#sir your child is right there watch your mouth

[kisses4themissus]

before mr & mrs... | Hwang In-ho x Reader

word count: 4.1k a/n: so tell me whatcha all think of their backstory pls pairing: hwang in-ho x fem!reader !! not proof-read properly !!

Masterlist | more of this couple

“Have you seen player 132?” il-nam asked you, he sat in his armchair, watching players drop to their deaths.

You didn’t look up from your binder you had filled of game ideas. “No, i haven't; i’ve not paid much attention to any of them really.” You said honestly, walking over to il-nam and handed him your latest sketch of a game concept. 

“He has potential, he didn’t hesitate to kill his teammate; it’s like someone i know all over again” He chuckled as you gave him a unimpressed look. “I was left with the bitch of my team, of course i was going to take the chance to take her head.” You sighed, sitting down beside il-nam in your own chair.

“We could use him.” il-nam pointed to the man on the screen, you looked up and studied the man on screen. He was very handsome, he was also very set on winning these games for his wife.

You bit your lip as he laughed along with other players, you turned back to il-nam. “Tomorrow i’ll start preparing the room for the VIPs..” You informed the host before excusing yourself to the office of files. Once the door was shut you went through files for the news players to find more out about player 132.

You had brought the files with you to your bedroom and read up on the player as you settled in for bed. It had been disappointing when you saw he had entered the games for is wife and unborn child; to pay for her liver transplant. You had turned to your walkie talkie on your nightstand and switched to another channel.

“Get me as much info as you can on player 132’s wife.” You spoke into the walkie talkie and immediately got a confirmation by the recruiter; a close friend of yours, who you had grown close while you both worked for il-nam as workers.

“Right away, game planner..” 

- - - - - - - -

Days later, you watched from the control room as another game was played as you planned it, you watched with a big grin.

“Chipper as always..” The recruiter chuckled as he walked into the vip room with a file in hand. “Always a pleasure seeing you, now hand it over!” You smirked at your friend and held your hand out which he took with his free hand and kissed the back, making you chuckle at his flirty advances.

“Now, I believe you requested these.” He handed you the files, a squeal left your mouth as you opened the file up and began reading over the report. Your eyes quickly ran over the page as you finally landed on the words you had secretly hoped would be there. “I have to show il-nam!” You closed the file and kissed the recruiter on his cheek before patting the other side. “I love you!” You squealed as you exited the control room and walked to il-nam’s penthouse.

You scanned your badge you had clipped to your shirt and was granted access. You knocked on the old man’s room door. “Come in.” He sighed out, fidgeting with his tie. “I have news about your possible winner!” You handed over the folder, he took it and read over the report and sighed before walking over to his tv and shuffled through the cameras to show the players eating their breakfast.

“He’ll be even more convinced to join you if his whole reason for winning this game is dead.” You pointed out, sitting on the arm of the chair. 

il-nam nodded and grinned at you. “Good job, finding this.” 

You bowed your head in thanks. You looked down at your watch and checked the time. “VIPs should be landing here in the next hour, sir.” you informed, getting up from the arm and walked to a cabinet he had in his penthouse, you unlocked the cabinet and pulled out his gold bedazzled owl mask, he would wear in front of the VIPs. 

“I assume you haven’t seen your gift?” il-nam asked, a small smile on his face. You tilted your head confused. “You got me a gift?” You questioned, the old man nodded at you. “Your gift is on your bed.” 

With that you left off to your level that was your space, you quickly walked into your room and squealed as a white 3D matte mask laid on your bed. You picked it up and smiled at it. 

“For my brilliant gameplanner.” - Host

You noticed the coat that laid on the back of your vanity chair. You looked around your bedroom for your outfit for the VIPs.

- - - - - - - -

You sighed as you pulled off your gloves as you walked to the elevators, you scanned your badge and pressed your floor.

It was another year of sadistic games you had planned out. You quickly placed your things away. As you hung up your clothes you heard the faint call from your walkie talkie you had left on your kitchen table. You sighed and walked to the kitchen and picked up.

“Gameplanner, the host is requesting you to his penthouse.” A manager called out, you answered briefly, grabbing your white mask and game binder, before walking to the elevators. You pressed il-nam’s floor which was the highest on the panel. You sighed, as the elevator stopped, the doors opened to show the recruiter; he smiled at you as he entered.

“Gameplanner.” He greeted, taking your hand and bring it to his lips. “Recruiter!” You smiled back. “il-nam called you up too?” He asked, pressing il-nam’s floor. “Yep, probably wants to discuss players and games..” You guessed.

As elevators opened to show il-nam’s house. You both walked into the penthouse and walked to his living room where he sat, someone with him, their back to you both.

“You called?” You asked, the old man smiled as he motioned for the other person. “This is our newest member.” The stranger stood up and faced you both. You and the recruiter recognized the man in front of you. “Ah, player 132! I’m glad you’ve taken il-nam’s offer.” The recruiter smiled at the man, holding out his hand.

The ex-player shook his hand. “The salesman, wouldn’t have made it here if you didn't give me that card.” He charmingly smiled.

il-nam chuckled at the two before turning towards you, “In-ho, this is our game planner, she’s also a former winner of the games; player 033.” In-ho raised an eyebrow as you held a blank face and stuck out your hand and firmly shook his. “Nice to meet you.” You greeted, taking you hand back and held closely to your binder.

“What will be his job exactly?” The recruiter questioned, you both looked as il-nam smiled at you three. “In-ho will help out with the staff, more specifically the soldiers, you see he’s a former cop!” il-nam explained, making you and the recruiter raise your brows at the job.

“Oh, il-nam i have the layout of games this year!” You perked up and opened your binder, in-ho watched as you flipped to a page and laid it down on the table for all to see.

In-ho read over the pages, he watched as you smiled at il-nam’s praises. You had been the sadist, who created the monstrous games, many players had threaten to kill you if they had gotten out of the game. “Impressive work.” In-ho complimented.

“Thank you!” You nodded before turning to il-nam. “I need to go unpack my things but just have the workers return it to me.” You smiled at the old man before excusing yourself back to your floor.

- - - - - - - -

It had been weird for another person to be in the control room with you. You had placed in-ho on cameras while you watched the players in their dorm, teams had begin to form liked you hoped. “How long have you worked for the host?” In-ho questioned as you both watched players bond. 

“Three years ago, I was offered after I had won, didn’t even get to play the final game, killed the girl in the dorm after she tried to suffocate me in my sleep.” you explained, tapping on the board in font of you. Several camera footage popped up on the screens.

“You know, a lot of players curse you out for creating such terror.” His words made you chuckle. “I’ve heard, you get used to it after one game.” You smiled at him for the first time. In-ho stared at you, a small smile on his face. You quickly dropped the smile and cleared your throat.

“I need to go figure out the lighting for one of the games, excuse me..” You brushed past in-ho and walked out of the control room.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho watched carefully as you and il-nam watched players fight for their lives, you had a content smile while the concept worked perfectly; your walkie talkie crackled on the kitchen table, you popped up and walked over with a smile as a deep voice went through.

“Wonderful work as always gameplanner.” The recruiter compliment, making you chuckle before walking to the hall to continue talking without disrupting the game.

In-ho turned to il-nam who watch the games with glee. “Are they together?” He asked, making il-nam turned to him confused.

“The recruiter and the planner, i mean.” In-ho clarified, il-nam glanced back at you and noticed how happy you were and shrugged.

“They’ve been close since they both started working for me, who’s to know…they might even be married?” Il-nam guessed, thinking back to how you both always threw flirty glances and even affection every time you had been around each other. 

In-ho nodded and sat back in his chair, his mind drifting off into what your relationship could be with the recruiter.

A few minutes had passed and you walked back to your chair, a smile still on your face. “Sorry gentlemen, the recruiter was just giving feedback!” You bowed your head to the pair apologetically, il-nam smiled and wave you off.

As you all watched the game finish, il-nam had gotten up and walked to his bedroom for the night, leaving you and in-ho alone in the penthouse. You both ad began to pick up, you collected the drink glasses while in-ho stacked the paperwork in order. A peaceful silence fell over the room, the sound of glass lightly clinking and the water running filled the background. 

“So, is he your husband?” In-ho questioned, handing you another glass. You glanced over, confused. “Who?” You tiled your head.

“The recruiter, i mean you both seem close.” In-ho watched as you chuckled, setting the freshly washed cups in the drying rack. “And be mrs recruiter?” You smiled and laughed a bit.

“Never, i only humor him, when we were workers together I had a massive crush on him.” You turned to in-ho grinning. “Why do you ask?” You raised a brow, hoping he’d confess.

“Nothing, il-nam wanted to know what were you both exactly.” He lied, you sighed and nodded. “Make sense, il-nam always tried pushing us together, he told us many, many years ago he saw the recruiter as a younger son who couldn’t see the pretty girl in front of him.” You chuckled at the memory, making in-ho nod, he quietly took in your relaxed features.

“Why did you join the games?” In-ho questioned, quickly noticing how you tensed up for a second before responding. “My situation wasn’t perfect, forced to marry some older guy for money; said guy didn’t earn money legally.” You paused, your memories coming back, you paused holding onto the sink. “He was nice and loving to me at first, then one day I had found out the truth of his source of income, he threated to kill me if i ever said anything.” You paused.

In-ho watched as you avoided his gaze and continued to look at the glass cup. “Turns out there was a rat in his little group, they all thought it was me…I think you know what happened next, I had nothing, so i got offered to play the games, won and divorced the asshole once i had gotten out.” You finished explaining. In-ho went to talk but you cut him off.

You quickly dried your hands before turing to in-ho. “I need to go to bed, goodnight in-ho.” You nodded and excused yourself to the elevators.

- - - - - - - -

The next morning, the VIPs would arrive, you had prepared everything to be perfect. In-ho sighed as he walked into the luxury room, you stood in the middle, directing the waiters.

“Ah, in-ho perfect timing!” You smiled and walked over to him. “What do you think?” You grinned, showing off your newest game idea, the room had been decorated like the outdoors, an adult sized playground filled the area, other playground toys littered around. ”What game is it?” In-ho asked, confused to the playground. 

“The floor’s lava.” You smirked and pressed a button on the control panel, the floor had begin to pull back, the playground structures stood tall, in-ho smirked as it would drop players to their deaths. He grinned and nodded at you. “Amazing!” He chuckled as you pressed the button once more and the floor moved back into place.

“Thank you.” You smiled, looking at in-ho. You both stared at each other with admiration; In-ho cleared his throat and excused himself to the control room, you nodded and watched as he walked out of the room. You sighed, placing a hand on your forehead, it was foolish to think he’d move on from his wife that fast.

“Troubles?” Il-nam questioned, walking into the room. You shook your head and sat down on the nearest sofa. “It’s nothing.” You tried to dismiss, il-nam chuckled and sat down beside you. “You have this look where it isn’t, now what is it?” The old man smiled, comfortingly at you. With a sigh you turned to il-nam. “I thought in-ho and I would be closer by now, I mean we both work around each other constantly, ask each other for everything; I mean he got me to open up about my first marriage.” You sighed, placing your head in your hands.

Il-nam chuckled and patted your back. “Seems i have a new blind daughter?” 

At his words you picked up your head and looked at il-nam confused. “What do you mean?” you questioned. The old man just chuckled at you.

“He looks at you with much more then admiration.” Il-nam smiled at you. The old man quickly got up from the couch and helped you up before turning to the entrance. “The VIPs should be here anytime now; go get ready.”

You nodded at il-nam and got up to go get dressed.

- - - - - - - -

The soft clicks of your heels filled the control room, you walked over to the control panel and watched as the players began to wake up. You silently looked over the monitors before turning back to the elevator doors. You stopped as in-ho walked into the room, a black matte 3D mask on him.

“Looks nice.” You complimented, he bowed his head, in thanks. “Now i’m official.” He joked, making you smile, you leaned over and fixed his collar which had flipped up due to the mask. “Now you look perfect.” You sighed, smiling at in-ho under your mask.

- - - - - - - -

Another year of twisted children’s games had arrived, you were excited as always. You sat in the limo as il-nam had his driver pick you up from your small apartment. “Are we heading straight to the island?” You questioned, digging through your bag for your binder. “Actually, we have another to pick up.” Il-nam smiled at your confused look.

The limo pulled up in front of a small convenience store with apartments above, you hadn’t looked up from your binder, too busy making notes for the games that were to be played that year. The limo door opened and quickly shut.

“Good evening.” In-ho greeted. You looked up from your binder and smiled at in-ho’s appearance. His hair was now combed back, his eyebags had disappeared; he seemed more put together then he did the previous year. “In-ho.” You greeted, in-ho scooted closer to you in the limo, leaving il-nam by himself on the opposite side, the old man smiled and sipped his champagne.

You tried to focus back on your notes while in-ho and il-nam went over their time apart, you had listened as il-nam and in-ho talked about the newest players.

“The recruiter told me this year is a good batch.” You chimed in, flipping the binder page, viewing the photos il-nam had sent to you as the workers built the stage for the games. Both the other men nodded at your words and began talking over the workers.

You watched as the limo loaded onto the boat, you sighed. Laying back in your sleep you slowly drifted off as the distance sound of the waves hit your ears.

In-ho leaned back a bit, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Il-nam chuckled as your head slowly reached in-ho’s shoulder, “I suggest we need cameras in the-!” In-ho stopped himself as your head laid on his shoulder, he quickly fixed your head to be comfortable before leaning back further.

“You two are cute together.” Il-nam grinned, finishing off his glass before placing it in the cup holder. In-ho smiled bashfully, lookin over to see you peacefully asleep; you had stressed over the games to even properly sleep.

“I don’t think she sees us like that.” In-ho sighed out, il-nam laughed at his words. 

“You both are blind; she hasn’t looked at anyone with that look since she was a circle worker.” Il-nam confessed, both men watched as you fidgeted in your sleep but soon stopped as in-ho wrapped and arm around your shoulder to bring you in closer.

“You think so?” 

“Oh i know it.”

- - - - - - - -

The three all stood in the control room as the players photos popped up under your feet. You nodded as the board began to fill up. As you paced the board; you stopped as a familiar face posed right below your heel.

“Gameplanner?” In-ho asked, noticing your reaction to a player, he looked down confused at the player and took note of the number before ushing you to the control panel to fix the game’s lighting.

Later that night in-ho had walked to the office where all files of players and their backgrounds where kept and began to go through the computer in hopes to find the player that stunned you earlier.

Player 068, or as you knew him as your first husband. Apparently the man had been caught with his illegal money and was sentenced; once out he was attacked by loan sharks who he had grown a massive debt to, leading him to join the games.

In-ho scoffed at the photo, it was the same asshole who almost killed you. Quickly in-ho logged off and walked back to the elevators and pressed the button for your floor.

You quietly made tea in your small kitchen, you had been shook up the rest of the day, shocked to see your ex make it out of the first game. The sound of shoes came from behind you.

You turned and was surprised to see in-ho in your floor of the building. “What are you doing here?” You questioned, grabbing two mugs down from the cabinet.

“I wanted to see if you were alright after earlier, you seemed stunned.” He explained, setting down his black mask on your table, you sighed and brought him a cup of tea and sat down in front of him. “I’m sorry, seeing someone you didn’t expect to show up will do that to you…” You sipped on your chamomile tea. In-ho sighed and scooted his chair closer to you.

“He can’t do anything anymore, you have power in the control room to kill him within the first second of the next game, i’ll even tell the soldiers to have him killed in the dorm right now if you wish.” In-ho placed his hand on your knee making you breakdown as he looked at you while concern and love in his eyes.

You threw yourself into him and cried into his shoulder.

“He didn’t even suffer the way i did..” You cried, wiping your tears as they fell. In-ho shushed you and rubbed the back of your head in comfort. “It’s alright.” In-ho reassured.

- - - - - - - -

Days had passed and you were slowly getting back to your regular personality, since that night you had noticed in-ho had rarely left your side, he’d even began to sleep on your couch while you slept in your bedroom, to reassure your fear that your ex would attack you in the night.

You sighed as you peacefully laid in your bed, your room door opened giving you the perfect view of in-ho who laid propped up on your couching reading whatever book you had laying around. You played with your comforter before tugging it away from you, slipping on your slippers you walked over to the couch and tapped in-ho’s shoulder.

“Come laid down with me?” You asked, making in-ho stopped breathing, you had looked beautiful, messy bedhead, your silk pajamas, the look of love in your eyes. “Of course.” He nodded and followed as you walked into your bedroom.

He took in the decor as he got into the bed behind you, he hesitated to place his arm over your waist. You turned around to face him and smiled shyly before wrapping his arm around your waist. “Il-nam would lose it if he saw us together right now.” In-ho commented making you chuckle and nod. “He would go “i knew you two would be good together”, typical matchmaker…” You both chuckled at your impression of the old man.

In-ho moved his hand to cup the back of your head and rested it on his chest. You both peacefully fell asleep. You wished it had been a peaceful night.

You both were woken up to the sound of the managers voices coming from the walkie talkies. “Frontman? Gameplanner?” In-ho grabbed the device from your bedside and answered, you got up and grabbed your coat. 

“A player had gotten loose, we’ve trapped him in the red light field!” They informed you both. “Which player?” In-ho questioned, “Player 068 sir.” 

You watched as in-ho got up from your bed and walked to the living room and got dressed, you following behind him, your white mask in your hand. As he was on autopilot, in-ho walked to the field, his gun in hand and you following behind.

The doors opened to show the pink managers and soldiers surrounding the player. In-ho knelt down to look at the man. “Trying to leave?” He asked, his gloved hand roughly grabbing the players jaw. The man didn’t speak and just shook his head in fear of the masked man. “Did you let your ex-wife go?” In-ho asked, holding the man in a tight grip.

In-ho looked at the man with disgust under his mask, cocking his gun he stopped and turned to the crowd and found you standing behind soldiers. “Gameplanner, why don’t you get this pleasure.” In-ho stood up and held his hand out to you.

You took his hand and walked to face your ex-husband, your mask forgotten on the dirt floor. 

The man looked at you, pleading to live. “C’mon honey, remember the good times we had!” He tried to grab your coat but in-ho stomped on the man’s hand making him yell out in pain. “You bitch, having men do your dirty work!” He yelled out, without heistain you stood tall and aimed the gun.

BOOM!

You watched as his body fell back, blood spilling on the dirt. You turned to see in-ho with a unreadable look, his mask now on the ground as he glared at the body. 

“In-ho.” You watched as he turned to you and quickly wrapped you in a hug and kissed your cheeks as tear began to fall; your ex-husband was finally gone, now longer haunting your mind. “I’m here, i have you.” He reassured, you pulled back and stared at in-ho with admiration and leaned in.

In-ho chuckled and kissed your tenderly, ignoring as the pink workers and soldiers began to clean up. “I’ll alway keep you from harm.” In-ho whispered against your lips making you kiss him once more eagerly.

- - - - - - - -

Il-nam chuckled as you both stood in front of a courthouse, your marriage certificate in hands you both kissed for the photo.

“It's a good photo of you both!” The old man smiled at in-ho who chuckled at the framed photo on his desk. 

“Thank you.” In-ho thanked him before searching through paperwork.

“Gentlemen.” A smooth voice made the pair look up to see the recruiter in his suit. In-ho and il-nam shook his hand in greeting before they all dove into paperwork of the next game.

A bit had gone by before the front door to in-ho's and your shared apartment opened. You were greeted to the sight of the three men crowding over your dining table. With a chuckle you placed down your bag on the couch and watched them go over plans.

“Gameplanner.” The recruiter smiled and kissed your hand. From the corner of your eye you smirked as in-ho leaned back in his chair watching you both, but playing it as if he was stretching. “Getting close to my wife?” In-ho questioned as you both parted away from each other.

You chuckled as the recruiter fixed his tie and hair before sitting back down. “It’s only a greeting to the mrs frontman..” The recruiter tried to defend, making il-nam chuckle at the reactions.

In-ho smirked while you gave the recruiter a look of distaste, “He should be mr gameplanner, i’ve had my title longer!” You scoffed, sitting down next to your husband.

“Alright then, it was a simple greeting to mrs gameplanner.” 

You smiled at the re-wording and went back to helping il-nam with the scattered papers.

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[eruden-writes]

Choosing the Bear - Part 2 (Shifter x Human)

Inspired by the Man or Bear in the Woods question/meme.

First Part

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Mercy’s father, Zeke Clements, was a man about two years older than Bambi, though they’d been a part of the same graduating class. He’d been held back once in seventh grade and once in ninth grade, from what she remembered. If she recalled correctly, both times was due to the amount of fights he got into. Though she thought it had more to do with who he fought – the privileged peers and the sports stars – that had gotten him held back those particular years.

Before Bambi could say anything else, Mercy jumped between her and the bear, her arms outstretched as if to shield the creature from the woman.

“Please, don’t say anything, Mizz Bambi! He’s not a devil or a monster or anything like that, I swear!” Mercy blinked rapidly, her eyes glassy under the moonlight. She sniffed loudly, her bottom lip wobbling as she added, “Please! He’s all I got!”

Silence fell between Mercy and Bambi as the latter glanced at the bear. It hunkered down, pained tension wrought along its furry form.

“If that bear is your dad, can’t he just…” Bambi waved a hand, trying to find the right words as both the girl and bear stared at her. “Can’t he turn back into a human?”

“If he shifts back, the bullet might go somewhere vital if it didn’t go clean through,” Mercy sniffed once more as she explained, unshed tears making her voice tremble. Bambi frowned, realizing the girl must have been told or experienced this happening before to have such an answer at the ready. A twinge of guilt flickered through Bambi, recalling how the girl said Zeke was all she had.

The exhausting night was beginning to catch up to Bambi. From being kidnapped to escaping Duke to now. Everything felt unreal and that made a precursor of a headache throb at her temples. Pinching at her nose, Bambi sighed and tried to decide what to do.

What would she do if it was normal for people to shift into animals? To believe humans turned into furry brethren? Would she let a child inspect her father’s gunshot wound?

No, she would not.

With a sigh, Bambi’s hand lowered as she inclined her head to Mercy. “If your dad is okay with it, I’ll take a look at it?”

The bear – Zeke, Bambi reminded herself despite the surrealness of the thought – gave what sounded like a grudging grunt, to which Mercy translated, “He says fine.”

Bambi swallowed as the hulking behemoth turned toward her, still on its – his – rear legs. She took an awkward step closer, as if testing to see if he was simply trying to trick her. When the bear held still, she closed the distance further. Red stained and matted the white fur on his side, under the arm that had struck out at Duke. The coppery tang of blood thickened the closer she got to Zeke, mingling with a sweet woodsy musk.

“I’m going to check to see if it went through, alright?” Bambi heard herself say as she reached and grabbed the bear’s right arm, making certain it stayed aloft as she moved around its side. Her fingers deftly felt through its fur, against its side, tracking bullet and shrapnel. Beneath her touch, the bear’s muscles felt tense and she worried he was in far more pain than he let on.

Her concern flared when she realized there was no exit wound.

“Well, shit. It didn’t go through. We’ll have to dig the fragments out, unless you got a medicine man you’d rather go to?” Bambi peered around the bear’s arm, eyebrow quirking. “Or maybe you prefer a vet?”

The bear gave a disgruntled snort, pressing their held-aloft arm down against Bambi as if to squish her down. The motion was a familiar one, she realized, as memories of a more human-looking Zeke playfully using shorter peers as armrests flickered in her thoughts.

Bambi scoffed, ducking away from bear Zeke’s arm to turn to Mercy. “Is your home close to here?”

“It’s a ways off…” The girl’s worried gaze flicked from the woman to her bear father.

Undeterred, Bambi’s mind traipsed to the next possible solution. “Do you have a first aid kit in your pack?”

Mercy brightened up and nodded as she swung her backpack off her shoulder, quickly rummaging through it. Soon, she procured a kit, which Bambi soon realized was a typical Hartwell hodgepodge of first aid supplies and more. Thankfully, there was a headlamp, alcohol wipes, gloves, tweezers, and – if things got rough in cleaning the wound – a pocketknife.

It took some positioning, but soon Bambi was standing beside a seated white bear, headlamp strapped to her head and bright light pouring over the wound. Mercy lingered at the edges of Bambi’s vision, but she didn’t have the heart to tell the girl to back off further. She had a right to be nervous.

Under the headlamp, the red blood stood out in stark contrast to the white fur. Despite years of handling her own children’s boo-boos and even some of Duke’s own ill-though injuries, Bambi’s stomach churned lightly. Steeling herself, she snapped a pair of gloves onto her hands and began working – as gently as possible – with the tweezers.

“Looks like you packed on some pounds since high school, Zeke,” Bambi heard herself say, more to distract herself than the bear flinching under her penetrating tweezers.

He growled in response, though that may have been because a particularly large shard of bullet had come free with a squelch.

“Mhmn, well, parenthood will do that to you. I got two of my own, and I’m sure that shows,” Bambi laughed, patting the curve of her side with the less bloodied glove, illustrating how much softer and squishier she had become since high school. “I suppose Mercy has told you about Casey, though.”

The two girls hung out a lot and Bambi had hosted a number of sleepovers that Mercy, along with other girls, attended. Though Mercy’s own home had been oddly off-limits for hangouts. Bambi supposed she could guess why that was, after seeing Zeke like this.

A gnarl of a grumble was Zeke’s response, to which Bambi couldn’t begin to parse.

“Mercy’s always a joy to have ‘round. She’s sweet and well-mannered. Well, as well-mannered as kids can be,” she continued on, undeterred by the conversationally-stilted partner. She’d had plenty of years navigating single-sided conversations with Duke. “She’s been raised well.”

Something in Zeke’s body language softened, or so Bambi thought. There was no time to dwell on the realization as her medical auto-pilot trudged forward, “I’m not finding anything else, so I’m going to use the alcohol wipes now. Might sting some.”

And once again, the bear tensed as Bambi brushed the wipes over the wound. Her gaze angled up to his maw, watching how he clenched his teeth. A slight expulsion of air hissed between his fearsome sharp canines. Guilt swam up Bambi’s thoughts, but she had little change to apologize when Mercy popped up at her elbow. “Is he gonna be okay, Mizz Bambi?”

“I think so. I think I cleaned out all the bullet bits and sanitized it the best I can with what’s here,” she answered as she pressed her hand to the bear’s side, trying to feel if here were any errant shards left. For the first time, Bambi tilted her head full up toward the bear. “How do you feel?”

It was strange to be asking a polar bear such a question. Just looking at the furry head with its dark eyes and dark nose, knowing the heft and weight of its arm alone, she couldn’t believe he wasn’t just a bear. But there was something else there in its eyes, she thought. A more familiar understanding as it cocked its head, the round ears twitching a little straighter.

Letting out a low chesty huff, the bear shifted slightly, as if testing a strained muscle. He made another sound to which Mercy piped up with concern, “You sure?”

There was another chesty rumble before the bear melted in front of Bambi’s eyes. Though melt was, perhaps, too much. The bear shrank, muscles compacted and bones shifted. A sound unlike anything Bambi could described paired with the change.

With wide eyes, Bambi watched as fur crept to a more human formation; a scattering of hair across dark muscular arms and a barrel chest, then a trail of hair that dived down a rounded plush abdomen and dipped somewhere Bambi’s eyes shouldn’t linger. But getting into trouble was a bad habit and old habits die hard.

“You’re naked,” Bambi gasped, jerking her eyes away from the nude male specimen in front of her.

“You ‘n I both know you ain’t no innocent, Bambi Barker,” rasped Zeke, his voice as deep and full of gravel as she remembered. She leveled a glare on the man, but he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I sure hope you ain’t still Missus Walker.”

“Bite your tongue, Zeke Clements! It’s been Barker for a couple of years now. You should know that. The town hasn’t grown that big.” The fact Duke had been chasing her through the woods with a shot gun should have been another hint, but she set that aside for the moment.

Bambi faintly realized Zeke had a thick curly beard – something she had missed when staring at the rest of him, she realized – which made the flush on her cheeks tingle with more than annoyance. The hair on his head was also white, like his body hair, she noticed.

Her eyes followed the bounce of his textured curls, now an enticing voluminous mass that haloed around his head and fell down the back of his shoulders. In high school, he’d kept his hair relatively short. Not so short she wasn’t familiar with his curls, but definitely shorter than he now wore. Students of color had always been hit with dress code violations for their hair, she recalled.

Mercy trotted over to a tree, where a backpack Bambi had not previously noticed sat. Grabbing the pack, Mercy shoved it at her dad and shot him a peeved look. He held the bag in front of himself, offering some blessed level of censor as he pulled out clothes. “I keep to myself these days.”

“I suppose that’s easy if you hibernate most the winter,” mused Bambi as she turned off the headlamp and leaned against a tree. She watched as he pulled on a pair of jeans, catching sight of his bullet wound. Amazingly, despite shrinking from bear to human, the injury didn’t look terrible. In fact, if Bambi didn’t know better, she would have thought he was shot a few days ago, rather than less than an hour ago.

Could he heal quicker than humans? Wasn’t that a trait in werewolves or something?

As Bambi wondered about the mechanics of lycanthropy to – what would it be called for a bear shifter? ursathropy? – she missed a muscle ticking in Zeke’s jaw. “Mercy, you should go back to the truck.”

Focusing back in on the other two, Bambi noticed Mercy seemed about ready to argue, but Zeke’s cross expression and his glare made her shoulders slump. Without another word, she stomped back through the forest the way she came, her own pack once again hanging from her shoulders.

Quietly, Bambi watched as the girl retreated, hoping she didn’t have far to go in the dark. Although, that made Bambi wonder if Mercy inherited any of Zeke’s furry genes, if that was what it was, and if she happened to see better in the dark than her own peers. Faintly, she tried to file through her memories of the girl, but nothing odd seemed to jump out.

Instead of trawling through memories, Bambi turned her attention back to Zeke. “Why’d you send her away?”

“Because we need to discuss a few things,” he replied, turning fully toward her after watching his daughter disappear through the trees. He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles flexing along his shoulders as he leered down at Bambi.

For a brief second, she realized she was alone with a man who could turn into a bear. Staring up at Zeke, still a behemoth as a human though smaller than the bear he had been, Bambi realized not an ounce of fear stirred in her chest. All she could see was the young man he’d been in high school. Hot-headed, oddly sweet, gruff.

It was probably exhaustion, she thought. She wasn’t afraid because she was just bone tired. Also, she was fighting against the shock and surreality of everything that had happened over the last few hours. From Duke’s harebrained scheme to the revelation about Zeke.

Yeah, that had to be it, she decided, as she stared silently up at the intimidating man.

[yukioos]

ESPRESSO (BED CHEM PT2)

SUMMARY: viktor x reader // you awake from loud bangs at the end of the hallway. spooked, you cautiously walk down just to see it was jayce and viktor with their working hextech, and a not so happy professor heimdinger.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi guysss!! requests for jayce, mel, and viktor are now open! i might start writing for other arcane character soon. sorry this took so long to post 💗 also tysm for 300 followers! i never knew bed chem would blow up so much :) i appreciate all the love and support! kinda feel like i should make a part 3 but im not sure yet🤭🤭 this is 1.4k words

WARNINGS: cussing, not proofread

TAGS: @th3stup1dcat @aise-30 @22carolina08 @sarahskywalker-amidala @novausstuff @sseleniaa @blueesmiski @coffeemin @na0mii03

loud bangs awake you from your sleep. you jump up, feeling startled by the intense noise. you grumble from your comfortable bed and give in, throwing your luxury covers off your body.

cool air quickly envelopes your frame, and you swing your legs over the side of your bed, laying your feet on the cold floor. you shiver at the feeling, then slip on your fuzzy slippers, meant for walking during cold mornings.

enforcers must be at the place of disturbance. you wouldn’t know what to do if they aren’t already dealing with the problem. after picking up a coat from a hanger, you quickly walk to the noise.

unpredictably, the enforcers were the individuals causing the disruption. professor heimerdinger stands in the middle of the two men dressed in dark blue. you stand at a safe distance, watching the enforcers pound on the door, observing the moment.

loud buzzing and crackling is heard from inside the lab, and blue light shines through the cracks of the door. you remember what you said to the two men just a couple of hours ago. hopefully, jayce and viktor haven’t done anything too dangerous.

the double door suddenly blasts open, and pieces of wood fly in various directions. a bright, blue ray of light explodes in the professor and enforcers’ way. you hide behind a nearby wall and cover your head, expecting the worst. but when hardly any destruction occurs, you peek around the wall.

the yordle warns, “excuse me, underfoot,” causing the enforcers to unshield their faces and stare in awe at the sight in front of them.

viewing their stances, you walk behind them and take a peek into the laboratory. viktor and jayce float around a blue ball of energy. jayce chuckles and taps a gadget into the ball of energy, and it goes right through. viktor catches it from the other side and begins giggling like a child as he makes swimming motions.

the professor stares up at the sight. his ears droop and he undoubtedly states, “you’ve actually done it.” his ears flop up, and he fidgets with his hands, “but just because it can be done, doesn’t mean…” he looks up, “will you please stop hovering?”

the cute brunette continues to move in the air, he jokes, “i’m not sure how to do that, sir.”

you giggle, placing a hand over your mouth, and the enforcers cautiously turn around. you place your finger to your mouth, silently commanding them to say nothing about your appearance.

the professor nervously adds, “this is not what piltover’s future looks like, my dear boys.” he looks behind him, a worried expression on his face, as if he’s about to break down in tears. his eyes meet yours, and he jumps, “ah! councilor l/n, what are you doing here… at this time? it’s late, you should be sleeping!”

you quickly come up with an excuse, “i apologize, professor. i couldn’t rest, so i was planning to take a trip to the garden. i thought, perhaps it would calm my nerves.”

you smile at the enforcers, and they clear their way to make a path for you. you peer into the inside of the room, eyes widening in shock. you mumble, “woah,” the sight is one of the most beautiful you’ve ever seen.

nothing could compare to this moment. this moment will be remembered in history. the blue light shines all across the room, and people float for the first time with nothing to stand on! best of all, viktor and jayce will get accreditation for this work and dedication to their hextech project.

you lock eyes with viktor just to realize his eyes were on you the whole time. warmth somehow reaches your body in the cold academy, and you still manage to ask, “how did you do this so quickly?”

“we…” viktor starts answering, not knowing how to continue without sounding stupid in front of a well-known figure and beautiful woman, “we cranked it,” he chuckles along with jayce.

you have no idea what the hell he’s talking about, but damn, does he look attractive. his eye bags are dark under his eyes. you suppose he spends most of his night working on scientific research, and his messy hair flows in the air, most likely ruining his hair from the explosion.

his white vest has stains on it, maybe from drinking tea to keep himself awake. but viktor appears as if he’s close to passing out, so you ask, “are you aware of how to get down, gentlemen?”

jayce looks at his partner, probably trying to check in with him, “maybe turn the dial to the left?”

viktor shrugs and states, “worth a shot.”

you walk to the dial and ask the two men if you’re near the correct one. you slowly turn it left, anxiously waiting for something terrible to happen, or for one of them to command you to halt your movement.

the two brunettes suddenly drop at a quick speed, yelling at the unexpected scene. you move at lightning speed, running to the closest man, as the two enforcers run to the other. you half-catch the taller, lean man, his feet on the ground as you hold his waist for security.

he stares at you for a few moments as his face flushes, he mumbles, “thank you, councilor l/n.” and smiles at you, eyes darting from you to his cane, lying on the ground.

his arm lays around your shoulder, and you bring him close to a desk he can lean on. without a word, you step over to his handmade cane and pick up the delicate material, placing it in his hand. he thanks you once again.

you come up with an idea and grin to yourself. you politely ask, “are you two free tomorrow? i would like to talk about the future of piltover and what you have planned for what you will do with the hextech next.”

jayce brushes off his pants and places his hand on his chin before smirking, “actually! i have to uhh—“ he stutters, attempting to come up with an excuse, “i’m hanging out with caitlyn. i’m afraid i can’t make it, councilor l/n.”

you drown and politely reword your sentence, “perhaps we can reschedule a time so you can come—“

“oh, no! that isn’t necessary, please do not worry about it. i’m sure viktor can tell me everything you’ll talk about with him.” jayce winks at the shorter brunette. he gives him a sharp glare back.

“i am free of events tomorrow. where should we meet? and at what time, councilor?” viktor asks, trying to appear formal and proper in front of you.

“how about we discuss it at celine’s around twelve? it’s just six blocks past the academy.”

he smiles and looks down at you, “that would be perfect,” his freckles stand out to you so much.

you take a moment to remember his face before sighing, “it’s late. we should all be going to bed.”

many agrees and chuckles at shears from around you, and you smile and wave at the three scientists and two enforcers. as you step through the hallway, you jump and cheer, pumping your fist in the air. you practically get to go on a date with viktor tomorrow!

once he and jayce are the only individuals in the room, viktor leans on the desk and places his head in his hands, groaning. he isn’t ready to talk to you one-on-one yet.

jayce rolls his eyes, “what’s wrong? i just gave you a pass to be alone with her— for hours. that’s the perfect time to get to know her.”

“what am i supposed to talk about, jayce? you know i’m not the best at conversations or communicating, what makes you think i can talk to a person i’m interested in?” he complains, gently hitting his head with his wrist.

“it’ll come to you when you’re ready.”

“that isn’t helpful at all,” viktor side eyes the taller man, who just shrugs and tells him goodnight.

as viktor walks back to his room, even as he brushes his teeth, puts on his sleep clothes, all he can think about is impressing you tomorrow. maybe jayce is right, maybe he just doesn’t know how he’d talk to you now.

[mymindisneverhere]

warnings: 18+, SMUT, dirty talk, unprotected sex, & more but don’t say I ain’t warn you.

Summary: Aaron is head of an architect firm who just hired a new assistant who is very nervous yet severely attracted to him.

(this is my first time writing one of these but I had to cause this man got me in a chokehold. enjoy!) 🩵

Assistance

She watched as his back muscles flexed with every rep. He had been exercising for the past 30 minutes and she didn’t want to interrupt but this was an emergency. Meagan had been Mr. Pierre’s assistant for 3 months now and she was enjoying her time with him. He was a kind yet stern gentleman who took his business endeavors very seriously. He needed her to send the final blueprints of a new building his architect firm would be preparing to build this coming fall. The deadline was in an hour and there were still bits and pieces of information missing. She knew how much this meant to her boss but she also knew how much his private workout routines meant to him as well.

She didn't mean to stare but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his glistening body. This man was sculpted by the creator themselves. Every muscle flexed perfectly and the veins in his arms went well with his masculine physique. She studied his movements as he brought both of his arms up and down above his head, doing what they called “Shoulder Press”. After a few more reps he slammed the dumbbells down and leaned forward to catch his breath. She had been in such a trance that she didn’t notice him looking up to see her staring in the mirror.

“Do you like your job?” He asked in a stern tone.

”Uh y-yes.” She stammered, shaking her head to bring herself back into the present moment, pushing her curly hair behind her ears.

”Then I suggest you get back to it then.” He stated, reaching for a towel and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Um, Mr. Pierre sir, th-there are a few details missing from the blueprints. We h-have an hour and uh, I-I didn’t want to send them t-to the contractors until-“ She stuttered. She hated when this happened. She’d get so nervous that her words would struggle to leave her mouth. She always struggled with her speech impediment since a child but it had gotten better over the years, that is until she met Mr. Pierre.

He walked over to her grabbing the papers from her hand reviewing the layouts of the new fine arts museum that would be built right in the center of downtown. As he looked over the paperwork the two sat in silence. Well he was silent but he could hear her struggling to breathe as he stood a few inches away from her. He made her nervous and he liked it. It wasn’t anything new to him though.

Being the man that he was with a million dollar business caused women to gawk at the sight of him. What he didn’t enjoy about these women were the ones who were obviously bothered by his presence but chose to put on a front. He knew that he could be intimidating and he hadn’t done it on purpose. But the women who tried so hard to match his aura always failed tremendously. The over talking, over sexualizing themselves, practically throwing themselves at him when they weren’t even prepared for the type of man he was, irritated him.

But his assistant, Meagan, was a different story. She’d get nervous from time to time when speaking with him but she’d never force herself to hide it. He’d notice that she’d take a few deep breaths, take a sip of water and then get right back to it like she never missed a beat. He liked that. He had to admit watching her struggle around him fed his ego a bit.

He looked to her and handed her the papers, giving her the corrections to make before sending it off to be finalized.

“Is that all?” He asked, staring down at her with a stern expression.

“Yes sir, thank you.” She grabbed the papers with a steady hand, slowly to be sure she didn’t drop them or make it obvious that he had her shook. She placed the folder with the paperwork under her arm and turned to leave his in-home gym.

He stood watching her walk away, admiring her natural body from her defined hips that slightly dipped into deep dimples to her voluptuous ass. No matter how many pairs of tights she’d wear, they would never stop the natural jiggle that happened when she’d walk. He felt his dick jump in his workout tights and he knew he had to have her. He immediately grabbed his phone and made his way to his bedroom to shower.

Meagan sat at the kitchen island, her fingers going a mile a minute as she sent email after email. They had done it, they had just secured the lot for the new Museum of Fine Arts and this meant Mr. Pierre would have a large check coming to him very soon. This was her first big win as his assistant and she couldn’t decide how she would celebrate. Although she couldn’t focus on celebrating because every time she did, images of him flashed in her mind. Images of him in the gym, images of him staring down at his sketches for the new buildings, images of him fucking her-

“Did you get it to them on time?” He asked, interrupting her thoughts. She silently thanked him before responding.

“Uh yes sir.” She replied. She turned the laptop toward him so he could see for himself. “Everything is confirmed, the deal is done!” She said looking up at him. Her eyes were so soft and pleading, almost childlike. It’s like she wanted to impress him badly. She wanted to finally get the approval she had been working for these past 3 months.

“Good job.” He said dryly.

She frowned a bit, somewhat in confusion and frustration. What was with this guy? She had just helped him secure one of the biggest deals for his firm and all he could say was “Good job”. She turned the laptop back toward her and went back to doing her daily emailing.

As she confirmed meetings and lunches for him she tried to sneak a peek at him but he was already staring at her. She didn’t know what this meant but she was afraid she’d be in the unemployment line real soon. He didn’t say anything, he just stared at her. When the silence went on for longer than she expected her mind went into overdrive. She couldn’t be getting fired, they had just closed a 7 figure deal, but she did overstep a boundary by going into his gym without his permission. But it was an emergency, hell it was for his business. He couldn’t have been that much of an asshole.

”Look Mr. Pierre, I-I’m sorry about coming into the g-gym without your permission. I just d-didnt want to mess up y-your b-big-“ She struggled to get out before he interrupted her.

”Breathe.” He suggested.

She stared down at her hands as she took a few deep breaths before mustering up the courage to meet his stern gaze again.

“You’re not in trouble.” He said, calming her mind first and her body second. He studied her as he watched her chest rise up and down slowly. Her jaw became unclenched and her shoulders more relaxed.

He looked down at his watch to see the time was nearly 11p.m., it was too late to send her on her way. He had enough bedrooms in this house, she could just pick one to rest for the night and be on her way in the morning.

“I don’t want you driving back home so late tonight.” He spoke.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It’s no prob-“

”That’s an order.” He interrupted. “I wouldn’t be a man if I let you leave so late, I know you have a far drive to make.”

She nodded, refusing to look him in the eye.

“You know your way around the house, you can stay in a guest suite tonight.” He said before leaving the kitchen. “Great job by the way.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

“You’ll be around for a while so get comfortable.” He finished, leaving her in the kitchen alone.

Once she heard his footsteps become silent, indicating that he was no longer within ears reach, she jumped up in celebration. That is exactly what she wanted to hear.

”Yes!” She yelled, covering her mouth. She giggled to herself as she grabbed her laptop off of the island and made her way up to one of the guest suites.

After placing her things in the chair that sat near the window, she unbuttoned her dress shirt and kicked off her heels. She chose to stay in the guest suite on the far west wing of the house, it was in the opposite wing from his bedroom. She walked into the large bathroom that was attached to the suite and turned on the lights. She looked over to see a walk in shower and a large garden tub. She had chosen to take a shower instead, she was already a guest in his house, the last thing she needed to do was spend hours in his bathtub.

She turned on the faucet, pulling it all the way left to get the water as hot as possible. That was the only way she’d take showers. Closing the shower door, she walked over to the mirror to continue removing her clothes while the water warmed to her liking. She got down to her bra and panties, a matching set, as she admired her reflection. When she unbuttoned her bra, causing her natural 34 C’s to drop a bit, the images began to flash in her mind. Only this time she had imagined Mr. Pierre in the bathroom with her, staring at her with those icy blue eyes that sent chills down her spine.

This made her pussy tingle. The thought of her tall, broad shouldered, smooth skin, no nonsense boss staring at her with pure hunger and desire. Him touching all over her body, feeling her breasts in his big hands, feeling his soft lips on her neck. Her fantasies were making her wet but it was fine because she would hop right in the shower to wash her lustful thoughts away.

She stepped out of her panties and into the shower, letting the hot water run down her body. Her hands ran up and down her figure as she tried hard to stop the fantasies of her boss joining her in the shower. She had pictured what he’d look like naked a few times, she had already gotten half of the picture today when she saw him shirtless. His toned arms, each one covered in a single tattoo, his chiseled chest, his brown nipples, his defined abs and that V cut that she had stared down at while he reviewed the blueprints. She knew that V cut led to a heavy dick, carved with thick veins and a head that would feel soft against her lips.

She was so deep in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized that her hands had been playing in her pussy. Her middle finger and ring finger toyed with her clit as her hands began to wrinkle from the wetness her boss had brought her and he didn’t even know. As she played with her pussy she imagined his tongue there.

“Fuck.” She had let out a moan, sure that she wouldn’t be heard. She was positive that the water would drown out her cries.

“You feel so good in my pussy Mr. Pierre.” She said aloud, not worried about being heard by him or the house keepers. “Eat this pussy Daddy.”

She moaned and groaned, begging and pleading for her boss to make her cum until she came all over his face in her mind, her fingers in reality. After a few breaths she opened her eyes to realize where she was and that she needed to get clean so she could get some sleep.

A few minutes passed and the water was turned off. She stepped out of the shower, one foot at a time before realizing she had no towel to dry off with. She searched through the drawers in the sink vanity and found nothing but toothbrushes and toothpaste. Not a towel in sight.

“Shit.” She said to herself. She needed to dry off but stepping outside of this bathroom uncovered was too much of a risk for her. She didn’t even want to think of being caught by the house keepers let alone her boss. She sat thinking for a few minutes, contemplating on whether or not she should just air dry and slip on the pajama sets he had stored in the nightstand next to the bed. She hated air drying in the bathroom though, it was so wet and humid, she needed to get out of there.

Once she remembered his beautiful mansion came with intercoms in each room she figured she'd just politely ask for some towels to be left outside of the door. Finally satisfied with her plan, she headed for the bathroom door. When she swung the door open her heart sank as she met his blue eyes first. Her boss, Mr. Pierre stood on the other side of the door staring down at her.

Panic was written all over her face as she remembered she had just orgasmed to the thought of him eating her. She had called out his name and many other things, confident that she wouldn’t be heard. But by the look on his face, she knew he had heard everything.

“I remembered the housekeepers didn’t stock this bathroom with towels, so I thought I’d bring you some.” He started, still staring down at her with those beautiful eyes, that seem to change to a light hazel color now. He walked into the bathroom causing her to step back until her back hit the wall near the shower.

“Did you need me for something?” He smirked, towering over her. Her 5’4 frame didn’t stand a chance under his 6’3 build.

She stood there speechless, she didn’t know what to say. She was too embarrassed to speak. No matter how hard he stared at her, she refused to meet his eyes. So she stood staring at his chest, his muscular and defined chest.

“I- um, I- was j-“ She struggled, this time understandably.

He bent down, burying his face into her neck, sucking on her vanilla scented skin. She was still so caught off guard, not coming to terms with the fact that her fantasies were coming true in real time. He dropped the towels and reached down to grab her legs, wrapping them around his waist. He sucked and licked on her neck, planting kisses all over her.

“Sir, I-I didn’t m-mean to-“ She stuttered, struggling to breathe correctly or at all.

“Don’t be nervous now.” He mumbled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “This what you wanted right?” He pulled her off of the wall and sat her on the bathroom sink.

“Um…” She managed.

“Right?” He asked, looking into her eyes, demanding a response.

She looked up at him before taking a deep breath and responding “Yes.”

“Yes what?” He asked, still staring intensely at her.

“Yes sir.” She breathed.

He smirked. He enjoyed having women at his mercy but this woman was different. He didn’t expect her to be pleasuring herself to the thought of him. She appeared innocent and sweet but that was clearly a front. She craved him just as much as he craved her.

He looked down at her freshly waxed pussy still glistening as a result of her own pleasures. He licked his lips as he admired the sight of her body in front of him. He didn’t know where to start, he just knew he didn’t want to go wrong with this masterpiece that sat waiting to be devoured by him.

She looked down at his sweatpants and saw his print. She wanted so badly to find out what he felt like, what he tasted like, how his dick would feel hitting the back of her throat. Without hesitation she stood from the sink and dropped to her knees. She ran her fingers around his waist before pulling his pants down, coming face to face with his dick. It was exactly how she imagined, thick, brown and beautiful. She grabbed his length with her hand, noticing the precum that sat right at the head.

She licked the sweet cum off of him, locking eyes with her boss as she did so. He was taken aback at the sight of his once nervous and jittery assistant who was now bold and fearless. He was used to being the dominant in the situation, he would have his women responding to his touch and the feeling of his tongue in their pussy. But this night was a total 180, he found himself being the subject of a woman who had dreamed of devouring him months ago.

She licked the entirety of his dick before taking him into her mouth, wrapping her lips around his hardness. She jerked her neck back and forth, her tongue rubbing against the bottom of his dick so that he could feel only the wetness and warmth of her mouth. She sucked and slurped, moaning out of pure satisfaction and enjoyment. She watched as his face frowned in pure bliss. He had placed his hands on her head to help guide her but she didn’t need any guidance. She could tell by the look on his face he wanted something more, but he was in too much ecstasy to bring himself to say it.

“Fuck my face.” She said, rubbing the head of his penis against her full lips that were covered in spit. She liked the fact that she was watching her super tough super masculine boss fold at her touch, it was all because of her.

He tightened the grip on her head and forced himself into her mouth touching the back of her throat. She relaxed the muscles in her neck so that he could get better access, all the access he hoped for. He fucked her face, pumping in and out of her mouth pausing when he got all of himself into her. This caused her to gag slightly, building more saliva in her mouth which would make for an even better experience. He thrusted his hips back and forth, pausing between strokes to trigger her gag reflex. He loved the sound of her struggling to take all of him in. The more she gagged, the more tears built in her eyes. Before she knew it, the tears had fallen and the spit that built in her throat and ran down her neck onto her breasts.

This sight caused him to clench his jaw reluctantly. His assistant who he perceived as innocent had turned into a slut all because of him. The way she moaned as if she was the one being pleasured, the way her eyes would roll into her head and then focused back into his, hedidn’t want to cum just yet but the way she locked eyes with while he fucked her pretty face sent him over the edge. How she sat and took in every inch of him without tapping out made him let out a loud groan before sending his nut down her throat.

”Fuuuuuck!” He groaned, holding her head in place as he rode out his orgasm. She sat still as he struggled to catch his breath, her eyes still locked onto his. He pulled out of her and took a few breaths, still coming down from his climax. She swallowed every single drop of him.

“Stand up.” He demanded, his voice deep and impatient.

She stood with a slight smirk on her face, proud of her performance. In a swift motion she spun around facing the mirror as he kicked her legs open and slightly bent her over the sink. His hand was still wrapped tightly around her curls so this sudden change in position was all his doing. He pressed himself into her ass while he eyed her through the mirror. He could see that this had caught her off guard, the ball was now back in his court. He stared down at her ass, biting his lip in anticipation.

“Don't get nervous now.” She said, eyeing him through the mirror, a small smirk on her face again.

Without warning he pushed himself into her slowly until all of him was inside of her, every single inch. She let out a small wince from pain from the size of his dick. It had been a while since she’d had any, let alone one this size. With a hand full of curls in his left hand, he pulled her head back wrapping the other around her throat as he began to fuck her from behind. The sound of her ass slapping against him and the wetness from her pussy sent her into another realm. It was so good, better than she’d imagined.

He stroked her pussy, barely tightening the grip he had on her lower jaw. He pulled in and out of her, slamming himself into her with a quick thrust and then returning back to his steady pace. As he began to roll his hips into her, he saw her face twist in complete pleasure.

”Is this how you wanted it?” He said into her ear.

“Mhmm.” She replied, still so caught up in the pleasure she was getting from him.

“Use your words.” He said, tightening the hold he had on her hair.

“Yes sir.” She quickly responded.

“Good girl.” He spoke into her ear.

She felt him moving in and out of her, his dick hitting every spot with every stroke. She could feel the head of his dick rub against her spot over and over again. It was only a matter of time before she would cum all over him like she had imagined for months. The more he spoke into her ear, the crazier he was driving her. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. His deep and calm tone right in her ear sent sensations to her clit, it was so swollen that it damn near stung from pleasure.

“You gone cum on this dick for me?” He asked, tightened the grip he had around her neck.

“Yes!” That was all she could manage at the moment.

“Cum on this dick baby.” He said into her ear, still hitting that spot that made her eyebrows wrinkle in pleasure.

She could feel her stomach tightening and pussy began to contract around him, she was cumming.

“Yes daddy, I’m cummin’” She yelled out in pleasure. He continued stroking her, feeling her creamy goodness run down his dick and onto his balls. He wanted all of her, he wouldn’t leave her until she was completely undone. He slowed his pace giving her time to come down from her orgasm before he made her cum again.

After a few long and slow strokes, he gradually picked up his pace aiming for another climax from her.

“Oh fuck yes!” She cried out. She had never cum multiple times in one day. For her orgasms to be back to back like this, there was no way she would ever meet anyone else who would top him.

”Give me that shit.” He spat, his lips brushing her earlobe. He needed his demands to send blood rushing right to her pussy.

”Yes!” She screamed, cumming all over him once again. Her clit jumped as her pussy throbbed naturally after her second orgasm. Even after that powerful flood that ran down her legs, he still hadn’t stopped stroking.

“I can’t.” She said, pleading for him to let her come down.

“Yes you can.” He said, now picking up the pace. His strokes became harder and faster, this time it was his turn to become undone and he wasn’t stopping until he did so. He fucked her like he was running a marathon and he could see the finish line a few feet away.

“Please.” She begged. Her hearing was starting to fade and breathing was becoming harder and harder by the second. On one hand she wanted a break, she needed a break from all of this back to back pleasure. But for some reason she didn’t want him to stop, she could feel his dick throb in her pussy. She knew he was about to cum and she wanted to have the last laugh.

“I’m almost there baby.” He said, his eyes closed as he felt the nut build in his lower abdomen. She watched in amazement as his face turned in pleasure. She took this opportunity to watch him fold yet again.

“Cum in my pussy daddy.” She moaned.

That was it. He leaned forward, placing his lips on her neck, closing his eyes even tighter than before. He grinded deeply into her until he felt his muscles in his stomach flex.

”Fuck!” He groaned into her neck as he shot his cum deep into her pussy. He stroked forcefully until he felt all of himself empty inside of her, before stopping and letting go of her hair.

There they rested against the bathroom counter struggling to catch their breath, holding onto each other for dear life. After a few minutes they both opened their eyes and stared at each other through the mirror.

“Sleep in my room tonight.” He began. “Or you’re fired.” He finished, pulling himself out of her and leaving the room.

She felt her knees buckle as she struggled to keep herself upright.

”I love my job.” She said to herself.

(I hope y’all liked it 😭 excuse any mistakes)

🩵

[ledesaid]

Billy body-swaps #2

╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║╝╗║

Billy is Robin.

Not really, but tonight he is.

He expected to be Batman or Superman by now, but he doesn't complain—not at all.

Actually, he's enjoying every second. Gotham City is darker and more eerie than any story he has ever heard.

But he doesn't complain about the city... not at all.

Maybe a little about its inhabitants; he didn't expect to be caught so soon by Poison Ivy and Swamp Thing.

But Billy thinks it's unfair that they didn't give him a minute while he was discovering what was in each compartment of his belt.

Ivy: Who is Batman?

Billy: Obviously, Batman is Batman.

Swamp Thing: Shouldn't your truth pollen be working?

Ivy: Yes, it should...

An additional dose and a calm Billy afterward...

Ivy: What is Batman's secret identity?

Billy: I don't know.

Ivy: What is your secret identity, Robin?

Billy: I don't know.

Ivy: It's your own name! How can you not know it?!

Billy: I don't know.

Swamp Thing: Where is the bats' base?

Billy: I don't know, probably in a cave or in a belfry...

Ivy: Can you be more specific?

Billy: I can't... I don't watch NatGeo.

Swamp Thing: I told you the spores weren't mature yet.

A discussion between them prevented them from noticing how a masked figure slipped through the shadows. What they did feel were a series of blows and sedatives.

...: Robin, you know the rules. Why did you go out alone?

Billy: I don't have an answer, Batman, sir, Batman...

Batman: You are...

Billy: I'm glad to see you again, Mr. Batman, sir!

Batman: ...

Batman turns on his communicator.

Batman: Superman, release Gardner... This time it's Robin.

Billy can't help but laugh, but averts his gaze when Batman looks at him directly and doesn't question the ride in the Batmobile.

The Batmobile!

In just one hour, Billy has fulfilled one of every child's dreams.

He's in the Batcave!

He tries not to seem anxious or excited, but it's impossible...

Billy: A dinosaur!

Batman: Don't touch anything.

Billy: And a giant coin!

Batman: Don't touch anything.

Billy: The Bat-jet!

Batman: Don't...!

Alfred: This must be the guest you mentioned, sir.

Billy: And you have your own Bat-butler!

Alfred: He resembles the young masters when they first arrived... How old is he, if I may ask?

Billy: I'm ten; I'll turn eleven in two weeks.

Alfred: Oh, dear.

The sound of the computer keyboard stopped upon hearing certain words.

Batman: You're a child?

Billy: Yes.

Billy covered his own mouth when it spoke without permission. Right, the truth pollen. Batman seems to notice it, but Alfred fortunately interrupts the chain of thoughts.

Alfred: I don't think it's the time, sir.

Billy: I agree with him.

The severe look from the older man makes Batman return to typing on the computer. Billy didn't expect to witness someone more dangerous than Batman. This super-butler is incredible!

Batman: Marvel, we'll continue this conversation in two weeks.

Billy: Yes, Batman, sir.

Alfred: Would you like a cup of chocolate or cookies while you wait?

Billy: Both, please!

--------

Part 1 | U are here | Part 3 | Part 4

[reiding-writing]

Hi 💜 can i pretty please request a fem!Reader where she looks younger than she actually is and people are often condescending to her but bf spence always has our back

(under)qualified [ s.r ]

WARNINGS: fem!reader, ageism, dick of a character that i made up, reader gets angry

spencer reid x cold!reader | hurt/comfort? | 2.1k |

series masterlist!!

a/n: so i unintentionally self projected on this and it ended up as an unintentional sequel to my cold!reader fic sorry 😭🫶

main masterlist!!

“Yes I understand that but if you’d just let me-“ Your attempt is immediately shut down by the man in front of you raising his hand like you’re a child who’s spoken out of turn.

You’d been trying for almost forty five minutes to reason with him, but every single thing that you said was dismissed like you were asking him for cookies after bed time instead of putting your two cents forward as a qualified psychologist on the mental state that the unsub you were tracking down was likely to be in.

“If you want to be useful, why don’t you go and make me a coffee? You can do that can’t you?” The look he gave you made you want to tear out your eyes so you couldn’t see him anymore and then force them down his mouth so you didn’t have to hear him anymore.

You swallow your pride with a clench of your fists, exhaling slowly through your nose. “…Yes Sir,”

“Splenda and skim,”

If he weren’t your superior you’d shove his splenda right up his asshole and watch it leak down his legs like a five year old who wets the bed.

You stuff the urge to slam the door on your exit into the back of your head, although you’re sure you are basically steaming from the ears by the time you reach the coffee machine.

You may well have been physically steaming from the ears if the looks from your teammates had anything to say about it.

“Something tells me she’s not getting along with Dr. Lancaster too well-“ Morgan’s assessment was met with agreement from Emily and a concerned glance in your direction from Spencer.

“Does anyone get along with him? Even Hotch can’t stand the guy,” Emily’s eyes turn towards where he stands in the conference room. “I still don’t get why he’s even here,”

“Strauss thinks he’s a valuable asset to the team-“ Spencer speaks as he stands, eyes still locked on your back as he leaves Morgan and Emily at the desk to make sure that you’re alright.

“Hey,” You look like your about to rip him to shreds as you turn towards him, although the minute you realise that it’s just Spencer and not the pain up your ass that is Dr. Lancaster your expression softens tenfold. “Are you- uh- Are you okay?”

That split second of venom in your facial features seems to knock the wind out of Spencer’s sails, and he’s increasingly glad that he’s not the one on the end of your rage.

“Oh i’m just grand,” You tone is dripping with sarcasm, and he watches as you unscrew one of the salt shakers and scoop a half teaspoon into the mug in front of you.

“Uh-” He has half the mind to question your actions, but the contempt that returns to your eyes as you turn them down to the coffee in front of you tells him that it’s most likely for the Doctor still in the conference room, and considering you were practically burning holes in everything you saw when you left the room yourself, he figured that this was you playing nice.

“You’d think that nobody under the age of fifty is allowed to have a PhD I swear-“ You don’t need any prompting to start spilling all of your anger for Spencer to hear.

“‘You’re too young to have a PhD’ he says, ‘go and make me a coffee’, oh I’ll make you a cup of coffee alright, and hopefully it’ll rot your intestines as you drink it,” You’re just rambling to yourself at this point, and Spencer purses his lips into a line as he listens to you, unsure whether to interject or just let you rant. “I’m a qualified psychologist for god’s sake, not a fucking coffee runner.”

He definitely knows how it feels to have your intelligence questioned because of your age, but in your case you weren’t even exceptionally young for your education, even if you looked a few years younger than you actually were.

You were 23 when you got your PhD. Which yes was a few years younger than the average person, didn’t make you any less qualified than someone like Dr. Lancaster who’d had his PhD for over two decades.

If anything it probably made you more qualified. Social sciences like Psychology changed all the time, and someone who was stuck in the mindset of what it was like twenty years ago would probably overlook things younger specialists would see immediately.

He guessed that was probably what was happening with you and Dr. Lancaster back in the conference room.

“Would you like me to speak with him?” Spencer’s tone carries nothing but sweetness, as well as a slight hesitation in the possibility of increasing your frustration rather than helping you quell it.

“It’s fine Reid, I’ve got it.” You tone is notably filled with much lest resentment as you turn down his offer, but he can still hear the lingering frustration in your words. He trails behind you regardless, following as you re-enter the conference room with the coffee mug held in your hand and a feigned smile on your face.

He’s sure you can handle yourself, he’s just there for backup. Just in case.

“There you are, I was starting to think you couldn’t even find your way to the coffee machine,” You force yourself to bite your tongue and just give him the coffee before retreating to the opposite side of the conference room to watch him drink it, ensuring a quick escape if he doesn’t take kindly to the salty beverage.

You could see the instant shift in his facial expression as he took the first sip, his eyes immediately turning towards you and Spencer with a disgusted look on his face. “You call this coffee? It’s disgusting.” He discards the cup on the table, glaring daggers into your forehead.

“Guess I’m not qualified enough to make it,” You shrug with an overly nonchalant expression. “You know what they say, you want something done right you gotta do it yourself,”

“You little-” Dr. Lancaster was the one steaming from the ears now, and Spencer had to step in to stop the two of you getting into a full blown argument.

“You know studies have shown that if you view something pessimistically before you experience it, you’re more likely come out with a negative opinion afterwards,” Spencer’s sentence accuses the doctor of mentally disregarding the coffee because of his distaste for you rather than the fact that you put half a teaspoon of salt in the drink.

You have to suppress a small smile at his interjection. Spencer Reid. Helping you get away with purposefully tampering with a superior’s cup of coffee because you were petty over his condescension. Who would’ve thought.

You can see Dr. Lancaster open his mouth to retort, but Spencer doesn’t give him the chance. “Is this the psychological profile you’re working on? There’s still a lot of gaps in it,”

Spencer reads the board with a raised eyebrow. Some of what’s written makes absolutely zero sense and he’s beginning to wonder whether Dr. Lancaster was even a ‘doctor’ at all. Although it was at least much easier to read than when you’d scrawl out your own profiles. But he’d leave that part out when talking to you about this later.

“You’ve ruled out the possibility of deluded fantasies as part of the MO?” That was the oddest part to Spencer. The unsub showed a clear repetitive pattern in how he’d kill his victims, making the idea of delusion the literal first thing to look into as part of their psychology. He glanced at you as you spoke and you gave him a shrug of your shoulders and a shake of your head that told him exactly how frustrating the last hour of your life had been.

“Are you questioning my decisions?” Dr. Lancaster’s voice was just as harsh to Spencer as it was to you, and you had half the mind to pour the rest of the coffee you made him over his head and hope the salt got in his eyes and blinded him.

“Well, I do have my Bachelor’s in Psychology so I feel I have an adequate knowledge on the subject, although I’m sure our psychological expert would be a better person to assess the holes in your profile,” Spencer gestures his head over to you as he speaks, and you can see the anger rise into Dr. Lancaster’s face like one of those baking soda and vinegar volcanoes.

By now your sure your smile at Spencer’s interjections is visible, and your not even sure that you’re trying to hide it anymore.

“How dare you suggest that my methods are inadequate,”

“With all due respect sir, psychology is an ever-changing science, and your… methods are not as effective as they used to be back when you used to work with the BAU twenty years ago,”

“We’re on a time limit here, so either you can work with me, or i’ll make my own profile and pitch it to Hotch separately,” You take a seat on the edge of the conference table and gesture your hands outwards.

Dr. Lancaster looked like he was about to blow a fuse, and if he was any older you’d be convinced he was about to have a heart attack and die right there in the middle of the room from rage.

He looked absolutely astounded at your tag teaming, and you’re sure that the both of you being in your early thirties whilst he was in his late sixties was not helping with the seething anger that was showing all over his face. “You two have some nerve speaking to your superior like this. I will be bringing this up to Chief Strauss, believe me.”

He didn’t give either of you the time to say anything else as he pushed past Spencer to leave the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Talk about immature, you’d think he was a child,” Your final jab is met by a small laugh from Spencer, and you shoot him a small smile of thanks that makes his cheeks heat up.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Spencer gives you that perfectly awkward endearing smile as he retreats to the door of the room and you almost melt at the sight.

He’d really gone out of his way to deal with the asshole plaguing your work to no real benefit of his own. You wouldn’t lie, it was kind of attractive seeing Spencer shut him down like that, but you’d keep that to yourself when you talked about this later.

“Spencer,”

You caught him with the door half open, hand he looked at you with the eyes of a puppy who’d just been praised for spinning in a circle rather than an FBI agent who’d been called his first name by his coworker.

His eyes were big and round and blinking softly at you, his pupils blending into the honey brown of his irises and making his gaze even more puppy dog like.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,”

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

do you fancy a quickie? word count: 2,5k cw: shameless smut, viktor is a tease (everybody act surprised), no use of y/n, reader is reffered to as spouse. what else? ah yes. semi-public sex.

art cr: @arcanescribbles. saw her viktor in formal wear and instanly knew i had to write something mentioning it. *standard 'english is not my first language please don't be mean to me' bullshit*

It felt immaculate. The languid wince of bright eyes, the smirk you were wearing — chiselled just perfectly precisely for a moment like this, as if you were an inborn heartthrob rejecting unfortunate suitors left and right — a natural, if you will. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you started from a far, making sure — patently by total accident — to casually snake a dextrous hand up your chest, resting it right above your cleavage — just where that fool’s eyes were devouring you. “But I am simply not interested. I’m married.”

You’re savoring the drop of his face when he notices the ring. You just wiped a grin off a man’s face with class — surely, that must’ve felt spectacular, and you rejoiced when he hummed — suddenly all clumsy and simply pitiful — and, with a rather impolite mumble of a sharp ‘excuse me’, walked away, leaving you all proud and unapproachable. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t ask me for a hand in a dance, gentlemen — because someone has already put a ring on it. 

You got back to chugging on your champagne, lips tightly closed around the rim of that ridiculously fancy glass, although it matched the ridiculously fancy gown you were impressing the so-called select society with tonight. And it actually worked (or so it seems),  since you managed to strike the fancy of the mentioned earlier tipsy sir, who were now pouting his lips like an offended child, turning his subtle drunkenness into a full-blown intoxication; squinting, and ranting, and swallowing yet another drink as he kept whining about your flawless rejection to a bunch of sympathetic peers. 

But you couldn’t care less — not when you were just minutes away from leaving this bougie ballroom behind, with all its curious glances and endless mingling; so many faces, when you only wanted to stare into the sharpness of one — with two moles piercing the pale canvas of skin and cheekbones hollow enough to stroke a soft finger over the lines of them, demanding a kiss. You sigh — almost dreamily in the way your head wearily leans its weight onto the back of your palm. So cliché, but who are they to blame you? Not when your husband is such a sight, and certainly not when your husband is such a sound — raspy, low, and, frankly – simply hot, and you giggle at the thought, sinking two front teeth into the pad of your thumb. 

You barely understand a word when Viktor tells the inquisitive Upsiders about the Hexclaw glove, yet still absorb each moment of his speech with tender thoroughness, because listening to him talk — about anything, really — is a privilege, one you cherished dearly and with genuine care. You were an admirer, watching him — all intelligent and so pensive, in that suit, with that raw passion in the depth of copper eyes, on that stage. And comprehension is not necessary — not when you see how talking about his inventions lights him up; so bright, that he could easily outshine the golden boy. In your loving eyes, at the very least. 

He notices when you join the round of enthusiastic applause, quietly thanking his audience for the attention — pensive and polite, so uniquely pretty in his demureness. It feels like showing him off, and that grin stretches even further across your face when he goes down the stage to walk up in your direction. 

You’re not subtle with that kiss. Pulling on his tie, shamelessly pushing your tongue into his mouth, knowing that they stare, and when Viktor — all wide-eyed and smitten — reciprocates, humming into the heat of your lips, you’re gone. He’s breathless when it’s over, arches a thick eyebrow in a curious manner, sinking your proud expression in. 

“What was that for?” he chuckles, feeling the damage done to his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Can’t I kiss my husband simply because I felt like it?” you purr in response, greedily eyeing him. 

He laughs. You stroke a hand over the rise of his chest, and he clutches his cane — the pretty one for special occasions, with elegant carving and gilding. 

A thin arm wrapped around your waist coaxes you to jump off the stool, allowing him to steal an embrace. Can’t resist Viktor in a suit. In his other attire too, of course, but god does he look spectacular all dressed up. It’s almost like he was made for all the blazers, vests, and ironed shirts — an inborn gentleman, sickeningly handsome.  

His gaze travels down, to the oh so taunting cut of the silky dress: a peek of garter holding the elegant stocking, and you notice just how he relentlessly fails not to drool over you too shamelessly.

“How was my, er, speech?” he asks, practically forcing himself to rip those eyes off your hip. “I suppose it went rather well — very laconically, if I do say so myself. However, I’m afraid that Jayce is much more natural when it comes to keeping the audience entertained.”

“I was too busy listening to you to pay much attention to the golden boy,” you confess, straightening his vest for him — another excuse to touch him, but Viktor decides to touch you instead.

“That is rather disrespectful,” he scoffs, gently capturing your wrist into the warmth of his hand, and before you can react — presses a chaste kiss to the back of your palm. Damn him and his gentlemanly tricks. 

“Perhaps,” you shrug, giggling when his breath tickles your knuckles. “But you did amazing. Truly.”

“I am flattered,” he acknowledges, letting go of your wrist. His touch lingers there — warm and domestic, a wordless way of returning the courtesy. “I hope that my brief absence didn’t bore you too much?”

“Not in the slightest,” you assured him with a wry smile, and he met your words with another inquisitive hum. “Some very persistent gentleman kept trying to convince me that I need an interlocutor.”

“Is that so?” the inventor asked, evidently amused by your revelation. “And just how did that go for him, may I ask?”

“He was heartbroken to hear that I was married, you see,” you sigh, and your lips protrude into a pout — one of fake, rather comical sympathy.

“What a pity,” Viktor retorted, blessing your ears with that low, raspy laugh of his. “I hope the news didn’t crush him.” 

“Ah, don’t even bother. You hope they did.”

“What an accusation,” he exclaims, and your hands ache to strangle him with that pretty tie. “Though not an entirely unreasonable one, I must admit.”

“My point exactly,” you bite back, and your arms rush to be wrapped around the bastard's neck, chest pressed flush to his, heartbeats mingling into a mess of thuds. 

Sinewy fingers don’t hesitate to slip into the cut of your dress. They also don’t falter to cautiously crawl into the band of your stocking, almost forcing you to whimper his name into the crook of his neck — an indirect plea to proceed in private. 

“Such a mouthy thing,” Viktor whispers, and you’re done with him, almost ready to demand he bends you over in front of those very Topsiders. “Just what shall I do with you, hm?” 

He’s hard against your thigh, even a hint of friction has him jolting, hissing a quiet curse into your mouth when he occupies it with a kiss again — one too lewd to be appropriate for public eyes. 

“You should steal me away,” you suggest, staring into the madness of heavy eyes piercing yours. “For some fresh air, of course.”

“Fresh air?” he mocks, shaking his head in fake disapproval. “Is that the only reason? Not that I’m reluctant to be alone with you — quite the opposite, actually. I simply doubt that it’s the real, eh… purpose of the encounter you’re suggesting.”

Fuck’s sake. He’s utterly incorrigible. Thanks Janna you love this man. 

You sigh, struggling to suppress the urge to slap him. 

“Do you fancy a quickie?” you finally surrender, knowing damn well that out-smartassing Viktor is simply impossible. Besides — the way his lips stretch into a thin handsome line feels greater than any meaningless pleasure a well-aimed smart comment could ever bring.

It feels even better when his mouth hovers above your ear, purring a sweet, “I most certainly do.”

***

You squeak when he presses you against the cool bathroom wall, and a cautious hand cradles the back of your head, preventing it from repeating the dreary fate of his cane, which had just hit the floor with a loud thud. You, on the other hand — no pun intended, of course — are not that careful with your limbs, fingers already tangled into his hair, messing up its unusually neat style. He’s kissing you with desperation: rush didn’t leave him any time for hesitation, but you’ll gladly take him like this — all frantic, cock an aching swell inside his finest dress pants. 

“Darling,” he keens, licking at the fresh proof of his lust after you, as if trying to soothe the pain from his teeth needling into the softness of your neck. 

“Yes?” you breathe out, thoughts a mush of smutty images, but the limited privacy of this bathroom is not enough for a full-course debauchery. They call it a quickie for a reason. 

His hand slips under your gown, shamelessly kneading the plumpness of ass, ready to free you of the lace underwear. 

“No,” you pull away, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “We don’t have time for this.” Your outfit is too impractical to allow him the pleasure of undressing you even partially, even though you’d love to let him have his way with you.

“But, beloved, isn’t that what we’re here for?” he protests, but you shut him up with another kiss, and, while he suffocates against your mouth, smoothly turn him around, firmly capturing between the wall and your softly pushed between his legs knee.

“I had other plans,” you reply, kissing down his jugular — some brief foreplay before abruptly sinking down.

“Oh,” he lets out a shaky laugh, leaning that bright head against the wall, but his eyes never leave yours — they attentively follow your every motion, carnal need thickly seeping out of them. “You’ll get on your knees for me? In that dress? My, I might’ve done something good in my past life.” 

“Will you please shut up?” you snarl, fighting with the buttons of his pants, and he nods, figuratively zipping his mouth with one dextrous move of a hand, informing you that his lips are sealed. Viktor knows better than to talk back to a person who’s about to suck him off. Teeth are a rather dangerous weapon.

He tenses up when you tease the head of his cock — slightly swollen flesh a pretty shade of pink, so sensitive that it twitches against the warmth of your fingers when you wrap them around the hilt.

He goes quiet, but not purely for the sake of not getting caught. He watches you in fascination: mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ the second you dip your tongue into the slit, and precum coats its tip, all sticky and bitterish. You both know he won’t last long — your next ministration proves it, relentlessly riding him of his wits. 

You kiss at his shaft with tenderness, to the point when it becomes barely palpable, so he squirms, demanding the resumption, and you can’t help but smile against the velvety skin of his tip. Pearly liquid clings to your bottom lip, forming a translucent trail — a mixture of him mingled with your saliva; just enough lubrication to slip lower, licking at the sensitive frenulum. Viktor lets out an illegible sound — you recognise a keen of your name in it, and it earns him one languid stroke — just the tiniest mercy. 

“Don’t you just love to torture me?” he sighs, looking down — all vulnerable and pretty, weak knees threatening to start trembling any second. 

“I’m only using your weapons against you,” a sweet reproach rolls of the very tongue you’re tormenting him with, and he swallows the most delicious whimper when you swirl it around the tip — once, twice, but thrice is what finally has him slapping a palm over his open mouth to muffle a dirty moan. 

He abstains from grabbing a handful of your hair, reluctant to ruin its whimsical style — because at least one of the spouses has to be an actually considerate lover. His long legs are struggling to keep in place, relentlessly spreading apart with each bob of your head — but he’s leaned against the wall securely enough not to fall. 

You swallow around him in a rather messy rhythm, but it still manages to reduce Viktor to a mush of babbles and incoherent praises. You have him by the balls — quite literally, because your free from squeezing his width hand is cruel enough to knead them, dragging more throaty sounds of pleasure out the thrusting into your mouth man. 

You’re fucking him with skill, painfully aware of just what goes through his head in this exact moment: that orgasm will be intense enough to hurt, making him wish you’d rather proceeded with those teasing licks and fleeting kisses. His hips jerk when you suppress the gag, taking him whole, not a single inch left without your thorough attention. Even the hand shoving those moans back into his lungs doesn’t stop him from letting out the most embarrassingly high-pitched keen — it breaks free when he coats your tongue in warm spurts of thick cum. You stick it out, allowing him a pornographic view of exactly what he’d just done to you, and he almost sobs, completely forgetting about his initial intentions of keeping quiet. 

“Gods a-above,” he stutters, suffocating like he’s the one whose mouth was just frantically fucked, wiping his release off your lips with his trembling thumb — a gesture of gratitude, tender in comparison to the curses he was panting just seconds ago. 

The air is thick with the smell of sex, raunchy enough for anyone who decides to walk into this bathroom to meticulously define what the two of you had just committed in it. Even getting off your knees and tucking him back into his pants wouldn’t help your condition — the pure way Viktor looks at you right now makes it all appallingly obvious. One doesn’t need to become a witness of the intercourse itself to confidently state “They’ve just fucked, Your Honor.” It’s written on both of your faces, on the mess of his hair, and, of course — on the burning under the thin material of stockings redness of your knees. 

You accept his touch, swallowing the remnants of his climax still covering your tired tongue, and he sighs, engraving the sight into his mind — probably to get off to the thought of it someday. But you decide not to tease him about it. You’re not that evil after all. 

You’ve never stormed out of the bathroom so fast before, all trembling limbs and nasty giggles —  the afterglow of your shared secret, dirty enough to banish Viktor from the Academy. 

He’ll recall it later, most definitely next Progress Day, when you’ll wrap those impatient arms around his neck, whispering a famous “Do you fancy a quickie?” into his ear again. 

Except for this time, your outfit will be easily removable. 

[kathlare]

juno

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando attends Amelie's Short n Sweet tour for the first time, excited to see her perform live.

Wordcount: 0.9 k

Warnings: kinda suggestive content, smau, fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

November 13th, 2024 - Phoenix, AZ

—As you must know— Amelie said, making the crowd go quiet to hear her talk. —There's a birthday boy in the audience today— She gestured toward the audience, and the camera immediately found Lando, whose face lit up on the big screen, grinning as the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. He looked slightly embarrassed but was laughing, his eyes fixed on her with that familiar look of pride and adoration.

Amelie gave the crowd a teasing smile, excited for the special part of her show —Hello, sir— she said, feigning seriousness and pointing right at Lando, —How you doing?—

Lando's eyes widened, his hands lifting to his face in a mix of embarrassment and laughter as he tried to hide his blush. The spotlight settled on him, and the crowd chanted his name: "Lando! Lando!" He mouthed something back at her, too far to hear, but the cheeky glint in his eyes told her he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

—Oh, what was your name again?— she asked innocently, pointing the microphone toward him.

—Lando!— the entire arena screamed, thousands of voices merging as one.

—Oh, Lando, is it?— she teased, putting on a flirty voice. —Where are you from, Lando?—

—England!— he called back with a laugh, which got more cheers and hollers from the fans.

—England?— she gasped, playing along. —And you came all this way just for me?—

Lando held his hand to his chest, as if pledging his loyalty. —Only for you—

Amelie grinned, her hand at her hip as she pretended to swoon. —You're way too much, Lando. What are you doing to me?— She fanned herself playfully, earning another wave of screams and applause from the crowd —You're making me so hot... that my clothes are falling off— She said while the long skirt fall to the floor, revealing a shorter version she had underneath.

As the energy surged through the venue, Amelie took a step closer to the edge of the stage, looking directly at Lando with that unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes. The crowd's excitement filled the air, and she could see Lando's friends and others around him, watching with knowing smiles, clearly enjoying the show.

—You know— she began, pausing to let the anticipation build, —when you're as dangerously attractive as you are, you have to face the consequences.—

The arena erupted with deafening cheers and applause as Lando shook his head, grinning like a mischievous child caught red-handed. Amelie signaled to one of her backup dancers, who promptly handed her a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs just as the sirens echoed throughout the venue. Holding the cuffs aloft, she flashed the audience a playful wink, fueling their excitement even further.

—Lando, I'm afraid you're under arrest...— She paused, a smirk dancing on her lips. —for being way too hot. And as per tour tradition, you're going to have to keep these for the rest of the show.—

The spotlight on Lando brightened, and he pretended to look scandalized, covering his mouth in mock horror. The fans erupted, chanting his name as she stepped off the stage and approached him, her steps slow and teasing as she made her way to where he was seated. He stood up, hands playfully held out, and she slipped the pink handcuffs onto his wrist, grinning up at him.

—Now, don't go running off with those— she teased, pointing a playful finger at him, —I'll need them back later.—

Lando laughed, cheeks flushed as he mouthed, "Wouldn't be the first time," earning another wave of delighted screams from the crowd. Amelie laughed, covering her face, then turned back to the stage, unable to stop smiling.

With the handcuffs securely around his wrist, Amelie took a moment to soak in the crowd's energy. The lights dimmed as she returned to the stage, giving one last playful wink at Lando before facing the audience.

—Anyway— Amelie continued, taking a deep breath to steady herself as the crowd settled down, their cheers still echoing in the venue —I'd like to dedicate this next song to someone very special to me. Happy Birthday, Lando.—

The fans went wild once more as the opening chords of her next song filled the arena. The atmosphere was electric, and as she sang, her gaze kept drifting back to Lando, who looked completely captivated, handcuffs and all, his friends cheering him on and filming every second. There was a special glow on his face—pride, love, and sheer joy, all wrapped into one.

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

liked by landonorris, gracieabrams, and 1,083,920 others

amelie dayman: we are still trying some freaky positions 🧡

View all 4,183 comments

landonorris: FIRST

landonorris: Let's just say, the positions are getting better...😉 → ameliedayman: @landonorris Oh, you would say that! 😂🙄

landonorris: btw, what do you mean by trying?? I think we've mastered them by now 😏

carlossainz55: We all know Lando's favorite position is right next to you 😂💁‍♀️ → ameliedayman: @carlossainz55 Haha, what can I say? He's got good taste 😏

user3: Lando's probably over there blushing the whole time. He really went from being a fan to being the star now 🤭 → fanofamelie: @user3 Honestly, watching him go from fanboy to boyfriend goals is everything 😅💖

maxfewtrell: I'm going to pretend I didn't see that 😬 → ameliedayman: @maxfewtrell awww, don't act like you're not secretly jealous 👀😂

aaliyahmendes: No but really, how do I get an invite to this show?? 🔥🔥 → ameliedayman: @aaliyahmendes You’re ALWAYS welcome, girl! 💖

lilyzneimer: OMG, I am so jealous of Lando... → ameliedayman: @lilyzneimer You know, you're getting them next time 😉 → fanoff1: @lilyzneimer WE DON'T TALK ENOUGH ABOUT OUR PAPAYA GIRLS

hayesgrier: Lando better keep his hands to himself 😏 → ameliedayman: @hayesgrier LOL, calm down, he's well-behaved... sometimes 😜 → hayesgrier: @ameliedayman Oh, sure, sure 😂 just don't let him get any ideas 😉

francisca.cgomes: Damn, Lando really lucked out here 😍 → ameliedayman: @francisca.cgomes I mean, he did have good taste from the start, right? 😉💅

georgerussell63: Lando’s still blushing, isn’t he? 😂 → ameliedayman: @georgerussel63 Honestly, probably! He’s a softie at heart 😏

[hazbinwhoree]

Adam having to take his baby doauther to a meeting with Charlie cuz we (his wife) are away (maybe a spa taking a small break). Like he has this weird thing that parents wear to carry their baby i'm their stomach, his and Lutes mask are off cuz the baby is scered of them, their have this bag full of baby stuff, for the first time on his live tries to avoid swearing (what the ffffff *looks at the baby* fffffFRICK?) just Adam trying to be a good dad.

Father of the Year

(Name) was gone for the day on a spa trip, which was unfortunate for Adam because he had another meeting with Charlie. How was he supposed to be cool and intimidating with a baby strapped to his chest?

There was no one available to babysit their child, which meant the baby was coming with Adam to his meeting. On top of that, their daughter was scared of Adam’s mask, so Adam couldn’t wear his mask. He was cursing everyone and everything as he slunk into the meeting room, Lute on his heels with the diaper bag.

Charlie looked confused when Adam and Lute entered. She recognized Lute, but she certainly didn’t recognize Adam. “Um, hi, I’m supposed to meet with Adam?”

“Yeah, yeah, toots, it’s me.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped. “Adam?” Quickly followed up by, “Who’s baby is that?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Mine,” he snapped. “My wife is gone today and no one could babysit.”

“You’re a fucking father?” Vaggie asked, appalled. “Enough about the kid,” Adam dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“What about your mask?”

“The baby is scared of it. Now focus. What’s the update on your shitty hotel?” Charlie cleared her throat. “Of course.”

She launched into her spiel, and was interrupted about three minutes in by the baby crying. “Fuck,” Adam cursed before covering his mouth and looking at the baby like the little one could understand him. “Daddy said duck,” he whispered to her.

Charlie heard him and giggled. Adam shot her a dirty look. “What are you laughing at, bit-” he cut himself off. “Mm.” He grunted. Charlie stifled her laughter. Adam scowled. “Shut up.”

The baby kept crying and Lute handed Adam a bottle. Adam unstrapped her from his chest, cradling her in his arms instead. He grabbed the bottle and began to feed her. “Stop laughing and get to your point so this meeting can be over.”

“I never pictured you as one to care about your language in front of kids,” Charlie snickered.

Adam rolled his eyes. “My wife has been up my ass, something about not wanting the baby’s first word to be a curse.”

“Well aren’t you a good dad.”

“Finish your stupid presentation or I’m leaving right now.”

Charlie cleared her throat, finishing her presentation and concluding the meeting while Adam threw a bib over his shoulder and burped the baby.

As she and Vaggie watched Adam, Lute, and the baby go, they exchanged glances. “Who knew Adam had a kid,” Charlie said. “I’m just shocked someone else would marry him,” Vaggie said.

“Still, it was kind of sweet,” Charlie shrugged.

“Sweet? The last word I would use to describe Adam is sweet.”

Charlie grimaced. “Good point.”

Meanwhile Adam was ranting to Lute. “How are they ever going to take me seriously again? That was so degrading, (Name) is fucking taking her with her next time.” “Relax, sir,” Lute soothed. “You’re still perfectly intimidating.”

Adam grumbled. “Whatever.”

His daughter cooed and gurgled and Adam’s anger softened as he looked down at her. “Maybe you’re right. It wasn’t that bad.”

[bokettochild]

Little Soldier Boy, Come Marching Home

I apparently had some Uncle Aflon brainrot (could y'all tell?) and it spawned this monster!

Not sure if I'm actually going to make a story about this, I mean a proper one, but this refused to let my brain rest until I wrote at least this much, so I figured I'd share it for the folks who kept sending me Aflon asks :)

(Yes I am very aware that the title is from a song, I'd recommend listening to the Reinaeiry cover on YouTube, because it's also rotted my brain since I listened to it and I think it suits Aflon and Legend quite well T-T)

-

  The first time he held Link, it was standing on the edge of the wood, away from the eyes of all the kingdom and under a veil of darkness. The forest chattered and whispered behind him, bringing to mind whispers of thieving Kolkiri and fae, and it had made him hold the babe in his arms all the tighter. 

  His sister-in-law was watching him closely, hands hovering, wary, like she didn’t trust him to hold the child quite right, ready every second to take the positively tiny bundle back from him and tuck that red and fitful face back against her own breast, hushing and cooing softly herself as she’d been when he’d arrived there. She didn’t though, although whether that was due to his own skill or some sort of restraint from the woman, he wasn’t certain. 

  “What’s the little ‘us name then?” He’d asked, pushing down the swaddling of rough fabric, far too rough for so small a thing, but lined carefully with far finer where no eyes could see. The child within trembled, cold air drawing a wavering wail from a tiny mouth. There wasn’t much to see anyways, he was a baby, same as anyone had ever had. Far smaller than Aflon had ever seen before though; so small he almost could hold him in one hand alone, but by all other means the tiny creature wasn’t much to look at. 

  Despite that though, Loretta’s dark gaze hadn’t lifted once from the infant, usually stern features awash with pure adoration as one trailing hand lifted the blanket back up to shield the babe once more. “Link.” 

  “Like the hero?” The dead one? 

  “Like the star,” her hands lingered so close to the face of her child, and in answer, the tiny one stilled, quieting as though some spell was laid over him. “Like the boy who brought hope to dark countries when Hyrule was at her worst.” 

  “Sir Raven’s squire.” 

  She’d nodded. “The same.” 

  And the child was just, well, a child; a tiny wee thing that felt so fragile to hands accustomed to the sword, and Aflon had shaken his head with a sigh, turning to Loretta with the question that had plagued him since he’d been given his riding orders this morning with the command to meet her here. “Why me?” 

  Those had been the words to make her draw back, pain welling up behind dark violet eyes that avoided his own. “There’s no one else I can ask.” 

  “He’s your son.” 

  “Which is the same as a sentence of death,” she’d hissed, tone harsh as her blade, “you know as well as I how Hyrule sees its crown. You took a vow the same as any other knight.” 

  He had. 

  “That child,” her child, “stands no chance, no matter what I do, if I keep him with me.” 

  Aflon had shifted, sparing the bundle in his arms a glance one more before murmuring, “his chances are pretty slim regardless, ‘Etta. Babes this small-” 

  “I know,” She’d run a finger along a tiny cheek, face pinching into something bordering on gentle, on sweet, something no one would describe the woman as save with her steads, “But it’s the best I can give him.” 

  He’d felt the weight of those words, the weight of their expectation, and all the more so when the Queen of all Hyrule had lifted violet eyes to hold his own and given him her final command. “Protect him, Aflon. He’s not just your prince, he’s your nephew, and I swear on hell’s ashes if you fail him, I will flay you.” Typically, he’d have assumed her words to be in jest, but the fire behind her eyes, a furious and dangerous love the likes of which he’s only heard tell of a mother for her babe, had made him take the words to heart. 

  “I won’t fail you, your grace.” 

  “No,” she’d stepped closer, pulled his arms down just a bit further so she could duck her head and press a kiss to a tiny cheek, “don’t fail him. All else doesn’t matter-” 

 “The princess-” 

 “I will mind the princess,” Loretta’s eyes had darkened, “and failing that, the Impa sent is a good one. Your priority is him,” and both of them had turned to the child, a child so tiny he almost weighed nothing, but yet lay so heavy in his arms with duty set beside him. “He needs you.” 

  And he did. He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t felt it, but even a man made in blood and battle knows the worth of life. And so, somehow, he’d managed. 

  He’d carried his little charge back to the closest village and taken a room, managing to ignore the curious and lingering gazes of the locals at a young knight in full armor with a tiny baby in his arms.  

  In truth, he hadn’t been sure where to go from there. Loretta had entrusted him with her child, which meant all other missions, whatever they might be, were out of the question. His duty as a knight, as a soldier, was now changed, which, all considered, wasn’t the worst fate in the world. Still, he’d mused, staring at the tiny creature that slept more than he stirred, it’s not exactly the life he’d imagined for himself. 

  They’d always been knights, or so his own father had taught himself and his brother. The men in their family take up the sword and the women the plow and reigns of a rancher. Their older sister already is married with her own farm, and goodness knows Banzetta himself, though king consort, still carries his blade as the second in command to their warrior queen. For himself, Aflon has never imagined anything else than to serve as his forefathers, perhaps to marry, although there’s no woman who’s caught his eye as of yet, or at least none he’d be keen to stay beside for all his life. He can’t continue traveling Hyrule though, not with a tiny child in his care, not when the world out there is still so dangerous and dark. 

  For days, he’d stayed at the inn. He’d had no direction or clue, but he’d done his best to mind the tiny princeling in his care, although his attempts must have been very poorly indeed because it wasn’t long at all before two of the local village women had been knocking down his door and scolding him left right and sideways. 

  Without the women of Kakariko, Aflon could say for a certainty that neither he nor Link would have made it through that winter. They had though. The ladies of Kakariko nursed his precious nephew alongside their own children, taught himself how to change and clean a child, how to swaddle them up tight against the cold, how to burp and soothe them. He’d listened with care, listened like they were marching orders from a commanding officer, and he’d taken them all to heart, employing every bit of skill imparted to best fulfill his duty to the child in his care. 

  Thankful as he was for those women, the many mothers of Kakariko, young and old both, there was still, despite their care, a fear that gripped him each time one of them took up Link in their arms. The babe was a prince of Hyrule, and were that known it would be easy to stage some incident to see that the bad omen that was a royal son was no more. The women of the village would laugh, saying that anxiety for a child was normal, but they had no conception how deeply his fear ran each time one of them held the boy, each time he had to turn his back on his helpless charge for even the smallest of moments. 

  Come spring, he’d settled, bought a piece of land with the money he’d saved over the years and made a home for himself. As it happened, an old orchard had been up for sale, just close enough to the village to keep in touch with those who’d shown them kindness, but with enough distance that he no longer felt the need to be on the defense at all times against neighbors who might seek to harm the boy in his care. 

  They’d asked, some of the village folk, if the baby was his. For lack of a better response, he’d said Link was his brother’s. No one questioned it. Why would they? He was a stranger to them, and though chatter would sound on street corners wondering what had happened to lead him, ‘a clueless young man who hasn’t the faintest on how to mind a babe’ to have care of Link, but they’d never asked him anything more, just gone on offering advice. 

  That was fine though. That was better than them all assuming he was the father, because it felt wrong to allow such a misconception. He couldn’t say why, but when a parent still lives and wants their child, there’s no right for another to claim them as their own. Besides, he couldn’t be a father. 

  As it was, some days he felt he was doing a terrible job of being an uncle. 

  And he hadn’t thought of himself as such at first, but somewhere amid long nights sitting up, just watching labored breaths from a body almost too frail to take them, somewhere amid whispered words with doctors who’d told him to let go already, with midwives who’d urged him to keep fighting as long as his little one did, somewhere along the line of spending every day forever in the presence of the child, there’d come a day when he’d stopped worrying about his charge, and where he’d started fretting about his nephew. 

  Maybe it was those moments of clarity and wakefulness when big bright eyes would stay up at him, so curious. When floppy little ears would follow the sounds of his voice, or tiny hands would cling fast to an offered finger, toothless jaws working at its tip with little coos and warbles. He couldn’t say. But somewhere in that first winter he’d gone from a knight with a charge to an uncle with a nephew, and he’d never wanted to go back. 

  Sure, it was hard some days. Link was a sickly baby from the start, and he grew slowly. He was bright though, so very bright, like a star as his mother had said, and with every passing day those eyes so like the queen’s own had filled up with their own constellations of joy and smiles, tiny hands clapping, little feet stumbling.  

  Despite all concerns and doubts, his little Link beat the odds. 

  The child was his sunshine. He’d never been a very social man, so the company of a single boy wasn’t bad at all in his opinion. Granted, with just the two of them it had raised concerns when Link hadn’t learned to speak when he should, and for a time he’d wondered if perhaps it was for a lack of him having used words enough for the little one to know them, but in time he’d accepted that words weren’t to be had, and while some village folk would murmur that a changeling might have been traded for his precious bundle, stolen by jealous kolkiri in vengeance for their own lost little one, he’d never minded too much. He’d learned to speak with his hands from the village elder, and so Link had as well, and by that means they’d gotten along quite well until the wee one had made up his mind to try for actual sounds. 

  His old friends from the army were company at times, stopping in between missions and runs, catching a drink or a place to stay. He used to worry about exposing Link to the life he’d known among them, but in front of the child they’d all minded well, many even offering help and kindness he’d never dare to ask for. Some had children of their own, they said, others younger siblings. Regardless of the reason though, not a man would enter his home as didn’t have a kind word for his nephew, and while worry still brewed up within to see Loretta’s child among men sworn to prevent his existence, not a one had ever guessed at the truth. 

  And then everything had changed when Link turned eight. 

  He’d been talking by then. Belated though it was, words would come to him at times, although he’d prefer his hands over his tongue. Despite the murmurs of locals though, the boy was bright, sitting up more often than not with whatever book Aflon could find for him and positively devouring anything inside of them, big violet eyes near glittering in delight at the world painted for his eager mind, at the discoveries and worlds and words and stories- heavens did his little star love the stories! He had ever so much to say about what he read, and a smile brighter than the sun itself, and small though he still was, weak though he’d likely always be, Aflon adored the boy that ran to his arms at every day’s end and shared home and heart with him. 

  He’d had doubts, in the beginning, that he could settle to a quiet life, but it never felt quiet with Link so eagerly learning about it beside him, indeed, it felt like he’d only just learned what it was to be alive for himself! 

  And every day was a new adventure, teaching his nephew something new or finding himself taught some lesson or fact. Every night was settling down before the fire and holding firm against the plea of “one more page!” before smothering his precious Link in mustachioed kisses and tucking him in tight against the chill of the night. Sometimes they were disturbed with guests and his efforts would be in vain, but nine times out of ten when that did happen, Captain Bertram or Major Wilkins would take the lad back to bed and recount enough stories to finally have him dozing off against them, ready to be tucked back in again upon their departure. 

  He wouldn’t have changed that life for the world though. 

  Yet, the world seemed to have other plans. 

  Link had startled awake in the middle of a storm one night, tearfully insisting that something was wrong, that there was danger, that Zelda, the sister he didn’t know was his even then, was in danger and that she’d told him so herself.  

  To another man, it might have been nothing, just a bad dream, but Aflon had himself woken before to the sound of startled cries sounding through an army camp. He could remember when the queen would awake from a vision while traveling with himself and his brother, and many a time, Banzetta had recounted to him when it happened that he hadn’t seen. It was in their blood, the people of Hyrule would say, that those of the royal line would sometimes be given visions, often of future events and or trouble brewing beyond even the eyes of the Sheikah. That was how all the prophecies surrounding his own family had come about, how the reappearance of a hero had been foretold. 

  So, upon hearing such strange words from the mouth of his nephew, rather than beg him return to bed or otherwise ignore it, Aflon had taken it to heart. After all, he’d been reminded, looking down at the tear-stained face at his bedside, Link may be his nephew, but he was also still Loretta’s son; still born with the blood of the crown, a prince of Hyrule. 

   So, although Loretta had told him to leave Zelda’s care to herself long ago, back when she and Banzetta were still alive and before some mission had gone awry and the both were lost forever- despite the fact that the Impa chosen by the sheikah had, indeed, never once failed in her duties, he’d still chosen to attend to the fears of his nephew and brave the storm, just in case. He’d chosen to risk it, even if it did mean he’d strayed from his orders. 

  He wishes every day that he hadn’t.  

  If only he’d done as Loretta said and minded Link first and foremost, maybe nothing would have changed. If only he’d promised that in the morning they would go together- although, looking back, he knows the princess would have been dead by that time if he had. 

  He’s long come to grips with the fact that whatever he had done, there would have been no happy ending, but even so, he still hates himself that he had allowed what happened next. 

  Rather than tell him to go home, rather than protect him, shield him from the world his mother never wanted him to know, Aflon had looked into the terrified eyes of his nephew, down in the depths of the castle sewers where the boy had followed him against his orders, he’d used his final breaths to push a sword and shield into hands too small to hold them, bidding the child go to save Zelda. He’d known he was dying, he’d known Link was scared, but at that little obedient nod, he’d also known something more: 

  His death would leave Link the last of their bloodline, and a prophecy given to a queen long ago had once said that it would be the last of them that would face Ganon when next he emerged. Looking at eyes the same as Loretta’s own, albeit far kinder, he’d found himself reminded of those words, and sickeningly certain that he was witnessing the birth of that hero. His little Link who wanted to be a farmer, who didn’t know how to fight and who was still so tiny, so young, was going to become the Hero of Hyrule. 

  Though he’d been bleeding out as they spoke, he’s rather certain it was heartbreak that had been his undoing, not the wound in his side, and he’d drawn his final breath to the sound of sniffled tears. 

  Yet, it seemed his eyes had only just closed before they were opening again, pain gone and so too his young charge. At first, he’d thought perhaps he’d struck his head somehow and dreamed the whole thing, but both sword and shield were gone as well, although when he reached the end of the sewer system the prison was quiet, empty of any princess, and when he’d turned back and returned to the outside world, not only was it daylight, but it was spring. 

  It had been a late autumn storm that he’d traveled through to reach the castle. 

  He’d thought, hoped, that it was some trick, but when he’d hurried along back towards town, to the house, everyone he passed seemed to think nothing at all of the fact that they were plowing fields and making ready for a planting. They were preparing for a new year of work, as though the winter itself wasn’t supposed to be coming, as though it had already happened! And there were still bits of snow lying about. There was a dampness to the ground of a fresh fallen rain. The world itself seemed insistent it tell him that he was wrong. But if he was, then where had the time gone, and what had happened? Where was Link and why was his side unmarred as though never an ax had plowed through it? 

  His feet had all but flown down the paths, paying little or no mind to those he passed or the startled shouts they sent his way. His goal had been set; his destination desperately darted towards. 

  The house looked entirely normal when he’d finally reached it. The orchard was beginning to brighten, not yet blooming, still expecting another snap of cold before the season truly sprung, but they were well along to blossoming. The path was clear, nothing and no one on it, and when he’d come to the door, he’d found it locked up tight. As it should be, as he’d left it, as he’d taught Link to leave it. He still had his key with him even though his sword was missing, and though his hands trembled he’d still managed to fish it out and, with some struggle, had gotten it into the lock. 

  The house looked the same as it had when he left. Clean as a whistle because a soldier’s training still lingered with him even after eight years and that expectation was one that he’d taught Link to hold himself to as well. Their beds were made sloppily, as though the boy had tried to do it for him after he’d left and maybe given up after, or else simply been unable to see, from his height, how crookedly the blankets had been lain. Most notably though, Aflon had noted, there wasn’t much in the way of dust. There wasn’t much in the way of dirt. The only difference that he found was that the pot, which he kept by the door for spare rupees, was empty. 

  His breath had evened some at that. A clean house meant someone had minded it, and missing rupees were nothing if it meant Link hadn’t been left to starve in the unidentified period of time where Aflon had been absent. 

  Or so he had thought. 

  It was two days later, two days he’d spent searching the whole neighborhood, quite at the end of his rope in fear as Link hadn’t been seen at all in that time, when at last he’d laid eyes on his nephew. 

  Or rather, when he’d met the hero. 

  Because the wary creature that entered the cottage door and froze, hand on a sword and dark eyes so large in a thin face, was not his nephew. Because his nephew would have run to him with maybe a few tears or a cheer, jumping into his arms with a hug rather than start and draw a blade the moment Aflon made a motion towards him. 

  Link didn’t fear him. 

  The boy who came to him in Link’s stead did. 

  When he voiced his worries to the women who’d helped to mind the lad over the years, some would say perhaps he’d been taken, changed for a changeling by the forest children, at last getting their hands on a hero to replace their own. Others just shook their heads and sighed, unwilling to explain why. 

  He’d known though that the child in his home wasn’t a changeling though. No, because that child had eyes every bit as much like the late queen. Eyes that knew war, and battle, that bore the burden of a kingdom which dragged on too small shoulders, eyes that Knew, that Looked, and eyes that Saw people for what they were, not simply what they’d claim to be. There was no doubt, looking at that boy, that he was Loretta’s son. 

  But he wasn’t Aflon’s nephew. 

  Link was bright and bubbly, quieter by nature but prone to prattling when the mood took him. The silent little thing that lived in his house, wary like a rabbit hunted and hidden, was a stark contrast. Link liked to travel with him, going to town for any errands and skip-tripping along the path at his side, getting distracted by small creatures and ever full of questions.  

  Not only did the hero avoid going out of the house when he could, preferring instead to stay inside behind a locked-up door and shuttered windows, but when he did go out, the lad was ever scanning the world, ever watching the sky and the path as though expecting an attack from one or the other. He didn’t stray off towards sudden changes, curious ears cocked, he put a hand to his shoulder and looked for a blade. 

  The child that came back to him held the manner and look of an old knight, not a child too young to even be a page, and it disturbed him. He tried though. This was Loretta’s son, the prince of Hyrule, and as he’d later learned, the boy had indeed become the country’s hero. Not that the boy had told him that himself. No, the child in his home didn’t speak, tongue faltering and sounds stuttering before hands would lift to answer questions in as few words as possible. 

  Two of his fingers were crooked, Aflon realized, watching him, heart aching. Two fingers and, in those first days, he’d favor one leg over the other. 

  He wanted to help, but the boy was wary of touch, starting and panicking as a first reaction if he didn’t see it coming and wincing even when he could. He kept a wide space between himself and anyone, a swords-distance, Aflon realized after a spell, although as for the blade he carried, well, that had disappeared after the first few weeks. It wasn’t the sword he’d handed to his nephew though. The sword that the hero held was unfamiliar to him; radiant, beautiful, masterfully forged so that his own blade paled in comparison. His was absent, and the one time he had asked what happened to it, he’d just watched violet eyes fall and shoulders hunch, and immediately changed the subject. 

  It was hard. His nephew looked the same as Loretta’s child, same face, same form, same stature, although time had made her changes too. The boy was scrawny, and though he had hoped his lost rupees meant his charge was still fed even with him gone, he’d come to doubt that. 

  He wasn’t sure what to make of it when, at learning of his own return, one of the neighbors down the road had invited them both for dinner, and the hero child had only stared at his own plate, stirring the food around but not eating. He’d dismissed it at first, but soon it became abundantly clear that the hero would not eat food he couldn’t watch being prepared, not unless it was a meal offered by Aflon himself, and, to his own surprise, Dolly, the village elder’s wife. 

  Somehow, both she, Dolly, and Sahasralah, the elder, were the only ones who seemed unaffected by how his charge had changed. In fact, more than once, Aflon would find himself watching, wistful, as the two would speak with or even handle the hero with not a thing done to show fear in response. Simple acceptance met their motions, their words, and at times he’d almost been tempted to ask if maybe the boy that wore Link’s face wanted to stay with them instead, as he seemed so much more at peace in their home. 

  He didn’t though. He’d sworn a vow, a vow to do his duty to his prince, to his queen, and though he wasn’t certain if Loretta’s spirit would haunt him if he failed that, he wasn’t exactly keen to find out. 

  He couldn’t leave her son with strangers, with people she didn’t know or trust. Still, as the days passed, house silent as a crypt and the boy inside nearly the corpse it housed, he’d found the temptation growing daily. 

  At night as he’d blow out the lamps, now knowing full well not to approach his charge in the dark and sometimes fearing to even look at him (because what looked back was a slip of a shade with eyes glinting red like a rabbit’s in the low light of the hearth and by all means hardly human) he’d fight his own mind on the matter. Stay or leave, linger with what wasn’t any longer what he’d sword to protect, the child that wasn’t his nephew but was a hero. 

  Loretta said to protect him, he’d remind himself as he lay beneath the blankets. Yet, small hands knew the touch of blood, and the boy who’d wandered in at his door knew a blade like knights four times his age still hadn’t learned. Lying there at night, he’d wonder to himself, what was there left to protect the boy from? Loretta’s child already had seen everything she wanted to shield him from, so what was even the point, when there was no more innocence to shield? 

  It was that thinking, after weeks, months, that had led to him gathering up clothing and books, toys left behind because the person who would leave with him wasn’t a child but a young soldier, so what did they matter? He’d packed things up, watched the hero slip to his side to help, dutifully but silently gathering Link’s clothes and folding them up with the same careful effort Link always did, ending with the same misshapen result, and tucking them away like they would do every summer for the trip back to his own childhood home. 

  He’d locked the door tight that summer. Shut up the shutters and minded that nothing was left untended, no mess within or without. Long ears had cocked sideways, big eyes watching, curious, but nothing was said with scarred hands holding their bags while he prepared the house for their departure. 

  Most summers, he’d take Link down to Lon-Lon so the boy could stay with his grandparents and Aflon could attend to the heavier tasks of their orchard without worrying over minding the lad or leaving him feeling alone. This year though, after Mother had ushered the boy within the ranch house, shooting him a startled stare over his shoulder, he’d not gone back to the cottage. 

  Aflon Lon had, instead, taken to the road. 

  Guilt ate at him, but he’d known there was no going back.  

  He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t return to the house. It wasn’t home without the laughter of his nephew, without bright eyes and brighter smiles. It wasn’t home without a presence at his side working away at the trees, muttering and talking at times to the birds who’d stop to watch them in their labor. It wasn’t home without Link, and Link- or at least the boy he knew, was gone. 

 So, he’d wandered Hyrule. He hadn’t traveled in a long while, but it was easy to take up again, to wander the roads by day and make camp at night. He stopped in old haunts he used to visit as a knight to see how they had changed, and he’d thought nothing of his wanderings. After all, it was summer; the summers were always free for him to do what he wanted. It was when autumn had begun to show her colors that guilt had well and truly began to build up inside of him. 

  Link would be waiting at the gates of Lon-Lon, watching the road for his uncle to come and bring him home. He knew it wouldn’t be the same eager stare, ears crooked and head rested on folded arms as the boy would perch on the rungs of the fence, leaning his whole weight against it and keeping eyes and ears on the road. The hero child would likely sit with more wariness, but despite all changes there was no doubt in Aflon’s mind that he’d wait all the same. 

  The difference though, the real one, was that this time, Aflon couldn’t come back. He couldn’t. 

  He couldn’t go back to that house, that child, he couldn’t live like that forever, with the shade of what should have been. 

  Mother and Father though, they could handle a soldier boy. They’d handled Banzetta after his first battles, they’d know how to work with Loretta, and if they could manage the parents of his own charge, he was sure theft were the best suited to handling a young hero. Not only that, but they were safe, they were good, and they’d never hurt Link for the circumstances of his birth. They would be better to him than Aflon could be, and given time, he was sure the hero would settle there again, into a life with a knight, a lady, a history of heroes all around him on the walls and swords ready for his hands; the life he’d taken on, but one Aflon couldn’t watch lived. 

  As for himself, he’d wander. He’d travel, he’d embrace the world he’d had to forsake for a small bundle. By winter, he’d gone further south than he’d ever strayed, gone where word of the hero didn’t reach, where peace and simplicity beckoned. He’d meant to resist, but an evening in a bar with a pretty woman at his side had changed that. 

  “Here alone, stranger?” She’d asked, voice thick with a drawl and gaze bold as she’d settled beside him. 

  He’d never been a bold man, quiet by nature, so he’d nodded. 

  She hadn’t been dissuaded, motioning to the barkeep for a round for them both before striking up chatter, asking where he was from? What brought him here? Where was he going? And his answer of course had been that he was from central Hyrule, seeking his fate and unsure where he’d find it. 

  “D’ya have a family?” She’d asked, honest and friendly. “Can’t be easy for them not knowing where you are.” 

  And he’d hesitated, just a moment, before offering a stilted smile and answering “just my parents and a sister.” 

  A sister who’d left, he told her, to marry a man from across the border, who visited at times but was busy with a farm and a family of her own, much like his own parents were even in their older age. He’d said nothing of a nephew, just the same as he’d left out the dead older brother and sister-in-law. 

  He’d lingered in that town for a few more days, and she’d been at the pub each night, coming to join him when he entered and striking up chatter until they were both looking forwards to the evening when they’d happen upon each other. Somehow though, that had turned to arranged meetings, to wandering, to talking, to a kiss that left him speechless and a courtship that left him stumbling and eager like he hadn’t been since he was just a boy. 

  He’d wondered how she hadn’t had a fella before he’d come, but he’d thanked the heavens for it too, especially when he’d proposed, when they’d taken a home together, when they’d made the choice to live life together. 

  It was easy to forget, for a while, in that early bliss, in the whirlwind of emotions, what he’d left behind to find it. He was reminded though when their own little one was born, when a little boy had been laid in his arms and he’d started when blue shone back at him rather than violet. 

  Liza would laugh and tease him, calling him a worrywart when he fussed. She’d say it was like he’d never held a child before; he was so cautious. She’d remind him to relax, when she found him sitting up and watching the wee one slumber, because he was healthy, he was fine, they needn’t worry so much because while babies need care, they won’t break if you breathed wrong. 

  Aflon couldn’t help himself though. 

  He was used to looking for signs of trouble, for any hint of illness. He’d started when their boy had started babbling, started talking, at only two years old. Liza had said that was normal, that they wouldn’t stay babies forever, that it was part of growing up. Still, he’d found himself signing more than speaking with the boy, and more times than he could count, the wrong name had slipped to his lips. 

  Their son had dark hair like his mother, blue eyes like Aflon himself, but it always startled him to see them. It was supposed to be strawberry blonde, with starlit skies veiled beneath. He expected a slip of a child who was quiet but eager, not a loud little thing that ran and darted and climbed and made him panic because Link was fragile! …except this wasn’t Link, and his son was strong, like him, like Liza. His son was bold, loud, like a little boy was supposed to be, not timid and wary like the boy he’d left behind. 

  It never stopped catching him off guard though. Their little Rusl didn’t care anything for books, or reading, or sitting still. He was always off with other children of the village; he was always climbing trees and ‘sword fighting’ other young ones with twigs they’d find on the roadside. 

  He was a normal boy, all told, but somehow that was more jarring, in so many ways, than if he hadn’t been. Because Aflon had never dealt with a normal boy, he realized. Even Before, his Link hadn’t been normal, he just hadn’t known to see it. 

  It was strange, how often Rusl would stare, watching people without those hesitant little falters that Link always had when someone met his eyes. He didn’t pay attention to the little details, didn’t care to watch the sky or the sun. He didn’t care about stars or tiny creatures or pouring over books the same size as himself for hours. 

  The one thing that the two boys did have in common though, was a love for stories of heroes. 

  Link used to bury his little button nose in the volumes of history that told of the Hero of the Four Sword, the Hero of the Skies: the chosen hero. Rusl didn’t read much, but one day he’d come back to their home with Liza after errands, and he’d had nothing on his mind except some story he’d heard about the Hero of Legends. 

  Aflon had paused in making dinner, frowning because he’d never heard of that hero before, because Link never spoke of that title. 

  “Who is the Hero of Legend?” He’d asked, turning to the dirt streaked four-year-old at the door. 

  “He’s who killed Ganon and saved Princess Zelda!” Had been his answer. “He’s so cool, I wish he’d come to our village so I could meet him!” 

  He hadn’t realized, until Liza had darted across the kitchen and scooped up the pot, that their meal had boiled over, or that it’d burned his hand when it did. 

  Rusl and his friends would talk about Link, pretend to be Link, say they wanted to be heroes like him, be knights, be brave. He’d be in the village and stories would sound, gossip between neighbors recounting the latest exploits of the Hero of Legend. He’d killed Ganon twice, he’d traveled the world, he’d saved Labrynna from a witch, he’d fought some tyrant down in Holodrum. Everyone had a different rumor that they’d heard, everyone a different thought on what the hero might be like. Despite all they’d chatter about though, all he could see in his own mind was a boy with heavy eyes and crooked fingers that trembled when he used them to talk. 

  Aflon had gone home that day, after hearing all the chatter, all the stories, all the news that had come down to them from some merchant who’d strayed to town, and he’d told Liza he was taking a trip. 

  “Just for a few days,” he’d said, wrapping arms around her and trying to smile, even though he’d known she’d see past it. “Just to see how my parents are doing.” He’d left out the part about his old house, about the child he’d raised inside it. He knew it was wrong, felt guilt eat away each time his mind turned there, but he’d never let slip about the boy he’d raised before meeting her, the child he’d left behind. 

  Link, as he’d known him, was gone, why speak of what wasn’t there any longer? Why drag everything he’d tried to leave behind into the perfection he’d stumbled himself into? 

  Still, he needed to know, needed to see, and maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to see Loretta’s boy again, just to assure himself that he was alright, because try as he might, much as he wished, worry still plagued his heart for the little soldier boy he’d left at Lon-Lon. 

  He’d stopped by the house first, if only out of curiosity for what had become of it. It had been years, had the village elders sold it? Left it be? He didn’t know, so he’d taken the road around Kakariko, hood up as he passed old neighbors, boots stumbling some on a path he knew better than that back to his own wife and child. 

  The cottage hadn’t changed a bit. Standing on the path, apple trees shivering in a slight breeze, he’d almost felt a decade younger, almost tricked himself into thinking he’d need only open the old wood door, the door whose key still sat heavy in his pocket, and a bright little face would whip around to meet him, gap-toothed grin his welcome home as feet would pit-patter across the worn-out floors. Maybe it was that image that tricked his feet into walking, following a path altered only by shade of trees grown taller in his absence, their fruit hanging heavy but not yet ready to be plucked.  

  It’d be cider making season soon, he’d mused to himself, hand digging through his pocket for a key he couldn’t name why he still carried. Absently, he wondered if the old press was still down in the basement, if Link- because it must be Link- had minded to keep it oiled and tended, or if he’d left off using it. After all, the former knight chuckled, the boy couldn’t even turn the handle fully on his own, now could he? 

  His mind had been so caught in his thoughts he hadn’t been minding his surroundings, pushing the door open after a moment’s struggle (the key stuck more than it once used to) and moving to enter his old home. He hadn’t expected to be immediately whacked over the head, nor, when he’d picked himself up again, to find himself face to… face(?) with a masked figure. 

  “We aren’t open!” The purple clad individual had declared, mallet in hand, and a small creature with wings- which could in no ways be considered a bird- fluttering about at his shoulders, squawking and hissing something terrible. “And if you thought you could break in, you’re dead wrong!” 

  Aflon had blinked, slowly, and then started, gaze flying about the house briefly. 

  It wasn’t changed, not really. Pictures were all taken down and boxes were tucked against the walls, but the couch, the rocking chair, the china-cabinet, it was all still there, still in the same places, now with new stains and scuffs, but he could recognize them all the same. Really, the only major difference was the desk near the door scattered over with glittering items and objects, little price tags set before them in poor mimicry of a shop. 

  He wasn’t sure if the purple clad figure was meant to be here or not, but given that the house still technically belonged to him, he’d been more than slightly caught off guard. 

  “I’m not here for a shop, I- who are you?” 

  “Who are you?” The apparent merchant had demanded in answer, face shielded behind a hood that looked like it was meant to resemble a very, very odd face. “And why are you here?” Their voice was trembling slightly, but they stood firm despite. 

  “I live- or, well…” he’d paused, picking himself up and dusting himself off, “I used to live here. This was my house- still is actually, I’ve just been away.” 

  Despite not being able to see the merchant’s eyes, he could feel the apprehension in their gaze, weighty as it was as they looked up at him, one hand on their hip and the other holding fast to their oversized mallet. “You must have the wrong house; this one belongs to Mister Hero.” 

  Oh. 

  “You mean Link?” 

  “You know him?” Their head cocked on one side, hood following with a flap of long ear-like attachments. 

  Aflon had nodded briefly. “Do you?” 

  “Of course!” And suddenly the mallet was gone, the figure gesturing about with a cheery chirp now entering their tone. “He’s my housemate! Lets me stay here, keep up the shop while he’s gone and all that lovely sort of thing. Didn’t realize he had a landlord himself though! So terribly sorry if he’s been stiffing you on rent, he’s been out of town for forever now, you see.” 

  He’d nodded. He hadn’t known what better to do. 

  The stranger had introduced themselves as Ravio, offered to show him their wares, but when asked about Link had firmly insisted that he knew nothing more than that the hero was off on some mission for the crown or something and that he was just keeping the house in order for him. 

  It had been all Aflon needed to hear though. Link was still alive, apparently having embraced his role as the hero, and it seemed he wasn’t alone. He must have left the farm at some time, but seeing as he was approaching fifteen it made sense. He’d been rather eager for his freedom at that age too. 

  The kid would be fine, he’d told himself, walking back to Liza and Rusl. Link didn’t need him; he was getting along fine. 

  Somehow, even with the whole trip home to convince himself of that, it hadn’t worked. In fact, now he couldn’t stop thinking about it, slipping more with Rusl, drifting off at home. Liza wouldn’t let him in the kitchen anymore, insisting that he was too prone to forgetting what he’d been doing, too likely to hurt himself because he wasn’t paying attention. She’d begged him to see a doctor, or talk to her, but he’d waved it off, saying he was just tired, just thinking, he was fine; he just needed to rest. He knew she didn’t believe him, but she’d stopped asking at least. 

  If only he could stop himself thinking as easily. 

  But as the months and seasons passed, more worry had grown, more thoughts. 

  Link is turning sixteen this winter. Sixteen years since he’d stood on the edge of the wood with the queen of Hyrule and taken her child in his arms, promising to guard him. Only eight of those years were spent keeping that promise, only half, and he’d startled when he’d realized it. Even now, he’s left wondering, as he braves a storm so like that night that robbed him of his precious nephew, has Link changed? What is he like now? Did he ever grow into those too-big ears of his? Did he learn to look men in the eyes when he spoke to them, to steady his voice and hold himself with surety and not simply just skill? 

 His boy will be becoming a man, and he doesn’t know what that man looks like. 

  Or rather, he didn’t. 

  Because when he comes home, drenched to the bone but with a fresh kill in hand, ready for dinner, ready for him to show Rusl how to skin and prepare it, he finds his house full of strangers, his wide smiling and telling him that they’re travelers, more boys than men, and they need a place to stay but the inn is so far. Of course he greets them, of course he looks at men in armor and offers a smile like he would to his old brothers in arms, welcomes them to his home. 

  He didn’t realize, until just now, how much he missed hosting people fresh off the path he once used to follow, how much he missed their stories or sharing a smoke or a drink with men like himself once in a while, not just farming folk (nice as they are). 

  He’s midway to offering the a warm welcome when his eyes stray to the fire and he finds himself freezing. 

  Great violet eyes, shaded heavy under strawberry blonde, plastered down by dampness and the storm that howls just outside the door, stare up at him. 

  His breath catches. 

  It’s Loretta’s face, freckled and fine, fae-like features and faint traces of scars, upturned nose and steady jaw, but the galaxies that gaze out from violet pools aren’t the queen, even if everything else about the figure at his fire is. No, those stars are all Link, all his nephew, and the weight of that stare, not sure and stern like his sister-in-law but yet also not startled and wide like that day eight years back when he’d first met the hero. 

  In the same breath, it’s the dead queen and the young hero that sits before him. It’s Loretta with accusing eyes, fire burning in their depths as his own words ring in his head, sounding a promise, a vow to do as she’d said, to guard and guide her son, to protect him, no matter what. Yet it’s Link, it’s that little boy with eyes that know a demon’s smile and remember him bathed in his own blood. 

  If his heart had failed him when he’d first put a sword in the hands of his nephew, it’s ache is a thousand times worse as he stares at the result of that action, even as it refuses to cease in an endless flutter inside him as shock touches the face of the little soldier boy he’d left behind eight years ago, but who’s somehow, some way, found his way back before Aflon’s fire, staring up at him with the same startled gaze that shook and broke his world so long ago. 

  His knees hit the floor even as Liza cries out in concern, hands fluttering about him, but he can’t lift his eyes to look at her. Instead, he’s trapped in an endless expanse of dying stars. 

  “Link.” 

  Long ears, still too big for his nephew, turn his way at the sound of his voice, the answer coming out breathless and disbelieving. “Uncle?” 

[simpforrooster]

do you want me to lie, sir? pt.2

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F!Reader/F!MitchellReader

summary: jake has been busy with mav's stupid trainings. trainings disguised to keep him from you. t/w: implied smut 18+ please, soft!jake, soft!mav

Maverick has been keeping Hangman busy since the night he caught you coming out of his room.

Of course, Hangman thought the two of you were in the clear once you batted your big ol' eyes at your father.

Mav's got such a soft spot for you. His only child, only daughter.

"25 more, Lieutenant," Hondo tells him. Hangman internally rolls his eyes. Mav punished him to 75 push ups because it looked like he was going to leave his wingman.

**

Coyote and Hangman are leaning back against the bar waiting for their beers that evening.

"So, how are you and y/n?" He asks.

Hangman rolls his eyes, outwardly this time, since there is no one to tack on more pushups for the disrespect.

"Haven't seen her since that night," he tells Coyote.

Coyote's mouth pulls up in the corner, thinking about the chaos of the night. He was sad to have missed it. He hurriedly corrects his smile at Hangman's glare.

Penny sets the beers onto the counter and winks at Hangman. Of course Penny is in the know. Mav has probably been whining to her about it.

As Hangman turns back toward the pool tables, you make your entrance.

**

This hasn't been easy on you, either. You miss cuddling into those big arms. You miss his small kisses on your temple. The ones he gives without much thought. The simpleness of the intimacy makes your stomach jump.

Tonight, you dressed to kill. You can see it in the way Jake's eyes trail down your body from where he leans next to Coyote. You don't miss the gulp that goes down his throat either.

The black body con dress is working.

It isn't lost on you that your father is behind all the time Jake is spending away from you. You expected more from your cocky fighter pilot, though. Figured he be defying Maverick the first second he could.

But he hasn't. He's been respectful of it? Totally out of character.

Which is why you have to fight dirty.

You don't approach him, content to just watch him from the opposite side of the bar. His hand not holding his beer curls into and out of a fist, a la Pride and Prejudice style.

You allow your right eye to fall into a wink and then gesture toward the door. Not the front one. The one in the back. The one only you know about thanks to Penny. Jake answers your wink with a sensual smirk and murmurs something to Coyote before meeting you in the back.

Jake sandwiches you between him and the door. His strong body towers over you, heating you up all over. You reach behind you and turn the doorknob, both of you falling into the storage room.

Surrounded by bottles of liquor, Jake places his lips against yours and everything feels right in the world. Jake's hands rest on your hips, his thumbs digging in to pull you closer. You hook your arms around his neck and he follows by lifting you around his waist. He walks the two of you back against the door.

"Your father has been the absolute cock block," Jake tells you.

"Never say that sentence again," you giggle into his chest.

You never discussed your dating life with your father. You'd hope you'd just charm your way through it. Your father is still hellbent on assuming Jake is going to fuck something up.

"I know how guys like Hangman are!" he shouted once you followed him into the house. "Hell, I was Hangman!"

You crossed your arms. "So Penny doesn't need to be with you, then?"

Mav got that look on his face, the same one he gets when Cyclone calls him out on his bullshit.

The two of you didn't get farther than that, and your dad has kept Jake busy with pointless training exercises.

Jake pulls you back to the present by taking your lips in-between his teeth, gaining an unsolicited moan from you.

"Come back to the present with me, please," he says low against your ear. Your body reacts with goosebumps and a deep longing for the man pressing you against this door. "How good can it be inside that brain of yours when I am right here?"

"Oh shut up," you whisper against his mouth before deepening your kiss. You elicit a surprised groan from him as you grind against his erection. Allowing your hands to fall from his neck, you begin to fiddle with the button on his pants.

To hell with your fairytale first time with Jake.

Jake stops you. One hand on yours, the other keeping you around his waist.

"Baby, stop," he says quietly. That voice cutting through the noise in your brain. "You don't want to do it like this."

"But I want you," you tell him, feeling slightly rejected.

Jake leans forward, placing a soft kiss against your temple, calming you.

"Do you not want me anymore?" you manage to ask. Your voice small, hating that you let the question even leave your mouth.

Jake's finger comes under your chin, craning your face to look at him. "Believe me, stopping you from grabbing my cock is the hardest thing I have ever done." He kisses your temple again. That small reassurance fills you up. "But I know how important this is for you. I can't have sex with you in the middle of your stepmom's liquor stock."

You have to admit, seeing this soft side of Jake just makes you want him even more. If you'd been any other girl, he wouldn't have hesitated. But he did with you.

Because he loves you. Your brought back to that night. When he said it and you knew it was time. Time to take your relationship to the next level. It also hits you that you never got a chance to say it back to him.

"I love you, Jake," you whisper, laying your forehead into his chest. Jake chuckles into your hair.

"Take me home, Jake," you say. He sets you down and takes your hand in his. Carefully, he pulls the door open, and as he takes a step back out into the bar, he shoves you back in. Blocking you with his body, you can't see what's going on.

"Lieutenant," your father's voice says.

"Captain," Jake answers back, just as stoic.

"You hiding my baby girl?"

Jake squares up just a bit. "Do you want me to lie, sir?"

"I think that would be best."

"Nope."

Not being able to take this same song and dance, you poke around Jake.

"Maverick, you have to chill out." Your dad is taken back at the use of his callsign. He much prefers Dad or Pops.

You don't back down. "I am a grown woman. You cannot hate the people I date unless there is a legit reason I should be worried." You cock an eyebrow, silently asking Well, is there?

Jake stands behind you, letting you take control. Not wanting to dig himself into a hole. Mav can appreciate that. His little girl is strong enough on her own, and Jake knows this.

Maverick looks over your shoulder at Jake. "Hangman, if you hurt her, I swear--"

Jake cuts him off. "You don't have to worry about that." His hand encircles your waist from behind, pulling you into him. "I'm in love with her, sir."

This declaration softens your fathers eyes. It almost looks like he's going to cry?

Nah, Mav wouldn't cry over something like this.

Or would he?

You clear your throat. "We, uh, were just going to head out. Going to the, uh, house. You and Penny seem plenty busy here."

"To go watch watch movies I hope," he says, eyes sad and scared.

"Do you want me to lie, Pop?"

"That would be best, daughter."

"Sure, movies."

You grab Jake's hand and step around your father before he can say anything. Over your shoulder, you see him shaking his head before heading into the stock room for whatever Penny sent him after.

masterlist.

a/n: so sorry for my unplanned hiatus. i had to administer state testing to my fifths, and then school let out a week early and we had to cram all our end of the year fun into a few weeks. i also started my masters degree. tbh, i have been feeling a little uninspired. hopefully i will be back to posting regularly!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Pinball [Aemond's Version]

🄼🄰🅂🅃🄴🅁🄻🄸🅂🅃

Just you, your kid, and a pinball machine against the world.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | >600 | cw: fem!reader, single mom!reader, modern/70s AU, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: idk dont shoot the messenger, i rarely feel inspired to do fluff so thank Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game and mike faist for this lololol

Even the dinging of the elevator was too loud of him today. Aemond groans in his corner, screwing his eyes shut just as the doors close.

"Here."

He opens his eyes.

You look at him with your soft eyes, curved lips, and overflowing laundry basket by the hip, "you look like you need it."

Aemond's lilac gaze falls on your upturned palm where a single unopened tablet of medicine laid. His light brows furrow, recognizing the packet to be a painkiller, "a kind way to tell someone they look like shit." He takes it nonetheless.

You chuckle and shake your head, "most of us wished we looked half as pretty as you on a day you look like shit, honey."

The elevator dings again. A man walks in, coming between the two of you.

It takes a him a few floors to realize you were flirting with him.

He straightens up and shifts slightly to face you. He steals a glance your way, finding you were smiling. Yeah, his head was pounding, but here he was feeling a smile creep up on him, "you're prettier."

You turn to him, as does the man between the two of you. He gruffs, "what?"

Aemond turns to him, mouth opening, brows raising, "w- I wasn't talking to you."

The man makes a face and thankfully gets off at the tenth floor.

Both you and Aemond watch him exit, and you break into a fit of giggles once the door closes. By the time Aemond joins in your chuckles, you mutter softly, "I think he was hurt."

He laughs harder, which isn't very good for his head ache.

Before he can think of anything to say, you both reach the ground floor. You give him a smile just before walking out. He ruffles his silver hair, following after you as you make a beeline for the laundromat just beside your building.

He finally speaks, "wai-" "MAMA!"

Aemond he cringes at the shriek.

A small child comes running towards you, nearly knocking your basket to the pavement, "I GOT A COIN FOR THE PINBALL-"

"Baby," you crouch down, grabbing the boy by the arm, "we talked about this. The coins are for our laundry. Where is Aunt Sisi?"

"BUT MAMA-"

"Inside voice, bud."

The boy laughs, "BUT WE'RE IN THE STREET!"

"Yeah," you huff, moving to open the door to the laundry place, "but we're going inside now, right?"

"RIGHT! Right!" he grins.

You momentarily struggle to open the door, that is, until it magically opens. You look over and find the man from the elevator opened it for you.

You smile at him, taking your son but the hand, "what do we say to the nice man that helped open the door for us?"

"Thank you, sir," the boy whispers with a smile that's missing a tooth.

"Thank you, sir," you repeat, just before heading in.

"Wait," Aemond says, fishing for something in his pocket. For once, he is glad for his loose change that heavies his pants, "here," he gives a bunch to the boy, "for your pinball machine."

The boy gratefully accepts the coins, gasping as if it was treasure, "THAN- thank you!"

"Oh, sir," you shake your head, "you don't ha-"

"It's fine," Aemond shrugs, "it's just loose change. Consider it a thank you for the pain killer."

You slowly nod at him.

"And a bribe," he tilts his head.

"A bribe?" you tilt you head the opposite way.

"Maybe... we can play pinball sometime."

"PINBALL!"

Aemond groans at the boy's shout.

You snort and shake your head at the child, "no, baby, laundry first."

"Mmm," he hums, "laundry first."

You look back at Aemond and nod slowly, "maybe."

The discomfort on his face fades, "maybe."

"We'll be done here in an hour," you turn to the boy, "won't we bud?"

The boy thinks, "I don't know, mama."

You snort and walk inside, "see you around."

Aemond sighs, pushing the door wider for you, "gods, I hope so."

[me-and-your-husband]

widow's bite (1) || e. williams

summary: "...the dangerous Black Widow is to be approached with caution, as the Black Widow's bite can cause death. she encases her victims with silk, then kills with poison from her fangs."

or

you're a black widow. you're sent to kill Spider-Woman. something inside of you just can't do it.

warnings: smut in future chapters, ellie is 18 and reader is 19, dreykov being gross which is canon, mentions of suicide attempt, canon death (sarah), swearing maybe? probs more, not proofread cause i'm lazy

word count: 4k

a/n: soooo i got this request and although it took FOREVER for me to write it, i was so excited that i just had to make it a series...i SWEARRR i'll try to update regularly but going back to uni is kicking my ass a little. also, ellie is basically mcu!peter. some of the avengers may make appearances. tony isn't dead.

You stood tall in front of the massive screen in his office. Videos of a girl in a red and black suit swinging through New York City illuminated your solemn features. At the top of the screen, there were only a few words: Spider-Woman: TERMINATE.

“She keeps coming so close to discovering our New York base,” Dreykov’s accent spread through the dark room. “I can’t have her getting in the way of my work. This is important.”

You nodded, eyes never leaving the screen.

“You will bring her body back to me. She seems to have some sort of abilities, abilities I can use to make you stronger. Better.” His thick hand slithered up your shoulder. “Do you copy?”

“I copy.”

His lips twisted into a sinister smile, his gross breath hot on your cheek. “Always so obedient.” He licked his lips.

He smiled, “You take off…” he glanced at his watch, “right now. I don’t want to see you again until she's dead,” he spat in your ear.

“Yes, sir.”

"Hey! Come back, mister criminal!”

Faint thwips filled the air as Ellie swung past corporate building after corporate building, chasing some burglar who happened to try robbing Delmar’s when she was ordering sandwiches for her and Joel. He would have to wait. She was just lucky she had her suit under her clothes.

He booked it down the sidewalk, cash flying out of the duffle bag, throwing pedestrians to the side as he tried escaping Spider-Woman.

She grunted as she dodged semi-trucks and cars, bikers and typical New York tourists. She almost lost sight of him when he turned a corner, but she could still hear his laboured breathing.

She could sense that he had stopped, under the impression that he had thrown her off his trail. He was resting in an alley up against an apartment building. Climbing to the roof, she perched herself on top as she looked down at him, hands on his knees as he panted.

“Hey, man, I think you forgot this!” She yelled as she dropped next to him. Before he could react, she cocooned him in webbing and left him stuck against the wall.

“You got a pen by any chance?” She asked, to which she had to dodge a ball of spit directed at her head. “Should've guessed.”

She pulled her calculus notebook out of her backpack with one of her good pens and scribbled a note on it:

“This is the one that robbed the bodega. I think you should cut old Delmar a tax break for his troubles.

Love,

Spider-Woman”

She called it into the station and webbed the note to the criminal, webbing his mouth shut too while she was at it.

As she walked out of the alley muttering “all in a day’s work”, she heard the faint pleas of a small child. Letting her heightened senses guide her, she swung until she found the source coming from an open window in a different apartment complex.

She slid the window open far enough to get inside, putting her hands out in front of her when the child noticed her and was frightened.

“No no no! Just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Woman, not gonna hurt you! I promise,” she said, getting to the little girl's level. The girl’s eyes softened and she seemed to trust Ellie.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, lip trembling. “My sister…please help.”

“Okay, where is she now?”

The little girl pointed outside of her door, “The kitchen.”

Ellie took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to go help her. You stay right here, okay? Don’t move.”

Something inside of her told her that something was wrong. She brushes it off as someone else being in danger.

As she creeps out of the child’s room, she surveys her surroundings. It looked like a regular New York apartment, a little messy, but nothing her and Joel’s place hadn't seen. Everything was fine.

Until it wasn't.

She suddenly had difficulty breathing when you jumped from somewhere above and wrapped your legs around her neck, squeezing. You elbowed her head repeatedly.

She grabbed you by your hips and threw you off of her, gasping for breath. Her naivety still told her that you needed help.

Was it her naivety?

“Calm down, lady! I’m trying to help you!” she said, still gasping. She watched the girl scurry past her and over to you. “I thought I said—”

She stopped talking when she saw you hand the girl a twenty, eyes still trained on Spider-Woman.

Once you knew the child was a safe distance away, you attacked. His voice rang in the back of your head. No casualties. No witnesses.

You lunged at her, hands finding her throat.

“Woah, at least take me on a date first,” she remarked as she easily slid out of your grasp, jumping up to the ceiling and latching on. She webbed your left arm to the wall. You let out a grunt of dissatisfaction as you squeezed your fist, a blade coming out of your cuff and slicing through the web. It was installed in all of the Widows’ suits in case of capture.

“Oh. That's pretty cool, honestly,” she said as she dodged a bullet from your pistol, flipping down from the roof. You charged her again, this time taking out her legs and pinning to the ground. You threw a hook right at her jaw, to which she exclaimed “Ow!”, catching the next one with ease. Your eyes widened as she flipped the two of you over, pinning you underneath her.

“Look, I don't want to—”

Before she could finish, you had sent electric currents through your suit, effectively tazing her.

In her incapacitation, you were able to flip over again and pressure your knee against her neck. While she struggled for air, her legs flailed underneath her. She managed to knee you in the stomach, opening up an opportunity to throw you off her. You both stood up, ready to go at it again, both slightly out of breath.

“Are you gonna say something?” Silence. “Can you even talk?”

She lunged forward in an attempt to pull down the mask that covered half of your face, a piece of fabric resting atop the bridge of your nose. Before she could grab it, you grabbed her wrists, locating her web cartridges. You released another electric current, frying them.

She stepped back, trying to shoot webs, but to no avail. That's when she saw the text on the bicep of your suit: WIDOW-893. “Shit!”

You threw a swift kick into her abdomen while she was caught off guard and knocked her down to her knees. Her eyes widened as you threw punches at her face, too dazed to think of blocking. When she finally grabbed your fist, she could feel the blood from her nose leaking through her mask and could taste metal.

“You’re a Widow? Like Nat?”

You struggled to get your hand out of her grasp. Instead, you pushed all your weight forward and landed on top of her chest, pinning her arms.

You reached forward and slid your fingers under the fabric of her mask. She struggled underneath you, but you had her pinned and she wasn't going anywhere.

You basked in her struggle, slowly sliding the mask off her face.

“I was sent to kill you.”

“So you do talk. Wait—”

“And that's what I’m going to do.”

“Please don't take my mask off. Please. Please don't kill me. Oh god, I have so much to live for, please—!”

You slipped her mask off completely to be met with her perfectly curved and soft lips, her delicate green eyes, and her pretty freckles, her auburn hair messy from having it under the mask. Her brows furrowed and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to happen. When it didn't, she slowly opened one eye, and then the other. She was met with you admiring her face, gaze raking over her features.

Your eyes were wide and seemed slightly glassy, and she couldn't help but wonder why they looked so distant. Why it looked like you were trapped behind them.

She realized you weren't pinning her down anymore. She loosened an arm slowly from underneath you and brought it up to the fabric around your face, gently beginning to tug the mask down.

Your cold grasp on her wrist stopped her. “Don't.”

“Why not?” She whispered.

You tore your gaze away from her, standing up. You turned your back to her.

Looking back at her once more, you said, “Because it will end badly."

You moved to leave through the window, but a thought stopped you briefly

The truth is, you didn't know what to do. It's like you had just gained free will, like she had broken some spell. You had thought you were operating on your own terms until now.

You'd been sent to take out powerful men, some women, usually old, usually established, usually somewhat corrupt. But when you saw the fear in the eyes of a girl your age, your body shocked you back into free will.

Your back still to the girl, you just shook your head and jumped.

She coughed as she pushed herself up off the ground and shoved the mask back down over her face, wondering if she'd ever see you again. If she'd ever find out who you really are.

“This is WIDOW-893,” you said into your comm-link, talking to an obscure agent you'd probably never meet. “I need an extraction. I’m sending you my location now.”

Static sounded in your ear before a harsh male voice began, “Has the mission been completed?”

You elected to ignore the question.

“Has the target been eliminated?”

More silence as you hunted for a place to lay low for a bit.

“Widow, has the target been eliminated?!” The agent’s frustration was palpable in his voice.

You swallowed. “Negative.”

“What do you mean, negative? This mission was of utmost— Sorry? Yes, sir.” Some keyboard clicks. “She can hear you now.”

“893, why wasn't your mission completed?” Dreykov’s invigorated voice droned through the comm. You searched for an excuse that wouldn't get you terminated. Or worse.

“The target seems to have heightened senses. She was able to get the jump on me before I was in position. My identity was almost discovered so I was forced to retreat.”

Dreykov let out a pained sigh. Slowly, he said, “I’m only going to tell you this once, agent, so listen very carefully. You are disposable. The mission must proceed, regardless of your comfort. We can easily terminate you and move on to the next Widow. Copy?”

“I copy.”

“Now, if this happens again, I will have you terminated. You get a pass this time because you're one of the…finer specimens we have. You will not be sent an extraction. You will complete this mission in terminating Spider-Woman. Do not make contact until then,” he said, and you could almost feel his hands slithering up your back and around your neck. “And don't think you're not being watched.”

With that, the connection was severed.

Ellie threw the soggy McDonald’s bag down on the kitchen table as Joel stood at the sink washing dishes.

“Couldn't get sandwiches from Delmar’s. Poor guy got robbed again,” she said as she began digging in the bag for her fries.

Joel turned around to give her a shocked look. “Someone’s gotta look out for the people in this city. Lord knows the cops ain’t doin' much,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well…Spider-Woman looks out for people,” Ellie said, tearing the waters. Joel never really sided with J. Jonah Jameson from that stupid news station, but he was never really for the “vigilante” either.

He sighed. “Look, Ellie…I know you think Spider-Woman is cool and all, and I think it's good that she looks out for the normal people of New York, but I think it's irresponsible. I mean, I’m sure she's got people in her life that love her and she’s puttin’ her life at risk seven days a week,” he said as he dried the dishes and put them away.

“Yeah but,” Ellie said through a mouthful of fries, “If you had that power, wouldn't you be responsible for using it for good?”

“Yes, I suppose. But with great power comes great responsibility, Ellie. And with responsibility comes an immense need for balance. Remember that,” he said, turning to look at her.

Ellie swallowed the last few fries as she took a moment to digest what Joel had said. She gave him a meaningful smile before he turned back around to put the last few dishes away.

She couldn't help but think about your “power”. Was it given to you, or forced on you? How did you become so skilled? You were her age, or at least not far off. She’d never met someone so close to her age who held such a huge responsibility. But was it really a responsibility if you were being forced into it?

She knew she'd probably never come across you again, so there wasn't really a reason to overthink it. Right now, she just wanted to finish her Physics homework and watch The Empire Strikes Back with Jesse.

Weeks had gone by and every moment plagued your mind with thoughts of Ellie. Or rather, if you had it in yourself to kill her.

Your immense training in Covert Ops was indeed handy for situations like these. You shadowed Ellie almost 24/7. You followed her on her commute to her high school, which you noted to be Midtown. You surveilled her through the cameras you'd planted in all of her classes. You followed her after school to the alley where she'd leave her school stuff and switch to her second life. You climbed from building to building as you followed her web-slinging as closely as possible without being seen. You searched and searched for something to justify it, something to prove she's a bad person and deserves to be terminated. But nothing. Nothing when she helped old ladies carry their groceries inside, or rescue little girls' cats from trees, or stop lecherous men from harassing women on the street. Especially nothing when you spied through her living room window and saw her laughing with her dad every Sunday morning.

Three weeks after your first attempt at termination, you had stumbled across the perfect moment to investigate your target’s bedroom. She was at a field trip to the Museum of Modern Art with her class, and her dad was at work.

Around noon, you whistled as you climbed the stairs to the apartment, smiling softly as you find the right one. You knock for good measure, and when nobody answers you slide two bobby pins out from your hair when to pick the lock. Classic, but it always works.

When you open the door you lock it again from the inside so nothing would seem astray. You feel an uncomfortable, throbbing pain in your chest as you look around at the framed portraits of your target and her dad, lots from when she was young. One of her holding a medal in a soccer jersey. One of them at a planetarium together. One of them with a model dinosaur in the background, a hat atop its head, both of them grinning.

You creep through the hallway, looking for one room in particular. Opening the first door, you enter an office space. You decide it might be useful in gathering intel on her family.

You slide open a drawer of the filing cabinet labelled “records”. There seemed to be two sections, one for her father’s business, and one for their personal records. The latter had significantly less material. You slid out the folders and placed them on the desk, taking a seat in the chair.

The first folder read: ADOPTION RECORDS

You skimmed the papers and deduced that about five years ago, a man named Joel Miller (presumably the target’s father) and a woman named adopted a girl named Ellie Williams, but had fostered her long before that with a woman named Theresa Servopoulos, the word “deceased” in brackets next to her name. Anna Williams, her single mother, died shortly after childbirth and a woman named Marlene took her in. However, Marlene gave her up to a foster home once she hit school age.

Another folder read: MEDICAL RECORDS

Ellie had a long history of optometry visits prior to about two years ago, then they just suddenly stopped. There was nothing else really interesting in her file.

Joel, however, was a different story. Medical records that yellowed and flaked at the edges sat in his file from over 20 years ago. He was admitted for a self inflicted GSW to the head shortly after the death of his daughter, Sarah Miller. He was admitted to a psychiatric ward by request of his brother, Tommy Miller, shortly after.

Another file read: ELLIE’S SCHOOL RECORDS

It was evident that Ellie had excelled in school ever since she had settled in with Joel, specifically in the math and science areas. Her transcripts highlighted a bright 4.0 gpa. She had a bright future.

Now with a name for your target, you decided to search her room to gain some more personal intel. Tucking the files away and closing the drawers, you stalked out of the office and down the hall to what was Ellie’s room (the words “Ellie’s Room!” scrawled on a banner on the door making it painfully easy).

The door creaked slightly when you pushed it open. You were immediately hit with the vague sent of pine and mahogany. Dirty flannels and socks were piled in a corner or sometimes littered around the room. An empty ramen cup sat on her nightstand. Notebooks and textbooks filled with complex calculations sat open on her book. Her blankets were peeled back, revealing astronaut bedsheets. “Cute,” you thought.

The cracked open window let in a nice breeze. The light blue walls were littered in posters, photos, and banners. Next to a lesbian flag above her bed were photos of her and the two friends she was always with. Plastered around her room were covers of comics, something called Savage Starlight. There were silly math reference posters, Star Wars posters, and just about everything you would never expect from a crime fighting vigilante.

Her laptop was left open, and a few clicks and an easy password guess later, the screen unlocked to Ellie’s web browser. Her search history made your brows furrow. You expected to find “How to buy weed NYC” or “porn” at the very least.

Search: Is there more than one Black Widow?

Search: Natasha Romanoff history

Search: The Red Room

Search: Dreykov The Red Room

Search: Dreykov Russia

Search: Black Widow Assassins

Search: Natasha Romanoff Phone Number

She had been researching you. Hell, she hadn't done a very good job by the looks of it. And did she really think The Black Widow’s phone number was public information?

You grabbed a figurine from Ellie’s desk and toyed with it as you took a moment to think. Was it really worth taking the life of an innocent girl just for the sustenance of your organization? Was it even your organization? It's not like you could remember how you got there. It's not like you remembered your family, or your friends, or what it was like to have them… It wasn't so bad if you didn't really have anything to compare it to, right?

A soft pressure around your ankles made you look down. Silky webbing coated your boots.

“Sit down,” her voice came from near the window. You turned as much of your body as you could and watched as Ellie gestured to her desk chair. With no choice but to oblige, you sat. She webbed your arms to the armrests, not taking any chances.

She spun the chair to face her direction and then leaned back against the window.

“What do you want with me?” She inquired, green eyes searing into yours.

“I told you. My mission is to-”

“No. If you were going to kill me, I’d be dead already.” Good point.

You broke eye contact and looked around her room dramatically. “Cute room. I like the flag.”

“Tell me what you want with me,” she said, stalking closer to your chair. “I’m not asking this time.”

“What happened to the ‘friendly neighbourhood Spider-Woman’ I met? Do you rest all your guests like this?” You quipped.

“Yeah? Well, forgive me if I’m not so friendly to the one who tried to kill me, has been stalking me for weeks, and broke into my apartment.”

You roll your eyes.

Her large hand wraps around your jaw, forcing you to look in her eyes.

“Roll your eyes one more time and see what happens,” she growls. “Now tell me.”

You jerk your jaw away and kick her in the stomach, enough time for you to effectively sever the webs around your wrists and ankles.

“Fuck, I forgot about those,” Ellie says under her breath as she webs her bedroom door completely shut and stands in front of the window to block your exit.

“Move,” you demand.

“Nope.”

“Move. Or this won't end well for either of us.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just stay right here ‘till you tell me what you want with me.”

You charged her, attempting to throw her to the side and leap through the window she entered through, but she's stronger. She's like brick as she pushes you back.

“Just let me go. I’ve made up my mind anyways. I’m done with you.”

“No can do. I’m not in the habit of letting pretty girls who try to kill me go so easily,” she said, and you felt your cheeks heating up. She webbed the window shut and sat down in her bed, gesturing to her desk chair again. “Come on. I just want to know what your people want with me. Then you can go, I promise.”

You knew it wouldn't hurt to tell her. You'd have to go on the run from Dreykov anyways. Rip your tracker out and all. So you sat and watched as she reached into a drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a pack of peanut M&Ms.

“Want some?” She asked as she peeled it open. You shook your head and she shrugged. “More for me, then.”

“What do you want to know?” You asked.

“Start from the beginning.”

You cleared your throat. “I was given the mission to find you and-”

“No. I get that part, I’m not stupid. I want to know how this happened to you. And how I can help you out of it."

permanent tags:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz @pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb @darleneslane

a slash thru your user means i'm unable to tag you!

taglists

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Holiday Party

Everything was going so well! You were dressed in an amazing dress, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. The partners at your firm were impressed with not just your skills as an attorney, but also at your ability to network.

You could feel it happening. You were going to make partner after this party.

Then, the clock struck 8:00 pm.

You were dazzling the managing partner with your in depth knowledge of case law related to torts, when, you were interrupted mid-sentence with a rubber bulb being shoved into your mouth.

You looked back, first in indignation and then in shock, as you saw your husband standing there, smiling at your boss.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Is my little one bothering you? When she loses her paci, she can be quite the babbler."

Your face turned red with embarrassment and then with rage as your husband talked over your head. How dare he condescend to you like this in front of your boss!

Your boss laughed boisteriously as you pulled your pacifier out and turned to lecture your husband.

"What do you think you are..." you started before you were interrupted by your husband's firm hand.

"Baby, did you just take your pacifier out? Naughty girl! Excuse me, sir, I am so sorry," your husband said as he dragged you to the nearest chair and threw you over his lap, flipping your dress up and exposing your ass, barely covered by a thong, to the entire room.

"Baby, you know the rules! You are *mine* after 8:00 pm. That means paci, diapers, and *no* talking back."

Your husband--no, your Daddy, he was right it was after 8:00 pm--began raining blows on your exposed rear end as your entire office watched. Tears filled your eyes and you cried out as paralegals, junior attorneys, and your partners watched you get disciplined like a naughty child.

Eventually, the spanking stopped. Tears ran down your face and your ass cheeks burned. Your daddy called out to Susan, your paralegal.

"Susan, would you mind going to the coat check and grabbing my princess's diaper bag? I need to get her padded before she has an accident in her big-girl panties!"

Susan grinned as she eagerly complied with your husband's request, even offering to change you herself when she returned. Daddy, always protective, politely declined her offer, before stripping you naked, diapering you, and dressing you in nothing but a pastel pink onesie.

You spent the rest of the party sitting on a blanket on the floor in the corner of the room, being doted on and played with by your coworkers while your husband chatted with your bosses.

It was the most mortifying experience of your life, but you dared not complain for fear of a worse punishment.

When you returned to the office on Monday, you were prepared for things to be awkward, and you were righ to be. Paralegals, secretaries, and junior attorneys who had once looked up to you, now gave you condescending grins as they asked if you needed a diaper change or wanted your baba. It was mortifying.

You had tried convince your husband that you couldn't go back to work after the party, but he reassured you that, after his conversations with your bosses, you would be fine returning to the firm.

Only an hour into the day, you were called into a partners' meeting, a meeting that, at the start of that cursed party you had been excited about. You dreaded it now.

The managing partner looked at you with a soft smile as you entered the room.

"I know you were expecting a promotion today," he began, "But, after that party, everyone agrees that another shift in title is in order."

And that's how you found yourself here, sitting in your newly minted "corner office"--a playpen tucked away in the corner of the office near the restrooms--playing with dolls while waiting on Susan, the woman who you once supervised, to come change your messy diaper.

You weren't a partner at the firm. You were no longer even an associate. You were now the firm's adorable, diapered mascot, only good for filling diapers and boosting morale. All because you lost track of time at that horrible holiday party.

[beenbaanbuun]

BUNNY ?!

I need to hear your thoughts about yunho collaring you sooooooo bad

(if u wanna ofc)

if i wanna?!?!? OF COURSE I WANT TO!!! collaring?? with yunho?!?!? i’m literally so insane, that’s why this is so long 😭😭

————————————————

so, it all starts one day when the two of you visit a pet store together. something about you needing to buy fish food or something; yunho wasn’t entirely listening, but he gladly goes with you because he’s a good boyfriend.

but even though the two of you only went to grab fish food, you somehow end up exploring the entire pet store until eventually, the two of you end up on the dog collar aisle. it starts fairly innocent, the two of you talking about your future dog and which collar you’d get it, but then you make a comment that sends yunho’s head spinning.

‘what about your current one?’ you look at him with a smirk, head tilting like a curious puppy, ‘surely she should have a collar, right?’

yunho feels his mouth go bone dry at your comment, blood immediately rushing from his head to his cock. little fucking brat, he thinks as he watches you try to feign innocence. there’s nothing ‘innocent’ about the smug smile on your lips or the evil glint in your eye.

‘do you think she deserves a collar?’ he replies, stepping closer to you to assert his dominance. his height helps with that, his body towering above yours, physically reminding you that he is in charge here. annoyingly, you don’t seem to acknowledge that and he wishes the two of you were at home so he could knock that fucking look off your pretty little face.

‘maybe she doesn’t deserve it,’ you shrug, ‘but i think she needs it. after all, sir, what better way than to remind her of her place?’

fucking hell, he wants nothing more than force you to your knees and get you to beg for his cock. he’d give it to you as well, mainly to shut your loud mouth up. perhaps that would make you behave like a good girl again, stop you from acting out and turn you into the docile little puppy that you usually are.

‘i think you’re wrong,’ yunho says, turning to grab the navy blue collar that he’d been admiring and holding it against your neck. he watches your eyes dart around, looking for other people that may be able to see you; there’s no one there. ‘i think my puppy is a good girl who does deserve this. a few tantrums here and there don’t change the fact that she’s usually so willing to be my pretty little pet, right? especially when it’s so easy to knock her down a few pegs and put her back in her place.’

the dyed leather of the collar rubs up and down your neck in a way that sends you spiralling. he’s right; you’re his good little puppy, most of the time. a little bratting here and there certainly won’t change that fact, but it definitely will make you feel bad for acting out. maybe not now when adrenaline is running high and the thought of disobedience feels more like a fun game than anything, but certainly later. that adrenaline will drop, and you’ll be left feeling empty and guilty and just everything you don’t want to feel.

yunho is good at catching you before you fall though, and you’re not one for thinking too hard about the consequences of your actions. you bat his hand away and lean over to grab the pretty pink one you’d been admiring instead. yunho lifts a brow in amusement as you hold that one to your neck instead. it’s pretty, he has to agree, but you’re misbehaving and he’s not the type to just bend over backwards to give you what you want, especially not when you’re acting like this.

‘pretty, but no,’ he grabs it from your hand and puts it down again, ‘my puppy will wear what i want her to wear, and if i say i want the navy collar then she better be fucking grateful, got it?’

you sneer at him, but you know you won’t get anywhere good by disrespecting him any further. like a petulant child you fold your arms, looking to the floor before you give him a single nod of your head. he hums in disapproval, but nevertheless takes your behaviour in his stride. it’s nothing he can’t correct once the two of you are home.

besides, he’s too impatient to argue anymore; he wants to see his pretty puppy in her collar.

‘keys,’ he fishes them out of his pocket, slinging them into the palm of your hand, ‘i’ll pay for everything, you go and wait for me in the car; it’ll give you time to think about your behaviour. now shoo.’

you pass him the fish food, which he takes under his arm, before turning around to leave. mere milliseconds pass before you hear a smack ring through the air, followed shortly by a stinging on your left ass cheek. you spin your head to face your boyfriend; he gives you a smirk and gestures for you to leave. you do, but not without stomping your foot at him first.

cute…

with your back turned, he grabs the pink collar too. he knows you’ll behave sooner or later, and when you do, you can have the collar you want. he might not bend over backwards for you, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t absolutely adore spoiling you. he just makes you work a little harder for it, that’s all.

he makes his way to the register after doing another few laps of the store. it’ll give you time to reflect; to decide what game you want to play. the one where you’re a good puppy for him and—after a brief punishment, of course—you get treated like the princess you really are, or the one where you continue to push his buttons and get what you deserve. yunho doesn’t really mind, it’s fun for him either way, but he does have to admit that he was hoping you’d be on your best behaviour when he finally collars you. as he hands over his card to the cashier, he decides that your collar will be a bargaining chip for now; be good and it’ll be yours.

‘thank you,’ he grabs the bag from the cashier, once again hurling the huge sack of fish food under his arm before heading out of the store and towards his car. he places a mental bet as to whether you’ll have locked him out in your childish disobedience, but he guesses that it all depends on whether you’ve decided to be good for him or not. he approaches the car.

the boot opens; he puts the bags inside, slipping the navy collar into his hand before shutting the door and moving round the the drivers side. he swings it open, pleased to know you haven’t actually locked him out, and climbs inside. the door closes behind him and he turns to you…

the rough carpet of the floormat digs uncomfortably into your knees, but you don’t shift. not now he has his gaze on you, anyway. you want to show him you can be good, a silent apology for the bad behaviour in the store. the guilt had hit much sooner than you expected it to—maybe around the time you watched him pick up the pink collar instead of going out to the car like he’d asked. it just served as a reminder of how well he treats you… of how little he deserves your misbehaviour…

‘oh, puppy,’ he coos, voice softer than you expect. you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks, ‘come over here; sit on master’s lap.’

you push yourself up from the floor, wincing at the carpet peels away from the indents it’s left in your knees. the leather of your seat is a much nicer texture on them, but you’re not there for long before dragging yourself over the console to yunho’s side of the car. it’s difficult to arrange yourself so that you’re straddling him, but the hands that he places on your hips do a good job of stabilising you. with very little grace, you let yourself sit, immediately feeling his chubbed up cock rubbing at your core through your panties. if you were still being bad, perhaps you’d grind down on him to tease him a little. you’re not, though, so you don’t.

‘you want your collar?’ he asks, showing you the leather strap in his hand. you nod and his hands immediately go to unclasp it. the soft band comes into contact with your neck, and he adjusts the size before wrapping around. there’s a click, followed by an involuntary whimper. yunho just chuckles, ‘there’s my good puppy.’

[shelbgrey]

Hi, I had an idea for a fic . Would you be able to write a Mark Sloan x reader. He cheated on reader with her best friend Addison and found out she was pregnant after they broke up. Years later, when Mark is working at Seattle Grace, Y/N and her daughter/son travel to visit Derek but end up in a car accident. Their child is fine but Y/N has severe injuries. She wakes up to find out Mark knows about their child and wants to start again as a family. When she has recovered they get back together and Y/N becomes a surgeon at Seattle Grace. Thank you! (Sorry it’s long, it came to me in a dream 😂)

We are family(mark Sloan)

Paring: Mark Sloan X Shepherd!Reader

Summary: The reader and her son get into a car crash on their way to vist her brother Derek. While the son is fine the reader has several injuries and finds out Mark, her ex knows about his son.

Greys MasterList

“are we there yet?” Jason said looking out the window of the car. I smiled at my son's brightness as he awaited our over due visit with his uncle Derek.

“almost honey” I said taking my eyes off the road for a second to look at my son.

The drive was long and it was making us both extremely antsy but it beat flying in a plan. I hated flying and my son had never really experienced it but he decided he'd never get on one due to all the movies he's watched.

The longer we drove the darker it got... And the storm fell heavier. The ran plunked on the car loud and fast as I drove down the highway. He had about an hour till we got to Seatle and I was extremely thankful. My anxiety spiked as I saw a car behind swerved then sped up.

“mom?” Jason asked.

“hang on” I mumbled and tried to speed up. The other car did beat me to it and swayed right. I gasped as the tired screamed and hit our car head on.

“mommy!”

Then it when black...

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“Sloan, make sure the kid is okay” Webber shouted from the other side of the ER. As Jackson left to help Derek and April Mark ran to where he was instructed. He pulled the privacy curtain back and saw a small boy who was about ten years old. The little boy looked up at Mark with eyes that looked all to familiar. His hair was also a dark blonde that was shockingly familiar

Mark hesataed for a second and the two boys studied each other. The Boy titled his head for a second then Mark shaped out of it.

“Hey, kiddo what's your name?” he asked checking his head for any cuts. He only had one and it was on the left side of his forehead.

“Jason, sir”

“I'm Dr. Sloan” Mark smiled softy as he cleaned the kids cut. He couldn't shake this feeling, it was like he knew the kid or seen him before.

“is my mama okay?” he asked. Mark looked at the chart and his eye brows scrunched together as he barely heard the question. The Boy and his mother had the last name Shepherd... That's just a coincidence, right? Shephard is a common last name.

“Dr. Sloan?” the boy said softly. Mark quickly closed the chart then turned to the boy with a small smile.

“I'm sure your mom's fine, but wait here” before the Boy could argue mark was gone like a flash of lighting. He made sharp turn and nearly ran into the threshold of the room where the boy's mother was in.

His heart stopped as he watched a teary eyed Derek and Meredith giving the woman chest Compressions. “y/n...” he breathed out and stumbled backwards into the wall with his hand over his mouth.

Bailey looked over clules to the connections. “Sloan we'll need you on standby there's a nasty cut on this poor girls arm”

Her voice was muffled to him and then a ringing followed as he stood there shocked. There was nothing on his face... It was just blank.

Derek looked up and staired at his best friend with rage and sadness. Of course the two had made up and it killed Derek that he had to keep Jason a secret but at the same time anger and resent fueled him.

“stay with Jason, Mark!” Derek yelled as he checked y/n's eyes. In the back of Mark's mind he wanted to know how he knew the kids name but at the same time he left like a mindless robot.

He left the room as tears pricked his eyes. He tried to control himself but he couldn't help but shake as his stomach turned. He felt his whole body move uncontrollably and before he knew it he had emptyed his stomach in the trash can behind the nurse's station. Due to the commotion in the ER he calmed down in peace. But only one person noticed Mark Hurling in the small trash can.

“dude, you okay?” the same small voice said from behind.

Mark's eyes went wide and quickly covered his mouth and turned around. He looked down and saw the same damn eyes stare back at him.

“you shouldn't be up... You could have a conceson or-r” he's started to stutter unprofessionally as he paced infront of the boy. Boy looked up at him like he was crazy.

“I'm fine... Where's my mom?”

Jason didn't get his awnser as Mark quickly pulled him out of way. The fith strecher of the night came barreling through almost missing the boy.

'how many heart attacks can this kid give me? I just met him' mark thought as he pulled he boy to his chest and out of harms way.

Mark knelt down infront of Jason holding his shoulders. “are you okay?”

The boy nodded and smiled. Mark's steal blue eyes widened as it was like looking in a mirror. His mouth opened but no words came out. At least to the boys knowledge as a familiar voice shouted over Mark's.

“Jason! There you are” Jason's eyes widen with relief. “Aunty Amy!” the boy ran to the female shepherd and hugged her tight. Amilea looked at Mark and sighed.

“Aunty Amy...” Mark said like he got the answer he wanted all night.

“is my mom okay?” Jason asked Amilea. Amilea sighed and picked him up and carried him into the waiting room where it was quite. Mark follow as he wanted more awnsers.

“so this is your aunt?” Mark asked softly. Jason nodded. “and I Have a Uncle that works here too, he's a knea-row.. A-a nurosurgeon” he nodded each syllable as he tried to pronounce the word.

Mark's heart skipped a beat. “how old are you?”

Amilea looked between the almost identical boys. She knelt infront of the seat Jason was setting in and talked over him.

“you don't have to awnser that” Jason looked confused as he looked at the two doctors.

Mark got impatient and frustrated with Amilea. He ignored the female Shepherd and looked at Jason... Only Jason.

“how old are you kid?”

“10...now where the heck is my mom!?” Mark covered his mouth and set down as the months and years all fell into place in his mind. He sat there speechless as Amilea turned to her Nephew.

“your mom has to have surgery... She hit her head pretty hard and Dr. Sloan here is gonna stich her arm up... She'll be all better in no time”

Jason looked down with teary eyes and a pouty lip. He sniffed and cried into her shoulder as Amilea picked him up.

“hey” she started and pulled her head back so she could see the boy thst was hiding in her neck. “your mamas tuff right?”

He nodded without a sound. “and Uncle Derek is the smartest doctor you know right?”

Jason nodded again and this time Amilea nodded with him. “well you got nothing to worry about... Everything will be fine”

Amilea looked at Mark. “you got a surgery to get to, right?” Mark nodded silently and stood up. “don't let her down again... Or him” Amilea mumbled as he robotically walked away

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“why didn't you tell me about Jason?” Mark asked as he stitched up y/n's arm. He felt his stomach turn as he did his best not to ruin the elephant tattoo she loved so much with stiches.

“I wanted to tell you but y/n thought it would be better if I didn't” Derek mumbled as he stopped her brain bleed.

Mark scoffed. He had no right to be mad at Derek but he was stood scared and almost relaved that Jason was his. He need to take his frustration out on some rather If it was far or not.

“I naver wanted to hurt her... Let alone loose her” Mark said. He regreted cheating on her since day one and no other woman could match up to her. There was no excuse to what he did but if he got a second chance he wouldn't screw it up.

“she was so broken and mad after addisson she thought you didn't deserve to know” Derek explained. “after she healed she was too scared to tell you... She didn't know how”

Mark looked down after he was done he bandaged up her arm and set next to her as Derek's words ran around his head. In his mind it was all his fault, he wished he could be with Jason since day one... He wished he could have asked y/n to marry him sooner instead of falling into Addison's clutches.

He still had the ring and he carried it around. He didn't know it was a coping mechanism or it was a symbol of the hope that still sparked inside of him.

After the surgery Mark walked into the waiting for with Derek. Mark sighed as he watched Jason and Amilea playing go-fish. Mark quietly knelt next to him and smiled.

“your mama isn't awake yet but do you want to see her?” jaosn nodded softly. Mark picked him up as Jason rubbed his eyes. Derek smiled softly and followed to make sure y/n was recovering properly.

“you gotta be quite, okay?” Mark told him. Jaosn nodded as Mark sat him down.

Mark opened the door and led Jason in. Jason remained quite as he smiled as his mom.

“can she hear me?”

“I like to think so” Derek said.

“hi mommy” jason whispered and placed his tiny hand on hers.

Jason sat with her for a bit longer and talked to her believing she could hear every word. Mark stayed the entire time to and set next to her. This isn't how he imagined spending time with his family but it was the first time he was in the same room with both of them.

At about midnight Derek and Meredith took Jason to their house to watch him while y/n recovers. Mark didn't leave though and he didn't plan on leaving anytime soon.

When He was sure they were alone he took her hand as tears started to fall. “you can't leave me... You can't leave jason”

“God he has your gorgeous eyes... And he's such a good kid... Reminds me of you” he whispered.

“I'm so sorry I hurt you... And when you wake up I'll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you and jason”

Mark didn't know how long he talked to her but before he knew it he feel asleep holding her hand. His deep slumber was interrupted in the early morning of the day but the bed shifting. He slow set up as he felt her squeeze his hand.

“Mark?” she looked so confused as she looked around.

He didn't know what possessed him but he chuckled with reilef as he leaned forward placing his lips to hers. It was quick kiss that held so much meaning.

“I'm so glad you're okay and jaosn perfectly fine he's with Derek and - and I'm missed you so much” Mark started to ramble and quickly stopped when he saw her softly chuckle.

“it's good to see you two Mark” she then looked at him with a serious expression. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Jason... I was just so mad and hurt... It wasn't fair to you”

He quickly shook his head. “you have nothing to be sorry for, I broke you and hurt you... And to be honest I've been miserable with out you”

“me too... I want you in jaosn's life” she admitted. Mark smiled. “Whatever you want... He's great kid and I wouldn't have it any other way”

Y/n smiled and grabed his hand. Tomorrow and the near future was uncertain but there was this silent reassurance that everything would be fine.