over the crimson marks as the metallic taste lingered in the air. The euphoric mix of pain and pleasure sent her into a frenzy, her nails digging into his bare back as he slipped himself back inside of her her.

“You won’t be the only one leaving this room marked,” she moaned in between their kisses. Both of them cursing and filling the room with the sound of their pleasure.

Their bodies moved in sync, letting the euphoria continue and their pace become sloppy. a dangerous dance of desire and desperation, the air thick with their shared moans and whispered curses.

“I’m gonna—"

“Not yet,” he interrupted, the tension in his voice low and commanding.

“I can't—” she yelped when he stopped, a sharp smack to her ass, only hard enough to sting.

“You can, and you will,” he grunted, slamming into her again, her hips bucking against him as he threw her leg onto his shoulder, pushing deeper. His penetrating gaze bore into her, making sure she didn’t disobey.

“Beg if you wanna finish.”

“Please,” she pleaded, breathless urgency coloring her voice.

“You're mine. Never forget that. Got it?" he growled. She hummed in agreement.

“Use your words,”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Cum for me. Be a good girl,” he murmured, and she quickly became undone. After a couple more strokes he finished after, his head rolling back in delight.

Her legs quivering and the short circuit of her brain stopping for just a moment. It was almost as if her body was made to be with him alone, each pulse and surge a beautiful convergence of pleasure and pain.

He tucked himself back before effortlessly lifting her off the table. Her feet barely touched the floor before her legs wobbled beneath her, struggling to support her weight.

"I can’t walk," she muttered, clutching the edge of the table for support, the remnants of their passion still buzzing in her veins.

"What was that?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"You heard me. Shut up and help me stand up," she sneered, irritation mingling with the lingering satisfaction in her tone.

He rolled his eyes, but his expression softened as he stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her upright. "Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice low and steady. With gentle firmness, he helped her regain her footing, guiding her away from the table as she leaned into him.

They took a few tentative steps, and he chuckled again, the sound warm against her ear. "You really know how to make things interesting."

“Oh, shut up,” she replied, though a smile betrayed her annoyance. “You’re lucky I’m even standing,” she added with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Lucky? I was thinking of round two,” he shot back with a grin, winking at her as they made their way towards the couch. Unaware of long night they’re about to witness.

part 1

[themindcastlesystem]

Another crackpot "Project: Eden's Garden" theory

(Sunny, they/she) hi again it's your girl I'm going insane again so I'm back with another theory

NOTE: Unlike my chapter 2 theory, which is more cohesive and at least has some Biblical parallels and narrative themes to back it up, this theory is COMPLETE speculation based off of only a few observations - so keep that in mind while reading.

THE THEORY

So uh. Cassidy sus. *points at her* amogus! amogus!

For real, though. Does anyone else get the feeling that she's a bit... out of touch, emotionally? Or that she's the most fourth-wall-breaky of the group, like she keeps feeding her jokes and references to some sort of viewer (whether the player or the literal broadcast viewers in-universe)?

This could most definitely be just a comic relief thing. Or maybe a "streamer" thing, since that's what she's known for - and streamers are notorious for not being totally authentic, especially when they're in front of an audience. It's not like half of their audience really cares about how they feel, or if they're having a bad day - they want entertainment. I could see a character arc where Cassidy becomes a bit more expressive and authentic with her emotions across the rest of the game, learning to let her actual feelings show instead of masking her fear/sadness with smiles and jokes. I would love an arc like this in a DR fangame.

But, personally, I have other suspicions. There's a few pieces of "evidence" that make me suspect her of being the mastermind (quote marks because it's not conclusive and could be interpreted in other ways). I know there might not be a traditional "mastermind" in P:EG, especially since the creators said not to expect canon DR tropes, but just take "mastermind" to mean someone in the main cast that's working with Tozu/Mara/any other killing game organizers, whether willingly or under duress.

THE "EVIDENCE"

She's a streamer. As I said, this could explain why she seems so inauthentic and that's that - but that is ignoring the tangible benefit that her platform would have for the masterminds if they decided to use it. She easily has the biggest live following of the group - while there are other individuals with mass followings, like Wenona (who runs a huge business) and Kai (who has a ton of social media followers), Cassidy's thing is livestreaming. This killing game is being livestreamed. And if the killing game organizers are broadcasting it, it would make total sense for them to take advantage of the Ultimate Pro Gamer's live audience - and this would be easier to do if she was in on it, rather than if they had to hack her account to get a stream going or something.

Her actions during chapter 1. The two most important things she does are: a) kick down everyone's doors so they're forced to leave their dorms, and b) organize the game tournament during which a murder happens. The reason she says she did this was to get people to be more active and do something fun with each other, to boost their spirits. But it is possible that she wanted to force people to be out and about so that there would be more chances for people to kill each other - and/or to keep things more entertaining for the viewers (similar to how she feeds jokes/references to the camera). There is also potentially an argument that she might want to get people to trust each other in a less overt way than someone like Wolfgang or Diana - by getting them to let their guards down. With people's guards down, it becomes easier for a wolf in sheep's clothing to strike. (Hahaha get it because-- *gets shot*) You could even say that everyone's caught in her spider's web and they don't even realize it. (Hahaha get it because-- *double gunshot*)

This fucking picture. (Everything before this was already speculation, but this is EVEN MORE SPECULATIVE!) I have no idea what it means, and I know it was Diana that Wolfgang hallucinated as being his mother when he was in the boiler room, but Cassidy looks even more like her. Like, other than her eye color, she has the facial proportions of Wolfgang's dad and the eyes/hair of his mom. (Haha your mom.) Maybe they're siblings/half-siblings, I don't know. But it does strike me that Wolfgang's last words were "I won't stop until the world knows me as--!" before he died. Which... could mean he knows who the mastermind is, or has some involvement with the killing game, or maybe his parents did and he knows about it ("like father, like son..."). I have no clue, this is just me guessing based off of a facial similarity and two lines of dialogue lmfao.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

I don't know. Try again later.

Uh, but if I had to come up with some sort of potential motive for her to be involved - assuming she's a willing participant and has some sort of ideological or personal motive - then... here goes.

The first thing that comes to mind is something Damon says multiple times in the prologue: "Ultimates are charged with the betterment of society." And, well, he thinks everyone's doing a shit job - except for maybe Wenona, because she's a billionaire and runs a big business that feeds people. Basically everyone else, he thinks is totally useless.

Well... I can see a way that Cassidy might feel similarly, but in sort of a reverse way. She's a streamer and a pro gamer with a huge audience - and so far, she actually seems like the least harmful popular figure in the group. Compare her to Kai Monteago - who's a total dunce and who seems to really only care about his own fame when it comes to his talent. Or Wenona - who's a billionaire, a wealth hoarder whose profile literally says she owns over 90% of the agriculture industry and she dislikes unions.

We don't really know anything about Cassidy's platform (that I can immediately remember) other than "she's a gamer" and "they're called Cassidy's Comrades" - but even in just that, there's already communist theming with the "comrade" joke. Though that could just be a "haha Soviet Russia" joke and nothing deeper, I will also point out that one thing streamers are known for doing is charity streams - oftentimes long ones that become widely talked about because someone decided to stay on stream for 24 hours straight to raise money for a charitable cause. Also, because of the live nature of streamers' relationships with their fandoms, it's much more common than other industries for streamers to be publicly put on blast for things like microaggressions or giving money to bad people - something that could easily influence someone like Cassidy. What is a killing game broadcast, but a livestream where all these Ultimates are put on blast - with their first murder motive being cryptic blackmail about some of the worst things they've done?

In my "Cassidy = mastermind" hypothetical, where Damon's hatred of the Ultimate title and the people who have it comes largely from his ego and distrust of others in general, Cassidy could hate the Ultimate title and the people who have it because she thinks they're not doing enough to help others. Ultimates have been charged with the betterment of society, and they're failing. In this hypothetical, Cassidy also puts herself above others and distrusts others - but expresses it very differently from Damon. Surprisingly, much more pessimistically, given the whole murder game and all.

Well - that's if I'm right. I'm probably not. But it's a fun thought, right?

[therealraewest]

"Sorry I stumbled into one of your emotional triggers by dressing up as a dead nemesis, here's Time Bandits on VHS"

[just-spacetrash]

🦾

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - VERSION OF YOU

A/N: Inspired by the Deadpool and Wolverine trailer. Inaccurate things when it comes to timelines and shit. Beware, it was not edited properly. Sorry.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: angsty?, attempt at being funny?

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 2500+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - VERSION OF YOU

“Do you think this is gonna work?” 

“Agent Smith said it would.” 

“It’s fucking weird, you know?” 

“A lot of fucked up things happened before. This is nothing compared to what I have to deal with now. So, ladies first.”

Wade pointed at the weird-looking orange door. He didn’t want to walk through them first. That fucker shoved Y/N right into the portal before he took a step forward. Coward. 

They appeared in front of a dive bar, during a bright sunny day. Y/N looked at Wade, well, more like at his masked face. “Wasn’t this place supposed to be fucked up?” she asked. “It’s too nice outside.”

“It will become in a matter of hours. Now, here’s the plan,” he said. “We’ll go in. I’ll talk first. If I won’t move with that stubborn mountain of a man, it’s your turn. Do whatever it takes to bring him with us - smile at him, have sex with him, for all I care. And, who knows, maybe we will know whether Agent Smith was right.” 

“I call bullshit,” said Y/N, cracking her knuckles. “I don’t know him. I think it’s a fairy tale he made up so I would work with you,” she said, fixing her tactical suit. “Can’t believe I’m doing this shit with you, Wade.”

He chuckled. “Come on, you love spending time with me, kicking ass, making men suffer.” 

“I will make you suffer.”

Together, they approached the entrance door of the dive bar. Wade was the first one to walk in. During the day, there weren’t many people around. Some people gave them brief attention but quickly went back to their beers. Y/N glared at Wade. 

“Our guy is right there,” he said, pointing to the bar. 

And there he was - their target - the man they had to collect to save the universe. Was it the universe or the multiverse? Whatever it was, he was crucial for this mission. 

Y/N eyed his back - the dark jacket he wore and how bent he was over the bar. The sadness radiated from him. Something was happening inside her. As if she experienced a magnetic pull towards him.

Y/N showed Wade forward to start. She was curious to see the man’s reaction. She sat at a nearby table ready to watch the scene unfold. Of course, Wade used a beautiful opening line that would normally get his assed whipped. 

“Hi, peanut.”

Y/N bit her lower lip to stop herself from laughing. This was Wade, typical Wade Wilson. Fucking Deadpool and her best friend. How the fuck did they manage to become friends? She knew him for a long time, fought alongside him and tolerated that dipshit. 

“Look, lady, I’m not interested,” the man said gruffly. His voice was deep, husky and kind of sexy. It made Y/N tilt her head. Interesting. 

It was painful to watch the interaction. Wade tried to get him off the chair, away from the bar before he could explain anything. Such a rookie mistake. It was time to intervene before Wade overstepped and jeopardised this whole mission. 

She got off the chair and walked to the tall, well-built man. With a smile, she tapped on his shoulder. He instantly turned, his weird metal claws already out of his hands, ready to fight. When their eyes met, she showed him her bright smile and teeth. “Hi, peanut.” 

His face changed from pissed to shocked in less than a second. For a second it lost its colour. The man’s mouth opened wide. “Y/N?” he said her name gently, too gently for her liking. “Holy shit.” 

“Ha, Agent Smith was right,” Wade laughed, pointing a finger at her face. It got him three claws into his stomach. It made him grunt and fell to his knees. “Ouch. That fucking hurt.” 

“You know me?” Y/N asked, not believing the whole story she was told back in the TVA. 

That question took him aback. “What kind of dumb question is that, baby? Of course, I know ya,” and his hands reached for her face, holding her cheeks. To Y/N’s surprise, she let him. “How is this possible? How are you alive?” 

It was Y/N’s time for her eyes to widen in complete shock. “Woah,” she stepped back. 

“It’s me,” he said, frowning. “It’s Logan.” 

Wade decided to step in, waving a hand at them. “I don’t want to interrupt this romantic reunion, but we need to talk to you, big guy. It’s important.” 

“You came here with the weírd-looking sex toy?” Logan’s eyes were back on Y/N. “What the fuck is this? The the fuck is going on?”

That made her laugh. “Ha, Wade, even he thinks you look like a sex toy. With Cable, we are now three who think the same thing.” 

“Fuck you, Y/N,” he spat back. 

The man, Logan, pushed away from her, glaring. His claws were in the air, ready to strike if necessary. “Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Deadpool and this is my annoying friend Y/N,” Wade introduced them. 

“You are an ass,” Y/N glared at Wade.

“Impossible,” Logan shook his head, bumping into a wooden stool. “You are dead,” he pointed a finger directly at Y/N’s face. “You cannot be here. You died in my fucking arms! Who the fuck are you?” he raised his voice at her. 

“I’m Y/N,” she said. 

“Don’t bullshit me!” 

There was a sound of a loading gun. All three lazily turned their gaze to the bartender who was pointing a shotgun at them. None of them was intimidated by that. “Get the fuck out of my bar! Now! Or I will shoot you all.” 

“I think this is our cue,” Wade whispered. 

Logan grabbed Wade by the red top of his suit, pushing him out of the bar like he was a ragdoll. Y/N immediately followed them out, ready to step in if necessary. She wasn’t worried about Wade. He was immortal. His body parts would grow back. She was more ready to step in intellectually. That was something Wade didn’t know how to do. 

“Everyone calm down,” she said. 

“No!” they both yelled at her, already fighting like children.

Y/N looked at herself, reading this story and made a sour face. “Men,” she sighed and turned her gaze to the two men who were about to tear each other apart. A purple-looking mist appeared in her hands and she pushed the men away from each other. 

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” she said. 

There was blood coming out of Wade’s abdomen - the marks from the claws. She had to shake her head. Wade had his gun out, pointing it directly at Logan. “Will you fucking listen, you oaf?” 

Logan’s eyes moved from him back to Y/N. She saw how his stance relaxed. It was painful to look at her, see someone he lost. His claws retraced back into his hands. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles becoming white. “How come you are alive?” he asked. 

Y/N sighed. “Because I’m not her… me… uh,” she shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“Fucking talk, woman,” he raised his voice. 

She raised her hand to calm him. “I can explain. But I need you to come with us, Logan.”

His eyes closed. When Y/N said her name, more emotions ran across his face. “How can I trust you? I can’t seem to trust my own mind.” 

Wade was ready to say something stupid, but Y/N quickly shut him up by throwing him away with her power. “Believe me, it doesn’t make any sense to me, too. I can give you an explanation if you will help us.” 

“Help with what?” he raised a brow. 

Y/N made a face, changed it to a frown. ”To save the multiverse?” she said it like a question, hesitant whether he’d believe her. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds fucking crazy. Trust me, I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around it.” 

Wade came running back. “That was rude, you know?” 

“Shut up,” she glared at him. “We need his help, so let me handle it. Just for once, Wade, I need you to zip it, okay?” 

He leaned closer to Logan. “She’s hormonal,” he whispered to him. 

This time, Y/N decided to ignore his comment. “Please,” she turned her gaze to Logan. “Will you come with us? Help us save our world, all of the worlds?” 

He scoffed. “I’m no hero, kid.” 

Y/N turned her head to Wade, then back to Logan. “None of us are heroes here,” she said. “Maybe that’s why we are meant to save everyone’s asses,” she shrugged. 

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “How come you are not a hero? You are the sweetest thing in this world. You are the definition of heroism and kindness,” he said. 

She made a face. “Come with us and we’ll talk about it all.” 

And he did. 

. . . 

Logan and Y/N sat behind an old-fashioned plastic table. He still wore his clothes while Y/N changed from her tactical suit to jeans and a simple shirt. The silence between them was awkward. The tension could be cut with a knife. His eyes scanned her from head to anywhere they were able to reach. 

There was a stack of documents and papers by her side. She grabbed them to show them to prove she was not lying. 

The door opened and Wade stepped in, out of his red suit. Logan gasped, horrified when he saw the man’s face. “What the fuck? Holy shit, that is fucking horrible. As if you were ran down by a Zamboni,” he yelled. 

“It’s disgusting, right?” Y/N nodded. But a second later a grin was on her face. 

“Ha, ha,” Wade pretended to laugh. “Can’t believe you two are laughing at a poor disabled man who happened to have his face fucked to safe his shitty life.” 

“That was your decision,” Y/N reminded him. 

Logan pretended to hurl. Y/N chuckled. “It’s hard to look at him.” 

Y/N smiled at her friend. “Could you leave us alone?” she asked. “I need to talk to him alone and, well, it takes time to get used to your face.” 

Wade pointed a finger at her. “One day, I will cut your tongue out,” he threatened. He was already on his way out. “Oh,” he threw her a little device. “If you want to show him something spicy,” he winked at her. 

Once the door shut behind him, Y/N exhaled the breath she was holding. “Now that he’s out of the picture,” she waved with a hand.

“Just start singing,” said Logan, annoyed. 

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N, but I am not your Y/N. I’m from a different timeline,” she started. 

“How are you, not my Y/N? You sound the same, you look the same. You have the same mutation,” he said. “And a different timeline? What kind of bullshit is that?” 

She shrugged. “Hey, I found out about all of this today, okay?” she then glared at him. “I, myself, have trouble taking it in. It’s crazy, it’s fucked up on so many levels. It’s not easy for me too, you know?” 

Logan huffed. “Continue.”

“This is going to sound crazy, so prepare yourself.” She took a deep breath. “I was told, and showed, that somehow, we are meant to be together in almost every timeline.”

“What?” 

Y/N made a face. “It sounds like a fucking fairytale.” Her hands grabbed the first folder, looking at its name. When she opened it, there was a photo of both of them. They looked the same. Y/N pushed her chair closer to him and showed Logan the details in the document. “In this timeline, we are both normal people. We live together in the Canadian mountains.” 

Logan took the folder and read the document. His eyes went over the photo. He shook his head. “Holy shit,” was the only thing he said. 

Y/N reached for another folder. When she opened it, she chuckled. “Here, you are a notorious mob boss,” she showed him. In the picture, he had an eyepatch over his left eye. “We live in Madripoor. People know you there as Patch.” 

“What about my version in your world?” he asked.

She sighed. “There is none. I said we are meant to be together in almost every universe. In mine, you don’t exist.” She turned to the documents and took out the one from her timeline.

Logan snatched it from her, reading through the words. “You are a mercenary?” he asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” she nodded. “Wade and I have a business together. He’s the only family I have. Well, Wade and his fianceé Vanessa. In the past, the Avengers approached with the offer to be in their team. I declined. That’s not who I am.” 

“Is there a world, uh, timeline where you don’t exist?” he asked.

“They told me there used to be one, but that timeline was destroyed a long time ago,” she explained. “Don’t ask me how that happened, because I don’t have an answer for that. You should ask Agent Smith that.” 

“Why do you keep calling him that?” 

“He looks like a character from a movie,” she explained. Her hand reached for another folder. When she opened it, she laughed. “In this world, you and are enemies that secretly love each other.” 

Logan’s brow raised. He read the details of their relationship. “You are on Magneto’s side?” he gasped. “I mean, she is… This is so confusing.” 

“Uh,” she hesitated for a moment. “When did you lose me? Or the version of me. You know what I mean.” 

“Haven’t you read that?” he asked. 

“Nope,” she shook he head. “I’ve got through a couple of those folders. I was only told that we were going to your timeline and that I was dead. Plus to get you out of there and convince you to help us.” 

Logan nodded. “You died…” It was hard to talk about it. “It happened a few years ago during a war that the mutants were in,” he said. “You died in my arms,” he cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. 

“I live with that pain every day,” he continued. “And now, it is fucking harder than ever before, because here you are, sitting in front of me, but you are not… her.” 

At that point, she realised how difficult this experience was for him. Logan seemed like a tough guy. The pain that reflected in his eyes, how he avoided meeting her eyes more and more. 

“Everyone I knew is dead,” said Logan after a pause. “No one lives in my world that I care about.” 

Y/N bit her lower lip. “Logan,” she said his name softly. “We pulled you out of your timeline because it will be destroyed soon.” 

His eyes widened. “Wait, what? What’s going to happen to me?” 

“The TVA will present you with options. But if we save the multiverse, we will be rewarded. Or that’s what they told me,” she said. 

“It doesn’t matter. No one in my world is alive.” He stood up from the chair. “Let’s do this shit. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.” 

Y/N put a small smile on her face. She wanted to show him more, tell him what they told her, what she thought of it. “Yeah, let’s do this.” 

[bruhhxiao]

Like when we were younger

(sfw/nsfw)

paring Anubis x step-sister!reader

! warnings: paring sister reader x brother Anubis=incest (they are related by Osiris), depression, violence(?), (Y/N used) !

requested by @gongyunlian

“Try to convince him Y/N, please…”

“uncle Seth it’s not like I enjoy this situation, my brother looks like another person” You told him walking in circle as he sat on his throne.

“Osiris changed him! My only son…” you patted Seth shoulder.

“Hours… Hours says it’s better this way..” You whispered

“He’s wrong! And you know Y/N!”

After you left Seth you went to visit your mother Isis, she fall in a deep state of sleep since your father Osiris was killed by Seth. She loved your father and she raised Anubis like her biological son, like Hours and became gods. Osiris betrayed her after all the love she gave and showed to him… she forgive him after she knew about Anubis real father.

“I promise mother, I will try to take him back.” You caressed her right cheek.

A few days later you went to Anubis temple, it was a chilly night and it was quieter than usual.

“Anubis can I have a word with you?” You knelt in front of his statue, but this time he didn’t show up like he used to. You were the most close compared to Hours. You were siblings and we never been against each other. You were one thing.

“Please I have something to tell you..” You last said before leaving the temple walking bare foot on the cold sand of the desert.

“Can you please stop following me and talk normally?” You said looking at your shadow watching Anubis coming out of it. He just stood in front of you silent.

“Look at yourself. You never talk, you always hide your face under this mask even when we are alone… where did my brother go?” You tried to reach his mask to take it off but he snapped your hand leaving you speechless.

“Your father is worried! Hours knows something i don’t. Tell me Anubis, tell me please…”

“Seth is no longer my father I don’t need to go see him” he disappeared dissolving into the darkness of his shadow.

You were bathing playing with the blue lotus that you brought with you into the bath. You were a god, the god of protection, anxiety, perfection and purity. The blue lotus was your symbol, your blessing. You probably inherited this specialty from your father and you remembered how you and Anubis played with this flower when you were younger and far from the responsibility of your journey.

“Why are you so stubborn..”

“He is keeping you safe…” You look on the side you stop Hours sitting on the balcony of the chamber looking at the red sky.

“From what Hours? He is hurting himself standing by the one who made him like that”

“You don’t get it! He wants to see Seth suffer! Watching his most important ones standing by his side!” Hours shouted flying away leaving you even more confused, how could Osiris hurt his own son to take revenge over Seth.

“You said you wouldn’t never leave me..” You said thinking about the promise you and Anubis made when you were young.

You went to his temple again sitting in front of his well sculpted stone that was made for prayers towards the god. You left a gift like human do, you left a blue lotus.

When you went back to your mother you saw Anubis talking to her leaving a blue lotus. As he was about to disappear you dashed to him grabbing his mask revealing his long curly black hair, his shocked expression made you ran through the hallway leaving the servants confused. He chased you by the shadows trying to get his mask back.

“Now you know how I felt when I was younger!” That’s right he used to tease you taking away your toys or food and made you ran for minutes until you ended up crying but that was actually an excuse to be close to you, to cuddle you, to protect you.

“Y/N…” He groaned stepping close.

You took off your mask showing your features that Anubis couldn’t see after he became a god. He grew up so you did but he didn’t expect to find you as beautiful as the first time he saw you but there was something that he never felt when he was younger. You wore his mask was jumping around your chamber trying to escape.

“I look good right? You can take mine if you wan-“ He grabbed you by the gold necklace and he pinned you to the wall.

He took the mask and he threw it on the floor, you were surprised by his actions but he didn’t give you time to realized what had happen that he grabbed your cheek pulling you against his lips. The kiss wasn’t aggressive but you could feel the desire. He picked you up caressing your hips to your breast. He snapped back making you land on your feet leaving you breathless.

He grabbed his mask walking out of the chamber. He was speechless, he was angry and guilty at same time… he hated himself for this.

“what about Isis? Please help her Anubis!” You shouted as he disappeared in the shadows.

You were walking in the dark desert a hand grabbed your ankle from the could orange sand. Anubis hand.

“Your mother.” He says as a tear falls down on your cheek

“she woke up.” He continued as his hand melted in shadows and sand.

When you arrive Isis was sitting on the edge of her bed next to her was Nephtys consoling her.

“Mother!” You shouted running towards her but your aunt Nephtys stopped you.

“Y/N! Have you seen Anubis?” She asked a bit worried looking first Isis and then back to you. You nodded.

Your back laid against the cold wall near the balcony, head lost in thoughts until a cold hand holds your shoulder.

silent as always.

“What is wrong with you!” You say angrily without even turning to see who he was. You knew, you could tell by his touch. You stood up taking off your mask grabbing his black tie pulling him near you.

”What happened to you…” You started again until he snapped his black soft curls hiding his expression, teeth biting into his lips almost about to bleed.

“Anubis..” You called softly grabbing his cheek making him look at you as you freed his eyes from the hair.

As you leaned closer caressing his cheek trying to read into his eyes he liked his lips.

“He’s gonna hurt you…” he finally spoke leaning closer to your face.

“I don’t want him to hurt you.” He continued.

He leaned close, lips crushing into yours with his hand behind your neck. As you kissed him back he pushed off. He grabbed your hips picking you up.

“I won’t let him…”

He says as he reveals your breast massaging it as he kisses your neck. He brings you to the bed laying on top kissing every inch of your body.

“you’re so soft”

He said dry as he kissed you to your lips to your hips. He takes your bottom off making you jolt by his sudden action. You covered your body calling his name for once making him snap from his fantasy…

He doesn’t say anything he kisses you cuddles you going from your neck to your hips. He kisses your intimacy softly and slowly as brings a finger inside by surprise.

He added another finger thrusting slowly but steadily while his lips leave kisses on your tummy.

He pulls the fingers out and flip you with your belly against the mattress. His chest pressed against your back as he goes inside making you arch your back.

“I can’t hold it anymore” He says while your fists clenched on the linen sheets.

He waits a few seconds before he starts moving holding your belly with his hand while you cry out the pain that becomes pleasure in no time. Anubi is gently but gives you every inch of him as he kisses your back to your neck kissing it, sucking it, biting it. He slipped out making you turn and face him.

“my baby…” you mumbled you use to tease him every time back in the past, tease his protective side as the older brother.

He grabbed your hand and he kissing it before leaning down kissing your lips while caressing you cheek.

He hugs you tightly as he goes back in with his face pressed in your neck leaving marks and wet kisses trying to hide his moans. You arch your back as you’re getting closer and he thrusts deep. He bumps his nose into yours as the thrusts became slower but stronger taking away your breath. He holds tightly as you both came together.

After a few second he leans down and kisses your lips and then laying on top of you resting his head on your chest as you stroke his curly hair while you looked outside at the dark blue sky.

It reminded you when you used to spend time with him in the past where he would let you cuddle him so you would stop complaining, but it was an excuse for him to be close to you and spoil him with your affection and cuteness. He knew that in the future you would cuddle him with stronger feelings.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Henlooo guys this is such an unlucky day! First I want to apologize to @gongyunlian for taking months to upland their request but I had some family issues. And I finished the story this morning but I was such in a hurry that most of the finale got deleted so I had to rewrite it, so apologize if it’s boring or doesn’t make sense at all. Small reminder, English isn’t my first language so ignore the grammar mistakes if there are any. LOVE YA<3 and feel free to ask something request are open!

[winterarmyy]

Behind The Facades | Part I

An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.

Summary: In which Y/N is pining over Bucky while she watch him wrap his arms around someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II || Part III (end)

Words: 1.2k++

Pairings: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: angst. just pure angst and pain.

P/S: i'm feeling melancholy all of the sudden, therefore this idea was born. It's a very short one but I hope you enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

"Never let your true feelings show." was one and if not the most important lesson Y/N learned from where she was trained before becoming an agent under the avengers program.

It was so deeply etched within her very being, that the habit had became as natural as breathing the air into her lungs.

"Keep that mask on, and no one will be able ever break you." They said.

So, she did exactly that.

She giggled when Bucky told her about how he managed to make a fool of himself when he attempted to flirt a girl that he had fallen for at that bar he regularly went to.

He really shouldn't read those random top 10 pickuplines articles on Google anymore.

Tears were threaten to fall, as her shoulders shook in silent laughter, "Really, Barnes? I thought you were the ladies man back in the 40's"

"Exactly. 'Were' . Now, I am clearly not. Urghh, I can't believe I let that birdbrain convince me that these 'pickuplines' would do the trick."

Despite his gruff annoyance towards Sam, she could see a tinge of red shade on Bucky's cheek; probably feel embarrassed from what happened.

Gulping down whatever drink he had in his glass Bucky huffed, "Honestly, I don't think any sane person would even consider to approach me, let alone date me." His sharp gaze wavered into something more vulnerable.

Though he didn't mention anything about his history but when he shifted his view to the metal of his left hand, Y/N knew what he meant.

Y/N gaze softens, "I'm here with you. Am I not?" Her nails dug into the skin of her thighs as she held back from wanting to touch him, kiss him, hold him; to whisper sweet nothings in his ears in hopes that it would shut whatever doubts he has of himself even for just a moment.

There was a swift glaze over Bucky's eyes. As if he realized something but his words seems to deny his revelation, "I said 'sane person', Y/N."

Y/N gasped with an exaggerated perplex on her expression, "Sargent James Buchanan Barnes..." she purposely called him by his title, hoping it will remind him that he should have the reputation of a respectful man, "... are you accusing me of losing my sanity?"

Bucky shrugs with a face of pure innocence, "In this tower? We all are. But, especially you." a playful smirk tugged the corner of his lips as he waited to witness her reaction.

She stifled a laugh when she heard a knock on her door and then greeted by what looked like a mountain flower, and in between them was Bucky.

He had impulsively bought almost half a dozen bouquet of flowers because he couldn't decided which one of them is pretty enough for his date.

He shyly laughed it off when she told him "You could've face-timed me at the shop instead of ended up buying this much of flowers, Buck."

"God, you're right, doll. Why didn't I thought of that?" He frowned as he sighed.

"Because you're old and forgetful, that's why." Y/N teased as she leaned to the door frame, arms folded across her chest.

Bucky rolled his eyes before sending a glare towards her, "You're not going to stop mentioning my age in everything, are you?" he grumbled.

He might not know it but Y/N managed to noticed a tiny pout on his lips; something only, as they said, Steve can notice. That slight difference on his lowers lips; a very minimal protrude, barely noticable.

But secretly, she can see it too. And it was something she wished she could brag about, something she could tell the world; how lucky she was to be able to notice those little things about him.

She chuckled with an answer, "Never."

Another grumble escaped from Bucky somewhere behind the bouquets, before he presented a particular set towards Y/N, "Anyway, this is for you." He acts reluctant but she knew he was always sincere with actions.

Her eyes skimmed through the gorgeous arrangement of daisies; her favourite.

For a mere second, she let her heart flutter and a genuine smile bloomed on her lips; however the truth was not supposed to surface.

If Bucky was not blinded by the bouquet, he would've seen how the joyous glint her eyes faded even if her smile was still intact.

"Bribery is an act against the law, you do know that right, Sargent?" Nevertheless, her hands reached out to take the gift.

Bucky chuckled in response, "Yes, ma'am. I do."

She smiled when Bucky's love-struck gaze shines when he told her about his first kiss with that lucky lady, during one of those midnight coffee trips she share with him at the pantry.

He should've seen how beautiful he looked that night; free of worries and caught in pure joy.

"It was..." Bucky sighed in content; he was so happy he lost his words. As he tried to find the right description of the kiss, she could see his gaze softens.

Y/N knew he was recalling the kiss, but she couldn't help but to fall for him all over again; not that it's not a recurring event everyday but she really did felt as if her heart stopped for more than necessary.

'He's so happy.' She thought to herself. 'Then, I should be happy for him too'

So she did exactly how it supposed to be done.

"Mirror their feelings; that way your true feelings will never show."

Y/N did exactly that.

That one habit that had lead Y/N to countless of undercover missions.

The same missions that left Y/N with one of the highest rate of successful inflitration, unharmed.

And yet, the facade she wore seemed to failed her this time.

Why didn't work?

Why does it hurts?

The longer she kept the mask on, the more it burns from within.

"Keep that mask on, and no one will be able ever break you."

Then, why does her heart aches as if it was falling apart?

Y/N could feel how weak her knees were becoming, she had to lean on counter tops for support. The slow ballad filling the living room, leaking to the pantry from where she stood and watched.

Oh, she loved this song.

She wrapped her shivering hands around the warm cup of coffee that she made as she watched the couple danced. And the longer her longing gaze linger on Bucky, the blurrier her vision get.

"Y/N..." Natasha softly grazed the side of Y/N's arm. How could she not notice Natasha coming in. Must have been her widow effect.

"You're breaking, honey." Natasha was meaning to imply about Y/N's heart but she was so set on hiding her feelings she thought Natasha meant differently, "I know." She replied as she sipped on the warm drink.

Her facades are breaking.

Her hazy vision remained on the, now shadows of the dancing couple, "I will put up a new one." She didn't even notice how her own voice cracked.

Tears overflowed from the corner of her eyes, "Just let this one crumble." Her lips trembled as she told the truth, "Cause I don't think I can fix this."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I'm thinking to have more of this couple; should i do it? Any thoughts?

[the-traveling-poet]

Her Kind Heart

How, after all he had seen her endure, could she still smile? How could her heart be so full after being so broken? It was something Levi had admired, and soon came to love. How could he not, when she taught him many a value?

Pairing: Levi x F!Reader

Warnings: none, just platonic-to-lovers, Levi POV

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe @pelicanpizza @humanitys-strongest-brat @raginginferno267 @ackermanswifee If you’d like to be added to the taglist for new Levi contact, just DM me :)

A/N: I got this request over on Wattpad, but I wanted to post this here as well. Also ps, I meant to post this earlier in the day (for me, in EST time) but I got into a fight with a drunk man aka my father so it got postponed :)

Time and time again, he’d witnessed battle outside the walls harden and change many a cadet and captain alike.

They would become closed off, emotionally absent or angry. Some became paranoid and even lashed out against command from angers and griefs understood by themselves only.

Yet others succumbed to their traumas and became a shell of who they once were; a mere shadow of a soldier fighting for a cause they no longer believed in.

Why then, if this held true more often than not, hadn’t she fallen to these outcomes? How was her fate different than anyone else before her?

He’d seen her around HQ often enough to notice her usual cheer undiminished by the obstacles they all faced inside and outside the walls as Scouts. Ever she remained as radiant as the day he’d met her, against the odds he had silently betted upon.

Ms. Y/N L/N. She was as puzzling as she was alluring.

He’d supposed her rise in ranks might dull her gentle approach to her comrades and that kind twinkle ever present in her eye, but these things hadn’t changed. Not once. He’d never once seen even a flinch in her presentation.

How could someone witness such carnage and hopelessness, and yet remain so positive? So in control over their own heart and mind? Yet she managed, with a grace that surprised even the most weathered of veterans.

He’d managed to ask her once, masking indifference to her response despite his inner turmoil. And her answer had been as assertive as ever she always was;

“Someone needs to bring forth the morale in the barracks around HQ, so I stepped up. Many have and many will, so why not me also? Is that an issue?”

“I never said it was an issue, but how can you have the energy for it? Many have filled those shoes and fallen into the same pit they tried to help others out of,”

Levi had recounted, leaned against the stone wall at his back.

At first, he figured by her silence that Y/N wouldn’t have an answer; something he had been banking on. But to his surprise, she eventually met his eye from across the narrow hall with a kind and somehow knowing smile adorning her face.

“Why give up based on another’s downfall? They did what they could with what they had, and that’s what I plan to do. They deserve happiness just as much as myself. As we all do. Even you, Captain. Especially you.”

He’d looked at her differently ever since.

Sure, he could have snapped back with some crude imitation of humor, or pressed his rank above her at the time to show he’d know better than her how far morale got one in this line of work.

But something in him just couldn’t fathom arguing her point; she was right, after all.

And she’d spoke with such a calm certainty, that even he believed her the moment she spoke.

He began to see just how wise in the way of emotions she could be, if one paid close enough attention. And after that first official interaction, he certainly had.

As time passed, in which he mulled her response over daily, he supposed he’d never thought of things her way.

Morale was important to maintain within one’s own squad, to follow command efficiently and without doubt in your leader to complete the mission; or at least attribute to it.

He’d learned this through his training with Erwin following his ‘capture’. So of course, he was sure of this knowledge. Hadn't he been?

But to instill that hope in those around you who couldn’t find it within their own mind and heart to have a hope beyond their mundane lives? Especially those outside the line of command and even outside the military itself that had no connection to her personally? To show them that same hope and leadership, without the military rank to back it up…What would she gain?

What of the merchants he’d witnessed her pass and bid good luck onto? What of the common people she would pass on horseback on her way back into the safety of the walls after an expedition and offer her condolences before she even recognized her own exhaustion? How had they earned her personal reassurance?

He admired this about her, admittedly. It wasn’t often he found himself admiring others, he later came to realize. Not because he felt himself superior to anyone; far from it. Rather, he supposed he’d never allowed room in his heart for such grievances and responsibility outside his personal loyalties. Of course, his loyalties were to saving and freeing mankind; but had he ever considered the finer details of emotion ranging into areas he hadn’t yet reached himself? Or at least, allowed himself to reach?

That was where his friendship with Y/N had first blossomed; over idle chitchat debating one’s idea of freedom, should it come to humanity one day. Soon enough they debated their differing opinions on affairs both inside and outside the military; some of which he came to realize he agreed with her on over his own views. Her care for those around her, regardless of the profit it would gain her, which often times was none, continued to surprise him.

A sullen cadet at wit’s end, a Captain stressed to their limits, a child in the town with a quivering lip…She would tend to them as if they were her own. This in itself took him the longest to understand. And even when he had finally asked, and she had explained, it took him a little longer to fully grasp.

“That cadet wasn’t assigned to you. It’s their Captain’s job to see to their well-being,” Levi had hummed, encountering her after such an event. Y/N had merely shrugged, a warm smile still perched on her lips.

“I didn’t see their Captain around; yet they still looked so distraught.” She’d shrugged.

“You aren’t their mother.” Levi had huffed, though there was no venom to his quip. Y/N seemed to pick up on this, and offered no scowl.

“Why couldn’t I be, at least temporarily? We all need unity in times of uncertainty. That’s what makes us human.”

And how that phrase had stuck with him for years to come. Perhaps it wasn’t so wrong to reach out for guidance and company when needed…

It wasn’t until a handful of years into knowing her as his trusted friend and companion did he realize what allure she held. Not just in spirit, but in beauty; though he supposed deep down he’d always seen her attraction.

Wether it was from the looks he observantly noted with distain from the townsfolk or fellow military men and women in the MP that made him feel bitter, or from the time spent comfortably in her company being guided and comforted by her words alone; he’d realized a little late that he’d fallen for her wise and caring charisma.

Another handful of years would pass with him being stuck in his own denial and self diagnosed delusion, until he’d have the courage to face these ever growing emotions within his heart when they became too much for him to keep silently to himself. And perhaps even a little longer still until he’d actually act upon them.

But for the meantime, he was content with keeping her closer than anyone else around him, devoting his all to her saftey and her well-being in hopes to repay her own emotional support and understanding to him all these years.

Until he deemed the time was right to confess his heart, her ever present serene and calming aura was something he knew he couldn’t ever give up.

[the-s1lly-corner]

If it's alright, could I request a Toby, Slenderman, Eyeless Jack, and Jane the Killer x reader (separately), where the reader has no self preservation? Not in a sad way, but more in a "cheerfully confident that they can handle it" kinda way.

Either way, I hope you have a good day!

Crps x overly confident!reader w/ no survival instinct

Points

JANE REQUEST SPOTTED!! Feels like hardly anyone asks for her!!

Side note I could NOT find a good gif LMAO

Characters: Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Slenderman, Jane the Killer

Notes: reader is GN, reader is not suicidal in any way they just think they're built different, reader is written as a human

CWs: injury and blood mentions, canon typical violence and death

SLENDERMAN

hes seen humans die to less, hes not going to let you follow that path... why would have to do any of this when hes right here to do the dirty work for you without complaint? he simply doesnt get it

but still, if he knows you will survive he will let you go- as foolish as he may think you are for throwing yourself into a fight or disaster- he will never fully understand humans so surely you must have a reason for this? stops this when it just leads to you getting hurt over and over, it slowly becomes clear that youre doing it because youre cocky. you truly do think you'd come out the other side unscathed

you dont even get the chance to throw yourself into a fight against a someone wielding a weapon- theyre torn down before you can get too close, leaving behind a mess of gore on the ground. your attitude may have rubbed off on him, he hardly ever displays such strength and violence- but if this is what needs to be done to show that you dont need to fight anymore then so be it

TICCI TOBY

honestly? he might just join you in whatever danger youre about to throw yourself in- he himself doesnt have much survival instinct, though a lot of that hinges off of his inability to feel pain. he minimizes the damage done to his body most of the time

and... that kind of bleeds into how he acts when youre reckless, afterall hes never had to be careful about himself- and you seem to hold the same belief to your own body... its going to take a real nasty injury to snap him out of that and make him realize that youre not invincible- even if the lesson doesnt sink in for you

you still sometimes make light hearted bets on things when stuff gets intense- "oh i bet i can take him-" "oh i can do this with one hand tied behind my back-" and so on and so fourth

youre both a little.... foolish...

EYELESS JACK

painfully aware of human anatomy and what it can and cant take- that comes from being very interested in the topic as well as being able to look inside human bodies first hand

a lot of the time you cant even take a single step towards the danger, hes already got his hand on your shoulder and tugging you into the other direction... and in the case where its dangerous but not deadly? you can feel the look hes giving you under his mask... for someone with no eyes he can give a mean glare

you give him hypotheticals for threats that you can take on and hes just "absolutely not."... he will not spare your ego, your safety is far more important to him- youre the one good thing in his life and hes not going to let you get yourself killed

JANE THE KILLER

it takes her a moment to process what youve said and by then youre already running towards the threat- and shes bolting after you to either back you up or drag you away... preferably drag you away if its something that cannot be stopped or bested

what were you thinking? are you insane? what if you were killed? shes not going to hold anything back, she wants to understand why you would do something like that- especially unprepared... do you have a death wish?

not at all happy or pleased with your little habit of just. running into things head first... she doesnt think its commendable or brave, and shes going to let you know what she thinks as shes trying to stop your wounds from bleeding all over the place

you can tell shes trying to be nice- well, niceish- but her tone does slip out as she speaks

[cursedonyx]

So I had a little realisation about our favourite freckled heathen and his unending cheer and charm.

I think we can all agree that part of Sebastian’s allure is that he is so resolutely cheerful, especially in the first half of the game. He’s upbeat, charming, cheeky and extroverted, always smiling and willing to help. He loses the duelling match against you in DADA with more grace than a 15–16-year-old should reasonably have (especially considering Ominis is absolutely steaming in the background because Hecat almost made him fall over) and he’s willing to take the fall for you in the library, being cheerful with you again the next time you meet.

Sure, he has his moments, like when Solomon yells at him. But instead of engaging in an all-out brawl or screaming match, he removes himself from the situation and asks for a moment alone, presumably to calm down. A very mature thing to do.

It’s only when the relic (and likely Slytherin’s book as well) corrupts him that we see him be more on edge, snappier, more prone to temper.

Sebastian’s constant cheer and charm would lead a lot of people to think that he’s unbreakable, that he could be run over by a rampaging hippogriff and he’d just dust himself off and carry on with a smile and a laugh. And he probably would.

The thing is, that kind of constant cheer is likely down to his highly abusive childhood.

Hear me out.

We know that his parents died before he and Anne got their magic, which, according to canon, is usually around seven years old. So they would have been six or younger when their parents died, but for some reason, I think of it as being about five. Old enough to have precious memories of their parents, but still very young and impressionable.

We all know that Solomon never wanted to take the Sallow twins on, and harbours some insane resentment to the situation they’re in: an ex-Auror now living alone and essentially working as a farmer (he can be seen tilling the fields in Feldcroft) suddenly lumbered with two very small children who have just suffered massive emotional trauma, and he’s not equipped to deal with that. So he takes it out on Sebastian, who resembles the brother he presumably strongly disliked.

Whilst Anne is said to have been the most mischievous one out of her, Sebastian and Ominis, I think Sebastian is the most emotional. He likely would have been prone to let his feelings show, especially as a child, but Solomon wouldn’t have wanted to or been able to deal with that.

The thing is, resolutely tough, cheerful people have often been taught from a very young age that their negative emotions aren’t important. That their feelings are a nuisance. That they will be punished for expressing them, whether that’s through physical correction, emotional manipulation, or the removal of affection/attention. I fully expect that the grieving young Sebastian will have been told by Solomon to shut up and sit down and stop snivelling, or to behave, or to act like a man because he didn’t want to deal with it.

Sebastian will have learned to hide his negative emotions, supressing them in favour of trying to be happy to keep Solomon happy; a far preferable situation for him than antagonising the angry man who’s been angry since his parents died. It's possible Sebastian tried to be strong for Anne as well, who I expect would have withdrawn a lot, and as he loves her so much, he would want his twin to be happy, so he was happy for the both of them and did his best to cheer her up.

Being cheerful is safe. Being cheerful is a kind of protective blanket. Because if he lets himself feel all the hurt and the scary and the bad, he won't know how to handle it, so he doesn't. He just keeps smiling.

Sebastian will have unintentionally learned from a young age, or been deliberately trained to hide or mask his negative emotions at all costs, because the price for displaying them has always been serious consequences. But because he bottles it all up, when he breaks, he breaks hard. When his last-ditch attempt to save Anne with the relic fails, he breaks. Every bit of strength he had is gone, and he's left scrambling in an unfamiliar overload of pain and panic.

And when he has some time to think it through, the effects of the relic wearing off, he's truly remorseful for everything and eternally grateful that you're still his friend. Even before then, when you have to decide whether or not to turn him in, he tells you he's glad he met you, trying to fall back on those last threads of positivity that have held him up before.

That poor lad needs as much love and therapy as our lil blind bestie does.

[trickphotography2]

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 20

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 6.6k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 19 | Series Master List | Ao3

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

Chapter 20

After the excitement of seeing Jake, the holidays could never stack up.

It took a little while to get back onto the time zone, and you dragged yourself through work. The post-babymoon blues hit hard, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed, wearing Jake’s sweatshirt that you’d stolen and stretched too much to give back and wallow for the last few months of the deployment. But being alone at home gave you too much time to think. It was easier to try and focus on wrapping things up for the year instead of staring at your phone and wishing it would chime.

The war games had officially started, and Jake was on telecom blackout for three weeks.

Office holiday parties and the Daggers dropping by weren’t enough to keep your mind off what was happening in the Pacific. The adage of no news is good news kept being tossed around, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming about finding out that your husband died through an email about the Vigilantes requiring a new F-18 after theirs crashed into the ocean. Your recurring nightmare of Javy showing up with the Chaplin decided to play on repeat whenever you tried to sleep.

Irrationally, you started to hate it when your computer chimed to notify you of a new email. 

At your first appointment with Dr. Shearer after Japan, you cried when she asked how the trip was. Guilt ate at you, knowing that your breakdown was making the appointment run long and putting her off schedule, but she didn’t seem to care as she hugged you and held your hand. Under her gentle questioning, you told her about the nightmares and pacing the house at night. About turning down offers to go out with friends and the baby shower your coworkers offered to throw you. How your parents were checking in on you more. And how you were so afraid that your husband would die before he got a chance to meet your daughter. When she asked you how long it had been going on, you just shrugged and said for a few months. 

“Oh, honey,” Dr. Shearer sighed. “I know we discussed this before your trip - that doesn’t sound like baby blues. You’ve got a lot going on, and I think it’s time we discussed how you’re doing with all of it. Especially with your history of depression.”

“I thought it’d get better after I saw Jake,” you said softly.  

By the time you left her office, you had a new prescription for an anti-depressant and a list of therapists who specialized in prenatal depression. When you tried to decline the medication, not wanting it to impact Sloane, Dr. Shearer assured you that they would have minimal impact on her, if any. “Sometimes you need to put your oxygen mask on before helping others, Mama. You’re just as important as your little girl, okay? And I’m sure your husband would tell you the same thing.” 

That didn’t stop you from crying in your car before calling out of work for the rest of the day. After stopping at the pharmacy, you went home and put on Jake’s sweatshirt before spritzing his cologne on your pregnancy pillow and crawling into bed. A headache throbbed dully as you closed your eyes, dreading talking to your husband for the first time and telling him that you couldn’t even get through your first major deployment together without slipping into a depressive episode. 

Jake had been upfront about his intention to stay in the Navy for as long as possible since you started dating. Which meant that you had many, many deployments ahead of you. Months at a time of being separated. And, irrational as it was, you worried what he would think of you stumbling like this on the first one. You never wanted to be a reason for Jake to worry. His job was too dangerous for his attention to be split, so you’d striven to keep how much of a toll his being gone was taking on you quiet. Put on a brave face in front of your friends, knowing they would report their concerns to him. They might have commented on you looking tired, but you didn’t tell them about your nightmares. And it was a convenient excuse for getting out of plans. 

He’d put up with a lot with his ex, between her infidelity and worrying about seizures, and you didn’t want to force him back into that mindset. You’d reassured him time and time again that you were okay and that growing up with your dad on temporary duty for a year had prepared you for this. But being a kid, missing your parent, and being a wife missing her husband was different. 

Things would be so much more complicated in the future when you had to take care of not only yourself but also Sloane, you thought as your daughter moved. Mom had made it look easy, juggling her job and raising you. But the last seven months had made you worry about what it would be like trying to do the same. A tear pooled in the corner of your eye and slipped over the bridge of your nose when you imagined going through labor without Jake there. You’d been purposely not thinking about it, hoping that some miracle would happen and he would come home in time. But the only reason you could think of him being sent home early involved him getting hurt, and you couldn’t selfishly wish for that. 

A sob burst from your lips, and you buried your face into your pillow, hating the thought of letting down your husband and daughter. 

The weekend before Christmas, your parents flew in. Their visit had always been the plan, but you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief when you spotted them at the airport arrivals as you pulled into a vacant spot. After popping the trunk, you were out of the car and in Mom’s as Dad loaded the suitcases before taking his turn hugging you. Tears pricked your eyes, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you were forcing a smile. 

That lasted until you got home, and your parents realized you hadn’t done anything to decorate for Christmas. “I just haven’t had the energy,” you shrugged. Their exchanged look told you they knew it wasn’t just that, and their silent conversation made you miss Jake - knowing what your husband was thinking with just a glance. 

It wasn’t surprising when Mom encouraged you to stop by the home decor store after going out for lunch. Neither you nor Jake had a tree - he’d bought a small real one for their visit the previous year, decorated with cheap plastic ornaments shoved in the attic somewhere, while you’d gotten rid of yours before the move. Mom was a Christmas fan and quickly took charge, leading you up and down the rows of trees until you picked out a pre-lit seven-and-a-half-foot tall one with artificial snow and pinecones. Dad loaded it into the cart while Mom led you to the ornaments, where you spotted a jet ornament and quickly grabbed it.

“Looks like an F-16,” Dad said, holding it up to examine it closely. A sly smile crossed his lips as he slipped it into his palm. “An Air Force jet - I approve.” That made you laugh, and you made a mental note to dig out the Air Force shirt your dad had gifted Jake last Christmas from the depths of his drawer - contrary to what he’d threatened, it hadn’t ended up as a tire rag. 

They wasted no time getting the tree set up, and Dad went into the attic to get the decorations you’d purchased last year. And you managed to hold the tears in until you were hanging up the stockings, and Mom disappeared into the guest bedroom for a minute, only to return with one she’d made for Sloane. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to make you and Jake ones that say ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad,’” she smiled, “but let me know, and I can make new ones for you next year.” 

Mom took a picture of you holding the stocking next to your bump before putting it next to the other ones hung on the wall. You snapped a photo of them all in a row and texted both to Jake. It went unread like the other messages and pictures you’d sent to his phone and email. 

Javy came over for dinner the night before he flew to Louisiana to spend the holiday with his family. Without saying a word, you could tell he was relieved by the sight of the tree and decorations - he’d offered to get you a tree and put up lights, but you’d turned him down every time. You knew he felt guilty about spending Christmas with his parents and had pushed back his leave until your family arrived, which made you feel guilty. So you put on a happy smile and teased him all evening, especially when he opened the gift you’d labeled as from Sloane. Cackling, he held up the Funko Pop of The Godfather. Since your husband had officially asked his best friend to be Sloane’s godfather, he’d been quoting the movie nonstop. When you slipped and told him you’d never seen it, he forced a Dagger movie night. 

No one had paid too much attention to the movie, more interested in swapping holiday plans and eating the snacks Javy had set out. Bob and Nat were traveling to see their families, and Ruben was going to spend it with his girlfriend’s family. When he found out that your parents were coming, he promised to swing by and say hello. Everyone planned to be back for New Year, and Bob offered to host everyone at his place. No one faulted you when you dozed off during the film, comforted by your friends' voices. 

You had to double-check the next morning that you hadn’t dreamed of Bob saying he was happy to do so, especially since he’d gotten orders back to North Island with a report date in June. 

So it was going to be a quiet Christmas with your parents. The only downside of their presence was that you felt trapped in your room when insomnia hit. On the first night they were there, you’d tried to sneak into the nursery only to have your dad come in and check on you. While you sat in the rocker, he lay on the ground and talked to you, catching you up on the mundane things in his life. Your eyes slowly closed as he spoke about advising the young airmen about their relationships but jerked awake when he snored. Chuckling to yourself, you shook him awake and sent him to bed before retreating to your room and dozed off. 

Shit shit shit

Jake pulled up on his stick, climbing to evade the Korean pilot attempting to get tone on him. His jet felt sluggish, loaded to the max capability to safely land back on the carrier, allowing the pursuing jet a slight tactical advantage. He was nearing the decommissioned ship that they were attempting to sink with a prototype bomb, with the other countries playing defense to test their dog-fighting skills against the American pilots. 

The first two weeks of the exercise focused on naval defense and surveillance, with the fleet practicing their maneuvers against allies. The pilots had been tightening their game plan for the mock attack and providing aerial coverage. The helo pilots had taken off with rescue swimmers to practice retrieving downed pilots. 

As much as he would have enjoyed a dip in the Pacific, Jake didn’t volunteer for those roles. Even with the shark boats providing additional support, he didn’t want to do anything that would stress you out more. 

The first few days of the fixed-wing planes being in the air focused on targeting and shooting down dud missiles and drones. It had been fun target practice, but Jake couldn’t help but note the younger pilots who needed more time in the simulators and didn’t hesitate to include them in his debrief with Mav at the end of the day. While the exercise served as practice for actual warfare, many young pilots hadn’t served in an active warzone before - they didn’t know what it was like to take fire or watch your wingman take a hit. 

There weren’t many times that Jake felt his age in the cockpit, but at 36, he had over a decade on the new kids. He had two campaign medals and another for the Global War on Terrorism. He had two air-to-air kills. And he paid attention. 

Word had come down that the Eisenhower had been extended for a second time due to conflict in the Middle East. If tensions continued, it wouldn’t be long until more carriers were sent to the region.

For the first time, Jake questioned how much longer he could do this. As much as he loved being an aviator, he loved being your husband more. Missing everything about your pregnancy was killing him. The exercise had distracted him over the last two weeks, but not being able to turn on his phone and text or call you was killing him.

To put it simply - Jake was homesick.

With Sloane on the way, he could only see his job getting further in the way of how he wanted to be as a husband and a father. He remembered being a kid before he knew what an asshole his father was and hated going to the dock to say goodbye. Walking away from you on the tarmac and getting in that taxi in Yokosuka had been torture - Jake couldn’t imagine having to do the same with his little girl.

“Nearing the target.” Rooster’s voice came over the comms, and Jake glanced down to see his wingman closing in on the abandoned ship towed to the middle of the ocean. Word trickled through the pilots, and the defense planes backed off, returning to their ships. While the exercise was meant to test the military capabilities, there was no way the government would have anything interfere with the testing of an advanced weapon. A helo hovered with a camera pointed at the ship, and a third jet with a WSO flew nearby to follow them as they dropped the bombs to get a closer look.

Jake quickly maneuvered into position. Rooster would make the first pass and strike to the ship's bow, with him hitting the stern seconds later. Mav was ready to launch in case they needed a third strike. After confirming he was ready and getting clearance from the boat that they were clear to proceed, Rooster called, “Sights on target. Locked…”

“Locked,” Jake echoed, the laser to paint the stern. 

“Bombs away.”

“Bombs away.” Hitting the release, Jake forced the jet to scream past the ship, wanting to make sure he was out of the way in case of a malfunction. Gaining altitude, he followed Rooster as the other pilot circled back to the carrier, tipping his wing to watch the chain explosions on the ship. Fire shot from the sides before bursting onto the deck. 

Grinning behind his mask, Jake radioed the tower and said he was ready to land.

They were one step closer to heading home, finally finishing the exercise.

“Ughhhh!” you huffed, throwing your tablet aside and running a hand down your face. It was almost 2:00AM on Christmas Eve, and your book annoyed you. For some reason, you’d decided to try out a holiday military romance. It wasn’t the best choice, considering the plot centered around a couple facing a deployment over Christmas, but the ending had you simultaneously jealous and frustrated.

The idea of the husband showing up on Christmas morning to surprise his family? Not likely. A deployment wouldn’t be wrapped up early just to get a servicemember home for the holidays. And if Jake ever lied about how long a deployment would be to surprise you… well, let’s just say that the guest bedroom would be his home for the time that he was supposed to be gone. Maybe other spouses enjoyed it, but you didn’t like the thought of being lied to and mentally preparing for a longer separation just for a surprise at the end. 

After shifting the pregnancy pillow, you leaned against the headboard. There were few times you regretted not having a TV in the bedroom - when you’d moved in, Jake had put it in the guest bedroom at your request - but this was one of them. Sighing, you lifted your shirt and cradled your stomach, tracing the stretchmarks marring your skin. “It’s almost Christmas, baby girl,” you sighed. “And even though you can’t open your presents, you’re already spoiled. Grammy and Grandpa sent me to bed early to wrap presents. Even your daddy’s family sent you gifts.” You felt - and watched - your stomach twitch as Sloane moved. No matter how many times you saw it happen, the sight still shocked you. Her movements had been yours alone to experience for so long; now, others could easily see them, too. 

“I know; I was surprised, too,” you sighed. The box was delivered to your doorstep late last night and addressed to Jake and Sloane. That had stung, especially seeing that it was from your sister-in-law, but you knew your husband would tell you that the estrangement with his family wasn’t your fault. “Your Aunt Lina sent you some stuff, and so did your Grammy and Grandpa Seresin.” 

Seeing the wrapped presents from Jake’s parents had frozen you. While you tried not to think about the day that your father-in-law threatened you, it was hard to see reminders of it. You had kept what happened secret from your parents, not wanting to cause any stress, and had listened to your mom say how nice it was that the Seresins had sent presents while putting them under the tree. 

Sloane rolled under your palm, and you sighed. That turned into a choked gasp when you felt your calf tightening into a painful knot. Grimacing, you pulled your leg up and tried to knead the muscle, but it didn’t improve. The tightening verged on the edge of painful, and you rolled onto your side, muffling your groan in the bedding.  

A chime sounded, and you blindly groped for your phone. Another chime. And then a third. 

Opening one eye, you stopped breathing when you saw that Jake was replying to the texts you’d sent during the exercise. 

I’m okay with you painting the nursery as long as you’re not the one doing it. Ask one of the guys to do it after the holidays. 

The truck isn’t that lifted. You’re just short. Can’t wait to drive my girls around in it again. 

Mrs. Seresin, teasing me with a picture from our second date spot? Playing dirty, darling. I’ll get a list of things together for the box, but I’m almost out of aftershave and keep losing socks in the laundry here. Would you mind hitting the uniform store for me? My ribbon bar got bent, and I need a new one. 

Glad the doc said Sloane’s doing great. What about you? How are you???

Damn, that’s a big tree. Making the house look like a home, darling. Wish I was there with you. 

I love the stocking. Your mom did a great job.

Opening up your texts, you started to type and immediately saw a new message. 

Are you awake? Why are you awake?

Couldn’t sleep, you replied. Clutching the phone tightly, you bit your lip and tapped your fist against the muscle cramp. 

You should try

Tapping the voice note, you held the phone up to your mouth. “I’m dealing with a bitch of a Charlie horse right now.” Rolling off the bed, you gingerly put weight on your leg and moaned. “Fucking Jesus Christ, this hurts.” Tapping send, you waited a moment before hearing your phone chime.

Jake had sent you a voice note back. Tears welled in your eyes when you hit play and heard your husband’s voice for the first time in weeks. “Wanna call you so bad right now, but they’re making us all sign up for times to not overload the system. I’m gonna video call you tomorrow at eight in the morning your time. Wish I was there to help you with the cramp, darlin.”

A second voice note showed up as soon as you finished the first. “If we have bananas, go get one. And then I want you to get a heating pad or your ice pack and put it wherever you’ve got the Charlie horse, alright? Are you drinking enough water?”

A third. “Wait, can you get your parents to get you the stuff? I don’t want you movin’ around and fallin’. Shit, darlin’, I’m sorry I’m not there.” 

After quickly saving the messages before they disappeared, you held up the phone and recorded your message. “It’s good to hear your voice, Tex. I miss you so damn much. I’m not gonna wake my parents up in the middle of the night to get me something from the kitchen when I can hobble over to get it. I think we do have bananas. But are you done with the exercise?”

“I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind,” Jake sent back. “Just wish I was there to get it for you. And yeah, the exercise is done. We’re getting today off, and then we’ll debrief before starting the trip home.”

Carefully, you limped out of the bedroom, holding onto the walls and furniture as you moved and cursing under your breath. Gripping the couch arm, you debated lying down and waiting for the pain to pass, but the phone lit up with another message. As tempted as you were to play it, you promised yourself that you could only listen to it back in bed. Your parents were such light sleepers that they would probably overhear the message, and as much as they loved Jake, you selfishly wanted to have some time alone with him. 

Slipping the phone into your sweatpants pocket, you refilled your water glass and snagged a banana off the counter before retrieving an icepack from the freezer. The trip back to the room was even slower, the light from your phone wavering slightly. After depositing the items on the nightstand, you collapsed back into the bed and gripped your calf, whimpering as you dug your fingers into the knot and tried to massage it away. When the phone continued to vibrate with incoming messages, you flipped it over and saw that Jake had sent you five texts and voice notes.

“Are you getting the stuff, honey? Tell me you’re being careful. The last thing we need is for you to end up in the hospital because you tripped over something.” The humor was evident in his voice, but then he cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t joke about that. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

Then there were back-to-back texts asking if you were alright and another if you’d fallen asleep.

“Alright, now I’m worried, which is stupid because you’re probably fine. It’s, what, after two there? Hopefully, you just fell asleep and will make fun of me for this in the morning. Love you, darlin’.” 

The next was a picture of him scowling at his phone as he lay in his bunk with headphones in, one hand behind his head. You felt your stomach swoop at seeing him, his face slightly darker with a tan and his hair falling across his forehead. His arm seemed bigger, and you wished that it was wrapped around you. The accompanying message read Frustrated that I’m not there to take care of you right now. Could use my magic hands on you to get rid of that Charlie horse.

That made you snort, and you sent your message, unable to keep the whine from your voice, “I’d kill for your magic hands right now. Didn’t mean to worry you, but I didn’t want to wake my parents up. Feel like I’m a kid again, sneaking around the house.” 

Good, I’m glad you’re ok. And you love my magic hands. They’re really good at making you feel good in so many ways. 

Still chuckling, you sent, “Yes, I do miss your hands. And your arms. And your lips and dick and legs and laugh and smile and all of you.”

You’re making me blush, darling. Good thing I’ve got my headphones in so Rooster and Fritz can’t hear you.

A voice message came in before you could respond. “Just realized I haven’t said Happy Christmas Eve to my girls. I’m heading to the mess for dinner in a minute, so I’ll sign off for now. I’ll keep checking my phone now that we’re not on blackout. I hope your Charlie horse is gone, and promise me you’re taking care of yourself. I love you and Sloane so much, darlin’. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Love you.” 

After making sure to save the message, you sent him one back. “I love you, Jake. Can’t wait to see you, too. Merry Christmas, babe.” 

It took a long time to fall asleep once the muscle spasm ended. True to your word, you ate the banana and sipped your water while listening to Jake’s messages again, eventually falling asleep to him saying he loved you.

Christmas Eve was spent preparing dinner the following night, and Mom borrowed the car for some last-minute shopping. When she got back and asked for you to distract Dad, you decided to go to the hardware store and pick out paint swatches.

The store was a madhouse, but even that couldn’t take the smile off your face as Jake sent you texts throughout the day. For him, it was already Christmas, and he had the day off. Sprinkled through the messages about how much he missed you were snippets of what the crew was doing to celebrate the holiday, including pictures of trees in the mess and hangers. The highlight, however, was a video of Santa launching a jet that Mav piloted, wearing his own Santa hat stretched over his helmet. You showed your dad that one, and he begrudgingly agreed it was a cool tradition. 

You saved a picture of Jake wearing a headband with elf ears, a broad grin on his mouth, as your new lock screen. 

You felt like a kid that night, dozing off as your parents watched It’s A Wonderful Life and A Christmas Story, a bowl of homemade popcorn on your lap. Eventually, you were sent to bed, where it was hard to fall asleep with the anticipation of speaking to your husband the following morning. It didn’t help that, to center yourself, you played Jake’s voice notes with the phone resting on your stomach. Hearing her father’s voice, Sloane became more active and calmed down when you moved the phone to your pillow. You slept fitfully, waking with a jolt from dreams of missing the call. 

The anticipation reached a height on Christmas morning. Your eyes strayed to the phone every few seconds, even though you knew there were hours before Jake would call. You kept glancing at the time while eating breakfast and drinking your only cup of coffee for the day. Knowing you were distracted, your parents didn’t push opening stockings or presents. 

So, as the clock ticked closer to eight, your parents encouraged you to find a private place to talk with your husband first. Retreating to the bedroom, you settled against the headboard, squirming to get comfortable. Setting the laptop on your legs, you lifted your stretched-out sweatshirt and lightly stroked your belly, feeling Sloane’s head pressed against your side. “Daddy’s gonna call us soon, baby girl,” you said softly. “Are you gonna wake up so he can see you?” 

Your alarm went off at 7:59AM, and you quickly silenced it before tapping the laptop to wake it. And, at precisely 8:00, it started to ring.

Jake’s broad grin filled the screen when you answered the call. Unlike the previous times he’d called you, you could see that he was in a room with other people, each with headphones on. He looked so happy, and, mortifyingly, you burst into tears at the sight of him. “Merry Christ…  hey, darlin’ - what’re those tears for?” 

“Sorry,” you gasped, wiping at your face. “Sorry, I just - ”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. Through bleary eyes, you saw his brow furrowed. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just miss you so much. How was the exercise?”

“Great, it’s done,” Jake smirked. “Now tell me what’s making you cry on Christmas.” 

“Jake.” He huffed your name, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it. I want this to be a good call, and we can discuss it later.”

“So there is something to discuss.” Your lower lip wobbled, and you pressed them into a thin line. 

“Please?” you said softly. Jake’s playful expression disappeared. 

“Darlin’, talk to me.” Though you’d promised yourself that this call would only be about Christmas, you told him everything. How Dr. Shearer had put you back onto an anti-depressant, and you had an appointment to start therapy in January. The nightmares you’d had about him dying before getting to meet Sloane. You felt like you were letting everyone down by struggling to get through the deployment, and you worried it would be more complicated once your daughter arrived. 

“A-and I n-never want you to f-feel like you have to choose b-between us and your car-career,” you hiccupped. 

“It’s never a choice, darlin’,” Jake sighed, fists clenching in his sweatpants. He wanted so badly to be home right then. “You and Sloane are my priority.” 

“Nooo,” you groaned, pressing the sleeves of your shirt to your eyes. “T-that’s not the p-point. You shouldn’t have to c-choose just ‘c-cause I can’t handle my s-shit.” 

Jake sighed your name, then repeated it in a firmer tone when you didn’t look at him. Lowering one hand, you peeked at him through your fingers. “Better, but lemme see your pretty face, honey,” he said. Groaning, you dropped your hands. “There’s my girl. I need you to listen when I say this again - you and Sloane are my priority. You two are always gonna be my top priority. So if you need to be on medication right now, and it's safe for both of you, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Jake - ” you sniffled, and he shook his head, cutting you off.

“You’re being fuckin’ hard on yourself right now, and you need to give yourself a break, darlin’. This isn’t a normal deployment, honey. You’re not gonna be pregnant every time we do this.”

“I-I think…” Hiccupping, you shook your head. “I…” You clapped a hand to your mouth to keep the words going through your head for the last few weeks from slipping out. 

“Talk to me,” Jake pleaded. You felt so guilty, seeing his heartbroken expression as you cried over what was supposed to be a fun call. 

“I don’t wanna ruin your Christmas.” Groaning, he glanced at his watch and shook his head.

“Christmas is officially over for me. Tell me what’s bothering you, sweetheart.” 

“I think it’s finally hitting that I’m gonna have to do this alone.” Even as you watched Jake’s face fall, you couldn’t stop. “I’m so happy I came out to see you, but it felt like such a tease, and it was easier to get through this before I got to kiss you and have you be a part of the pregnancy.” 

“Darlin’…” he sighed. You could see the hurt on his face, and it broke your heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, babe - I’m not… I’m not saying it right.” At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to bury your face in your husband’s neck and hide, to feel his strong arms around you. “I-I…it’s been a fucking rollercoaster,” you choked out. “I’m so, so happy I came out there - please don’t think I’m not,” you pleaded, resting a hand on your belly where Sloane was still. “B-but seeing you and then not being able to t-talk to you was really, really hard.” 

“I know, darlin’. It’s been hard for me, too, so I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you.” And your husband, who always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better, was at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he repeated. 

“At least it’s only for another month and a half, right?” you said, pasting on that fake smile he hadn’t seen in so long. Seeing what you were doing - trying to put him at ease - Jake only shook his head.

“At least there’s that.”  

“Did you have a good Christmas?” His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, his green eyes piercing you through the screen.

“Darlin’, I’ll drop it for now, but we’re gonna have a serious conversation about this later, alright?” 

“D-do we have to?” you asked in a quiet voice. 

“Yes. Absolutely.” His firm tone disappeared at the sight of you wiping your face, lip wobbling again. “I love you, darlin’. I had a good Christmas. What about you? Have you opened presents yet?” 

“Not yet.” Grasping the out like a lifeline, you forced your voice to be bright. “Wanted to talk to you first. But Mom and Dad went overboard, and there’s a ton of presents under the tree for Sloane. Wanna see?” 

For the next twenty minutes, you spoke with Jake and took the laptop to the living room. You knew your parents clocked your reddened eyes but didn’t say anything as they caught up with their son-in-law. Jake watched you open a few presents for your daughter - mostly clothes - before saying his time was almost up and that he was heading to bed. Your parents had you sit on the couch and open one of the presents to both of you - a glass ornament that read ‘Our First Christmas’ and your wedding date on it. You put it front and center on the tree.

You stepped into the bedroom to say goodbye and tried to reassure him that you were okay. “I love you,” you sighed. 

“I love you too, darlin’. So damn much.” 

“I’m sorry if I upset you - ”

“I’m not upset. Not with you,” he cut you off. “We’re gonna talk about it later, but for now, I want you to enjoy your Christmas and send me pictures, alright?” 

“Alright.” Your response was quiet, and he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I just need you to be honest when something bothers you. I can’t fix it if I don’t know about it.”

“You can’t fix this, babe. You can’t come home early, and I can’t be there with you.” 

“I know that,” he huffed before shaking his head again. “Later. I want you to enjoy today with your parents.” 

“Okay. Merry Christmas, Jake. Sweet dreams.” 

“Merry Christmas, darlin’. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” The smile he gave you was strained as he lifted his hand, and then the call disconnected.

Tears gathered in your eyes again, but you took a deep breath and forced them away. You’d already ruined Jake’s Christmas call, and the last thing you wanted to do was make it awkward for your parents. So, pasting on that fake smile again, you tucked the laptop under your arm and went back to the living room. 

Javy lifted a hand and flagged you down at the arrivals. You’d offered to pick him up, as his flight landed shortly after your parents left to head back to Florida. 

After tossing his bag into the trunk, he climbed into the car and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I hate traveling during the holidays,” he grumbled as you twisted to look over your shoulder to see if you could merge. 

“It’s pretty horrible,” you agreed, easing into the flow of traffic. Once you were on the road, he filled you in on his trip, chuckling over stories about his nieces and nephews. 

“Oh,” he said, voice suddenly serious. “You and I gotta have a conversation, too.”

“About what?” you asked, eyes flitting over to him. Did Jake say something to him about your meltdown? After getting a flower delivery the day after Christmas, a beautiful bouquet of white and lavender flowers, you’d had a heart-to-heart with your husband about how anxious you were about going into the final few weeks of your pregnancy. 

You’d officially hit 33 weeks pregnant. And, while you were happy that Sloane had officially shifted into the head-down position, her frequent kicks to your rib weren’t welcomed - especially when you were dealing with shortness of breath. Not to mention that sticky notes ran your life because you’d started forgetting things. Dr. Shearer had promised you that pregnancy brain was common and talked you through tips for dealing with it, but as someone who prided themselves on attention to detail, it was a tough pill to swallow. 

It didn’t help that the website you read for advice suggested leaning on your partner to help manage the mental load.

The only benefit of the visit had been listening to Sloane’s heartbeat, which you had recorded and sent to Jake. He’d been doing his best to check in more often, texting and calling whenever possible. And the idea of him looping Javy into that was mortifying.

“You and I gotta make a plan for what happens when this one comes,” he said, motioning to your stomach. 

“What?” 

“Yeah. I told Mama that I was gonna be a godfather, and she knows Hangman’s deployed. So she was asking me who was gonna get you to the hospital. I told her it’d probably be me,” he shrugged, a self-conscious expression on his face, “and she and my sisters got on me about making sure I knew the fastest route and timing contractions. So yeah, we gotta make a plan so I can get them off my back.” 

“Oh,” you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. You hadn’t thought too much about your plan to get to the hospital. Your parents had assured you that they would be on the first plane out as soon as you said you were in labor. “I…w-we can do that. My doctor suggested some classes to get ready for the birth, so I figured I would just go to those.”

“Great. Lemme know when they are, and I’ll see if I can get the time off.” Thankfully, you were at a red light and didn’t slam on the breaks.

“What?” 

“What?”

“You want to go to birthing classes?” 

“I mean,” he shrugged, an awkward smile crossing his mouth. “I figured I’d stay with you until your parents got there. Unless you want someone else. Maybe Phoenix?” 

“Javy,” you croaked, tears gathering in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t worry about it - it was a stupid thought. I’ll get you to the hospital and sit in the waiting room. You can just text if you - ”

“Send me a text, and I’ll send you the class schedule. I’ll forget otherwise.” A second later, your phone chimed with an alert, and you saw that he’d sent you the reminder. “You and Jake are gonna have to compare notes. He’s taking a first-time fatherhood class online.”

“Good. Now that the exercise is done, he’ll have more free time and can do that instead of harassing the other pilots about their shitty flying during the sorties.”

“That sounds like my husband,” you sighed.

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

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in getting this out - writer's block hit hard. This wasn't originally supposed to be so angsty, but Darlin's been holding back a lot to make sure that Jake can focus on work, and it kind of spilled out. But how freaking awesome is Godfather Coyote? Oh, and I based the exercise off this one.

Thank you to @dizzybee03 for the nudge I needed to finish this chapter today!

(If you missed it, I also posted a slightly spoiler-y blurb about D-Day earlier today. All head canons/blurbs are posted on the Masterlist.)

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[aurumacadicus]

Remember this post? Anyway I finished binging Miss Fisher again again.

—

Steve had thought that he’d touch base with the event planner once they got Tony’s reluctant permission to run their counter-operation. Instead, he got called into the conference room with Peggy and Natasha, where they sat in various levels of impatience and confusion for twenty minutes before Coulson opened the door and dipped himself into a slight bow. “This way, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re cute when you have to treat me with respect,” Tony purred, tipping his head to give Coulson a wink. “Might have to snatch you from that cellist in Portland.”

Coulson looked simultaneously exhausted and amused. “If you meant that, I’d run screaming for the hills.”

“Rude!” Tony scoffed, but he didn’t look put out. He turned his attention to the conference room, mouth spreading into a wide, bright smile. “Oh! You actually came.”

“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, Tony,” Peggy said sharply.

Tony shrugged, not looking scared at all as he strutted further into the room and slammed the thick binder he was carrying on the table. Steve stared at it, for some reason feeling daunted. It hadn’t been slammed because Tony was angry. It had been slammed because it was heavy. He feared his next few nights would be spent cramming whatever information Tony had brought into his memory.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Tony answered when Peggy began tapping her heel impatiently. His welcoming smile was gone, replaced with an unimpressed, flat line. “And let’s be clear, here, Ms. Carter: If you expect to be able to attend my charity gala, you have to play ball with me.”

“Tony,” Peggy began, though Steve couldn’t tell if she was angry about the threat or being called ‘Ms. Carter.’

“I think you misunderstand how much power you have here,” Tony cut in, brows furrowing down into a scowl. “It’s my mother’s gala, and I’m in charge. I could have any SHIELD agent you send barred from entering. There is nothing you can do to force your way in. I have been coordinating this gala for seven months, four under my mother’s careful eye, and I think I should be clear about this, too: My mother is angry at you, too.”

Peggy gaped at him for a moment, and only after he opened his thick binder and began looking through papers did she manage to bark out, “WHY?!”

Tony slanted a glance up at her, then looked back down at his papers. “Do you think I invited you to anything of importance without my mother’s permission? You didn’t even send your regrets for missing my coming out party.” He looked back up at her, cheek twitching against the urge to smile. “She could forgive all the other invitations, they were informal, but to not even RSVP to her only son’s coming out party was a step too far.”

“I can’t stand it,” Peggy hissed, but she did look slightly regretful.

Tony shrugged, unperturbed. “Maybe you’re lucky it’s me. I think Mom would have taken your head clean off your shoulders if she saw you in her house. Here it is!” He smiled smugly and pulled a paper from a plastic sleeve, slapping it onto the table between all of them. “You’ll need this when you go get your clothes.”

“SHIELD has perfectly adequate facilities for making sure our agents fit in undercover,” Peggy began.

Tony rolled his eyes, hard. “Oh my god, Aunt Peggy, you cannot show up to a gala in government-salary clothes when the going rate is ten thousand dollars a plate.”

Against his will, Steve let out a sound as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He felt like he had. He was well aware of the fact that inflation was a thing. He’d been about knocked on his ass when he’d finally been allowed to go grocery shopping and found a carton of milk was almost four dollars. He knew he had a knee-jerk reaction based on his forties sensibilities, but ten thousand dollars still seemed like an awful fucking lot. He glanced at Peggy and Natasha. Natasha didn’t look shocked, but Peggy’s face twitched minutely before relaxing back into an impassive mask. She might have known it would cost, but not that much.

“That’s part of the reason I’m late,” Tony continued, mercifully only sparing him a slightly-disgusted look before he turned his attention back to flipping through his binder. “This close to the gala, all of the tailors you can afford are packed. But I have a friend willing to fit you in as a favor to me. She can make your agents look bespoke while still leaving room for your weapons. She thinks it will be a fun challenge.” He made a face at one of the papers, then flipped the page with a snap that seemed offended, somehow. “Unfortunately, because you left your request so late, she’s only able to fit in two suits and one dress. She could perhaps squeeze in a third suit, but you didn’t hear that from me. Just make sure to flatter her a lot and she’ll probably do it.”

“Mr. Stark,” Natasha finally said.

Tony paused, slanting his gaze in her direction. When she didn’t continue, he added, “Yesss?”

“When you said you’d have any SHIELD agent barred, how could you be so sure?” she asked after a small pause.

Tony blinked at her, confused, before answering, “Oh, I hacked into SHIELD years ago.”

Peggy immediately swiveled her gaze toward him, aghast. The shock quickly gave way to anger, though, and she began, “Anthony Edward Stark—”

Tony scowled back. “I fixed the holes in your security once I was in, I don’t see what the problem is. Maybe if you came to one of my dissertations, you would have known it was in cyber security.”

Peggy stared at him, apparently too shocked and appalled to even speak.

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. “Cyber security? That’s… neat. I’m sure that’s why Stark Industries’ firewall is so. Robust?”

Tony turned to blink at him, ire giving way to confusion. “Did you just call a firewall robust?”

“I’m not a tech guy,” Steve grumbled immediately.

“Anyway yes. It is,” Tony said, dismissing him as quickly as he’d paid attention to him. “Don’t send Roger. The debutantes will eat him alive.”

Steve wondered if leaving people speechless and whiplashed was an omega thing or just something entirely unique to the Stark family. He was offended, but he also never would have imagined what to say.

Natasha’s lips spread into a smug grin. “Oh, but Mr. Stark. Surely you’re still looking for a date.”

Tony turned his attention to her, finally looking at least slightly wrong-footed and somewhat offended. “Why would you assume that about me?”

“You’ve been working tirelessly for seven months to set up this gala to make your mother proud,” she continued, ignoring his question expertly. “You haven’t had time to do the requisite song and dance expected from people of your… tax bracket.” She glanced at Steve, looking like the cat who got the cream, and he felt a terror fill him that he couldn’t quite understand. “But if you arrive with Roger, it’ll explain why you haven’t looked for a date. You’re unmarried, Mr. Stark. Surely by showing up stag to the event you planned, unmated alphas will be champing at the bit to be able to be your dance partner for the night. You wouldn’t be able to do any investigative work because you’d be getting your toes stomped on the dance floor the entire night. And Roger might insult one of your wealthy omega friends accidentally. He’s not good at flirting on a good day, and with high society omegas, he’d absolutely tank the donations you would receive, because how could you let such a buffoon into your event?”

“Buffoon,” Steve repeated, offended, but she just shrugged in a ‘but am I wrong?’ kind of way.

Tony was slowly beginning to lose his cool, Steve noticed when he turned to tell him he wasn’t actually hopeless at glad-handing and his ‘aw shucks’ vibe actually seemed to delight most omegas. His knuckles had gone white with how tightly he’d gripped them into fists, and his cheeks had flushed the tiniest shade of pink. He couldn’t keep a smug or even blasé look on his face, and reluctantly, he turned his gaze on Steve. Finally, he ground out, “If Jan says it’s okay,” then slammed the binder shut and shoved it across the table to Peggy. “Make your agents study that like it’s the bible,” he added sharply. “If even one complaint gets to me about how they’ve insulted someone, I’ll tank your entire system, including backups.”

“Tony,” Peggy tried, but he was already up out of his seat and storming out the door. Even Coulson looked startled when the door banged off of the wall with the force of him opening it.

Steve got the sinking feeling that Tony really didn’t like to lose and he was going to make them pay dearly for being right about his dates.

“Howard and Maria are going to be so furious when they see your pictures in the paper, Steve,” Peggy said, anger giving way to despair, and Steve had no idea why she was so worried about that when she should be worried about Tony stabbing him at the gala.

[endless-ineffabilities]

rogue ink

Daemon Targaryen x f!reader

word count: 3.4k ▪︎ masterlist

themes/warnings: fluff, language, very brief mention of smut

The reader is devastated at the loss of her precious journal, worried that it might fall into the wrong hands. And who better else to discover it, but the Rogue Prince himself?

It was a small thing.

A small, leather-bound journal. Filled with accounts of your days and nights, your deepest thoughts, your pains. An unassuming object, sort of tattered from use.

And it had been missing for three days. The gods were not good.

You searched everywhere. Every corner of your chambers, in all the pouches you had especially sewn onto your dresses, practically every inch of the Red Keep which you have called home ever since your family was invited to King Viserys' court.

And yet it was nowhere to be found.

It was immediately noticeable to your inner circle that something was amiss, but you just shrugged it off. One person you did confide in, however, was Princess Rhaenyra herself. The two of you quickly grew close after her former companion, Alicent, was sent off to wed some wealthy, Southern lord.

"So what if it has gone missing? Perhaps you have simply misplaced it? Anyway, we could easily get you a new one, y/n."

Your head swiftly turned in her direction, "I appreciate your tone of confidence, Rhaenyra - "

She nodded, making a playful show of curtsying.

" - but... I've scrolled down personal matters in those pages. Especially when it concerns..."

She paused in her step. Hands clasped behind her, she leaned forward, "Ah. I see."

When it concerns Daemon. But it need not be said aloud.

Rhaenyra has been privy to some of your musings about her beloved uncle. Only the ones that you would ever let befall on another person's ears, that is. Some of it... well... would be more than enough to make any maiden blush.

"How could I forget?" Rhaenyra smiled, "You fancy Daemon." Then her face turns sly, "He fancies you too, you know. But of course, I know why you would be reluctant to engage with all of... that."

Your hand reaches up in an attempt to hide your face from shame, "Gods, what would happen if anyone at court were to find it? It would only be so easy to determine that the thing is my possession. I've written my father's and mother's names on it, and yours, and Daemon's..."

"What's the worst that could happen?" Rhaenyra wrapped an arm around your shoulders, keeping you steady, "This court of sycophants never runs out of fodder for their dull conversations. Your journal might be spoken of for a day or two, then they shall move on to something of lesser import."

You sighed deeply, a mask of calm appearing on your visage, though Rhaenyra knew better.

It will be alright. Another half-truth. This loss will soon be a trifling thing.

If only...

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Daemon Targaryen has been having quite the interesting time as of late.

The pages of your small, tattered journal feel light on his fingertips, but he might be inclined to say that the mere feel of the parchment is exhilarating.

These thoughts were yours. These secrets, these desires were yours.

Truthfully, he has not been completely shy about his admiration for you. His precious dove. His sweetling. You thought nothing of it, knowing full well how he is. The Rogue Prince has been known to possess countless paramours.

And you are damned if you would allow yourself to be one of his mere passing fancies. To be bedded one night and forgotten the next.

He once thought that his admiration is not well-received, until one morning, when he watched as an object fell out of your dress as you sprinted down the hallway, headed to only the gods knew where. You bumped into several ladies of the court, mumbling rushed apologies, only to be met with irate stares, but you went on without any mind to them.

Daemon failed to hide the smile that sprung from his lips. He quietly shifted to the spot where you dropped something, and that's when he saw it. Your journal.

It could only be yours. Who else would scroll down that thinly veiled warning on the first page, dedicated to any stranger who might deign to read it?

Daemon, of course, believed himself immune to such threats and he hurriedly found a secluded place to sit down and immerse himself in the woman who has managed to take sanctum in his mind.

And his heart, but the notorious prince would still be loath to admit that.

A few pages in, with amusement dancing his eyes, his chest felt warm at the image of you inking these thoughts onto the parchment.

Then came – “Once more, if you might be a nosy intruder, turn away now, or the very worst fortunes shall fall upon you. I swear this on both the old gods and the new.”

Perhaps I should stop. After all, she just might impale me with mine own Dark Sister if she found this in my possession. Daemon’s hand hesitated as he was about to turn the next page.

He had half a mind to close your journal, partially resolved at returning it to your chambers without you even having to notice its loss, but his eyes were quickly drawn to the following words…

“I finally saw Prince Daemon Targaryen this morning.”

How could Daemon stop his perusing at that moment? He read on with renewed interest, yearning to know more of what you think about him.

“By the gods, he is as beautiful as he is infuriating. I was made to be the cupbearer in today’s small council meeting, and the Rogue Prince strolled in, well in the middle of the discussion, without any mind as to the disturbance that his late arrival caused, if any. Not a care in the seven kingdoms. He paid absolutely no mind to me, standing there in the corner.

But I saw him.”

Daemon found himself rolling his eyes. Of course, he would give off the worst impression upon the first moment she glanced at him. But then again…

She thinks me beautiful. Vanity had allowed him to glaze over the part where you call him “infuriating”.

I suppose I shall have further use for your precious book, my sweetling.

And so the next few days were spent raking your journal for passages about him. Daemon knows full well that doing so can be deemed a violation of your privacy, but if he can use this to get closer to you, then this is something that simply must be allowed.

In his eyes, it may even be necessary. He needs this. Wants it, even. He wants to get under your skin, and these pages all but symbolize that very thing.

After all, Daemon swore that he shall only read the parts wherein he is concerned, and that is well within his right, is it not?

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“Daemon is indeed something to behold. Yes, my opinion still stands.

However, I am not certain what to make of him. Is he to be trusted? No. Bloody well not. Is he kind? That is not really a word anyone would use to define him.

But… there is something… something in his eyes. Daemon is much more than the rogue scoundrel that his moniker deems him to be. He is more than just ‘dangerous’ or ‘unpredictable’ or a potential ‘second Maegor’ (Truthfully, I find it hard to believe that last thing). Daemon is… more than that.

I just can’t find the words to encapsulate him. Perhaps words never can.”

The days pass quickly, and Daemon finds himself opening your journal now and again.

He cannot help it. The more he reads, the more he learns of you. But that is not the only reason. He is also discovering himself, as it turns out - an image of himself that he has not entertained before.

Not only The Rogue Prince, but a person of greater value than his notorious misdeeds. He believes that you see something in him that not even he can see himself.

Something more. Something… good.

Though his intentions prove to be not entirely innocent, as is the usual case. He comes upon one specific part, with your penmanship turning into a nervous scribble. It is as if you were wary that someone might be looking over your shoulder and deign to discover what salacious scrawls you have put down about the Rogue Prince.

Daemon’s eyes hurriedly glide over the ink, basking in what he reads.

“I must confess something.

I know it is quite unbecoming of a lady. Of a maiden. But in the last hour of the owl, I…

I…

Oh, gods. I pleasured myself to the thought of him.

You know. It can only be him. Daemon.”

“Seven fucking save me.” Daemon finds himself cursing with delight at what he just read. So his sweetling does want him in return. Oh, you cannot even imagine what I will do to you…

“We have grown quite close, him and I. Daemon is… Daemon is aflame. There can be no better word for him. He is fire incarnate, and I am not afraid of getting burned.

Or… I don’t want to be. I just. Want. Him.

I want to feel him. I want to feel his lips on mine. Not long ago, he leaned in close and his musk enveloped me. His lips very nearly grazed my cheek. Silly me could not come up with a witty response then and there. A shame. But can you blame me? All I could think about was snogging the fucking Rogue Prince himself!

Ha! Gods!

Perhaps I have gone insane.”

Daemon chuckles freely, alone in his chambers, your journal firmly between both hands. Any clueless onlooker would think it strange, as the Rogue Prince does not make a habit of exhibiting such behaviour. The pleasure in the tone of his laughter rings true and genuine.

If it becomes known that the reason for this is the Lady Y/n, then only a fool would dare deny the centre of their prince’s affections.

“But I cannot deny it.

I cannot have him. I shall not… he is… he does not seem willing to devote himself to just one lady. One wife. There is never a lack of gossip about the prince’s exploits in the Street of Silk, and a hundred other brothels besides.

His need cannot be sated it seems. I… surely, I will not be enough to sate it.

And I won’t allow myself to be one among many paramours.

If I am to love, I have to be chosen as the only one.

However…

Mother spare me.

However… I find myself imagining Daemon’s hands roaming freely across the planes of my skin, fondling my chest, his fingers drifting downward until they are buried in the heat of my soaked cunt.

When the castle is asleep, I find myself writhing in my sheets, thinking about the prince’s massive co – “

A knock echoes across the chambers. Daemon’s head shoots up immediately, irritation blooming across his face, but his cheeks remain flushed from what he just read.

Who the fuck is this?

His squire enters, a gangly young lad of six and ten. He bows hurriedly, and with a shaky voice, he implores, “My prince, you are being summoned by His Grace King Viserys to the small council meeting.”

Has that blasted formality come round again so soon? Daemon shrugs, turning back to the pages. Though he can hardly focus with the snivelling interruption still present in the room, who risks arousing his master’s anger when he speaks once more, “Forgive me, my prince, but I have been instructed to report with - ”

“Will you remove yourself from my sight willingly, or shall I do it for you?”

“M-my prince… I…” The squire nearly stumbles backwards at Daemon’s wroth.

“Leave. The small council will have the privilege of my presence in due course.”

And so, Daemon is again left alone, his squire’s rapid footsteps practically bolting out the doors.

Smirking, he greets your journal like an old friend. “Now, where was I?”

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Your newly gifted journal boasts of a far more opulent appearance than its predecessor. Rhaenyra made sure that the Maesters bound only the finest parchment and leather for this very thing; the cover even has gold and red embossments, as well as inscriptions in High Valyrian.

You were reluctant to accept such a gift, but Rhaenyra was persistent. And everyone knows, there is no refusing the Realm’s Delight when she has her heart set on something.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know of the whereabouts of your journal… well, your old journal now.

Nestled in your usual spot in the gardens, you turn your new journal over in your hands, admiring the handiwork of the Maesters.

The rear possesses the inscription - Isse otāpagon hen ñuha ojūdan udra, se isse ōños hen skoros pirtra hembar… - which Rhaenyra explained as roughly translating to - In remembrance of my rogue ink, and in joyous anticipation of what lies ahead…

You did not fail to notice the deliberate placement of the word rogue, which can only be Rhaenyra’s doing. Clever.

Rogue ink. Rogue Prince. Am I to call myself Lady Rogue now?

“My Lady.” His voice calls out, nearly startling the journal out of your hands. Oh fuck.

“Prince Daemon,” you swivel around to his voice, and sure enough, he leans against one of the tall hedges, studying you. Not a care in the seven kingdoms, as always.

“Good morrow, sweetling.” He saunters over, permanent smirk on his lips. “That is a lovely thing you have got there,” he says, gesturing to the new journal in your lap.

“Why yes, it is.” You lay it down beside you, and he promptly picks it up without even asking for your leave.

“Isse otāpagon hen ñuha ojūdan udra…” He reads, the High Valyrian sounding musical on his tongue. Far better than how you attempted to voice out the same words.

“Hmm.” He hands it over, and sits right next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him.

“Rogue ink.” He mumbles thoughtfully, glancing at you.

“It was Rhaenyra’s idea.” You say, your throat suddenly feeling dry, your heart racing from his proximity.

“Ah, yes. I was very sorry to hear of how you lost your journal. Rhaenyra said you were quite devastated.” Daemon lies plainly. His beloved niece never shared this with him, for she knows you would not approve.

“She did?”

“I do recall, yes.”

“Oh.”  You clear your throat, choosing to let it pass. “Well, she was awfully kind in giving me this as a replacement. I could not thank her enough.”

Daemon smiles, casting his gaze downward, as if he is privy to a secret that is kept from you. Does the handsome bastard know something?

“It is a shame that I could not find it,” you sigh, “I am still perturbed by the thought of someone whose intentions are unsavoury, reading all that I have written.”

“Whatever would you do to them, were you to find out their identity, my sweetling?”

You shake your head slightly at the name he has given you. Anything to distract from the warmth spreading across your face. You lean in closer, suddenly, much to Daemon’s surprise, “Would you let me wield Dark Sister, so I might teach them a lesson?”

Daemon swallows, the sight of your darkened, mischievous expression spurring him on.

“I might,” he leans in, “but I am far too fond of myself to allow something like that to transpire. Besides,�� his fingers languidly trace your jawline, “I have read that you are far too fond of me to do such a thing.”

Your stomach falls, the sensation so sudden that you simply freeze in place, with Daemon’s warm breath still fanning your face.

“You…”

Your face scrunches in a mixture of what can only be shock and anger and embarrassment. Daemon only finds it endearing. Adorable.

He starts, “Now, sweetling, try not to be cross - ”

You do not let him finish. You punch him in the shoulder, hard, making him lean away. Your legs seem to have a mind of their own, because you find yourself pacing quickly.

Gods, I just assaulted a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. More pacing. Who cares? It’s Daemon, and he deserves it.

The sound of his laughter echoes in the gardens, grating in your ears.

He stands, pulling something out of the pocket of his trousers, and presenting it to you. Your little, rogue journal.

Wrenching it from him, you can only ask, “You stole it from me?”

He looks appalled, “No, I would not do that. I found it. It might occur to you to thank me. Who knows what could have happened if anyone else besides me discovered your precious journal when you dropped it in a haste.”

“Thank you?” You stare him down, your left hand squeezing your journal firmly, threatening to destroy its very structure. “Why did it take so long for you to return it to me? Did you… did you…”

“Read it?” His eyes rake your face, over and over, enamoured by the passion he sees.

You say nothing. Of course he has.

“You must forgive my curiosity, sweetling. I could not help myself, plainly, to have some glimpse into your mind, into your heart… I simply… I had to.”

You soften a little at that. “Did you read everything?”

Daemon steps forward, overwhelming your space once more, “Not everything. Not quite.”

He gently pries the journal from your fist tucked beside you, and you watch as he flits through the pages as if it were his own. He whispers, “Only what you wrote about me.”

“Gods.” You desperately look toward the sky for some respite, not finding any.

He lands on the page he was searching for, a smile spreading across his face. “I am flattered, my lady, about how you envisioned us in what can only be… very compromising positions.”

“Enough, Daemon, please…” you bite your lip, as his hands drift across your stomach, settling low on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

The journal has been discarded by your feet, and Daemon only has eyes for you. His voice is genuine when he says, “You have written about me as if I were… someone else. Someone more.”

Your eyes catch how his tongue flicks across his lips. You start to give in, and say, “Daemon, I write only what I see.”

His lips are curled in their familiar roguish way, when he drifts even closer, tilting your face up at him with one hand.

“Daemon…”

“Sweetling… let me give you something to write about.”

In true Daemon fashion, he does not reign himself in. 

His lips land on yours. The impact catches you by surprise, making you take a few steps back, and he promptly follows suit. Your bodies move in sync, until your back collides into one of the marble plinths.

His tongue pries your mouth open wide, snaking past your teeth in a frenzy. Without breaking the kiss, he takes your hands, and guides them to the back of his neck, so that you might hold him in turn. You do, burying your fingers in his silver tresses.

Your lips battle each other, and Daemon tilts your head back so that he might advance more. A low growl escapes his chest as his teeth carefully clamp down on your bottom lip, pulling at the flesh.

He pulls away, pleased at how swollen your lips have become due to his work, “If I were inclined to write as you do, the words would doubtlessly be a tribute to you, sweetling.”

You did not expect that.

Still reeling from the taste of his mouth, you finally smile, though wryly, “You could only be telling me what I wish to hear. Soften my anger at how you invaded my most intimate musings.”

He nods once, one hand reaching up to lean on the plinth above your head. His violet eyes bore into yours, burning with unmistakable desire.

“I could indeed.” He kisses you again, his lips briefly pressing against your own, with a gentleness that is quite unusual for the Rogue Prince. “But mayhaps I shall prove to be quite convincing.”

You take a deep breath, peering up at him in a haze. Your shaky nerves finally settle, and you drink him in. Your rogue muse. The object of your affection, as he now knows. “Prove it then. My new journal is in need of fresh accountings. What better thing to write about than the taste of your lips…”

Another kiss, and another.

“I am yours, sweetling.”

Been a while, loves! Hectic stuff + writing ruts can tend to cause such breaks, but I'm glad to be back and writing again ❤️

Yes, it seems that I sometimes take weeks (even months) to update series works. But then I'll get oneshot ideas, and they get done within a day (like this one). I can't explain it either 🙃

But anyway - series updates up... soon enough!

[agaypanic]

Could you do something with Hyde (actually, any t70s character if you think ot fits better) and the reader whos usually feels like a teacher's pet. But they see the reader at a batting cage or something. Sorry if that isn't a lot, happy requests are open again!!!

Wear a Helmet (Steven Hyde X Forman!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Steven Hyde thinks you’re nothing more than Eric’s sister, a try-hard, goody two-shoes teacher’s pet. But while taking a cruise around town, he sees a completely different side of you at a batting cage.

A/N: made reader eric’s sister bc idk it feels right to me. Idk how batting cages work

***

“Are you seriously doing homework right now?” Hyde asked, looking at your work from over your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you ignored him. You should’ve known that you’d regret studying in the basement, but it felt like the best place at the time. You didn’t want to be cooped up in your room, your mom was busy gossiping in the kitchen while your dad read the newspaper, and you didn’t want to walk to the library.

Eventually, Hyde’s stare from behind his sunglasses broke your concentration. You turned to look at him. “I know that all you think about is lighting up Hyde, but some of us actually have a future to think about.” You patted his shoulder teasingly and went back to your work.

“It’s just a question, man.” He responded, throwing his hands up in defense while waltzing over to his chair, as if the tone of said question wasn’t judgemental. “Only asked because Scooby-Doo is on.”

“Unfortunately, I have more important things to do than watch the gang expose another guy in a mask.”

Hyde turned the TV on anyway, flipping to the aforementioned show. Although you did have more important things to do, you couldn’t help but glance up every couple of seconds to see what was happening. 

Eventually, you had completely forgotten your work in favor of the show. You only realized how much time had passed when the episode ended, and you looked down to see that your homework was still half finished.

“Damn it.” You muttered, gathering your things. Clearly, trying to study in the basement was a bad idea. “I’m going to the library.”

“It’s seven PM,” Hyde replied, looking at his watch.

“I’ll get Eric to drive me.” And if he refused, you could just threaten to tell your parents about Donna sneaking into his room almost every night this week. “See ya.”

“Bye,” Hyde called out, reaching for the remote to change the channel. “Nerd.” He said under his breath.

“I heard that!”

***

When it had reached ten o’clock, Hyde started to get a little worried. Although, he’d never admit that out loud. You still weren’t back from studying, and your curfew was in half an hour. Part of him wondered if his distractions had pissed you off so much that you decided to leave home and not come back. You weren’t dramatic enough to go through with that though.

“Hey, Forman.” Hyde flipped through an old magazine to try to seem casual and uncaring. “Where’s your sister? Sneaking around with a guy or something?”

“Laurie or Y/n?” Eric asked, wondering why Hyde would be interested in either sister’s affairs.

“Y/n.”

“She’s at the library. Told me she would walk home.”

Hyde looked up from his magazine, which he threw on the table. He looked at Eric, completely unamused. “You’re letting your little sister walk around town this late at night? I wouldn’t even do that… I think.”

Eric rolled his eyes and stood up from the couch. “She’s almost eighteen, Hyde. And she said she’d call me if she needed a ride.” He started to walk up the stairs to the kitchen. “If you’re so concerned, you can pick her up.”

“Fine, I will,” Hyde replied, getting a little heated. The curly-headed boy fished his keys out of his pocket and went up the other basement stairs that led outside. After getting out of the backyard, Hyde settled into the El Camino. Just before he pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, he paused. “Where the hell is the library?”

***

The library ended up not being that difficult to find. What Hyde had difficulty locating was you. The library closed at nine, and it was now a quarter after ten. Hyde wasn’t one for walking, but he knew it couldn’t have taken you over an hour just to get home.

So he started searching.

Hyde drove all around town, peering out his window for a glimpse of you. He went to the Hub, the school, and even the water tower. Nothing.

When it was close to your curfew, he figured he should give up his search. You had to have been home by now; you were too much of a goody-goody to break curfew or any other rule. So Hyde turned the car around and started heading back home to the Formans.

“What the hell…?” Until he passed by the Point Place Family Fun Center and recognized your sweater. The wheels of Hyde’s El Camino squealed from how hard he turned to get into the parking lot. As he turned off the car and got out, he realized what you were doing. You were in one of the batting cages, swinging a bat at oncoming balls. Hyde didn’t know what was more shocking, the fact that you were batting balls or the fact that you didn’t miss a single one. “Y/n?”

At the call of your name, you turned and looked at Hyde, expression quickly going from startled to confused. “Hyde? What are you- Oof!”

Hyde ran to the cage and swung the door open, pulling you to the side while you rubbed your now slightly throbbing head. “You okay?”

“Why-” You wanted to ask Hyde what the hell he was doing here, but figured your possible head injury was the more important matter. Plus, it wasn’t often that Hyde seemed so concerned for your well-being, and you didn’t feel like ruining the rare moment. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Aren’t you supposed to wear a helmet or something?” 

“It’s more fun without it.” You shrugged, setting your bat on the fence since you figured you wouldn’t be batting any longer tonight. “Besides, it makes my hair flat.”

“Right.” Hyde nodded, rolling his eyes, which you could barely see because of his sunglasses. Hyde was the only person you knew who wore sunglasses when there was no sun. “Maybe you should start wearing one. Don’t wanna break that big brain of yours. Besides, I think you’re starting to get a bump.”

Your hand flew to the side of your head, feeling around. “Say you’re lying, oh my god.”

Hyde smiled a little at your reaction. “What are you even doing here? I didn’t think baseball would be… your thing.”

You shrugged again. “It’s a good stress reliever, I guess. And I didn’t feel like going home after the library closed.”

He nodded in understanding before remembering why he was looking for you in the first place. “Speaking of home, I think you’re gonna miss curfew.”

“What?!” Hyde had never seen you react so quickly to something. You looked at your watch, confirming that you were five minutes away from possibly getting grounded, and ran to pick up all the balls that you hit so you could put them in the basket. When the cage was tidy, you grabbed your bag and the bat, ready to return it to the front desk and book it to the El Camino. “Hyde, start the car!” You yelled over your shoulder as you ran.

Hyde laughed as he watched your panicked speed. No matter how hard you could try to seem like a rebel, you’d always be Goody-Goody Forman.

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 1062 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers, swearing once, cause Atsumu, mentions of academic pressure/anxiety

You sighed when you caught a glimpse of the unyielding gray sky out the library window. Lunch at your favorite café had lifted your spirits a little but did nothing to the overall feeling of anxiety that always came and went throughout the semester.

You felt around in your bag to make sure you packed an umbrella and tried not to think too much about the things you would rather be doing right now than sitting here and revising your notes. Listless and your head filled with melancholy, you stayed at the library for another hour, mostly on your phone, unable to concentrate on the neatly written cue cards, before finally throwing in the towel and packing up to leave.

When you stepped outside the air felt heavy but at least there was no rain yet.

You texted your friends that you had given up on academics for the day and were on your way back home, trying not to sound too miserable and eventually reached the bus stop, joining the many other commuters, all chatting or quietly glued to their phones. Finding a spot towards the end of the line you stood next to a tall guy, dressed in all black, a mask and cap covering his face and hair. After living in Tokyo for quite some time you had grown accustomed to people like him, those who so clearly didn’t want to be recognized or just wanted to pretend to be someone important or mysterious or all of the above.

Deep in thought about the possibility of dropping by your friend’s place to cuddle her dog for a while to cheer you up, you didn’t notice the wall of rain coming your way at first.

You ducked your head, hectically rummaging around for the umbrella. When you wanted to open it, however, the top just popped off, flying uselessly off the handle onto the road where a passing van swiftly dragged it along.

For a second or so you just stood there, handle in hand, watching the umbrella top disappear in traffic, not even slightly slowing down the cars.

Your mood turned from surprised to sour and you raised your hands to at least protect yourself a little, even though you were already drenched by the thick splattering drops and spray from the cars.

And just as you were contemplating that you might as well start to cry now, unnoticed in the downpour, the rain suddenly stopped, or at least for a confusing second you thought it did. The masked guy next to you had stepped to the side so that his umbrella was covering you now as well.

You gaped at him.

"Thank you.", you said, grateful, but not quite able to keep your voice steady.

He gave you a puzzled look upon the voice crack and even through the tumult of the cars whooshing past and the rain hammering onto the roof of the bus stop and his umbrella, you could hear him smirk.

"No problem.", he replied, somehow managing to sound indifferent, self satisfied and curious all at once.

He was quite a bit taller than you and a few blond strands protruded from his cap over the otherwise dark undercut.

And then, as he felt you staring, he leaned back a bit to expose a giant poster ad running on the side of the bus stop, showing a glorified action shot of a young man with a blond undercut, hitting a volleyball. In bold letters it read Black Jackals Miya Atsumu. You frowned at first, then understood and offered a politely impressed smile which he apparently took as you being too stunned to speak in his presence. He gave a nonchalant shrug as if to say “Yes, indeed it is I.”

You were sure your friend had told you about him. The name looked familiar. And judging by the poster he was just as handsome as she described. Didn’t she say he was one of the best setters in all of Japan or something?

“Hey, uhm, this is gonna sound weird, but I have a friend who is a fan of yours - I think.”

“Friend, huh?”, Atsumu looked you up and down, his mask hiding the grin he wore as he appreciated how your wet clothes clung to your plump figure.

“Yes, a friend. Would you mind giving me an autograph for her?”

He nodded and pulled a pen from his pocket, patiently waiting for you to retrieve a notebook from your backpack. You flipped to a free page and held it out to him.

“What’s yer “friend’s” name?”, he asked.

You began spelling the characters. He paused, frowning. “That’s a Japanese name.”

You nodded. “It is.”

“But ya don’t… look… Japanese.”, he said, confused.

Now it was your turn to knit your brow. “I… don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Wait, this ain’t for ya?”

“No? It’s for my friend.”, you assured him with a quite adorable little chuckle and he felt heat rising in his cheeks.

Oh.

“Oh! Right… Uhm.” Atsumu looked down at his phone number and the (in his opinion) clever pick up line he had begun to write underneath.

Clearing his throat he flipped to a new page and dedicated a signature to your friend, then turned back to the page he started on. Eh, he might as well. “Ya should come to our next match. I’ll dedicate a serve to ya, if ya do.”

You looked like you had no idea what that meant but, wait. Did you… did you blush? Shit, did that actually work?! He quickly finished his first signature and handed the book back to you. A bus pulled up.

“Hope to see ya around.”, he said cooly and gave you an encouraging nod to get on, which, in a daze, you did, still holding on to the handle of the broken umbrella.

Mercifully, you found a seat by the window, directly above him, only able to see the top of his umbrella now. He lifted the brim.

For a moment he looked at you, weighing, considering.

Then he brought his hand to his mask and pulled it down just low enough so you could see the cocky smirk that accompanied a wink.

As the bus pulled out of the station and merged into traffic you realized that it was going the wrong way.

part 2

[kyoteugly]

If not Buddie, why Buddie shaped? #2

Following my theory that season 7 and 8 are new seasons 1 and 2 on abc, where the writers revisits the big events from character’s pasts and retells them (you can read it here) I want to look closer at new episode 8x06 “Confessions”.

This is all fresh in my mind, I watched the episode like 4h ago, there is a chance I’ll miss something.

Like I said, I think we’re going to see at least 4 more big moments revisited (or rather the emotional state those events invoked) from previous seasons before Buddie goes canon. Kitchen scene, well, will and shooting arc. And one of those happened in this episode! But also so many other things! 

EDDIE:

Starting with Eddie in the confessional. I can’t help but see his fight club era here (call me bias, I love season 3 Eddie so much!). An attempt to find a healthy outlet to his emotions. He’s struggling and fighting with his inner demons, this time instead of rage it’s sadness and loneliness. 

And he is doing it with an outsider's help. Father Brian is like Lena Bosko. Why Lena and not Frank? I think Eddie would just shut on therapy at this point. He needs someone to talk to, someone with opinions and advice, caring enough to want to help but also not afraid to go straight to the point and call his bs - Lena and Father Brian did just that.

Ok. Time to revisit a big event from Eddie’s past - the well. ABC put the call with the little boy trapped in a pipe in episode promo as the red herring. The real purpose of this call was to remind us about the Eddie Begins episode. The important thing from Eddie Begins is that Eddie was alone in the dark pit - and in the end he saved himself. 

So the real connection between those two episodes is not in the call where 118 saves the little boy, but between Eddie coming out from underwater, drawing a deep breath and Eddie shaving a mustache, shedding his mask and dancing, breathing fully again.

sorry for the meme, I'm tired

It’s also interesting that the moment Eddie allowed himself to feel joy Buck knocked at his door.

BUCK:

This one is pretty straight forward. Like I said before, Tommy represents Abby - a transformative relationship - like Buck said himself. The fact that Tommy was engaged with Abby is a really beautiful way to further connect and close both relationships. What leads to the break up from Tommy’s side is also similar. Tommy knows he would fall deeply for Buck, and Abby didn’t come back because she knew she would lose herself in Buck. They were both protecting themselves.

And here is also a little parallel to Ali. Like her, Tommy offers Buck a proper and honest break up, showing maturity, understanding and clear reason why. And yes, Ali was also protecting herself, ending their relationship before they broke each other's hearts.

And one more thing from Buck’s side. The whole Abby thing throws him off. Maddie tells him it’s not a big thing, Josh tells him not to judge Tommy (honestly, Josh’s speech is amazing!) - this calms him down in the end, dating the same woman doesn’t feel awkward anymore. But the questions Josh is asking leave Buck confused. Taking the next step, moving in together - it’s like Buck is trying to prove he really feels those things Josh was talking about (or maybe even compensate for his “freak out”, confirm he’s fully into this relationship). And on some level Buck has those feelings, he cares about Tommy, but more than that, he simply feels he should be on the level Josh suggested and he wants this to work. It’s Buck’s impulsiveness coming to play, an action that causes reaction in a form of big gesture to confirm his feelings - a nod to his relationship with Taylor.

Fortunately Tommy explains those feelings to Buck (and to the audience) in a very kind way. 

Honestly, their relationship (the last two episodes especially) was handled beautifully, without unnecessary drama, without too much spotlight. It started with fireworks, naturally progressed and faded gently.

The cherry on top: Evan meant something more, something special for Tommy. Ending his goodbye with Buck means “we’re friends now”.

BUDDIE:

There are two things here I want to mention.

Ever since Gerrard separated Buck and Eddie this is the episode where we can see them working together as partners again. And this finally wraps up the divorce era.

The ending scene represents different scenes for each of them, ending different arcs.

For Buck the couch scene represents Abby’s comeback in season 3. He watched her ride off in the ambulance with her fiance (with Eddie solid by his side), and later he got closure from her.

For Eddie this scene represents him being embraced by the 118 after he dug himself out from the well. He’s connected again, no longer alone. 

And of course, the most obvious and sweetest thing - it’s the right couch (and they finally drink that beer).

Bonus MADNEY:

Couldn’t help but notice some revisits here.  Maddie’s postpartum depression is addressed very clearly, nothing to add here. During the pandemic Chimney stayed at Buck’s place, afraid to put pregnant Maddie in danger of catching the virus. Something happened on a call that changed his mind, made him overcome his fear and enjoy the future with his family. The same in this episode. But there is a little twist here and it involves brothers. In season 7 the new audience learned about Kevin. Guess who wasn’t yet introduced (and also took care of Maddie during the pandemic)... yes, I believe this season we will see Albert again. 

That’s it for now. Let me know if you want more posts like this. Feel free to contact me if you want some clarification or just to talk.

Tagging some people who may be interested (if you want me to remove you from this post let me know): @buddiebeginz @stagefoureddiediaz @lemotmo @inell