#such a simple thing and yet rare enough to be really noticeable

[lemonycranberries]

sometimes i almost forget how refreshing it is to watch things created and directed by women... the scene where Sarah was filming that video focused on her face and on her emotions. the victim was very clearly shown as a victim.

that's expected from Al Rawabi, though; i'm really remembering how amazing this show is.

[p0orbaby]

A Tide of Tender Mercies

summary: oh, no, i think i’m in love with you

warning: SMUT 18+, oral, fingering (alexia receiving), some angst, reader being stubborn af

a/n: thank you to @muffinpink02 for helping navigate the sexy part ! also i’ve deffo repeated some bits but i cannot for the life of me be bothered to sort it out

word count: 7k

part 1

-

The chalet is…well, perfect. It’s the kind of perfect that only comes from meticulous planning, obsessive list-making, and a kind of restrained indulgence that most people would never understand. Set high above a tiny Swiss village known for its fondue and twenty-something millionaires, it sits against a backdrop of mountains sharp enough to slice the clouds. The exterior is severe, almost aggressively minimalistic: crisp white stucco, blackened wood shutters, and glass doors that could double as showroom installations. The effect is daunting, beautiful, and—if you’re being honest—a bit over-the-top. You chose it, naturally, because it’s the type of place where “just a fling” can occur without a single hint of domesticity.

Inside, everything is pristine, hand-selected, curated to within an inch of its life. You were adamant that the linens be Egyptian cotton, but not the gaudy kind; they’re 800-thread count, light enough to seem insubstantial but woven to feel solid, unyielding. They’re arranged in clinical folds on the bed, starched and pressed in a way that suggests they’re almost afraid to be touched. You’ll mess them up later, but for now, they’re an artwork of restraint.

And then there are the wines, selected with the sort of care that would make a sommelier weep. It’s silly, of course—Alexia doesn’t normally drink during the season, so she will hardly glance at the labels, but you’ve assembled an array that hints at depth nonetheless. An entire wall of Swiss Chasselas, a few rare vintages from Bordeaux, and an stupidly expensive pinot noir that tastes like dirt but cost enough to suggest you know what you’re doing. The idea is that if she gives in to something sophisticated, she’ll find it here. If she doesn’t, you’ll find her something else. Something that says you’ve thought of everything. Which, of course, you have.

The whole thing has a sort of perverse charm, really, how every detail has been obsessively pre-arranged to ensure that she knows you’re not in this for anything serious. And yet, here you are, flying her across Europe to the kind of setting people book for anniversaries and life-altering proposals.

There’s a sort of humour in it, if you’re willing to look. You even laugh to yourself, laying out the spa towels in the bathroom—too thick, too plush, a little too “I love you”—knowing full well she won’t notice them. She’ll think of them as “towels,” and if she does notice, it’ll be because she needs a new one. But that’s fine. It’s all part of the performance, all part of the thing you’ve constructed around this chalet, around her arrival, around the notion that this is—what? Casual? Fun? Whatever word fits it neatly enough to deny what you’re feeling.

And then there are the candles. Oh, God, the candles. You tried to keep them simple, restrained, the kind of scents that evoke a distant memory rather than a specific moment. Sandalwood, bergamot, a flicker of pine; nothing too floral, nothing that says “romance,” but hints of something just familiar enough to feel safe. You even toyed with the idea of an unscented option, just in case the pine felt too… suggestive. It’s ridiculous, but you’ve learned to lean into it, to control it, to package it neatly. If it’s planned, then it’s deliberate, and if it’s deliberate, then it’s just for fun.

“Why all this?” you imagine her saying, eyebrows raised, maybe laughing as she notices the excessive stock of Swiss chocolates in the cabinet. You have them lined up in neat rows, the artisan kind—no corner-shop Toblerone here—and each one is individually wrapped in foil that gleams in the dim kitchen light. You picture her rolling her eyes at the small mountain of truffle boxes, asking if you’ve stocked up for a wedding. And you, of course, would shrug it off, offering some deadpan line about Swiss tourism. Or a joke about Swiss efficiency. Or something suitably bland that keeps the tone right where you want it—on the edge of humour, a step away from real. You’ve prepared for every reaction, really. Which is pointless, because she hasn’t even arrived yet.

It’s the first time she’s been here. The place is new, purchased after a very well-timed therapy session that conveniently rebranded “self-indulgence” as “self-care.” The therapist’s exact words were “If you want to be your best self, find the spaces that let you breathe.” And you took that literally, flying up here for private viewings until this place caught your eye. Well, maybe not your eye. But it was one of those rare places that looked exactly like the pictures, maybe better, and it had the kind of aesthetic that screams “I need nothing from you” while begging for a sense of purpose. You bought it almost instantly.

And now, after weeks of fine-tuning, she’ll be here soon. You catch yourself arranging the books on the side table, pausing over which titles to leave out—a mix of philosophy and modern fiction that says “I read but don’t take it too seriously.” You laugh to yourself at the pretension of it, yet you leave the carefully selected titles exactly as they are.

It’s silly, really, because the goal here is detachment, the freedom to keep things light and uncomplicated. You tell yourself that as you straighten the pillows on the sofa for the second time, catching your own eye in the polished mirror that hangs in the foyer.

“You’re being weird,” you say out loud, imagining her walking in, that quick smile flashing, eyebrows raised in a way that says, “Is this all for me?” You picture her laughing, maybe rolling those pretty green eyes of hers. But you have an answer for that too, prepared in advance, a casual shrug.

“Just a little atmosphere,” you’ll say, as if it’s nothing.

You check your watch. Thirty-two minutes until Alexia arrives. Thirty-two minutes to double-check that every single minutely considered, utterly detached detail says, I couldn’t care less—or, more precisely, I care in exactly the right amount of less. Because she needs to know that this is nothing. That this trip to an over-the-top chalet overlooking a town mostly inhabited by 19-year-olds in cashmere is simply an exercise in relaxation, togetherness, a concept you’re fairly sure you’re allergic to.

She doesn’t know it yet, but you bought the place partly to show her. Partly to remind her, subtly, that she could disappear tomorrow and you’d still have this. Because that’s the problem with Alexia, isn’t it? She’s not really yours. She’s something you can enjoy, display even, but never own. The complete opposite of the real estate you’ve added to your collection. You stand there, glass in hand, the Lagavulin you’ve graciously poured yourself warming your fingers through the crystal, staring out at the Alps with the vague thought that an obscene number of people have had their ashes scattered here, somewhere along this ridgeline. It’s an unsettling idea you rather enjoy.

She texts, something about a delay on the tarmac, and you stare at the message for a beat too long, analysing the exact wording like you’re looking for hidden subtext. As if there could be subtext in the word “delayed.”

A casual fling, you remind yourself, should never be complicated by subtext.

To pass the time, you scan the kitchen once again. The coffee is fresh-ground, of course, from a bag that cost as much as an entire year’s supply from anywhere normal. It’s pre-portioned in tiny glass canisters your assistant found online that look like vintage apothecary jars. The labels are printed in Helvetica Neue because you once read that it’s a ‘subtly superior’ font. Ridiculous. But also, it’s perfect. There’s also a miniature mountain of imported Spanish oranges on the counter, carefully arranged in a hammered copper bowl you don’t remember buying. You could make mimosas, you think, if you didn’t know she’ll insist on starting with a protein shake instead.

You put a bottle of Alpine mineral water in the fridge just for her, chilled to the exact 4.4°C she prefers. Yes, it’s an oddly specific temperature preference. No, she didn’t tell you directly. You overheard her mention it once, offhand, to someone else. Which is exactly why you’re bound to a polite indifference if she asks why it’s there. It’s simply what the fridge was set to. Nothing personal.

Just the thought of her walking in has you adjusting your posture as if she’s already watching. Alexia doesn’t miss a single detail. Once, she commented on the way you have a tendency to pull your sleeves over your hands. You haven’t done it since. Now, you check that every piece of clothing you’ve chosen is deliberately, carelessly oversized—but only to the point that still reads as flattering.

Then, at last, you hear the crunch of tyres on gravel. You scurry to watch from the window as she steps out of the car you sent, and she’s immediately caught in that glacial alpine light, her features so stark and defined that it’s almost cinematic. There’s a sharp thrill—one you won’t admit to yourself—in seeing her here, framed against this scene like she’s the final piece in some high-budget film. The coat she’s wearing is slightly too large, lending her a relaxed, indifferent air, as if she’d picked up the first thing she saw on her way out the door. Effortless, in that way that would feel studied on anyone else.

You stand back from the window just before she glances up, retreating into the comfort of shadows. Timing is everything. You’ve thought this through, down to each calculated second. It’s critical, after all, that she finds you not watching, but instead lingering at a perfect remove, preferably with a slight air of distraction. You’re aiming for a kind of aloofness, as if her arrival is the least interesting event of the day.

She’s about to ring the bell when you move, deliberately slow, to the door, letting it swing open just as she raises her hand. There’s a brief, barely perceptible pause as her eyes meet yours, a spark of something unspoken passing between you both before she raises an eyebrow, a look that hovers between amusement and challenge.

“Missed me?” she asks, dryly, though there’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s perfectly aware of what she’s doing. She’s close now, close enough that you can catch the faintest whiff of her perfume, something dark and woody and just the right side of familiar.

You tilt your head, giving her a slow once-over, and shrug. “Not especially,” you say, voice low, careful to keep the tone perfectly flat. But you let your gaze linger just a second too long on her collarbone, barely visible where her coat has slipped slightly, enough to make her catch it, her mouth curling up at the edge. It’s a deliberate game, one you’ve both played a hundred times, each move rehearsed, practised to the point of art.

She’s barely through the door when you feel it—that unmistakable tension, thickening the air between you. It’s almost tangible, a static hum just beneath the surface of polite conversation, something that pulls at you like gravity. The moment feels precarious, balanced on the edge of something you’re not quite willing to name, because if you wait too long, the feeling will settle into something more familiar. Something too close to comfort, which is the last thing you want.

She doesn’t seem to notice it, of course, her mind likely on dinner plans or the slow crawl of the evening. You, however, are already teetering at the edge of patience, every nerve just slightly too aware of her. She walks in, drops her bag by the door with a casual grace that feels almost too natural, like she’s done this a hundred times, like she could do this forever if you asked her to. And you wonder if you’d even want that—something so predictably domestic, the quiet comfort of a routine. No. You want her in ways that defy that kind of simplicity, in a way that doesn’t ask permission.

You watch her from the corner of your eye as she takes in the room. Her eyes linger on the minimal, curated details you agonised over: the leather-bound books you never plan to read, the art on the walls meant to suggest a taste for something more sophisticated than it is. She’s oblivious, seemingly caught up in the novelty of the place, and that’s exactly what you intended. She can’t know how meticulously you set the scene, how every pillow and chair is positioned with an almost obsessive precision. All she has to do is be here. You’ll take care of the rest.

There’s a slow, unhurried quality to her movements, an ease that’s infuriating because it’s so at odds with the pulse of urgency rising in you. She wanders over to the fireplace, running her hand along the mantel with a soft, idle curiosity. Her fingers trace over the edge of a photograph you don’t remember putting there, something abstract and distant, chosen for the way it says absolutely nothing about you. It’s maddening, really, the way she lingers in the space, claiming it without meaning to, as if her very presence could overwrite the hours you spent constructing it.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” she says, her voice light, unaware of the way it cuts through the silence with a sharpness that’s almost physical. There’s a half-smile on her face, something unreadable that you can’t quite shake off.

You shrug, adopting an air of disinterest you’ve perfected over the years. “Thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery”

She raises an eyebrow, still oblivious, her focus now on the bust of Venus of Arles by the window. For a second, you want to laugh at the madness of it, how she’s here, right in front of you, while you’re clawing at the edges of your own restraint.

But she’s still gazing around, her fingers brushing the edge of a table as if she has all the time in the world. As if she doesn’t know what you’re holding back. You take a slow breath, exhale, feel the tension coil tighter inside, and think that if you let this linger for even another second, you’ll start to resent the calmness of it, the quiet rhythm that feels too much like waiting. Like settling into something you’re not prepared to face.

“Wine?” You ask in a futile attempt to keep things just this side of civilised. The offer hangs in the air, a thin layer of normalcy that feels like it could snap at any moment, but she only nods, glancing over with a slight smile, one corner of her mouth lifting in that way that’s halfway between polite interest and something more.

“Sure,” she says, her voice smooth, without a hint of awareness. “You pick”

You turn to the wine rack with an exaggerated casualness, scanning bottles you chose with this exact moment in mind. You could explain the notes of every vintage, how each one was picked not because it pairs with any particular food—because let’s face it, dinner’s not exactly on your mind—but because it suggests a kind of sophistication, a subtlety. You choose a bottle of red, something full-bodied and just slightly bitter, almost as if in silent commentary on the situation. You pour, slowly, setting the glass down in front of her with a kind of precision that’s both reverent and clinical. She reaches for it, her fingers grazing the stem, the gesture infuriatingly graceful.

The first sip seems to surprise her. “Good choice,” she murmurs, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the glass.

The silence stretches on just a moment too long, the air thick with something that isn’t quite tension, more like a coiled spring just waiting for one of you to press down. You feel it building as she shifts, glancing around the room, and suddenly, you realise she’s working up to something. There’s a certain deliberateness in the way she moves, a careful consideration in her stare, and you know—know—she didn’t come all this way just to admire the decor.

“Look,” she starts, her voice softer than usual, carrying a weight that tells you she’s not talking about the view. “I’ve been thinking—”

But you can’t—won’t—let her finish. Not when you know exactly what she’s about to say. You cut her off, leaning forward, your tone light, easy, deliberately dismissive. “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to talk, Alexia”

She freezes, mid-sentence, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, a blend of surprise and—annoyance, maybe? But she masks it quickly, her lips pressing into a tight line. “I thought you’d appreciate me being… honest,” she says slowly, as though testing the waters, watching you carefully.

“Honest? That’s what we’re calling it?” You let a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth, a practiced expression, something designed to be just detached enough to hold everything at arm’s length. “Come on, we’re better than that, aren’t we?”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your deflection, but there’s still a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Better than what? Talking?”

Talking. The word hangs in the air, innocent, innocuous, yet loaded in a way that feels heavier than it has any right to. You shift, taking another sip of wine, letting the liquid burn down, hoping it’ll smother the way her eyes feel like they're peeling away all your practiced layers. It’s one thing to enjoy someone’s company, but the feeling creeping in now is something else, something you’re not used to. It feels inconvenient. Like an itch you can’t reach.

You try to fire back, something witty, something cool, but the words catch in your throat, your mind scraping empty. It’s frustrating, the way she’s caught you off guard, how she’s unraveled your carefully crafted reserve without even trying. You reach for your glass again, swirling the wine, stalling for time, anything to avoid that knowing look in her eyes.

But then it dawns on you, like a spark catching flame—there’s still one thing left to do to regain control. Something you can do that would put you back in charge, bring this uncomfortable vulnerability back into something physical, where you excel. You set your glass down, slowly, purposefully, letting the silence stretch taut between you both.

She watches you with that smirk, that trace of challenge, as if daring you to break this moment of stillness.

“Come here,” you say, low and steady, injecting just enough command to leave no room for debate.

“No”

She says it so simply, so carelessly, that for a moment you’re almost convinced you misheard her. It’s infuriating, really, that one little word has the power to throw you so entirely. Your pulse stumbles, and you feel the ground slipping from under you, just enough to catch you off guard.

“Alexia.” You give her a look that’s intended to be definitive, final, but it lands with all the power of a weak threat. Her smirk widens into a full, infuriating smile, the one that says she’s entirely aware of the effect she’s having on you.

“Just hear me out,” she says, with a kind of softness that’s more unnerving than you’d like. “You’re doing that thing. The thing where you turn everything into—” She pauses, gesturing vaguely with her hand, searching for the right word, “—into some kind of performance”

It’s an odd, unnerving feeling, this loss of footing. Normally, you’d have a witty reply ready, something cutting or clever, but instead, you feel like she’s stripped you bare, left you standing there with nothing but honesty, and you hate it.

“So now you’re the expert?” you reply, finally finding your voice, though it sounds sharper than you meant. “Since when do you—”

“Since I started actually falling for you,” she says, cutting you off, her voice low but clear. It’s not even particularly dramatic, the way she says it, and somehow that’s worse. Like she’s not trying to turn it into anything, not expecting any kind of reaction—just stating it as a fact.

You feel a flush rise to your face, and you mask it with another sip of wine, a hasty attempt to cover up the sudden jolt in your chest. She waits, just watches you with that maddening calm, as if giving you all the time in the world to come up with some kind of response.

The air between you feels thick, heavy with something unsaid and unfamiliar. You feel the urge to laugh, to make light of it, anything to disperse this feeling building between you, something dangerously close to vulnerability.

“You don’t have to make this into… whatever this is,” you say, gesturing between you. “Let’s not get sentimental”

“I’m not,” she says, crossing her arms, looking impossibly patient. “I told you I’m just trying to be honest. I thought that was allowed”

“Honest,” you repeat, as though the word itself is foreign. And maybe it is. Honesty has never been the thing you reach for. Honesty is for people who can afford to look foolish, who don’t mind slipping, stumbling a little. Honesty is… unnecessary. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s got you so rattled now.

You set your glass down, more forcefully than intended, and close the distance between you with a deliberate slowness, a silence that says everything you aren’t willing to say out loud. She watches you, unmoving, waiting, that infuriating patience of hers still intact.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “If youre falling for me, fucking show me”

Her lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile, a flicker of amusement mixed with something warmer, something that makes you feel like you’re the one being dissected here. It’s maddening, really, how effortlessly she manages to get under your skin, slip past all those careful layers. And yet you’re already reaching for her, pulling her closer, desperate to change the pace, to turn this moment into something you can control.

There’s a split second where neither of you move, holding the charged silence like it might be the only thread of control left. And then it snaps. You reach for her, not gently, fingers curling around her wrist with enough force that she has no choice but to be pulled in. Her smirk flickers, only slightly, and there’s something about the momentary surprise in her eyes that makes your grip tighten further, anchoring yourself as much as her. It’s a flash of vulnerability that vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing but a thin layer of bravado, one you’re keen to shatter.

You pull her toward you, and the air shifts, that faint hint of uncertainty cracking into something far messier. Your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair with a kind of reckless precision, not even aware of how tightly you’re holding on. You don’t waste time; you’re not even sure there’s time to waste. And as soon as you lean in, catching her mouth with a kiss that’s anything but tentative, you feel her resistance melt, her lips parting under yours with a roughness that’s almost defiant.

She meets you with equal force, as if each clash of mouths, each bruising press of skin, is a way to gain back her own control, and you revel in it, the give-and-take that feels as calculated as it is chaotic. Your hand slips to her jaw, holding her there, your thumb brushing over the corner of her mouth with a kind of ferocity that toes the line between possessive and desperate. You know it’s not going to be gentle; there’s a part of you that doesn’t want it to be.

You’re moving backwards, feeling the edge of the marble island press into your spine, but it doesn’t matter. She’s everywhere, her hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, blunt nails scraping against your skin as if she’s staking a claim, as if she’s finally caught on to the pace you’ve been trying to set and decided to match it.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her words slip out like a slow, deliberate knife cutting through the air between you. The tone, sharp, unfamiliar, though has been the soundtrack to your late-night thoughts. It’s almost as if she knows, like she’s caught you in the act of something that’s always been just below the surface. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, eyes darting between your face and the space between you two, as if trying to read the faintest tremor in your expression. It’s always a game with her, always a step too far.

Yes.

“No,” you manage, your voice betraying you—cracked, thin, like a lie too rehearsed. The words come out wrong, but they come out anyway, forced through a tightening chest.

The moment stretches, each second fracturing, bending and folding into itself. It’s like trying to hold a conversation with a shadow—everything slips just out of reach, and the harder you try to grasp it, the more it seems to twist away, leaving nothing but the sensation of your own breath hitching in your throat. You fucking hate this. You hate the way her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to remind you of your place, of the expectations that have always followed you both like a silent, mocking echo.

No, you don’t hate her.

Fuck. You love her.

The thought is an ugly, dissonant thing, a weight that doesn’t settle easily, like a slow-moving tide pulling you under. The water’s cold. You can’t feel the bottom. You don’t know which way is up, and the only thing you do know is that, somewhere along the line, you’ve let yourself drown.

Your pulse is almost deafening in your ears, hammering in time with your desperate need for air. There’s something about the way she stands before you—still and deliberate, eyes trained on yours—that makes the room feel smaller, closer. You think you can hear her thoughts. Feel them. It’s maddening, how much she seems to know you, how she’s always known the way you bend. How much she’s learned to manipulate that bend, until you almost forget what it’s like to be anything but this: a response.

You swallow. The taste of her is lingering on your lips, sweet and bitter all at once, like a bad memory. How many times has this happened? You don’t know anymore. The last time feels as far away as the first time—when she leaned in, the weight of her body an invisible promise. But tonight, there’s something different. It’s in the way she watches you, cold, calculating, her fingers still gripping the edges of your shirt, the only real connection between you two in the moment.

She inhales slowly, the rhythm deliberate, like she’s listening to a song you can’t hear. The silence is suffocating.

“You’re lying,” she says, low and accusing, with just enough venom to make you flinch. There’s a tiny smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, something fleeting, something knowing. You want to reach out, to take her in your hands and pull her close, but the distance between you both feels like a universe. The space feels like a reflection of everything that’s wrong with you: the empty conversations, the meaningless gestures, the ache that’s always there, just beneath the skin. It’s maddening, this tension.

And yet…

You want her. Fuck, you need her. You don’t know if it’s because you love her or because she knows how to make you feel more alive than anything else. She’s become your addiction, your fire, the only thing you can’t quit.

Another shift in the air. Another breath from her, shallow and calculated. It’s not a question anymore, not a challenge—it’s an affirmation. She knows, and you know, too.

You close your eyes for a moment, just long enough to lose yourself in the fleeting memory of something that almost felt like peace. The sound of her voice, the taste of her, the way she touched you. It’s all a blur, a disjointed collection of moments tied together by one inescapable truth: you’ll never be able to walk away.

Not this time.

When your eyes open again, she’s still standing there, eyes not leaving yours, studying you. Everything feels slowed down, almost too slow. Like time is bending around her, twisting the seconds into something thick, sticky. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but it holds you in place, an anchor, a force. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the dull tap of your own pulse in your ears.

You don’t speak. Not yet. You don’t need to.

Her fingers slide along your chest, trailing down in that same slow, infuriating pace, until they settle on the edge of your shirt again, the same place they started. She doesn’t look away, her lips curving upward in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It’s like she’s trying to decide whether you want to hurt her or fuck her. And the problem is, you’re not sure you can tell the difference anymore.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms like that might keep you steady, like that might stop you from doing the one thing you swore you wouldn’t.

Loving something. Someone. Loving Alexia.

“What are you so afraid of?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost gentle, and it’s the softness of it that makes you unravel completely.

You don’t think—you can’t. One second you’re standing there trying to convince yourself you still have your palms wrapped around this situation, and the next they’re on her, pulling her in with a force that’s almost cruel. Your mouth finds hers, hard and unrelenting, and she gasps into the kiss, her fingers clutching at your shirt, wrinkling the silk, as if you might disappear if she doesn’t hold on.

She tastes like spearmint gum and coffee. You imagine her shivering as she steps off the plane, teeth chattering in the wind, and too polite to mention it. But your driver notices, you pay him to notice, so before her luggage is out of the cargo, a café con leche is being pressed into her gloved hands.

It’s not a kiss. Not really. It’s a collision, hard and unrelenting, her mouth crashing into yours with a force that feels like defiance, like she’s daring you to stop pretending. To stop holding yourself together so tightly you’re liable to snap.

Your hands are already on her, pulling her close, so close it feels claustrophobic, but you can’t stop. You can’t make yourself pull away because then you’d have to look at her, really look at her, and confront the unbearable softness in her eyes. You’d have to hear her voice again, saying the one thing you’ve been trying to ignore since she first murmured it like a needle under your skin:

“What are you so afraid of?”

What you’re afraid of is this. Her. The way she’s stripped you bare with no effort at all, no grand gestures or declarations. She’s unravelling you with the weight of her presence, with the simple fact of her being, and you hate it almost as much as you crave it.

Your teeth scrape against her lower lip, harder than you mean to, and she gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. Her nails dig into your shoulders, gripping onto you while you take your rightful place at the helm of this godforsaken dance.

And she’s letting you. Letting you press her against the edge of the table, her legs bumping into the thick, varnished oak. The table was handmade by some artisan you don’t remember the name of, its surface polished to a high gloss that reflects the warm light overhead. You’d spent weeks agonising over the purchase, debating wood grains and finishes with a level of scrutiny that felt absurd even at the time. It’s the kind of thing people like you do when they’re too scared to focus on what matters.

But now it’s just a table. A thing in the way, a thing that’s caught between you and her.

Her jeans catch on the wood as you push her back, and the sound is sharp, cutting through the fog in your head. You hesitate for half a second, your hands hovering at her hips, fingers brushing the cool metal of her belt buckle.

“You’re thinking too much,” she says, her voice low and breathless. It’s not a reproach—it’s almost amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in your head, and it’s ridiculous to her that you’re trying to wrestle this into something it’s not.

“I’m not thinking at all,” you say, and it’s true. Or it’s a lie. You don’t know anymore, and you don’t care.

The belt comes undone with a soft clink, the leather sliding through the loops of her jeans in one smooth motion. You let it fall to the floor, the sound of it hitting the tile lost beneath the ragged breaths you’re both taking. Your hands are shaking slightly as you undo the button on her jeans, the metal cold against your fingertips.

She doesn’t help you. Doesn’t lift her hips, doesn’t make it easier. She just watches you, her gaze steady and unwavering, like she’s daring you to keep going.

And you do.

You yank the denim down her thighs, your movements jerky, almost frantic, and it’s not until the fabric crumples on the floor that you realise your hands are still trembling. She notices too, her lips twitching into that infuriating half-smile, the one that makes your stomach twist into knots.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with something sharper, something that cuts right through you.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels like a blow to the chest.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and the words make something inside you snap.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her underwear, dragging them down her thighs in one swift, unceremonious motion. The damp lace clings for a moment before it slides free, pooling at her knees before hitting the floor. You don’t stop to think. There’s no room for hesitation here, no space for the doubt that’s been clawing at you since this started.

Her scent hits you first, heady and intoxicating, and for a moment you freeze, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it. But then she moves—just slightly, her hips tilting forward in an unspoken plea—and it’s all the permission you need.

You press your mouth to her, your tongue sliding through her folds with a slow, deliberate pressure that pulls a broken sound from her throat. Her taste is sharp, almost sweet, and it floods your senses in a way that makes you dizzy. Her thighs close around your head instinctively, caging you in, and you let out a low, involuntary groan against her skin.

“Fuck—” Her voice is high and breathy, her fingers digging into your scalp now, hard enough to sting. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

You don’t. You press deeper, your tongue finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her centre and circling it with a precision you didn’t know you had. She jerks against you, her body arching off the table, and you use the opportunity to slide your hands up her thighs, holding her steady.

The table creaks beneath her, the sound of the wood groaning under her weight mixing with the wet, obscene noises of your mouth against her. It’s filthy and raw, every sense overwhelmed, and you’re not sure if you’re doing this to prove a point or because you can’t bear to stop. Maybe it’s both.

Her head tilts back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat, and you want to mark it, to leave evidence of this all over her skin, but you can’t pull away. Not when she’s gasping your name, her voice breaking like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.

You slide a finger into her, slow at first, just enough to make her hips stutter against your mouth. She’s tight, impossibly so, and you feel her clench around you as you add a second finger, curling them just right. Her moan is loud, sharp, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you.

“God, you—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t seem capable of forming words anymore, and it sends a twisted sense of satisfaction through you. You focus on her clit again, your tongue moving in quick, precise circles as your fingers work her open, the slick heat of her making it almost too easy.

Her legs tremble around you, and you can feel her getting closer, her breathing turning shallow and erratic. You don’t let up, don’t give her a second to recover, pressing her higher and higher until she breaks with a cry that sounds like your name.

Her whole body shudders, her thighs clamping tight around your head as she rides out her orgasm, and you keep going, drawing it out as long as you can until she’s pushing weakly at your shoulders.

“Enough,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, and you finally pull back, your lips and chin wet with her.

You look up at her, and she’s a mess—her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving with every ragged breath. Her eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and for a moment neither of you says anything.

Then, slowly, she reaches for you, her hands shaking as she grabs at your jumper and pulls you up to meet her. Her kiss is rough and desperate, her teeth catching on your lower lip, and you realise she’s not done.

Her hands don’t go for your own clothes like you’d expected. Instead, they move to your thighs, her grip firm and commanding, and before you can comprehend what’s happening, she’s lifting you. The sudden change knocks the air out of your lungs, and you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist, locking you against her. The motion is seamless, like she’s done this before—or like she’s always known she could.

You try to tell yourself you hate how easy it feels, but you don’t. You can’t.

Your hands find her shoulders, her jaw, her hair—anything to ground yourself, but nothing works. You’re still dizzy, still untethered, even as her lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing controlled. Her teeth scrape your bottom lip, her tongue pushes into your mouth like she’s trying to devour you, and you let her because for once you don’t want to think about what comes next.

She’s walking, you realise belatedly, the steady rhythm of her steps making your body rock against hers. It’s disorienting, the way she carries you so easily, like your weight is nothing, like you’re the fragile thing here.

You kiss her harder to prove you’re not, nipping at her lip until she growls low in her throat, a sound that vibrates through you and pulls a small, involuntary moan from your lips. Her hands tighten on you, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, and it sends a sharp thrill up your spine.

The hallway blurs around you, the world narrowing until it’s just her—her mouth on yours, her hands gripping you like she’ll never let go, her body impossibly solid against yours.

When she finally kicks the door open and lays you down on the bed, it feels like surrender. Not hers. Yours.

You don’t realise how tightly you’ve been clinging to her until she pulls back, your fingers still knotted in the collar of her shirt. The fabric wrinkles between your hands, and for a moment you just stare at each other, the room charged with something you don’t have the words to name.

Her eyes are dark, searching, but there’s no smugness, no trace of victory there. Instead, there’s something softer, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice low and steady, and it undoes you more than anything else she’s done tonight.

It’s too much. The weight of her words, the way she says them like a promise, like she means it. Your chest tightens, and you shake your head, your fingers releasing her collar to press against her shoulders, keeping her at a distance.

But she doesn’t let you push her away completely. Her hands slide up your sides, gentle now, her touch a sharp contrast to the bruising grip she had on you moments ago. She’s watching you, waiting, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

You hate her for it. You hate her because she’s right.

“I can’t…” Your voice cracks, barely audible, and you don’t even know what you’re trying to say.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours, her breath warm against your cheek. “You don’t have to,” she says simply, and the honesty in her tone is unbearable.

You want to argue, to fight, to push her away, but your body doesn’t move. You just lay there, your chest heaving, your hands trembling against her. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

Because this isn’t about sex anymore.

It’s about her, and the way she looks at you like you’re something worth holding onto. It’s about the way your body feels like it’s breaking apart under the weight of it, like you’re finally being seen for what you are—what you’ve always been.

A liar. A coward. Someone too afraid to let go, too afraid to feel, too afraid to love.

Her lips brush yours again, soft this time, barely there, and you let out a shaky breath. It’s not enough to drown in. Not yet. But it’s close.

“Let me in,” she whispers, and it’s not a command. It’s an offering.

You close your eyes, and for the first time, you don’t resist.

[pearlymel]

Ooo I know! It's just a little thought

What if capitano and y/n had their first fight in front of their kid?

"I told you I'm fine." You try convincing your ever so worried husband for the nth time.

The thing was, ever since you gave birth to your daughter, it's like he had a leash on you, not in a bad way. Capitano only wants to protect you and his daughter, and knowing his position as the fatui Harbinger, it had become difficult to keep an eye on both of you 24/7. So he trusts that you would tell him everything by the end of the day.

Capitano's protective nature was both endearing and infuriating at times, but you often appreciated his care. Today, however, his overprotective streak was starting to get under your skin.

The argument started as a simple disagreement about a minor decision, but had quickly escalated into a fiercer discussion.

"i want to keep you and our family safe." He said firmly, and he wishes you'd stop there to understand him.

"I only brought her with me to the market so she can learn how to socialize with people, and for her to experience picking treats with me."

"You were fine this time." he retorted, his voice taking on a slightly higher tone. "But what about the next time?"

You grit your teeth together in frustration, because really, this is getting ridiculous. "Maybe if you didn't think so much about it—"

He doesn't even let you finish before he speaks back, "How can I not think about it? Every time you leave this house, every time you're out of my sight, I can't help but worry." He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, it's rare that he's ever arguing with you, usually when you're upset with eachother, he usually stays quiet.

"You don't understand. My job has shown me the worst of Humanity, the things they're capable of. I just want to keep you safe." Capitano holds on both sides of your arms, "i trust my men enough to accompany you. But i can never be truly sure that you're safe without me." He's upset, you know it by the way his eyebrows wrinkle together.

But you're not convinced just yet, "our daughter wants to go to the park sometimes. Do you know how many times i had to stop myself from refusing her everytime she frowns at me?"

Capitano's expression hardened again at your words, his jaw clenching tightly. "The park is dangerous," he argued back while applying a bit more pressure on your arms, "It's too open, too vulnerable. There are too many unknowns, too much that could potentially harm you and our daughter."

"It's not like we are going to die." You bluntly respond and it makes his eyes widen, even the sentence makes him shiver. He's one and only fear, not seeing you both because of one mistake.

Just as he parted his lips to answer back, a faint sound—a sneeze coming from the corner of the closet. One you recognise so well that it makes you stiffen in your place, and you notice Capitano pressing his lips into a thin line.

You both turn your heads until met by the little girl attempting and failing to hide on the side of the giant closet.

"she's watching," you whisper, glancing back at him and he nods before sliding his hands off you.

"You can come out," he called gently, his voice softer than the previous argument.

He knelt down on one knee as she stepped out from her hiding spot, his eyes wide with innocence and remorse for the argument she had witnessed. "Come here." He encouraged her, his arms opened slightly for her. And she hesitantly walks at first before taking confident steps towards the comfort of her father's embrace.

You join them after, kneeling down at their level and your husband opens his other arm to squeeze you in with them. Capitano's arm wrapped around her small form, holding her close against his chest.

"I'm sorry you saw us arguing," he murmured, "We didn't mean for you to hear all that." You continue softly.

Your daughter's head turned towards you, her eyes filling with tears as she heard your apologies. She looked between you and Capitano, her lower lip trembling slightly. It's like children can mimick their parents current emotions.

"Your mother and I just had a disagreement. We didn't mean to scare you."

"is everything okay?" She whispers quietly while fidgeting with her fingers together, "Yes." You both instantly respond.

her expression is still uncertain. "We promise," you reassured her again before he gives further more reassurance "Everything's okay, angel. Mama and papa are fine. We're not mad at each other. We're just... going to talk things through, okay?"

She then starts slowly nodding, "that's my brave girl." His lips curl upwards as he strokes the strands of her hair.

"and we will take you to the park."

Your daughter's eyes widened, a small gasp of happiness escaping her lips. She looked up at you, her eyes seem to sparkle even.

Meanwhile, Capitano's eyes narrowed at your declaration. He shot you a warning look, silently reminding you of his previous disagreement.

"... With your father of course." You laugh quietly and his shoulders seem to relax, "fine. We will all go."

"yay! Swings!" The little girl grins while excitedly holding her hands together.

"well, aren't you weak for the little angel?" You whisper to your husband, giving him a small smile, already having forgotten about your argument.

Capitano holds you both closer to him, as if relieved to have this little family in his life, the only thing that makes everything more bearable, "she has me wrapped around her little finger, just like her mother."

The link to my short capitano series :p

[fatuismooches]

Dottore and his segments get a taste of their own medicine after giving you a job of your own. (In other words, you ignore their need for attention in favor of your work, they get pouty, just like you did.)

As of late, a peculiar sight had made its way into the lab. Actually, peculiar wasn't even strong enough of a word for the agents to use. They had nearly tripped over their feet once they saw the new area of their working quarters in the lab.

In addition to their Lord Harbinger's desk (that was shared amongst the segments depending on the day), there was now another desk on the opposite side of the room, and the cute decorations on it were quite noticeable. Photo frames and stationery. A comfortable and plush chair with a blanket that dropped over it.

... A plushie version of the Harbinger that laid on Dottore's desk, commissioned by you to motivate him.

(A side thought - the number of desks the Doctor had was something to wonder about. One in the lab, one in the office, one in the bedroom - no wonder things were always scattered around the place. But that was something for another day...)

And most importantly, you, Dottore's spouse, standing next to their Lord, rocking back on your heels nervously as he introduced you as their new co-worker.

—

It all began when you approached your husband with a very simple request.

"Dottie, I want a job!" You said with enthusiasm, smile as wide and proud as ever. The scientist paused his work and turned to look at you with a blank expression.

"... A job, you say?" You only puffed your chest out more at his confirmation.

"Yes, a job. I mean, being your lover is already a lot of work for my poor back, but I want to actually work with you! With your research and stuff, like the old days!" Your excitement was completely serious and were it not for your health, it would have been infectious for the scholar. Rarely did he ever meet anyone who was truly interested in his work. But of course, certain restrictions have held you back for a long time now.

"We've already been over this. My work is too dangerous for you," the Doctor sighed as he turned back around to continue whatever he was doing.

"I know, I know, but I meant other kinds of stuff. I've been thinking like... a desk job! It doesn't have to be anything dangerous! I could... sort papers for you? Oh, and you have one of those fancy stamps, right? I could stamp them too! I could rewrite your notes... ah, and the best part - I could help you write reports too! You always liked my essays, didn't you?" You were doing your best to provide Dottore with a convincing case, snuggling up against his firm back. Only another sigh escaped your husband, not really that convinced.

"Come on..." you inhaled his familiar scent, tinged with that laboratory smell that never seemed to go away, but somehow brought comfort to you. "I've been so bored lately... and lonely," you muttered the last part pointedly. "I just want some work to take my mind off things!"

Indeed, there was always limited entertainment and pastimes to occupy yourself with. It was especially boring on days you couldn't get out of bed, or when no segment could afford you attention...

"And you know what, I could give those agents of yours some writing tips, too!"

Yes, there had been many times his employees were not up to his standards, despite how many of them fawned over him (for some odd reason)...

"And I'll be helping you too! It's good for everyone."

Of course, you always felt rather good about yourself if you managed to help him, being the Second Harbinger and all...

"I suppose I shall give it some thought-" Before the man could finish his sentence you started squeezing him tightly while hopping in delight.

"Oh, thank you! So, when do I start? Do I get one of your huge desks too?"

"I didn't say yes yet, darling."

"Shh... we both know what you mean!"

—

And that was how you now clocked in at "work" every day with the agents (later than normal, but you had special privileges.) It was daunting at first for the poor souls, even the ones who secretly admired you from afar (being in the fan club and all.) Even though initially you were merely sorting papers, you were the most important person in that room.

However, soon enough, going to work in this dreary lab became a lot more cheery thanks to your sweet demeanor. Somehow, the atmosphere had become a lot less tense since the last time the segments visited.

The agents had little to no problem speaking to you like a normal person, after you had graciously given them tips on impressing the Harbinger.

"Psst..." you were hovering behind an unsuspecting agent, reading the report she had for Dottore, who jumped at your whisper. "You know, he might click his tongue if you give him that." Although her mask covered her face, you could see that half surprised at how you popped out of nowhere, and half agreeing with your words. Perhaps she felt comfortable enough to spill the situation to you.

"I-I am well aware of that," she deeply sighed, "but no matter what I write, my Lord always seems to be unsatisfied..." You patted her shoulder in sympathy. Having worked with Dottore since the Akademiya days, you knew very well of his distaste for certain things.

"Well, that's why I was hired, friend! To make his and your life easier! See, look here, that's a no-no, he wouldn't appreciate those details, mhm, but this needs to be elaborated on more, uh huh..." Of course, being the good spouse and employee you were, the report was converted into the best one that had ever landed on the Doctor's desk.

On your lunch break, they provided you with some juicy gossip about anything they could get their hands on (the fan club had long reaches, apparently.) Frequently you had to debunk things about Dottore... (the handbook was swiftly revised.)

Needless to say, things seemed to be going well. You looked happier. Motivated. Having new "friends" as your company (that still watched their mouth around you after a single glance from the segments.)

However... an issue arose after a while. One that seemed entirely stupid and impossible.

Now that you were so caught up in your work, when the segments finally had some spare time to come to you, they were... rejected. Yes, they had come to you, fully expecting your devoted attention and kisses that you always gave them without hesitation, but now turned away. (Even more embarrassing, sometimes in front of the agents who kept their eyes glued to their strange chemicals.)

—

It was Omega, of all segments, who was turned away first. The most confident and charming of the bunch left uncharacteristically silent. He had come up behind you and traced his hands against your neck, always being the one who had no shame in touching you. You only softly giggled at the sensation and caught his hand in yours.

"It seems you've been busy for a while, dear." In truth, it was mostly you seeking him out and not vice versa, but the segment hadn't seen you invading his office in a while. The space had gotten too quiet without you.

"Mhm! But I can't imagine how much work you do. My desk is nowhere as cluttered as yours," you smiled as you felt the segment kiss your lashes.

"What do you say to a break with me?" Omega offered, already knowing what your eager response would be.

"Nah, I can't right now."

...

Your words took a few seconds to process through his head.

"Pardon?"

"I have all this work, 'Mega, and other people need my help," you shrugged your shoulders as you swung your legs. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can spend some time later!" You kissed him on the cheek and pulled your chair in before continuing your work.

Omega, the greatest segment, was reduced to a blankly staring man who had been deprived of his lover's attention for the first time.

He was irritable for the rest of the day.

—

Beta was next, the poor thing.

You were always the one he blew off steam to, always willing to listen about his gripes and complaints, offering him consolation in the form of kisses and soft words.

However, you hadn't come to visit in so long, the segment was all pent up and now the agents were beginning to fall victim to him.

Fine then - he'd seek you out. Not because he needed you or missed you or anything of the sort. You were just... halting his progress with the lack of your presence. Yes, that was it.

And so the scientist, donning his grand pink bow tie, swung by your desk.

"So this is where you've been? How boring." Beta was not a segment that you'd want to do paperwork. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Ah, Beta!" You brightened in delight at seeing one of your lovers. "I missed you!" At least you were always honest about your feelings.

... But to cut a long story short, Beta faced the same conundrum that Omega did.

Someone got turned into a floating Ruin Machine that day.

—

By now all the segments had experienced being turned away from work. Alpha's signature scowl had become permanent. Zandy was pouting the whole day as he missed his parent. Foxttore kept to himself with a pathetic sopping wet eye. His segments were fighting with each other inside his mind, a great nuisance.

All because you were too absorbed with your work to pay them any attention.

... The Doctor was now realizing that it sounded like a very familiar tune sung by you. So this was what you felt for days on end? Now, it was easier for him to understand why you were always upset if you were ignored too much.

Still, it was mortifyingly embarrassing that his segments were reduced to this pitiful state just because you rejected cuddles a few times. Regardless, it was up to him to solve the issue. After all... he missed you too. He wanted you to be around him more often again.

And so the Doctor made his way to his beloved.

There you were, all cozy on your seat as you sorted through some papers. Really, he had no clue you'd be this productive, to be honest. At least it was proof that your health hadn't gotten worse, considering how well you were handling this.

"Aren't you the one who kept saying to take breaks?" His voice made you jump a bit, having not heard him walk up.

"It's you, Dottie! I was wondering when you'd come around. And of course, I take breaks, Dottore. I have lunch with the other agents!" Ah, another party that's been hogging your attention.

"You know, this job has been pretty fun, Dottore! Everyone's real nice, we make jokes, I get to write about interesting things..." You continued to go on about the research and while usually he'd be intrigued by your findings, this time he had enough.

Dottore picked you up like a long cat as you squealed from the sudden grasping.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're coming with me," was his cut and dry response as he lifted you into his arms.

"B-But I have to work on the big report for Pantalone!" Dottore's eye twitched at the mention of the banker.

"Someone else can."

"But I-"

"I'm not listening to anything you say further," he plainly said as he walked with you cuddled into his chest as you gawked at him.

Could he be... jealous? A wee bit lonely? You kept your guesses to yourself as he eventually bought you back to his room and laid you on his bed, not even saying anything to you before sitting at his desk.

Did he simply miss your presence that much? You felt a bit bad neglecting your lovers that much. But to be fair, they kinda did the same... sometimes. You got up to console your silly husband, who was just a man in your hands.

"Hey... I missed you too, dear husband... but I had to make sure no one stole the title of best assistant from me!" Dottore only sighed at your foolishness.

Of course no one could ever replace you.

"I know you'd rather die than admit it... but don't worry. You're lucky I'm sensitive to your feelings," you teased as you kissed the top of his mask. "I'll pay more attention to you and the segments, before they cause another headache for you, love. You'll give me some vacation time off, right?"

You laughed at your own joke before Dottore pulled you into his lap, biting down hard on your neck.

—

"Beloved, would you care to join me in discussing your work?"

"You fool, they're obviously coming to my lab to activate a new Ruin Machine."

"But [Name] is supposed to play with me today!!"

"As if, they're far too busy to join you all with your silly games."

"You all will stress them out with this arguing. Now, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee instead?"

"Grr, gr gr, grr!"

It was good to be loved so deeply.

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 1/?

God I'm a sucker for a soulmate au. (AO3) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual smut, slow burn

Wordcount: 2347

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

Other info: About this au - Soulmates find each other through touch, which establishes a mental link that lets feelings through, and if solid and built up enough over time, simple thoughts/words can also come through. Some bonds are purely platonic, about ⅓ in total. Multiple soulmates are not unheard of, but rare, more common with platonic soulmates. 

Quickly about the reader - mercenary/gunman/thug for hire. Great shot with pretty much any gun, has two knives as backup weapons, has fought with swords before. Looks wise he has hair and is shorter than Wade and Logan, but I try to keep no specific height in mind while writing. Has a few scars scattered over his body, but nothing specific as of yet. Does not want a soulmate, thinks it just leaves people vulnerable. Lives on his own in an apartment he owns and is content with his life.

All you were, really, was hired help.

All you were supposed to do was stand around and look scary with a few other tugs in a warehouse with high shelves stacked with crates, while your employer (a generous word for the drug dealer that hired you) met with another drug dealer.

It had gone tits up the second a man wearing a red and black spandex suit and katanas on his back of all things came crashing through a window.

You had dived for cover, because there are gunshots ringing out in the milliseconds after the glass shatters. You curse, reaching for your gun, with just one single 10 bullet magazine, because your stupid employer had insisted you only needed one when you asked for more. So to have something more you had your adamantium knives strapped to each thigh, hidden enough under your black joggers.

You curse under your breath, cause this is fucking awful. You hear gunshots over and over again, people are dying, wood from shipping crates are splintering, metal is hitting the floor. 

And there’s talking. 

Fucking talking.

“Come one guys, your aim is all off! Did none of you ever train on the neighborhood cats?”

Well, more like yelling. Because even though the warehouse wasn’t empty, it still had an echo. You are used to the loud sounds, it fuels your adrenaline as you peek out from behind the crate you are using as a shield.

The man, you are just going to call him Red for now, is flipping and bouncing between crates, avoiding any big hits. A few bullets graze an arm, but he doesn’t seem to take notice as his own bullets find their marks, bodies dropping around him. He’s nimble and quick about it, taking down guys from both sides with equal gusto, and you find yourself just watching him carefully. He’s almost elegant, light on his feet, and a jab or taunt spewing out of his mouth every few bullets. 

Careful not to alert Red or anyone else about your position, you shift, gun in hand watching him saunter over to your employer, the last man standing. Well, not really, since he’s down on his knees, begging for something incoherent while fat tears and snot roll down his face. 

“Newsflash asshole, I don’t care for your tragic backstory that the writer won’t let you talk about.” Red raises his gun, one last loud bang filling the warehouse before it’s quiet once again.

“Last fucking one, my counting skills once again making me win.” Red claps his hands together, before moving his hands to his hips, looking around the warehouse. “What a fucking mess.” He shakes his head, and you see your opportunity now that he thinks it’s all over.

You move up, pulling the trigger as soon as your gun is aimed right. Red doesn’t even get to turn before six bullets go through his chest, two through his throat, and the last two finding their mark in his skull. You shouldn’t use all your bullets on one target like that, but still you do.  Red drops like a sack of potatoes, and you draw a sigh of relief, lowering your gun as you too look around the warehouse. You’re glad it’s far away from anything else, because it should take at least a few hours before the cops are alerted, and by that time you would be far away from this warehouse that is by now covered in blood, bullet casings, and dead men.

Your earlier relief turns into utter confusion as you hear shuffling, and when you turn back towards where Red’s body is, you see him shake his head where he lays crumpled on the floor, and seconds later he’s on his feet with a groan.

“Okay, good shot whoever that was.” You gape, words slipping out of your mouth without meaning to.

“What the fuck.” Red’s head snaps towards you.

“Oh, there you are.” His voice is light, almost like he’s halfway into song. “I would return the favor, but I’m fresh out of bullets so this will have to do.” He pulls out the katanas strapped to his back. You grab your knives, managing, somehow by the grace of whatever runs this universe, to bring it out just in time to block both katanas that were coming at you in tight formation.

“Oh so you weren’t just happy to see me.” Red jokes, and though you can’t see his face under the mask, you are pretty sure he is grinning. You grunt, because there is no way for your brain to form words as you parry another attack from him, retreating.

You are in no position to attack, so all you do is stop his, and try to escape, backing off. Or rather, you try to, but Red is not letting up, so all you end up doing is walking backwards through the warehouse in a vague path between boxes and shelves as he attacks. 

He manages to get a few slashes here and there to connect, but they are shallow, just enough to draw blood and sting. One on your left arm, two on your right arm, three on your left leg. You wonder if amounts are on purpose. He seems to take it all as encouragement, laughing, keeping up his quick attacks. 

You don’t know you hold out, breathing heavy, arms and hands hurting with how you are clutching and shielding with your knives like your life depends on it. 

Because it 1000% fucking does, that’s why you manage.

Red finally lets up, just enough that you can create some space between the two of you. You don’t dare to actually turn and run, certain he has no moral code of cutting down someone from behind. So you just try to slowly create even more room between the two of you as you watch for his next attack.

“Oh I am having fun!” Red tries to clap, but he just knocks the hilts of his katanas together. “Though we are just a little unevenly matched here.” He sounds like he’s breathing just a little bit harder at least, even though there are no cuts next to the bullet holes riddling his suit. He tilts his head for a moment, then bends down, and then there’s a katana sliding over the floor, bumping into your boot. You look down at it, before looking back up at him.

“Come on, pick it up.” Shifting your knives into one hand, you keep your eyes on the white eyes of his mask as you bend down and pick up the sword. 

“Oh yeah, look at me during.” You ignore his comment, feeling the weight of the katana in your hand. It’s heavy, but perfectly balanced, feeling perfect as you spin it in your hand a few times, the hilt still warm from Red’s earlier hold. 

“Hot.” Red says as he twirls his second katana, mimicking you. Once more ignoring him, you put your knives back in their sheats. “Do you have them there to distract your enemies by making them think you are going to jerk off mid-battle?” You snort.

“No, they are there so they are more hidden, and more difficult to grab.”

“If you wanted my hands in your pants all you had to do was ask, baby.” You think Red is winking at you through the mask. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Shut the fuck up.” With both of your hands on the hilt of the katana, you are ready to defend yourself from his first attack.

“Ohhh, you remind me of someone. I think the two of you would get along, he’s also a man of few words. Maybe I’ll let you live so you can meet him and fight him too, more material for my spank bank.” He definitely winks this time, then you are defending yourself from another attack from him. It pushes you backwards, again, but this time, you are able to attack back.

Though you can’t help but wonder if he’s letting you, just indulging you. Because you can feel how strong he is when you parry his strikes, you felt how strong he was when all you had was your knives.

It’s a dance, a dance he lets you participate in as you block, attack, block, attack, block. Redirecting his sword coming for your throat so it splinters wood instead of flesh.

“How did you learn to fight like this?” Wade asks, almost spinning as his energy is redirected away from your body. He is at least breathing a little heavier, and for some reason, you find yourself having a little fun, even though you think you know how this is going to end.

“I was a loser in high school. What about you?” You speak through gritted teeth, the sound of metal on metal filling the warehouse as you block another attack. You don’t even know why you ask him back, but it feels right.

“Something similar.” It’s still kinda hard to tell, but you think he grins under his mask as you attack back.

You do get a few cuts in, deep enough that it slices through his suit and the skin underneath, but it leaves you with little satisfaction as you see the cuts heal in seconds. Though at least his suit can’t fix itself, growing more tattered by the minute as new slashes and old bullet holes make a mess of it.

“So you are not just a pretty face, there’s some skills there.” You frown, anger flaring, and you are about to say something, but with a quick move that you have no opportunity to block, and that  truly demonstrates the difference between the two of you, he nicks you with just the tip of the katanta, just on the left corner of your mouth. You startle, but on instinct your tongue goes out to lick at the blood now sliding down to your skin. It just gives you more motivation to strike back, a big one that leaves behind what could almost be called a titty window on his chest, showing textured skin underneath.

“Ohhhh, freaky.” Red taunts, slicing your chest too, though your skin doesn’t heal when metal connects after slicing through your shirt like air. You curse, adrenaline causing your ears to roar, and the world to go a little fuzzy at the edges. You touch your chest, fingers coming back bloody, watching Red. Your own katana pointing towards the floor, ready, but down as you breathe heavily.

“Leaving yourself all open for me? You shouldn’t have.” Red coos, and that is what you are counting on. Letting him attack you straight on, thinking you have given up, so you can shove the katana through his skull, killing him again, and leaving you at least a few moments to high tail it out of there.

It’s what the plan is.

It does not work out like you intend it to.

It goes in a whole new direction.

Because when he comes close enough, you manage to get a hold on his shoulder, which gets you a hopefully not deadly slice over your abdomen for your efforts. You are moving quickly, seconds away from stabbing the katana through the bottom of his jaw. But then your fingers touch a bare spot on his shoulder where his suit had gotten torn, and there’s a sparkler going off in your brain, a sizzling sensation that settles in the back of your head as feelings of excitement, adrenaline, and happiness that are not your own speeds through your mind.

You gasp out loud.

You can’t help yourself.

Because you know what that was.

And there is no fucking way.

WHAT. THE. ABSOLUTE. 

FUCK.

Fucking no.

A soulmate.

You have a fucking soulmate??????

And this is how you fucking meet him????

In all of your turmoil, you have dropped the katana that was destined to go through Red’s skull. He is a few paces behind you, not immediately attacking, just watching you as you turn around in your now mostly frozen state.

“Wh-”

“Touch me.” Red blinks, owlishly even with the white eyes of his mask.

“Wow, so forward. You know, con-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” You march over to him, and in what seems to be confusion he lets you tug the glove of his hand that is not holding his katana. You interlace your fingers, the motion absurdly tender for the moment that is currently playing out. You see his eyes widen behind the mask, and you are sure his mouth opens and closes several times even hidden as it is.

“What the fuck.” The words are so soft out his mouth that you are not even sure he said them. Not that it matters, because a second later he is wrenching his hand back like you burned him. He runs past you, and you watch as he picks up his katana where you dropped it, and then keeps running after that brief slowdown, heading towards a door you hadn’t noticed while you were fighting. You startle yourself into action finally, following him, but he’s out the door before you can reach him.

On the other side there’s a hallway, and his back is quickly retreating, and all you feel is panic. You are not sure which of you it is coming from.

You try to keep up with him through multiple hallways, but he’s fast, getting out of the building before you do. It’s enough of a headstart that you only see backlights and hear the roar of a motorcycle speeding away.

You run over to where the cars you all arrived in earlier are parked, but of fucking course all tires are slashed. Not like you had any of the keys anyway, but they would have been easy enough to find in some dead man's pockets.

“Fucking MOTHERFUCKER!” You know he can’t hear you, but you hope Red feels your frustration through your bond as you punch the hood of a car, denting the metal.

(Part 2)

[mercuriians]

connect (with you)

synopsis ☆ kuroo’s walls come down after the game with karasuno.

content info — some hurt/comfort with our beloved nekoma captain because he deserves all the love in the world 🙏 SPOILERS for the dumpster battle movie so beware. reader is mentioned to be kenma’s sister a few times.

author’s note — just wanna say hi to the haikyuu fandom :) hope u enjoy this short drabble i wrote, i’ll probably make it look pretty later. lmk if you wanna see more kuroo x kozume!reader in the future.

your lips are on kuroo’s before the locker room door even has a chance to close. his skin is soft and familiar, his kiss eager yet vulnerable. something compels you to reach up, circling your arms around his neck as you pull him closer, tighter, until you’re sure that his warmth has become your own. the sound of his breathing is the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground as your mouths meet again and again. no words need to be spoken.

after years of being together, and even more years of being friends, you know tetsurou like the back of your hand. as if he’s perpetually been woven into your spirit, etched into your heart since the day he moved into the house next to you and your brother’s.

you know that the cheery grin he shot his teammates, the reverent bow he gave to the crowd, and the meaningful hug he shared with daichi at the end of the match were all borne out of three things—his sworn responsibilities as the captain, his earnest respect for karasuno, and the addictive rush of adrenaline.

the moment he left behind the arena’s blinding lights, though, the high seemed to wear off.

yet an aching feeling stayed with him.

when you pour your heart out on the court and play until your muscles feel like they’re on fire, when you devote hours of your precious time towards practicing—towards smoothening out every crack within your blocks, every blemish within your serves, every falter within your receives—and when you imagine the game countless numbers of times in your head until it feels like a memory, there’s a certain type of pain you feel when it’s all over. it’s a sadness that’s inevitable, and yet one that stings so profoundly and uniquely that it becomes a bittersweet moment you’re bound to remember for the rest of your life.

just one more second, one more chance— you think to yourself in a flurry of desperation. because as foolishly selfish as it sounds, nobody ever truly wants the game to end.

that feeling of wanting to remain frozen in the experience is something you yourself are all too familiar with. volleyball, after all, was what gave birth to the connection you now so deeply share with tetsurou.

you suppose that’s why you’re able to pinpoint the exact moment his shoulders start to shake.

pulling away from the kiss, you feel your heart plummet into your stomach before you can even see the tears trickling down his face. something you’ve come to learn about tetsurou is that he rarely ever cries, so when he does, it only makes the sight that much more impactful. wordlessly, you pull him into you once more.

the way your arms firmly, comfortingly wrap around his tall figure conveys a simple but invaluable message that resonates throughout the empty room— “i’m not letting you go.”

quietly, he sobs. you let him.

you barely notice your nekoma jacket becoming damp with his tears. when his crying slowly starts to recede, you break the silence, voice soft and tender. “you were amazing out there, tetsurou,” you whisper. “and there’s three things i want to thank you for.”

withdrawing by the tiniest sliver, just enough so he can meet your patient gaze, your boyfriend tilts his head slightly in the way he always does. his fingers subconsciously trace patterns across the small of your back. “what are they, baby?” his voice is quiet and a little hoarse. really, it’s a miracle that you manage to block out your own shadows of sadness.

“one,” you whisper, fingers reaching out to gently wipe away his tears, “thank you for being the best captain this team could ever ask for.”

“two,” you continue, leaning in to kiss away the tears that remain, before a small smile pulls at the corners of your lips, “thank you for helping my brother fall in love with volleyball.”

“and three,” you breathe out, your vulnerable gaze meeting his own, lips inching towards his once more, “thank you for being as strong as you’ve been, and for carrying the world’s burden on your shoulders when none of us could.”

when you finish your heartfelt confession, tetsurou’s hazel eyes glaze over with a fresh wave of tears—this time, however, it’s for an entirely different reason.

and this time, he’s the one that kisses you first.

[lottins-only]

CROSS THE LINE | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader, unnamed fictional RM player x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: after a fallout with your boyfriend, you find solace in a spontaneous night at the movies, where you run into his golden boy teammate. one thing leads to another and you cross the line.

A/N: first judith fic!! this was really fun to write. (very loosely) based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. let me know what yall think <3

warnings: infidelity (i don't condone it yall its just fun to write morally gray characters 🫣)

someone once told you there’s no such thing as bad thoughts – that it’s your actions that truly define you.

you wonder what they’d say if they saw you now: sitting up in bed with your boyfriend sound asleep beside you, staring at your phone with a pounding heart, silently hoping, waiting, for a message from someone else.

you wait and wait, but there’s nothing. your home screen stays empty, mocking you. you glance at your boyfriend. his shallow breathing fills the quiet room, steady and oblivious.

he has no idea you came home at 3 a.m. wearing his teammate’s jacket.

you'd stuffed it in the back of your closet as soon as you got home, a relic of a night that shouldn’t have happened. you'd scrubbed yourself thoroughly in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of jude’s cologne that clung to your skin. but it’s still there. not on your skin anymore, but in your mind, stamped into your memory to stay forever. 

the way the flickering lights from the movie theater screen cast shadows on his beautiful face, the fleeting feeling of his warm hands on yours as he handed you his jacket, the full body rumble of his laugh, the feel of his soft lips on yours.

you will never forget. how could you, when that was the first time in months you’d felt seen? desired. wanted. needed. it’s an intoxicating feeling, like stepping into the sunlight after living in the shadows for the longest time.

and now, staring at your phone, you feel it all over again. the pull. the wrongness of it all.

a buzz breaks the silence. your heart jumps into your throat as the screen lights up and a single message appears.

jude: you got home safe?

it’s innocent enough. simple. harmless.

you could ignore it. pretend you didn’t see it. block his number and put an end to whatever this is before it spirals into something else.

but instead, your fingers move on their own accord.

you: yeah. thanks for checking.

you press send before you can stop yourself. you lock your phone and put it on the bedside table before closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep.

to your credit, none of this was planned. it all starts earlier that night. you and your boyfriend are supposed to have a date night, a rare opportunity to spend some alone time together. you pick out a dress he once says is his favorite and make a dinner reservation at his favorite spot.

but plans change quickly.

“babe, the guys just texted,” he says, barely looking up from his phone. “they’re hopping on fifa in a bit. you don’t mind if we raincheck, right?”

you stare at him dumbfounded as he flops down onto the couch.

“raincheck?” your voice trembles, the tears obvious, yet he doesn’t even glance at you.

“yeah. just tonight, we’ll do something soon,” he says dismissively.

it’s not the first time he’s blown you off, but tonight it stings a little more. maybe it’s the fact that he’s so indifferent to you and your feelings, he doesn’t even care to notice the relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff. he doesn’t realize that you’re making an effort to save it while he’s unknowingly contributing to its unraveling.

you realized it too late, but you know now you’re not a partner to him, not really. you’re a glorified accessory, someone he can show off for external validation, a dependable constant in his life that’s only there to cheer him on and make him look good while he gives his attention and energy to the things he actually cares about: his friends, his family, and above all, his football.

it wasn’t like this in the beginning, but things changed quickly after he made the move to real madrid and became a bigger star. with every goal, every headline, and every paparazzi photo, you sank further into the background of his life.

you linger for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to look up and realize what he’s doing. but he doesn’t. so you grab your bag and leave without saying another word.

the cinema isn’t your first choice. you wander the streets for a while, debating whether to call a friend or just head home. but you need a distraction, something that can dispel all the thoughts running through your head. so before you know it, you’re buying a single ticket to whatever is playing next.

the theater is almost empty. it isn’t until you sit down and glance at your ticket that you realize you’re not seeing something new, but a re-release of a classic: Goodfellas.

halfway through the movie, you see a figure slip into a seat a few rows ahead of you. a few moments pass, and you feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of your head. it’s distracting, like an itch. you can't bear to ignore it any longer so you turn your head and look straight at the person. the figure quickly shifts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the screen. his features are hidden thanks to the hoodie he’s wearing, but his height and broad shoulders give him away as a man.

you hold your gaze for a second longer, just to make sure he gets the message, before turning back to the screen. but your focus is broken after that.

a few more moments pass and you notice the man stand and make his way out of his row. you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming he’s leaving. but from the corner of your eye, you see the same figure moving toward your seat. your body stiffens immediately. why is he coming your way? maybe it was a bad idea to come to a nearly empty theater alone so late at night.

you watch as he stops in front of you and slightly crouches to not block the view of the screen.

“y/n?” he asks, voice low yet familiar.

“uh, yeah?” you respond warily.

“thought it was you.” he pulls back his hood, revealing the grinning face of jude bellingham.

a wave of embarrassment immediately washes over you. it’s bad enough that your boyfriend doesn’t love you and prefers to spend time playing video games with his friends, but now you have to run into his teammate of all people while you’re publicly wallowing in your misery—his kind, handsome teammate who always makes you flush whenever you cross paths.

this time is no different. your face grows warm as you stutter, “oh! h-hi, jude.”

you brace for the questions: why are you here alone? where’s your boyfriend? why do you have tear stains on your cheeks?

they don’t come though. instead, he gestures to the seat next to you. “mind if i join you? my seat over there was right under the AC; i was freezing.”

you nod. jude flashes you a smile as he takes a seat.

and then nothing. you watch the rest of the movie silently, the only interaction between you being an elbow nudge from him to offer his pack of candy.

he’s completely engrossed. he laughs silently at certain scenes, and in the more intense ones lets out small gasps. for someone else, it might’ve been annoying, but for you, who’s used to your boyfriend’s indifference to everything, you find his enthusiasm refreshing, maybe even a little endearing.

you spend the rest of the movie mentally going through the list of things you know about him : he's the same age as you (your boyfriend begrudgingly posted a birthday wish on his instagram story once), he can't drive (you see him being picked up by a driver whenever you visit valdebebas), he's genuinely nice (he always says hi when he sees you around, and he's politely held a door open for you once or twice), his spanish isn't the best (you once ran into him hopelessly trying to change his order at the canteen, sheepishly apologizing to the annoyed barista before you helped him out), and your boyfriend quietly holds a dislike for him because he's 'attention seeking' ( you secretly think its not his fault that he's charming and easygoing, that he has everyone he meets wrapped around his finger).

when the movie ends and the lights begin to brighten, he turns to you.

"do you wanna get ice cream?"

you hesitate for a moment.

"yeah. i’d love to," you say finally.

you exit the cinema, and when the fresh outdoor air hits you, you ask the question at the tip of your tongue.

"why and how are you here?"

"could ask the same for you," he grins.

"yeah, but—" you begin, but are immediately silenced by the sight in front of you. jude reaches into the pocket of the jacket he's layered over his hoodie and pulls out a dreadlocked toupee. with the straightest face, he carefully pulls down his hood, places the wig on his head, and adjusts it before pulling the hood back up.

you blink.

"you were saying?" the corners of his mouth twitch at your facial expression. without waiting for a reply, he starts walking, leading you away from the cinema.

you walk in tandem, still giving him a confused look. when you catch sight of his (fake) locs swinging along to the rhythm of his steps, you can’t help it; you burst out laughing.

“what’s so funny?” he turns to you, a mock hurt look on his face. “i’m part jamaican, you know.”

you pause your walking, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh. he stands patiently, looking slightly amused.

after you catch your breath and fully recover, you continue walking.

“so that’s how you go places unnoticed?” you ask, still giggling.

“yup,” he says. “otherwise it’s a nightmare. need a bodyguard and stuff.”

you nod sympathetically as you stroll down the quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the concrete. jude walks with an easy confidence, his hands in his pockets while you glance over at him and his toupee every so often.

“so,” he says after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “what’s your excuse? why are you at a late night showing of Goodfellas all by yourself?”

your smile falters slightly. you look straight ahead, debating how much to share.

“just needed to get out of the house,” you say with a light tone.

jude doesn’t push, though the way he hums softly in response tells you he notices your answer is only a half-truth.

"what about you?" you ask.

"I like watching movies," he says simply.

when you give him a somewhat confused look, he pulls out his phone and opens the letterboxd app, showing you the extensive list of movies he's marked as watched. you skim through it and you’re surprised by the diversity. the list is seemingly filled with movies of all genres, from classic films to indie flicks. you didn’t expect this side of him, but somehow it makes sense.

as he enthusiastically explains the list, you can't help but feel endeared by the excited look on his face. you have the overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth over his furrowed brow with your finger. but for the first and only time that night, you don't act on that impulse.

you reach a small gelato stand located on a corner of the street, its neon sign glowing softly. jude steps forward and leans against the counter.

“pick whatever you want,” he says, winking as he passes you the menu.

“don’t mind if i do,” you say, raising an eyebrow. you ignore the way his words make you feel—warm and fluttery, like this is a first date between two single people.

after a moment of deliberation, you pick pistachio and hazelnut, watching as jude leans in to order the same for himself.

“you copying me?”

“nah,” he says with a smirk, passing your cone to you from the server. “just figured you have good taste.”

you wander away from the stand, both of you savoring your ice cream. for a while, you walk in comfortable silence. at one point, he removes the ridiculous wig from his head. it isn’t until you reach a park bench that jude breaks the silence.

"you know," he starts. "i haven’t seen you at a lot of games lately. everything good between you and your boyfriend?"

“‘your boyfriend?’” you tease. “why not call him by his name? you guys have beef or something?”

he stays silent.

you gasp half-jokingly. “oh my god! tell me everything, so i can sell the story to the tabloids.”

he lets out a laugh at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“c’mon, spill,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “is he, like, selfish? does he refuse to pass during games?”

jude chuckles, shaking his head again. “nah, nothing like that. he’s a good player. talented, hardworking… you just start noticing things when you’re around someone all the time, you know?”

he says it carefully, almost hesitantly. you tilt your head at him. “notice things like what?”

he shrugs, his gaze dropping to his melting cone. “like… maybe he doesn’t appreciate what he’s got.”

the words hang in the air between you. you don't know how to respond, so you just gaze down at your own ice cream.

"sorry," jude says quickly. "didn't mean to overstep. i just—forget it."

"no, it's fine," you say quietly. "you're not wrong."

you sit in silence for a few moments. you feel him lean back against the bench, and the next time he speaks, his tone is lighter.

"my dad's coming to visit tomorrow," he says casually, an excited undertone in his voice.

"yeah? that's nice. does he come often?"

"not as much as i'd like," jude admits. "he's got my little brother to worry about in sunderland."

you smile softly. “what do you guys usually do when he visits?”

"usually we grab some food..."

he speaks about his bond with his dad, and also his close relationship with both his brother and mother. soon the conversation moves to childhood memories; jude tells you stories about growing up in birmingham, the football academy there, how he met his best friends at school. in return, you share stories of your own childhood, each one met with genuine curiosity from jude. you laugh, the conversation feeling effortlessly easy and natural.

it isn’t until you pull out your phone and glance at the screen to check the time that reality crashes back in. you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home. a boyfriend who hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even noticed that you’ve walked out of his house.

you lick the last remnants of your ice cream and are just about to crunch into the cone when jude gestures toward your chin. “you’ve got a little…” he says, trailing off as he points.

“oh,” you mumble while jude scans your surroundings for a tissue. finding none, he leans in and gently swipes at the bit of ice cream with his thumb.

“got it,” he murmurs, his touch lingering just a second longer than required.

what happens next can only be described as a a lapse in thinking, or maybe something you've been holding back all night. before your brain can catch up with your actions, you grab his hand and bring his thumb to your lips. you lick the ice cream away, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

jude freezes, his breath catching, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"i—" you start, but whatever explanation you're about to give disappears when jude leans closer, his hand hovering near your face, as if waiting for your permission.

you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.

his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, testing the waters. when you don’t push him away or move back, when, instead, you lean into him, his kiss deepens. it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

the ice cream cone in your hand is forgotten, melting onto the pavement as your fingers tangle into his hoodie, pulling him closer. the world fades, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble.

when you finally pull apart, your breaths mingle in the night air and jude’s forehead rests against yours.

“jude…” you whisper, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression serious. “tell me if I’ve crossed a line. i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

your heart flutters at the genuine care in his tone. you shake your head. “no, you didn’t.”

he doesn't keep his lips off you after that.

the next morning, you wake up feeling better than you have in months. there's a lightness in your chest, a warmth that’s been missing for what feels like forever.

you glance at your boyfriend, expecting to feel guilt or remorse. but there’s nothing. no pang of regret, no twist in your stomach. you feel... nothing at all.

you watch him roll out of bed and get ready for training. not a word passes between you as you sit down together in the kitchen to eat breakfast.

“so, what does your day look like today?” you try.

he doesn’t even look up, his attention entirely on his phone, scrolling with one hand while holding his fork with the other.

“i have a meeting at work that’s pretty—“ you start, but he cuts off.

“we’re doing penalty drills,” he mutters without looking up. “need to score more than bellingham so i can wipe that smug smile off his face. did you know he gets paid more than me?”

you just stare at him. you wonder what you even saw in him all those years ago. how had you overlooked the bitterness in his eyes, the envy? how had you missed it all along, his resentment towards anyone who seemed happier, luckier, more successful? his good looking face looks distorted to you now, forever changed to you to reflect the ugliness he holds inside. its as if you’re seeing him for who he really is for the very first time.

your phone buzzes on the table. without even checking, you know who it’s from.

jude: good morning :) sleep well?

you see it for what it is: an invitation to step into dangerous territory, to cross the line once more. a lifeline offering escape from the sinking ship that is your relationship.

you decide to take it.

you type a quick response and set the phone down. your boyfriend is grinning at an instagram reel now, completely absorbed.

you don’t speak to each other for the remainder of breakfast. this time it doesn't bother you at all.

[cece693]

Secretary (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Summary: Hannibal told Crawford that his secretary was 'pre-dispositioned by romantic whims' and traveled to the United Kingdom. However, it's rarely as simple as that.

tags: reader is Hannibal's ex-secretary, possible Stockholm syndrome, no established relationship, Hannibal being himself, kidnapping

You've been doing everything right—not disturbing Dr. Lecter unless absolutely necessary, keeping his records meticulously filed, and, with much reluctance, keeping Mr. Chilton occupied whenever he threatened to storm into Dr. Lecter’s current session to demand more of his time. Your job wasn’t easy, but you excelled at it, surpassing even Dr. Lecter’s expectations. Perhaps that should have been your cue to quit.

But you didn’t. And now, standing in the center of this impeccably furnished home—with its locked doors and an alarm system ready to blare at the slightest escape attempt—you understood the truth. Dr. Lecter would never truly let you go. He might grant you the illusion of freedom, but he would always keep tabs on you. Because, at the end of the day, he found you interesting. So much so that he didn’t kill you outright when you finally saw him for who he really was.

It had been an accident. You weren’t like the other secretaries who snooped and whispered about his peculiarities. You didn’t eavesdrop. You were just…there at the wrong moment. Gathering your belongings after a late evening at the office, you opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by Dr. Lecter standing outside. He was composed, as always. But then you noticed it—the splatter of blood decorating the bottom of his suit sleeve. Your eyes weren't quick enough to look away, and in that split second, you saw his expression change, just the barest flicker as he crossed his arms behind his back and straightened his posture.

"Ah," he had said, tilting his head slightly as if you were a particularly intriguing puzzle piece that had just fallen into place. "It appears I've caught you at an inopportune moment. I trust you’ll keep what you've seen to yourself?" His eyes were not asking. They were demanding. You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.

"Yes, Dr. Lecter," you stammered. "Of course." He smiled then, a small curve of his lips that made your stomach drop.

"Good," he replied smoothly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "It's always refreshing to know who values their… position."

That had been the end of it. Or so you thought. Days turned into weeks, and you convinced yourself you had been imagining things, that perhaps you had misread the situation. But then came the gradual transition: the dinners you were "invited" to, the unspoken requirement to be available whenever Dr. Lecter saw fit. And finally, the inevitable—this place. His home.

Back to the present, you hear the front door click open, the soft thud of polished shoes on the wooden floor. Your heart jumps to your throat, but you force yourself to remain still as Dr. Lecter enters, his eyes immediately locking onto you with an unsettling intensity.

“There you are,” he greets, as if he were a husband returning to his spouse after a long day. “I trust you’ve been keeping yourself entertained?”

You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. "Yes," you reply, clearing your throat. "I…tidied up."

"Wonderful." He removes his coat with precise movements, placing it on the coat rack before turning to you, his gaze predatory yet casual. "Today was most eventful," he begins conversationally, crossing the room toward you with a grace that should make you feel comforted, but instead sets every nerve on edge. "One of my patients had quite the breakthrough. It’s fascinating, really, how easily one can guide a mind to certain…realizations."

He pauses just in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an unsettlingly intimate gesture. "You’ve always had such a strong mind," he murmurs. "That’s why I like you. And why I believe our arrangement will work out perfectly. Don't you agree?"

You swallow, searching for words that will appease him without sealing your fate even tighter. "Of course." you say carefully, hoping the neutrality of your response will satisfy him. He smiles again, that chillingly serene smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

"Good," he purrs. "Now, why don't you join me in the kitchen? I believe a little conversation over dinner would do us both well. After all," he pauses, his gaze darkening, "what's a home without a bit of warmth and companionship?" With a gesture, he beckons you toward the hallway, and you follow, each step a reminder of the delicate balance you must now maintain in this life you never chose.

[naughtyneganjdm]

Love's Second Chance: A Holiday Reunion - Chapter 10

Summary: Tensions are high when Y/N comes home from her trip with Negan to the city when she finds that Joel is already inside of her home waiting for her with a special surprise.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), Negan Smith, Elizabeth, Peter, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60501985/chapters/155947468

Warnings: Swearing, angst, dirty talk (maybe?), etc.

Notes: I put this chapter up late last night. Realized I made a mistake. Took it down. Forgot to put it back up. And yeah. My bad. So here it is. Sorry that my schedule is a bit off for this one. Thanks again to those that read this story.

After the day they spent in the city with Negan, coming home almost felt disappointing. Sure, that was a life that Y/N really didn’t think she fit in with but getting that escape from this small town helped more than she ever knew it could. For as long as she could remember, she felt stuck in this town. A place she dreamt of getting away from her whole life. Yet rarely left. And when she did? It was never for very long. But it was never in a way like Negan had given her and the children.

“Thanks for everything, Negan,” Elizabeth spoke up from the backseat, finally drawing Y/N from her thoughts. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that Elizabeth was looking at the signed baseball that Dale had given them when they were at the baseball stadium. Letting out a small sigh, Y/N felt Negan squeezing at her hand from where their fingers were hooked in her lap. Sweeping her thumb over the back of Negan’s hand, Y/N realized how fast this all was really moving. They were completely comfortable in this situation. It wasn’t awkward at all. The children liked Negan and this felt right. Everything felt right between all of them. Being divorced and dating someone new always seemed like it would be a hard thing, but nothing with Negan was complicated. “This whole experience was really cool.”

“No problem kiddo,” Negan stole a quick glance back in the rearview mirror, giving a smirk and a simple shrug. “Hopefully I’ll get to take you and your brother during the season. So that way you can see it fully and meet the team.”

“No shit,” Peter blurt out causing Negan to snort.

“You’re gonna fit right in kid,” Negan assured Peter who nudged his sister with his arm. What was crazy is that Peter had a mouth like Negan. Peter may have looked like Joel, but his personality and his outward attitude was much more like that of Negan’s. “You and Liz can come to any home game you want. You’re always welcome to come.”

“Always?” Elizabeth repeated and Negan immediately nodded. By the tone of her voice, Elizabeth seemed both skeptical and excited at the same time. “So if I wanted to bring some friends?”

“I will always have tickets waiting for you and you’re welcome to come back any time you want as long as you talk to me beforehand,” Negan declared, bringing Y/N’s hand up to place a kiss over the back of her hand. Thinking about what he said, Negan tipped his head from side to side and let out a small laugh. “Within reason of course. Everyone will have to be…clothed.”

“Yeah, cus’ we know Lydia would take advantage of that shit,” Peter noted teasing Elizabeth about one of her closest friends. “She would hope that all of the players were changing when you went back into the clubhouse.”

“Enough,” Elizabeth silenced her brother causing him to laugh before going back to his phone that he had been playing a game on. Once they pulled onto the street, it had Elizabeth’s eyebrows furrowing and she let out a tense breath. “Dad is here?”

Turning to look toward her home, Y/N realized that her daughter was right noticing that Joel’s truck was parked in the driveway. Sighing loudly, Y/N thought about her last interaction with Joel. Which only made her imagine that this was going to be uncomfortable.

“I thought you were going to drop us off at dad’s later,” Peter commented when Negan pulled into the driveway. The original plan was for Negan to drop them off and he was supposed to go to his mother’s home to check in with her. But now that he saw that Joel was at her home, Negan didn’t know if she needed some kind of back up so he was waiting for some kind of direction with what she wanted him to do.

“I thought so too,” she frowned, squeezing her fingers around Negan’s. She could only imagine what she had waiting for her inside the house with Joel. They weren’t supposed to see each other again until tonight when she dropped the children back off with him. “Thank you for all of this. Yesterday was amazing. All around.”

“It’s no problem,” Negan winked, leaning across the car to faintly brush his lips against hers in a kiss. A loud, disgusted groan fell from the backseat that was followed by a real one after Elizabeth clearly hit her brother for being silly. Laughing against her lips, Negan tipped back and nodded toward the house. “I’ll let you go in and deal with things. I’ll go check in on my mom. If you need me, just let me know and I can be back here in no time.”

“Thank you,” Y/N slurred, giving Negan another kiss goodbye before gathering her things. “I’ll call you later.”

“I look forward to it,” Negan pushed his sunglasses further up his nose, his jaw flexing when she worked her way out of his car.

Giving her a big, cheesy smile had her snickering as she closed the door and waved to him. Wiggling his fingers, Negan waited for them to get out of the car before pulling back slightly to make sure they got to the door. Once they were inside, she looked back to wave telling him they were safe before he finally pulled away.

“Hey dad!” Peter immediately screamed making Y/N tense up with how loud he was purposely being. Moving through the first floor, Peter was desperately looking for his father, but didn’t see him. “Dad! Where are you? I have something to show you!”

“Hey. Inside voices please,” she requested with a small laugh, moving in beside Peter to brush her fingers through his messy hair. There was a sense of worry flooding her veins over the fact that Joel wasn’t anywhere to be found on the first floor. Elizabeth went to go upstairs, but Y/N reached for her hand to stop her. Right now? All she was going on was what she knew. And that was Joel was very upset the last time she saw him. If they couldn’t find Joel, this might have been bad. “Maybe I should go look upstairs first.”

“Why?” Elizabeth tipped her head to the side, confused why her mother would even suggest that. “Where do you think dad is?”

“I’m up here,” Joel called out, his voice sounding incredibly raspy with how loud he was yelling. A weight had been lifted from Y/N’s shoulders, thankful that Joel seemed to be okay. For some reason, the worst-case scenario had flooded Y/N’s head thinking that maybe Joel had done something to himself in their old home.

Pushing through his sister, Peter ran up the stairs skipping a few steps as he went to get to the second floor. Running down the hallway, Peter threw his hands up in the air and huffed, “Where is here?”

“Up here,” Joel scoffed from the top of the ladder that was out from the attic. Scrambling toward the pullout ladder, Peter grabbed a hold of it and laughed. “Common sense buddy.”

“Don’t ask me to have any of that,” Peter snickered, swiftly moving up the ladder toward the attic where Joel was. “What are you doing up here?”

“Well…” Joel stammered, helping Peter get up into the attic. Once his son saw what he was doing, Peter dropped his bookbag at his side and a surprised expression flooded his young features. What was once a dusty, half-finished attic full of junk was a clean, fully finished attic. There were just a few more things that Joel had to complete.

“Mom!” Peter yelled out moving back toward the opening in the floor to gaze down at his mother who stepped up to the ladder. Waving her on, Peter motioned her dramatically to climb up. Pointing behind him, Peter was trying to tell her it was big. “You need to see what dad did while we were gone. It’s nuts.”

“I was hoping to…” Joel huffed, stopping himself when Y/N started to move up the ladder. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and away from the opening to allow her to come up into the attic with them. Originally he wanted to finish the whole thing before she came up here to make it a surprise, but he obviously had run out of time. As she stepped up into the attic, Joel nervously stroked at the back of his neck hoping that she didn’t hate what he had done. He had cleaned everything out, finished the wooden floor and the walls. Did the shelves that he promised he would do. Put the walls up where it was needed and painted them. All he had to do was finish with the large window he was putting in near the nook so anyone that was sitting there would have plenty of light. Y/N was standing at the center of the attic looking around and Joel shrugged his shoulders. “I cleaned all of the junk out of here. The boxes that are over there are the things we would still want. Photos and what not. I brought all the books up here, just haven’t put them in the shelves. I found a desk like the one you wanted and I set it up…”

Pointing over toward the desk that he had gotten, he led her toward it and saw her eyeing it over. There was a photo that he had placed upon the empty desk. Grabbing it, she lifted it to see that it was a family photo from when the children were younger with the two of them. Joel had Elizabeth on his shoulders and he was making a goofy face while she was holding Peter when he was a baby in her arms.

“You can set up your workspace in here so you no longer have to work in the living room or in the dining room,” Joel rubbed his hands together and cleared his throat. Nervousness flooded his body. This was something he wanted to do as a surprise. Something that he knew would have made her happy in the past. And more than anything he wanted her to be happy with it. “I figured you could use that area of the attic for maybe a sitting area? Or somewhere to do your photography. So I just kind of left it open so you can decide what you want to do with it.”

“Wow,” she breathed out, her arms folding in front of her chest when she gazed over the work that Joel had done. Joel’s eyes were locked on her trying to read her emotions while she looked everything over. Considering they weren’t even gone that long, she couldn’t believe how much Joel had gotten done on his own. “This is really nice. You did a good job.”

“From what I remembered, this is exactly what you wanted it to look like. Right?” Joel looked for confirmation noticing the way that she bit down on her bottom lip and nodded. There was a sense of awe in her eyes and it took his breath away. What he had try to do was remember everything she told him she wanted up here in the past when they were married. “Good. That’s really good.”

“I’m gonna get Elizabeth. She needs to see this,” Peter swiftly moved down the ladder which brought Joel’s attention to it.

“You give me a few months and I’ll be able to build a staircase so we don’t have to worry about Peter tripping down the ladder and breaking…everything,” Joel explained with a half smirk, shoving his hands into his jean’s pockets.

“Joel,” she began, taking notice of how tired he looked which made her wonder how long he had been doing this. “You did this all on your own?”

“Most of it,” Joel explained throwing his hand up toward certain areas. “I needed Tommy’s help to carry some of it up here, but I had the thought during the middle of the night after…well, I just realized I always promised you that I would finish this and I never did. I know the key is supposed to be for emergencies only, but you weren’t home and I was going to try to finish it before you got here, I just…” Joel paused to look around, “didn’t.”

“You should hate me right now,” she suggested causing Joel to frown, his hands sliding to his hips to rest them there while adjusting the way he was standing. An ache grew at the center of her chest. After she had turned down Joel and let him know that she didn’t want to be with him, she couldn’t believe he would even do something this nice. “After everything that happened…”

“I don’t hate you. At all,” Joel reasoned with her letting out a huff at the thought. That was hard to believe with how broken she had left him at the school. “I understand it. I may not like it, but you made a decision and I have to honor it. It’s my fault that it turned out the way it did to begin with. This isn’t to make you feel guilty…or…whatever. I did it cus’ I should have done it a long time ago. I want to do the things I always said I would and…never did.”

“But you don’t have to,” she stressed noticing the way that he had a hard time looking at her with his chocolate brown eyes. Reaching out, her fingers curled around Joel’s wrist getting him to look up at her. Pulling it forward, she gave Joel’s hand a small squeeze. Stepping closer, she wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. Resting her head against the center of his chest, she closed her eyes hearing the way his heartbeat grew louder. “Thank you.”

After a moment of awkwardness in his lack of response, Joel finally wrapped her up in his arms and rest his jaw over the top of her head, “You’re welcome. I want to do this.”

Silence followed. Maybe he should have said something more, he just enjoyed the hug that she was giving him after everything they had been through. Joel wasn’t even sure she would want to talk to him after everything. So this was nice.

“I probably smell really awful right now,” Joel confessed, knowing that he had been working hard. And he was sweating. “I don’t know if you want to keep hugging me like this.”

“You’re a contractor Joel. I was used to this smell for years,” she assured him with a tiny chuckle, hearing the steady sound of Joel’s heartbeat underneath where she had her head resting against his chest. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner,” Joel apologized in a whisper only to have their hug broken up by the sound of footsteps coming up the ladder. Looking to it, Joel saw Elizabeth’s eyes lighting up once she saw what it was Peter was freaking out about. “Hey Ellie.”

“Dad! This is so cool,” Elizabeth stammered, wiping her hands off on her pants when she got up into the attic. “Much nicer than it was the last time we were in here. A lot less dusty.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Joel grumbled under his breath causing Elizabeth to chuckle at Joel’s straight forward attitude. “I was hoping to finish before you got home, but I’m a few hours out from that. I have to finish the window. Put the books into the shelves…”

“We can help you with that,” Elizabeth offered and it made Peter immediately scoff. That was like their daughter. Always wanting to help her father with any of the projects that he was doing.

“No thank you,” Peter frowned going to leave only to have Elizabeth grab him by the shirt to pull him back. Stumbling into place, Peter’s big brown eyes stared out at his parents and he offered up a big, crooked smile. “I’d love to help you guys! I can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of my day!”

“Good boy,” Y/N laughed moving across the attic to wrap her arm loosely around Peter who rolled his eyes at his sister’s antics. “It’s only polite for us to help your father after he put in all the work that he did.”

“And it’s for mom. It’d be nice to do something for her,” Elizabeth noted causing a warmth to flood Y/N’s body. It was nice to hear that Elizabeth thought she deserved good things.

So that’s what they did. They all helped Joel finish what he had left. What was strange about it was that it was the first time in many years that they had worked together as a family on a project bigger than cookies. Even long before they actually were divorced.

They worked together well. With Joel directing them what to do, it was pretty easy. Once everything was finished and cleaned up, it left only for her to bring things up to fill the space that Joel had done for her along with go through the boxes of important things that he left.

With Joel finishing something up over by the window with Peter, Y/N worked with Elizabeth to go through the old boxes which were some of the children’s old toys, clothes and of course pictures that she figured she would just leave as is right now.

A loud groan pulled her away from where she was seated with Elizabeth on the ground seeing that Peter had jumped onto Joel’s back with his arm wrapped around his father’s shoulders and his legs wrapped around Joel’s waist. This was something Joel and him had done a lot in the past. Fake wrestle with each other. She had always warned Joel that it would come back to kick him in the ass one day, but he still did it with Peter.

“Y’know, this was a whole lot easier when you were fifty pounds lighter,” Joel grunted using his weight to flip Peter over his head onto the cushion of the nook that was by the window. Loud laughter followed once Joel started tickling Peter to give him pay back for the sneak attack. “I’m still stronger than you.”

“I give,” Peter burst out in laughter trying to push his father’s hand away, but Joel wasn’t stopping. “This is cheating! Mom!”

Getting up from the ground, she moved over toward the nook with Elizabeth following her who joined in with Joel tickling her little brother who howled out in laughter while trying to push them both away, “I don’t remember there being any rules.”

“Mom!” Peter called out once more, tears running down his face from the laughter of having his father and his sister tickling him. “I’m too old for this! I’m too old for the tickle torture!”

“You’re never too old for that,” Joel alerted him with a smirk, finding amusement in the way his son’s face was beet red. A moment later Joel felt hands tickling at his ribs which had him using one of his hands to try to swat them away. “Hey!”

“You’re never too old for tickle torture,” Y/N replied back having Joel trying to swat her hands away when he started laughing. “It’s you he got the ticklish gene from.”

“Is not, stop,” Joel demanded trying to hold back a laugh now that she had his full attention. “I really am too old for it.”

“Dad’s ticklish?” Elizabeth started in with her mother giving Peter a moment to catch his breath now that they were focused on Joel. Soon Joel was wiggling like a fish underneath them trying to get them to stop. “Why did I never know this?”

“Because daddy isn’t ticklish,” Joel growled out managing to flip Y/N over onto her back on the cushion of the nook. Pinning her down, Joel’s fingers curled tightly around her wrists to pin her down onto the cushion. The room went silent with his lips hovering just over hers with both their laughter filling the air. Realizing the position that they were in, Joel’s laughter slowly lowered down until his nose slightly nudged hers.

“Mom? Dad?” Elizabeth stammered drawing the both of them to look over at Peter and Elizabeth who were now staring out at them with a surprised expression. It had Joel immediately letting go of Y/N to move away from her to sit at the edge of the nook area. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Y/N carefully pulled herself up into a seated positioning realizing that both Elizabeth and Peter were unsure of how to respond to what they had just seen between their parents. “How about I go make us something to eat for dinner? I’m sure everyone is hungry after everything.”

“I’m hungry,” Peter held his hand up eagerly eliciting a smile from Joel’s lips at how silly his son was. Hopping up from the sitting area in the nook, Peter headed for the ladder to crawl down first. There was an odd expression in Elizabeth’s eyes still when they awkwardly moved across the room.

“You coming,” Elizabeth noticed that Joel stopped and he held his hand up. “Dad?”

“I just want to make sure that I’ve got everything,” Joel waved for them to go ahead downstairs. Turning away from them, Y/N assumed that he needed his time so she gave it to him.

Going down the ladder first, Y/N helped Elizabeth down carefully. Changed into something more relaxed and then went downstairs. Joel was still in the attic by the time she got in the kitchen. Once she was in there, something at the center of the table caught her eyes. The flowers that Joel had tried giving her the other night that she had left were in a vase as the centerpiece of the table.

Seeing them took her breath away. Guilt ate away at her remembering that night. How she reacted, the things that Joel had said. What she had done to punish herself. Having Joel put them there confused her. Footsteps drew her to look back over her shoulder to see Joel walking into the kitchen, slowly coming to a halt when he noticed her eyeing over the flowers.

“I got them for you,” Joel reasoned with her, shoving his hands into his pockets. Shrugging, he tried to come up with some good kind of explanation why he brought them here, but at the end of the day? It just felt like the right thing to do. “They belong with you. I wasn’t going to throw them away or give them to anyone else because…they are yours.”

“Thank you,” all she could do was say that. Looking at them had her eyes burning. Emotions were eating away at her which was inappropriate. Especially after how she turned him down when he gave them to her. Forcing herself to look away, she moved for the refrigerator to see what she had. “You can go see what the children are up to. I’ll find something to make.”

“I’d like to help you,” Joel offered, showing his hands to her to show that they were clean. “I just grabbed some clothes that were still here that were mine lingering around. I’m clean. I won’t get anyone sick.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she lifted her head from where she was looking. Shrugging, Joel moved around the refrigerator to help her look for things.

“I could really go for a burger,” Joel declared with a huff reaching out for the ground beef that was there. Looking at the packaging, he grabbed a few more things and surprised her with the way he started to help her prepare the meal. Having her eye him over like that made him feel strange. “What?”

“I can’t remember the last time we made a meal together,” she responded, her eyes full of surprise with him helping her.

“I should have been helping you all along. Lord knows I eat enough of your food. I might as well help you make it sometimes,” Joel commented with a wink. Going back to get the burgers prepared, Joel could hear her moving around behind him getting some potatoes to prepare to make some French fries. “Remind me I have something in the truck that I want to add to the attic before I leave.”

“You have more?” she teased him, moving in beside him at the counter to start working on the fries.

“This one was planned in my head for a very long time. I think you’re going to like it,” Joel suggested giving her a quick glance. Clearing his throat, Joel went back to working. Softly speaking up, Joel knew that he was testing the hot water here with saying this. “I wish I would have spent more time with you when we were married. We should have been doing things like this all along.”

“We did at first,” she reminded him hearing Joel sighing when he dropped his head forward. “It was fun playing a game of what the hell can we make for a meal with these odds and ends of supplies that we have.”

“Lots of rice bowls, mashed potatoes, ramen and those cheap pasta packs,” Joel recalled with a shudder causing her to giggle. “I’ll never look at instant mashed potatoes the same way again. That was gross. Beans. Christ. I couldn’t believe how many ways you could come up with a way for them.”

“We did our best,” she noted with a laugh, moving over toward the spices that he had already gotten out to look through them. “But we managed.”

“We did,” Joel agreed with her, thinking back to when he was younger. “I have a confession to make.”

“Yeah?” she looked to him with an amused expression.

“All those things we mentioned I have a hard time eating, but there is one thing I still love after all of this time. I can’t get over Chef Boyardee,” Joel informed her hearing her giggling in response. “Some days, I won’t even bother to warm it up. I can eat it right out of that can. It’s like the boy inside of me still lives somehow when I eat it.”

“No wonder you like coming over here and stealing my food so much,” she playfully stammered nudging him in the ribs hearing his amused scoff. “There is nothing wrong with that. I remember how much you liked it when we were younger. I never got the whole eating it out of the can thing, but you like what you like.”

“Ellie likes it,” Joel reminded her about their daughter drawing her to laugh. “What?”

“She’s a mini version of you because she loves you so damn much,” she pointed out getting Joel to look up at her while she continued cutting up the potatoes. “Anything you did? She was doing growing up. If you drank from the milk carton? So did she. You were…you are her hero. So of course she likes eating it like that. You would always sit her on the couch with you, watch cartoons with her and eat from the can. She thought it was so cool. It was your special thing together.”

“Who knew eating cold ravioli from a can could be so special,” Joel sighed loudly remembering what it was like when they were younger. How he would be the first one up on the weekends even though he was exhausted because he wanted to spend every minute with his daughter. “I love her. So much.”

“I know you do,” she couldn’t deny that fact. Joel loved both children. He showed it. In a lot of ways. He always did. “And they love you just as much. You did good with them Joel. Even when you were busy, you showed up for them. I don’t regret you being their father one bit. My children grew up knowing love from both of their parents. Not many people get that. So in my mind? I was lucky you were their father.”

“That’s uh…that’s really nice,” Joel breathed out loudly, working to help her with the fries now. Hearing her say that made him surprisingly emotional, but he didn’t want to show her that with his actions. “Thank you.”

“It’s just the truth, Joel,” she stated with a long exhale knowing that she didn’t regret having him in her life, she just wished things would have gone differently.

“Can I ask you something?” Joel wondered, his jaw clenching when he turned to face her, bracing his weight on his right hand against the counter. Waiting, she didn’t seem to give him an answer because ultimately he would ask anyways. “Why me? Why was it me that you had a crush on growing up? Negan was your shadow. He would have done anything for you. He did do everything for you. Why was I the one that you were obsessed with?”

“I wasn’t obsessed with you,” she feigned being offended which got a very over the top serious expression from Joel. Finishing with cutting the potatoes and preparing them correctly, she took a minute to think things over. “I don’t know. You were really cute. With your big brown eyes, your dimples and the way you tried to act so grumpy. You were something new. Something I wasn’t used to. And then the older you got, the hotter you got. Maybe it was because you didn’t give me the time of day that had me so hooked on you. I knew you had zero interest. I didn’t get it.”

“I didn’t have zero interest,” Joel countered with a huff, folding his arms in front of his chest and leaning his hip now against the counter. “You just…scared me. You were very on. Showing up all the time. And you could kick the ass of a boy twice my size. I could too, but you were this girl two years younger than me holding your own. You were more like one of the boys than…”

“Someone to crush on,” she finished for Joel who thought it over, but didn’t respond. Instead the crease over his nose seemed to grow more. “What was it that made you finally like me?”

“What do you mean?” Joel stammered, moving around her to prepare to start cooking the food. “I told you the other night the day that I fell in love with you. Why would you think it was anything else?”

“It was just a quick switch,” she remembered how fast Joel went from being her friend to essentially throwing himself at her. “You didn’t want me to suddenly you were making out with me and dragging me home to sleep with you.”

“Do you regret that it was me that took your virginity and not Negan?” Joel wondered causing the color to drain from her face at the thought. “I know you guys did things, but I took your virginity and I wonder if you would have preferred Negan.”

“Sometimes,” she was honest with him eliciting his breathing to grow louder. There were a lot of nights where she thought about the what if with things. “I think Negan would have maybe been a little more…”

“Romantic?” Joel stammered having her nod her head a bit. Knowing that she thought Negan might have been a better first did have him insanely jealous. “So you didn’t like our first time together?”

“Sure I did. It just…” she paused looking Joel over noticing the way that he seemed uncomfortable with the idea. “It hurt. But it’s not because you were bad or awful at it. You weren’t. I just wasn’t ready and I was rushing things. Negan and I were used to each other back then. I think he would have known my body a little better.”

“Not to be that person…” Joel grumbled under his breath, his right hand pressing to his hip while he stared down at her with some frustration in his features. “Negan and I both have big dicks. Bigger than normal. So I reckon no matter who you had for your first it woulda hurt. I don’t think it’s fair to think that Negan wouldn’t have hurt because his dick is big too.”

An uncomfortable sound filled the air with Y/N’s face flooding with humiliation. Straightening his posture, Joel felt his heart hammering in his chest knowing that the sound came from behind him. Dropping her head down into her hand, Y/N tried to hide her embarrassment with Joel looking back over his shoulder to see Elizabeth standing at the entry way of the kitchen.

“Ellie…” Joel started, turning on his heel to try to apologize for what his daughter undoubtedly just heard.

“Adding that to the list of things I never wanted to hear in my life,” Elizabeth held her hands up in the air to silence Joel before he could say anything more. Disgust flooded her young features and Joel suddenly felt angry with himself for letting that out. “I’m going to file that away and pretend I never heard that.”

Pacing a bit, Elizabeth considered her next move and could barely look her father in the eyes after walking into their personal conversation, “I was going to come help with dinner, but I think we all could use a few minutes of space. So I’ll give you both ten minutes to finish this conversation while I go take a minute to die on the inside.”

“I am so sorry,” Joel’s thick southern drawl followed with Joel attempting to step forward, but Elizabeth immediately threw her hands up and shook her head. “You should have never heard that.”

“It’s okay. It was my fault for interrupting a conversation I never wanted to hear in the first place,” Elizabeth hushed her father noticing that Joel looked completely mortified that she heard that to begin with. “I’m going to go try to burn that information out of my brain though before I suffer an eternity of disgust from knowing what you just said.”

“I’m sorry Elizabeth,” Y/N apologized to their daughter knowing that it was partly her fault that Elizabeth heard what she did. Instead of responding, Elizabeth stood there for a moment. Gazed at her father, shook her head and then covered her eyes dramatically before walking away. “When the children are awake we need to be careful what we say.”

“I didn’t…” Joel paused looking down, shaking his head in disbelief that his luck was that bad for his daughter to hear. “Should I go say something? Should I…”

“I don’t think so. I think she’s uncomfortable right now and needs some space to let that pass,” Y/N suggested noticing the color that flooded into Joel’s face from the embarrassment finally starting to set in. “No daughter wants to hear about their father’s…”

“Fuck…” Joel scoffed brushing his fingers through his hair in a distressed manner. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“It was a bit blunt for you,” she noted hearing Joel growl under his breath and fall back against the cabinets, bracing himself by his hand on the edge of the counter. Lowering her voice, she folded her arms in front of her chest and huffed. “How do you know about Negan’s…size?”

“We grew up together,” Joel shrugged his shoulders, but the glance she gave him was almost scrutinizing his answer. “You were best friends with him too.”

“I was screwing around with him,” she commented causing Joel to grunt.

“I was on the baseball team with him. We took showers together in the locker room. I know what a lot of the guys looked like naked,” Joel stammered, throwing his hands up in the air frustrated. “It’s not like Negan had a problem walking around naked all the time.”

Snapping his fingers, Joel drew up a memory of when they were younger and shook his head, “That one time all of us went skinny dipping in that lake. Remember? We were all naked around each other. A lot.”

In his rush to explain himself, she raised her hands and motioned him to lower his voice, “Right. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“You just have a thing for guys with big…” Joel’s voice turned into almost a whisper, “dicks.”

“I don’t have a thing for…” she was overwhelmed by his comment, letting out a laugh and shaking her head. “I liked both of you before I ever saw you naked. Just because you’re both well endowed doesn’t mean that’s the reason I liked you. I blame your smiles. With your fucking dimples, I was a fool for both of you from the start.” 

“Which brings me to my next question. Why didn’t you get with Negan back then? He clearly thought the two of you were dating,” Joel continued on with their previous conversation in a quieter voice and it had her frowning. Disappointment flooded her features and she shrugged.

“Because I’m a bad person,” it seemed like she truly believed that answer and she wasn’t fucking around. “I had someone perfect, but I was so obsessed with you. As you put it. Once you gave me attention? I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world. You finally saw me. And I hurt the person I loved the most in the world at that time. When I had no one, I had Negan. What I did was wrong. I hurt him. And it all makes sense with how he reacted. I deserved worse.”

“For loving someone else?” Joel countered with a frustrated scowl. “You can’t help who you love. Him being a dick and writing both of us off wasn’t the way to do things.”

“What would you rather him do? Beat the hell out of you and tell me how I broke his heart?” she pushed hearing Joel’s breathing growing louder.

“Yeah. I deserved it,” Joel stammered noticing the way that she was staring up at him with confusion in her eyes. “I was with you two every day for years. I knew how he felt about you. But the way I felt about you and liquid courage trumped that. I could have stayed away from you. But I didn’t. I let my emotions and feelings for you drive me. Negan saw how amazing you were from the beginning. I took longer,” Joel acknowledged seeming to get angry at the idea of Negan. “But you needed him. I needed him and he wrote the both of us off. Treated us like we were trash that you could just throw on the corner of the street. He was our best friend and he abandoned us.”

“And he probably felt abandoned by me,” she reasoned with Joel throwing her hands up in the air. “Once I had you, I couldn’t get enough of you. I didn’t want to be away from you. I could have gone to him, but I was greedy. I was selfish. I was focused on him completely ghosting me. Not once did I think about what I had done to him. I was an ignorant, stupid little girl.”

Anger flooded Joel’s features when he shook his head and went back to getting things going, “But I don’t regret it. I think about the what ifs sometimes. But it gave me our children. I wouldn’t want to change that for the world. I loved my life for a very long time. No matter how poor I was. Or how pathetic I may have been. I loved you. And you loved me. That was enough for me. And I wouldn’t give those moments up.”

The anger that Joel had over Negan was soon replaced with a softening expression followed by confusion. Slumping forward, Joel huffed loudly and cleared his throat, “You make me feel guilty.”

“For what?” she decided to ask while turning away from him while they started their dinner.

“For wanting more,” Joel stammered under his breath, biting down on his bottom lip. “I was so upset that everything I deserved got ripped away from me. Everything I worked so hard for…”

“And I understand why you felt that way,” she replied trying not to get emotional about things. “You were really too young to be making the decisions you were. I understand how what happened could upset anyone in your position.”

“You never once thought about wanting more?” Joel was desperate for some kind of response knowing that he felt like the worst person alive after what he did the other day and having her turn him down. “I know you had big dreams too.”

“Everyone has big dreams,” she suggested hating that they would always go back to this because it just made things more complicated between them. They had a good day and it was now being replaced with emotional conversations about their past. “Life just had a different plan for me. You, Elizabeth, Peter and Tommy were enough for me. I was okay with just being a mom, a wife and working the job that I did. It grew on me and I wouldn’t give up those days for anything.”

“I had to grow up fast,” Joel reasoned with Y/N trying to find the right thing to say, but he knew that it wasn’t coming. “I just had a break where I let my regrets eat away at me and I fucked up. But I think I should point out the depression that I went through. I should have gotten help for it, but instead I ignored it. And I think that’s why what happened…happened.”

Nodding her head, she didn’t know what to say, “We can’t change the past Joel. Like you said, what happened, happened. And in some fashion it was probably meant to happen.”

“You have to know that I love you,” Joel stressed, stepping forward to grab a gentle hold of her arm to get her to look at him. “Y’know that, right?”

“And I love you too,” she sighed, lifting her hand to press it in over his giving it a firm squeeze. “Divorce isn’t going to change that. You were a big part of my life. You’ll always be a big part of my life. I can’t hate you Joel.”

“Hey,” Elizabeth called out from the entrance of the kitchen looking between the two of them. Lowering her hand from Joel’s, Y/N swallowed down hard and went back to cooking. Joel looked sad when he made his way back to the corner of the kitchen to rest there. “Is it safe to come back in and help?”

“It’s safe,” Joel answered for them, his eyes lowered to the ground showing the disappointment he had in everything.

Together the three of them finished with dinner and they all ate together with the children talking about what Negan did for them in taking them to the stadium. Peter dominated the conversation with his excitement allowing Elizabeth to talk about it on occasion. By the expression in his eyes, Joel was jealous. Y/N knew Joel long enough to know that look that he was trying to hide from the children. They both liked Negan and they both thought what he did was incredibly cool.

After dinner, Joel grabbed something from the truck which led to the children starting a snowball fight with Joel. What was supposed to be a quick trip to his truck ended up being a while with him playing with Elizabeth and Peter. Even though their children were older, it was sweet that they could still find fun in spending time with their parents and doing silly things.

Once the sun started to set, she noticed that they were beginning to build a snowman together with the snow that had fallen. Going out to help them, she brought some things to help decorate the snowman and once they were done, they all took a step back to look him over.

“Could be better,” Peter suggested drawing Joel to huff and playfully nudge his son with his hip knocking him into the snow. “Hey big butt!”

“I’m sure the fall in the snow hurt you really bad,” Elizabeth teased her little brother only for him to throw another snowball at her. They both scrambled to grab more snowballs while fighting with each other leaving Y/N and Joel still standing before the snowman.

“I can’t remember the last time we made a snowman together as a family,” she commented, gazing over the snowman with amusement. “The children had to be really small.”

“I think we should make him a partner,” Joel suggested, brushing his gloved fingers through his hair. Sure, they were all cold and it was almost completely dark, but he meant it. “He’s going to be lonely and before he inevitably starts to melt, he should have someone to share those moments with.”

“I thought you were going the romantic route, but then you had to make it depressing,” she noted with a laugh, shrugging her shoulders, starting to work on a base for the next snowman with the snow that she could gather. Joel was helping her and it took a while for the two children to help them, but eventually they got the base together. With the last part for the head, Joel let out a grunt when he lifted it and once he rest it on top, his feet slid out from beneath him from the icy snow which led him to fall to the ground.

“Smooth,” Peter laughed, looking down at his father hearing the groan that came from Joel.

“Let’s go grab some girly stuff to make them match,” Elizabeth tugged her brother toward the house leaving Y/N staring down at Joel who was blinking up at the sky.

“That was smooth,” she sighed, reaching her hand out to help Joel get up to his feet. “You’re going to need some hot chocolate to warm up.”

“We all are,” Joel agreed with her, helping them finish the second snowman. Once they were done, Elizabeth did her best to get a selfie with all of them in it so they could cherish the snowmen that they made together.  Grabbing what he originally came out for, Joel followed them back into the house where they got some hot chocolate and sat together talking about old Christmases together. It was nice reminiscing about things, but ultimately it upset Joel because he knew they were memories that they would never truly have again.

Warming up, it seemed like time went by super fast and before they knew it, it was late into the night. Heading up to the attic, both Y/N and Elizabeth followed Joel to see what he was adding. String lights. Which brought forth a dreamy state to the whole area.

Together with Elizabeth, Joel got them up and the way he wanted. Moving over toward the nook, Y/N took a seat on it and sighed loudly. It looked nice. When they were living here together as a family, this was as close to what she pictured back then. A place to be able to work, relax and find inspiration in her work.

At the corner of the room Joel and Elizabeth were laughing about something with the sound of Peter’s footsteps coming up the ladder, “Whoa. This is actually really cool. Maybe we can come up here sometimes too?”

“Of course you can,” Y/N motioned her son forward, but he held his hand up which drew attention to the fact he brought the baseball that Dale had given them at the stadium.

Laying back against the cushion, Y/N stared up at the starry sky feeling her heart skip a beat. God, she would have loved this when they were younger. It was nice now, but then? It would have been the perfect escape to just relax.

“Dad, check this out. The coach of the team gave both Elizabeth and I these,” Peter threw the case with the ball inside of it in Joel’s face, clinging to it tightly. “Isn’t that super cool?! I’m sure this is worth a ton. Don’t you think?”

“I reckon it is,” Joel agreed with Peter, grabbing the case and eyeing over all the names that were on it. “That was really nice of the man to give you both one of these. You’re really special kids.”

“He’s special alright,” Elizabeth reached out to brush her fingers through Peter’s messy, dark hair drawing him to groan out and playfully push her aside.

Handing the ball back to Peter, Joel pushed his hands into his pockets and sighed loudly. Once his eyes were locked on Y/N, it took his breath away watching her lay like she was staring out dreamily at the night sky over her.

“I was thinking of doing the backyard next when it gets warmer. I remember how we always talked about what we wanted it to look like. I promised I would do that too, but I never…” Joel paused when Y/N turned her head to stare out at him and he shrugged his shoulders. “I never did that either.”

Hearing the sound of a cell phone ringing, Elizabeth gestured them to wait as she made her way down the ladder of the attic. Peter was now standing there alone, holding tightly to the ball, “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna put this in my room.”

“We’ll be here,” Joel threw his hands up in the air. And like that, both children were gone. Swallowing down, Joel noticed that Y/N moved over and pat down on the cushion next to her to have Joel join her. Unhurriedly moving across the attic, Joel laid down beside her and looked up at the stars. Huffing out, he motioned her to wait and got up to turn the lights off except for the string lights he just put up. Making his way back, he laid in beside her and curled his arm around the back of his head to get comfortable. “This is nice.”

“It is,” she agreed with him, enjoying the silence that they had together after all the stress that had been going on lately.

“I should have given this to you sooner. I’m sorry,” Joel once again apologized which she wished he would stop doing. “You were the one thing that gave my life magic other than the children and I should have been filling your life with special things like this all along.”

“Joel,” she turned her head, her eyelashes fluttering at him with the way she smirked. “Stop apologizing for things. It is what it is. Things happened.”

“I can’t just be okay with it. I did a lot of shitty things and you were right,” Joel countered, turning on his side to face her, his hand nervously stretching out to caress in over her side. “I never deserved you to begin with.”

“You were…you are a good man,” she assured him, placing her hand over the center of his chest rubbing a small circle over it. “I was very lucky to be with you when I was younger. You were better than you are giving yourself credit for.”

“Right. I was great. Then I dropped the ball and I’ve been trying to make up for it,” Joel pointed out realizing that it was a little too late. “I uh…I think we are good together Y/N. Not just us, but the four of us. We have fun. We’re a good family.”

“Joel,” her breathing grew louder with the roughness of Joel’s thumb dragging across her bottom lip. Sliding in closer to her had her eyes coming to a tight close and she swallowed down hard. “We’ve always been good parents.”

“It’s more than that,” Joel stated with a frown, pressing in closer to her to pepper faint kisses over her lips. It had her tremoring beneath his touch. “I think you know that deep down, the four of us are meant to be together. We’re good together.”

Each kiss grew in strength, with Joel curling his arm around her stronger to pull her in closer to him on the cushion they were laying on together. Brushing his tongue against hers, the sweetness from their hot chocolate still lingered and it made Joel smile against her flesh.

“You taste sweet,” he hummed against her flesh, crawling in over her. A nervous sound escaped her lips when he lowered himself down to rest himself between her thighs. Starting to kiss her again, Joel took his time with his fingers sweeping along her jawline. It felt like he was mesmerized by her features with him peppering loving kisses against her lips. “You are so beautiful.”

Burying his head against the side of her neck, Joel kissed at the sensitive parts of her body. His palm slid over her side and down over her back to pull her closer to him. Bucking his hips faintly against hers had her whimpering out, her fingers sinking into his dark hair. Tugging softly at it, her eyes slammed shut with him nipping at her chin.

“Stop,” she begged, placing her hand over the center of Joel’s chest to get him to put some distance between them. Everything felt like it was spinning. Heat ran down her spine and her heart was hammering in her chest. “Joel, I love you. I do. But I’m dating Negan. I care about Negan and I…I want to give this whole thing a shot with him.”

“I just…” Joel tried to speak, but she pulled herself into a seated position and buried her head into her hands. “You’re taking it that serious?”

“Yeah,” she was honest with him feeling guilty that she let it get as far as it did in the first place with what just happened between her and Joel. “He’s really good with me. And the kids. I feel happy when I’m around him.”

“It’s not going to last Y/N,” Joel was irritated with what he was hearing, his eyebrows furrowing when he pulled himself up into a seated position beside her. “He’s just here for the holiday and then he’s going to leave. The guy has one season of baseball left. Do you really think he wants to be tied down to someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” she repeated what Joel said, finding herself lost as to where he was going with that.

“You know how celebrities are. You’re a normal person with two children. You’re divorced,” Joel listed off things that he thought Negan wouldn’t want when it came to dating someone. “Spring training starts in February. And I’m sure he’d had to leave before that to be with the team. His life is going to be filled with fan events. Interviews. Photoshoots. The guy right now has been trending on social media forever. He’s famous. And him retiring has just made him more famous. People are going nuts about him. You have what? Three months with him and then he’s just going to leave.”

“Negan isn’t like that,” she suggested to Joel who gave her a glare.

“All rich people are like that,” Joel slurred, bracing his hands on the cushion realizing that he was upsetting her with what he was saying. “Right now, you’re a distraction while he’s home. Something familiar. But when things get busy with his life, you know people are going to hound him about dating a nobody with two teenage children.”

“A nobody,” she stammered, her chest hurting with Joel rambling off what he was saying.

“I don’t…you’re not a nobody. That’s not what I meant,” he threw his hand up finding himself flustered seeing that she was getting upset with what he was saying. “You know what I mean with how people are in the media Y/N.”

“Yeah, I get what you are saying,” she held her hand up almost as a request to get him to stop talking. “I’ve listened to everything you’ve said.”

“I think you’re focusing on the wrong things,” Joel claimed, placing his hand in over the center of his chest. “I love you. Okay? You’re just gonna end up hurt and I don’t want to see that. I don’t. You care what people think about you and I promise you it’s gonna draw up so much shit once people learn that Negan is dating you. About you. About our family…”

“I hear you,” she stopped him before he could continue and she crawled over him to get off the cushion. Pacing in the attic, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed loudly. “I just would still like to give this thing with Negan a chance.”

Hearing footsteps returning, Peter was coming back up and by the look on his face he could tell that there was tension between Joel and Y/N, “You two okay?”

“Yeah. I’m going to get your father a pillow and some blankets,” she offered looking back at Joel. By his dark eyes she knew that he was disappointed with where their conversation ended. “It’s late. Why don’t you spend the night up here so you can enjoy what you’ve done. Get to experience it for yourself.”

“Sure,” Joel frowned, dropping back onto the cushion again looking up at the sky.

“You okay?” Peter moved over to sit down beside his dad at the edge of the nook area with his legs hanging over. Y/N had headed back downstairs to go grab the things that she had offered to Joel.

“I’ll live,” Joel stretched out with a lump growing in his throat.

“You two aren’t ever getting back together, are you?” Peter wondered with a seemingly disappointed expression. Gazing over at Peter, Joel didn’t know what to say. It was a hard question to hear from Peter and he just shrugged. “I guess that’s a stupid question. If you two would have gotten back together it would have been four years ago. Not now.”

“It’s not a stupid question,” Joel stated reaching up and out to squeeze at his son’s shoulder. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t understand why you two split anyways. We were always so happy when I was younger,” Peter recalled how things were when he was a child. They got separated when Peter was only nine so he was still pretty young. “I thought mom loved you.”

Hearing that had Joel’s eyes coming to a tight close. In the past, Y/N had mentioned how the children blamed her for them separating and Peter saying that just confirmed it, “When she kicked you out of the house I was so angry. I hated her for making you leave. We were a family and I never understood why she took you away from us.”

“She didn’t…she didn’t kick me out of the house,” Joel admitted behind a grimace, his throat tensing up at the thought. “Peter, I left. I’m the one that asked for the divorce. Not her. Your mother begged me to stay and I…didn’t.”

“Why?” Peter’s face twisted with confusion and even though he was used to his son being silly, Joel could see that Peter was actually conflicted with what he just learned. “What did she do?”

“Why do you assume that it was her that did something wrong?” Joel pushed himself up into a seated position.

“Because mom never complained about you. She just cried all the time,” Peter stressed what he remembered from when he was younger. “I mean she tried to pretend she was okay, but I heard her crying when she was alone. I just figured she was upset with something she had done. If it was your fault, wouldn’t she have said something?”

“Your mom is a really good mom,” Joel stressed what he knew to be true. “She never wanted you to hate me or feel negatively toward me. I just had a lapse in judgement and I’m the one that asked for a divorce. Not her.”

“And you regret it?” Peter wondered having Joel inhale loudly and nod. “Does she know you regret it?”

“It’s complicated,” Joel stammered not knowing the right thing to say.

“Hey,” Y/N’s voice drew both of them to look over at her and she held the pillow and the blankets up. Carefully hopping up from where he was laying, Joel cleared his throat and gave her a nod. “You’ll have to let me know what it’s like up here.”

“Will do,” Joel gave her a wink and then went to set up the area for him to get comfortable. Peter was still there sitting on the edge contemplating everything. Stealing a look back over his shoulder, Joel noticed that Y/N was still watching the two of them together. When their eyes locked, Joel sensed that she was sad before moving down the ladder to leave them alone. At this point? Her decision was made and Joel felt like he was just supposed to deal with it.

----

Tonight was sleepless for Y/N. Since she hadn’t called Negan during the day, he showed up at night to check in on her. It was uncomfortable considering Joel was up in the attic sleeping, but it was something that Joel was just going to have to get used to. Having Negan around was going to be a normal thing for them.

Lifting her head from Negan’s chest, Y/N let out an extended breath to look over Negan. Repeatedly the words that Joel had said to her about Negan had run through her mind. How she was just something to keep his interest while he was home. It was hard for her to believe that considering how good he had been with her since he had come to town.

Stroking her fingers over Negan’s abdomen, she lowered her head back against the center of his chest. Listening to his strong heartbeats comforted her. His breathing was loud letting her know that he was still sleeping. Forcing herself to close her eyes, she tried to sleep, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about things. Her mind wouldn’t relax.

Why couldn’t she sleep and just let it go?

“Ain’t he sweet?” a southern drawl caused her eyes to open slowly. Once she saw Joel standing at the door to her bedroom, she felt her throat tensing up with her head lifting from Negan’s chest. “Look at the two of you together.”

“Joel,” she spoke his name feeling uncomfortable that he had made his way down from the attic to come and see them together. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why not? This used to be my home too,” Joel reminded her with a tip of his head, unhurriedly making his way to the corner of the bed to lower down onto it. Looking to Negan, Y/N was surprised to see that he was still sleeping with Joel approaching them. “Shouldn’t I be able to go anywhere I want?”

“Please stop this,” she begged of him, panicked that this was going to lead somewhere bad. “We’ve talked about this extensively Joel.”

“Stop what?” Joel retorted with a snort, leaning further back and bracing his weight on one hand. “I’m just having a conversation with you Y/N.”

“It’s inappropriate considering the situation,” she suggested looking to Negan when his breathing shifted, but he was still sleeping.

“What? You two are fully clothed,” Joel pointed to Negan, throwing his hands up in the air when she exhaled loudly. “For fuck’s sake, he’s sleeping anyways.”

“Can we please just talk in the morning?” she requested, pushing herself up into a fully seated position, doing her best to not wake Negan up with her movement. “I know you have a lot on your mind, but I just want to have a peaceful night, okay?”

“What is it about him?” Joel tipped his head to the side gazing over the sleeping Negan. “You obviously are still in love with me, so what is this? You’re trying to just make me jealous? Punish me for the things that I did?”

“No Joel, that’s not it at all,” she tried to reason with Joel having his face scrunch up in disbelief. “Yes, I love you, but I love Negan too. He’s incredible…”

“To you,” Joel pointed out with a huff. “We both know what Negan is capable of. Things he did. Sure, he acts different now that Lucille has passed away, but we both know the kind of man he is capable of being.”

“Knock it off,” she warned Joel who was obviously trying to start something. “I don’t know what it is about the two of you, but he’s been nothing but good to me and your children. When he didn’t even have to be. So please Joel, just go upstairs and sleep.”

“It always had to be a competition with you,” a deep rumble of a growl stammered from behind her. Looking over her shoulder, Negan’s eyelashes were lazily fluttering to an open. Negan’s voice was tired leaving it sounding raspier than normal. It took a minute to gather himself, but Negan dragged himself into a seated position, pressing his back against the headboard. “Not everything has to be a competition between us Joel.”

“Come on,” Joel scoffed, throwing his hand up dramatically. “When you’re sleeping with my ex-wife when I’m doing my best to get back with her, how couldn’t I?”

“Sleeping with your ex-wife?” Negan repeated, scratching at the side of his face. “We’re doing a little more than sleeping together. You act like I’m only here to get fucked.”

“You’re a man Negan,” Joel retorted, turning to face Negan fully. “You could have had anyone in this town, but it was my wife that you went after.”

“Ex-wife,” she corrected Joel who immediately rolled his eyes at her quickness.

“There is no feud between us here Joel. We were teenagers when everything happened and I’ve grown up,” Negan insisted, letting out a tense breath when he shrugged. “In some ways at least. I just care about Y/N and the things that she wants.”

“Right,” Joel mocked Negan’s tone having Negan snickering in response. “I’m sure that’s the only reason that you are doing this.”

“Listen, buddy…” Negan began, but Joel held his finger up in the air to silence him.

“I’m not your buddy,” Joel snapped at Negan which had Y/N in a panic. Why did this have to happen? With their children in the house, Y/N assumed that Joel would behave, but this was happening.

“You know what the difference between the two of us is?” Negan pointed at his chest and then toward Joel who shook his head dramatically waiting for some kind of answer.

“Can we not do this?” she asked them both, sliding forward in the hopes that they got the hint that she didn’t want the two of them fighting. Especially since both children adored Negan and Joel. Having them fight would just make things way more complicated for them.

“No, this needs to be said,” Negan assured her, sliding his left hand out to cover her knee to give it a supportive squeeze. Adjusting his position on the bed, Negan slid more toward the middle of the bed and it had a breath catching in her throat. “You want her all to yourself and if you can’t have her, you’ll have a shit fit. Me? If she wanted to be with you? I’d accept it.”

“Bullshit,” Joel’s jaw flexed, his angered brown eyes narrowing when his head tipped forward trying to intimidate Negan in some way. “I know that’s not true.”

“It is. I’d be okay with her picking you because I actually want to see her happy,” Negan declared with a firm shake of his head. “Even if she decided that right here, right now she wanted both of us…I’d be okay with it.”

Something switched in Joel’s face, the seriousness of the moment suddenly changing to confusion. Going to speak up, Joel stopped and then let out a tense breath, “Do you mean like a three-way?”

“Why the fuck not? If that’s what she wanted,” Negan muttered with a half-smirk. “If she wanted to be between the both of us? Who am I to say no? Unless you couldn’t handle something like that Joel. Are you too much of an alpha male to be able to share?”

“Share?” she repeated what Negan said, her heart fluttering at the idea. “You’re…you’d be okay with that?”

“Why not?” Negan threw his hands up in the air letting out an amused exhale. “I’m not an asshole. Like I said, the thing that matters the most to me is that you are happy. Joel. Me. Both of us. I’m okay with it.”

Gasping out, she felt the firm grasp of Joel’s fingers pulling on her jaw to get her to turn toward him. Hammering his lips in over hers, Joel’s kiss was determined eliciting an amused rumble from Negan behind her. A gentle tug on her jaw brought her to Negan who captured her lips in a kiss as if trying to prove something to Joel.

“Just like that?” Joel snorted with Negan faintly pulling his lips away from hers. “No jealousy?”

“Not from me,” Negan claimed with a wolfish smile, nipping at her bottom lip to give it a small tug. Chills were flooding her spine with Joel pushing at the material of the t-shirt she was wearing. Revealing her shoulder to him, Joel started pressing heated kisses over her shoulder having her trembling slightly at his touch.

“What is going on?” she placed her hands over both Joel and Negan’s chest to get them to back up. Right now it did feel like they were trying to have some kind of competition between them with her to prove a point. “What are you two doing?”

“He says he doesn’t care, so if he means it why not have both of us?” Joel growled, his thumb sweeping in over her jawline having her whimper. “It’s what you want, right? What you don’t get with me, you get with him and vice versa. So, take advantage of his offer.”

“The children are home,” she reminded both of them wondering if she was the only one that saw this as inappropriate.

“We’ll find ways to keep you quiet,” Negan captured her jaw between his thumb and index finger to bring her to kiss him. With a flick of his tongue over hers, Negan had her purring out against his lips. “So why don’t you just enjoy what it is that you really want.”

Both men were kissing over the sides of her neck having her heart rate skyrocketing with both a nervousness and want for them.

Just then, the sound of a car alarm went off eliciting a gasp from Y/N’s lips when she sat up in her bed. Letting out a tense breath, she realized that it was all a very realistic elaborate dream that her mind conjured up. The bed beside her was empty. She had spoken to Negan before bed, but he hadn’t come over.

Swallowing down hard, she dragged her hands down over the front of her face letting out a tense breath, “I can’t believe I just did that…”

If that car alarm hadn’t gone off, there was no question that she was about to have a sex dream where she was between both Joel and Negan. Reaching for her phone on the nightstand, she looked at the time and felt like the room was spinning around her.

Pulling herself up from the bed after letting her body calm down, she left her room. Taking a look around, the hallways were dark showing that everyone was still asleep. The ladder for the attic was still down which had her mind going to Joel. Moving up the steps of the ladder, she stopped when she reached the top.

Laid stretched out across the nook area of the attic was Joel deep in sleep with Peter laid out over his chest. Their loud breathing told her that they weren’t waking up anytime soon and truthfully? This was a sight that she actually liked. Even after a complicated dream like that, seeing the two of them this way warmed her heart.

Cautiously moving up into the attic, she unplugged the string lights to give them a break. Now the only light that was filtering into the room was from the stars and the moon from the outside. Which meant there wasn’t much light to filter throughout the attic that Joel had just finished for her. Thankfully there was a small light that she always had plugged in for the children when they would walk in the hallway to make sure they wouldn’t get hurt at night.

Stealing one more look at Peter and Joel together, she let out a long exhale. Leaving, she was careful to walk back down the ladder to the second floor back toward her bedroom. Laying back down, she thought about how realistic that dream was. It might have possibly been the most realistic one she ever had.

For some reason, her brain was doing a good job fucking with her lately and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

----

Tags: @chainsawsangel @fancypeacepersona @violent-darkness @negansbestie @elegantfanficluv

@sanctuaryforthelost @dead-of-niight @dilfsandmartinis @jennydehavilland

[restlessmaknae]

crush into you // myung jaehyun

When you literally crush into Jaehyun on your way to an interview, the boy manages to spill iced coffee on your blouse. That's how you end up wearing his own blazer to the interview to cover up the spot, and the rest is history.

➳ Characters: uni student!Jaehyun x uni student!female reader/you

➳ Genre: meet cute, slice of life, uni au, fluff

➳ Words: 3k

➳ Warning: mentions of foods

➳ A/N: This story had the second most votes in my recent poll, so here it is. I'm really enjoying their comeback, so it was very easy to write a story about Jaehyun. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! ❤️

➳ Taglist: @s00buwu, @dat-town

Your days were carefully planned out with written to-do lists, calendar apps filling up your phone, and multiple scenarios made up with every plan that you might have. Just like today when you were about to go to an assessment centre as part of a job interview: a 3-hour selection process with an hour of group work, an hour of one-on-one interview with the hiring manager alongside an HR specialist and an hour for individual tests. You planned out when to leave the flat, when to get on the bus, which bus to take in case you didn’t manage to get on the exact bus you wanted and when you could possibly leave your neighbourhood the latest in order to still get to the company in time.

Myung Jaehyun’s days, on the other hand, were a hot mess. He was frequently running late from classes, group work meet-ups and dance practices, high on adrenaline and energy drinks. No one blamed him because the moment he flashed a smile, it was game over for them. Taesan might have given him a bombastic side eye for such a comment, but it was rare that anyone really reprimanded Jaehyun for being a bit too hyper, a bit too all over the place and a bit of a kid at times.

So when you literally crushed into him as you turned a corner towards the company and he was running around with his iced coffee in hand, trying not to be late from a class, on his part, the collision wasn’t that unexpected.

On your part though, it totally was.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so so sorry,” the boy exclaimed first things first just at the same time as you started apologising to him, but when you felt an odd cold sensation around your abdominal area, you immediately looked down at your white blouse, your lips parting in disbelief.

“Oh nooo,” you pouted, looking at the brownish spot on your white blouse caused by his coffee, multiple scenarios crossing your head as to how to fix this. You didn’t have enough time to go back to your flat to change, you weren’t familiar with the area, so you didn’t know whether they had a clothes shop around, and you didn’t know whether trying to get the stain out would only make it worse and the spot more noticeable or not.

“Oh. My. Gosh. I’m so… very… sorry,” the stranger reacted more dramatically than you would have thought so, all wide eyes and exasperated expression tinting his otherwise boyish features, messy jet-black locks falling into his eyes. As opposed to your business casual style - white blouse with black cotton pants and high-heeled sandals -, he looked more like a sophisticated yet fashionable guy around campus with his burgundy sports shoes, leather pants, a simple white tee, a black blazer and multiple accessories crowning the look from rings on his fingers to necklaces gracing his skin. You couldn’t have looked any different at that moment.

“I’ll make it up, I promise. Are you in a hurry, are you heading somewhere?” He asked nevertheless, his puppy eyes also in contrast to his whole appearance.

“Well, yeah, I’m going for a job interview. I’ll have to be there in 15 minutes, and it’s still like a 5-minute walk from here.”

“Oh no, that’s not good,” he shook his head, and with the hand that didn’t hold the half-empty cup of the rest of his coffee, he scratched the back of his neck. He bit down on his lower lip, clearly in deep contemplation, and you were about to end this whole conversation when his actions made you freeze on the spot. In a whirlwind moment of events, he threw his cup into a nearby trash can, got a tissue out of his pocket to clean his hand that the coffee also spilled onto and slid the blazer off himself to reach it out to you. “Here, take this. It might be a bit big on you, but it will cover up the spot nicely, and I think it will go well with your outfit.”

“But…”

“Please, take it. I don’t really know what else to do right now, and you have a job interview in 15 minutes, and I’m terribly sorry, and I don’t want you to mess it up because of me. So it might be worth a try? I don’t know, I just…” The boy kept talking on and on, his voice cheery yet also filled with guilt, and seeing his puppy eyes shining with genuine care, you didn’t have the heart to say no. What could possibly go wrong about trying it on either way?

“I was about to say that it’s actually a pretty smart idea,” you pointed out as you reached out for the blazer, and the boy’s face lit up fully when you complimented him. He flashed you a wide, toothy grin, his smile pushing his lips closer to his eyes, so much that his eyes almost disappeared while he was smiling at you.

The boy even offered to hold your bag while you put the blazer on, and since it had two buttons on the bottom, it allowed you to fully cover up the spot as if it had never been there. He was right though, it was big on you, but oversized was in fashion these days, right?

“Oh my gosh, it really does fit you,” he pointed it out in a similarly excited manner as before, and you smiled back at him, forgetting for a moment why you had even been wearing his clothes. Just for a moment though, you were back to your planning self within a second.

“Thanks for your help, but I really need to go now. Would you give me your number, so I can give it back to you later on?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said as he fished his phone out of his pocket to exchange contacts with you. As you locked your screen after saving his number, you looked up at him, into his shining jet-black orbs, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Gosh, your days were always so planned out, plan Bs and Cs tucked into your mind with every scenario that you could imagine, yet this, this was exactly the kind of thing you could not prepare yourself for. No wonder you were awfully unprepared for what to say.

Luckily, he was the one who woke up from his stupor first as he announced:

“Let me know how the interview goes. Good luck! You’ve got this!” He cheered you on as he threw his balled fists into the air, and off he went, the picture of his wide, toothy smile and his shining eyes difficult to forget even if you had more important things to concentrate on.

You agreed on meeting at a café a few days later. Those few days were enough for you to wash and dry clean the blazer, and to get a gift bag, so you could give it back to the boy (Jaehyun based on his KKT ID) in a presentable manner. You were supposed to be early for your agreed meet-up as you made your way to the café 10 minutes earlier, but you already found Jaehyun sitting at a corner table, scrolling through his phone and occasionally laughing out loud at whatever he was watching.

Jaehyun was not supposed to be early for your agreed meet-up, but given your well-prepared state the last time you had met, he started wondering where you could be at 15:15 when he had thrown himself into the café, totally panicked that you must have already been sitting there. Only to realise upon checking your messages with you that you had actually agreed on meeting at 15:30, meaning that he was actually 15 minutes early, not 15 minutes late. Not too bad for someone like him though.

So when you walked up to him and your voice dragged him out of his mindless scrolling, he flashed a wide smile at you, the one that had been engraved into your memories since your first encounter.

“Hey! Have you been waiting for a long time?” You inquired curiously as you hopped down on the chair on the opposite side of the table. Jaehyun let out a semi-embarrassed chuckle, one that made you furrow your eyebrows in question, although the smile was still playing on your lips.

“Well, that’s a funny story,” he started with a scratch on his neck before he continued with the story. “I thought… no, I was convinced that we were supposed to meet at 15:00, and so, I was fashionably late as usual. You know how I said that I’m usually late, but I’ll try my best to come on time. When I didn’t see you here at 15:15 when I got here, I checked our conversation on KKT, and it turns out we were supposed to meet at 15:30, so I was 15 minutes early.”

“Oh my gosh,” you couldn’t hold back your laughter as you were listening to his explanation, and the way he told the story made everything ten times funnier. He used wide hand gestures while speaking, and he played with his tone to deliver the parts of the story even more clearly. The boy laughed at himself too, so it didn’t feel weird laughing at his antics, something so unlike yours.

After pulling yourself together, you gave him the bag with the clean blazer, yet, he insisted that you shouldn’t have cleaned it yourself and bought a gift bag for him in which you delivered it. Hearing that, you insisted that crushing into him was partly your fault, and he did save you from having to sit though the 3-hour selection process with a visible coffee-stain on your blouse, so this was the least you could do. Plus, even though you didn’t say it out loud, you found it cute how he had asked about your interview afterwards on KKT (what position it was for, what company it was and how it went), and how delighted he had been when you had told him that you think you had done well. He had sent some encouraging memes in return (like the kid with his balled fists and a determined face), and just the thought that pretty much a stranger like him could be so happy and cheer you on eased your frazzled nerves post-interview.

You ordered your drinks while he was asking about your days and how you had been since you had last met. That’s when your phone buzzed, and seeing the company’s name on the screen that you had interviewed for, you immediately reached for it. Swiftly, you unlocked your screen and opened the message, only to let out a little bit of a squeal when you saw that you had gotten in.

“Oh my god, what is it?” Jaehyun asked, and his confusion was written all over his features when you looked up from your phone.

“I’ve got the internship! I’ve got in!”

Immediately, the boy’s features softened, and his lips pulled into a genuine, wide smile that could outdo the sun, his jet-black orbs twinkling with joy.

“Wow, congrats! That’s so cool!” He beamed, practically as excited as you, and clapped his hands enthusiastically. You could see from the corner of your eyes that you got some stares from the people nearby, but you couldn’t care less in your state. Finally, you landed an internship offer! “It’s totally the blazer’s doing though,” Jaehyun added cheekily, his smile turning into a crooked, almost cocky one.

“Yeah, totally, me and your emotional support blazer against the world,” you replied in a similarly teasing tone, and let out a laugh at the same time as the boy did. Gosh, who would have thought that you would meet him for the first time on the day you interviewed for the company, and you would meet him again when you were notified of your result?

Maybe he was really your lucky charm.

“You gotta celebrate though. Let’s order cake! I think I saw some cakes on the menu, and before you object, it’s on me,” the boy announced matter-of-factly, and grabbed a menu from a nearby empty table. You shook your head, seeing his pumped up state, since you couldn’t believe that he was so supportive of you. After all, you had barely met a week ago, and still, he acted as if you had always known each other, and it warmed your heart.

In the end, you did order some cakes (and you let Jaehyun pay for them), and while you were munching on them, you talked… and talked… and talked some more since it seemed that you could never run out of things to share. First and foremost, Jaehyun always had a story to share - mostly chaotic, yet partly cute ones -, and even if he didn’t, he always asked about your side, and it was just so easy to talk to him. Usually, you needed some time to open up to people, but he made talking to him feel so easy, so light, so comfortable.

Your favourite was when he insisted that he looked like a wolf, and pouted when you agreed with all his friends who said that he looked more like a puppy. When you added that if not a puppy, you saw him as a bunny, he perked up because that was the first time he heard about it. Never have you ever thought that a boy like him could get so specific about the animal he resembled, but you let him talk about it all he wanted to see those eyes shining so bright, to see that smile stretching so wide.

You packed up only when the waitress came by to tell you that you were nearing closing hours, and if that wasn’t a sign that you did lose track of time beside him, you had no idea what could indicate it more that beside him, you wanted to stop time, not wait for it to go by faster.

You had one crush in your whole life, and that had been when you had been 12, and the new kid had entered your class, and he had sat beside you. Said kid had turned out to be a total nutcase when he had opened his mouth, and you had officially dropped your crush 3 weeks into the new school year, and ever since then, you had never felt butterflies in your stomach, let alone declare your love for someone.

Until him.

Jaehyun had too many crushes in his life to count. His heart was just as erratic as his life, and it’s not that he was playing with others’ feelings, it’s more like he had too much love and joy to give others, but they didn’t always appreciate it. He fell in love easily, only to have his heart broken even more easily because his crushes had never liked him back.

Until you.

At first, you didn’t know if he felt the same way because he seemed so casual, you found it hard to believe that he could see you as more than a friend.

At first, he didn’t know if you felt the same way because you seemed so cool, so put together, he found it hard to believe that you could see him as more than a friend with his very different (and very chaotic) self.

Then, you started picking up on the signs: the way he showed you his dance practice routines to ask for your opinion when it was just the two of you at the dance studio he attended; the way he was ever so oblivious to the barista girl at a café because he only had eyes for you; the way he always asked about your day on KKT and sent memes to match your mood; the way he remembered every little thing - the date of your first 1-on-1 with your manager during your internship or when you would go to the dentist - despite telling you that his memory was terrible, and when he sent you photos of clothes that he thought you would like when he was shopping.

Then, he started picking up on the signs: the way you always gave him a detailed feedback on his choreographies when he asked you to even though you said you didn’t know anything about dance; the way you totally didn’t want to acknowledge that a guy was trying to flirt with you when you went to the cinema together and said that you were with Jaehyun as if to signal that there was no room for anyone else (his heart did a thing there, he couldn’t lie); the way you always knew what to say when he doubted himself or he was under the weather and sent him songs to make him feel better; the way you remembered every little thing - his favourite colour, the brand of his favourite snack and the plushies he wanted to win in the arcade game -, and how you kept bringing up his emotional support blazer because this was your little joke, this was your little thing.

No wonder this was how he confessed: buying you the exact same blazer in your size, and saying that you could think of it as your own emotional support blazer from now on or a couple item, you could choose.

And you would be foolish not to choose the latter.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for BOYNEXTDOOR or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

[dakota1435]

Moonlight – Vampire!Sylus X Reader ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

word count: 3k

tags: new l&ds character!, mention of alcohol, mention of violence

previous chapters found here!: x

Chapter 7

You awake softly, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. You prop yourself up a bit, trying to come back to reality. The room turns with your vision, a dizzy spell stronger than you’ve ever felt. Quickly, you close your eyes. 

“Ugh…” You groaned quietly. 

 “How are you feeling?” Sylus voice was close to your ear, making you realize he was still next to you in bed. 

“Mhm… dizzy,” you said, noticing how dry your throat felt. Were you really this exhausted? The blood loss must’ve been too much these past two days. You feel Sylus shift around before he presses a cold glass of water against your arm. You smile at the gesture and take the glass before drinking the whole thing. 

“I…shouldn’t have taken from you so soon again,” Sylus said. It seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, slowly. “It’s hard to resist you, sweetie. You tempted me with your neck last night.” He brushed his cool fingers against your neck, tenderly. Your mind recalls every detail from last night, not to mention the ache your hips held. 

“It’s okay…” you spoke quietly. “I wanted you to,” you admitted. That much was obvious. Just recalling the overwhelming feeling of it all could turn you on again, if you weren’t so dizzy and exhausted. 

Over the next week ahead, Sylus is home more often. He doesn’t feed again, or touch you anything more than simple gestures. Although he didn’t show it, you were worried he thought he went too far during your last intimate moments together. But, maybe, he truly didn’t need to feed everyday. Or every other day. It was still difficult trying to figure him out. 

The same routine continued. You never realized how drastic it was no longer having a cellphone on you. But it gives you plenty of time to reflect and observe every detail around you. You started reading, given access to Sylus’ personal library. You asked the twins to get you a plain notebook, along with some writing pens. Since you were going to be here for the time being, it was better for your sanity to start documenting your new life. The twins might tell Sylus what you request, but that doesn’t mean he’ll find your personal journal tucked in a small, hidden space. At least, you hope so. 

…His stare is like ice, yet whenever he speaks it’s different. His words are smooth, honeyed, seductive. His touch sears into me, hot enough to make me melt. It’s hard to understand his true motives. Is this all so I can feel good? So I can forget the pain he inflicts upon his bite? Could there possibly be anything more than that? Between a human and a vampire…

You groan out loud as you hold your face in your hands. Even with writing your thoughts down, it still didn’t make any sense. What were you possibly hoping for, anyways? You close the notebook for now, tucking it back into its secret spot. A knock at your door snaps you out of your overwhelming thoughts.

“Miss? Boss wants to see you in the dining room,” said one of the twins. Luke, you assumed. He goes away without awaiting your response. You’ve learned it wasn’t unusual for Sylus to send someone to fetch you, rather than him coming himself. You sigh, combing your hands through your hair before leaving. The hallways were all familiar to you now, it didn’t feel like a maze anymore. You enter the dining room, noticing in the rare window the sun just went down. It was twilight now. Sylus stood, staring out that window. He doesn’t turn around at your arrival. 

“Come, sit.” He gestures to a large, leather chair next to him. Wordlessly, you go up to the chair and sit. You stare at Sylus, waiting for his next words. He seemed…tense. But it was hard to tell. He finally looks at you and speaks again. “The first time I brought you to an event, it ended up…unpleasant. It would be so easy if I could lock you up forever,” he chuckles darkly. You aren’t sure if he’s truly joking. “...But I need you to accompany me this time.” He looks at you, trying to gauge your response.

“Another…auction?” You asked. You were surprised he even thought about letting you outside after that incident. 

“No. This is much more important. I cannot risk leaving you here, unattended.” His tone was a bit stern. It left you puzzled.

“What? I’m…I’m not going to run, Sylus,” you stated, trying to make your point. He scoffed instead.

“I’m flattered,” he said flatly, “but that’s not what I meant. In a few days, there will be a gathering. A gathering of my kind.” He furrowed his brows a bit.

“Do you not want to go?” You asked cautiously. If he didn’t want you to pry, then that was fine, but clearly something was off. 

He sighs. “It’s significant that I arrive. I’m bringing you because I will not risk some idiot getting to you before I come back. Luke and Kieran will be away for a bit.” You muttered a small ‘oh’, understanding the picture now. To think he’s bringing his human into a den of vampires…is that truly the best idea? But then again, the thought of being alone and defenseless was bad enough. 

“Is it… truly okay I’m there with you?” You asked, feeling uncertain about your presence. Sylus pats your head once. 

“You think I would let anything happen to you? They won’t think twice about looking at you when they know you’re mine. Unfortunately for them, I don’t like sharing.” He walks over to a small desk, sorting through some papers. 

“Would I need to do anything specific?” You asked, trying to imagine what kind of event this could be. You wondered if other humans would be there, whether as a social thing or something worse. 

Sylus walks back over to you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Behave. But I’m sure that’s not a problem.” He smirked, his voice lighter. “It’s simply a formal event. I don’t expect too much. I’ll send some dresses over to you, in the meantime I have more work to catch up on.” With that, Sylus disappears to bury his head in more work. You really didn’t know how he managed it all. 

With ease, a few days pass by quickly. You didn’t hear from Sylus often, especially nothing more on the event. On the day of the event, you find a handful of boxes in your room just as he promised. You feel a tinge of excitement, eager to unbox your new dresses. You pull out a long, sleek satin dress. Its color was like a deep garnet with a lace pattern over the bust and lower waist. It was beautiful and you just had to try it on. You hurry to the bathroom and carefully slip it over yourself. This dress truly hugged your curves, but everything about it was perfect. A part of you worried it was showing off too much skin, but if Sylus didn’t think it was a problem then surely it was okay. 

“Do you like it?” Sylus’ deep voice was close to your ear. You continue to stare at the mirror, now looking at the both of you. Sylus’ eyes roamed over your body.

“Yes it’s…quite exquisite. Thank you,” you said kindly. You give him a soft smile. 

“It’s missing something though,” Sylus said, much to your surprise. Before you could ask, he places something cold around your neck. It was a victorian-style silver choker with a jewel that matched the color of your dress. Sylus clasps it together, before staring at your reflection. “There,” he said, sounding satisfied, “Now they’ll know who you belong to, kitten.” You flush a bit, but find yourself reassured. Sylus takes a step back, his eyes lingering on your back. “You seem tense, why?” Sylus’ question was straightforward. There was nothing you could hide from him. But out of the handful of things you could tell him, you picked one. 

“I’m nervous because I’m unsure what to expect,” you said truthfully. You could only think of so many outcomes of a vampire gathering. Sylus didn’t seem phased by your statement, though.

“Don’t worry, I plan to have you by my side the entire time.” Seems like that’s all you should know. You don’t inquire further, just accept whatever comes your way. You begin to prepare yourself, both mentally and physically. Adorned jewelry decorated on your body, along with the choker Sylus gave you. More like a collar in this situation, you realized. As you finish the final touches of your hair and makeup, you were ready to face it all. 

You both enter the same car you took on your last outing, sitting in the same seats. Once again, it felt absolutely refreshing to be outside again. The back courtyard could only do so much. Something about the air called to you, made you crave more. You unconsciously touch the jewel on your choker, it bringing you some form of comfort. After a long drive, the two of you finally arrive at your destination. It was a large mansion, much like Sylus’. Guests were walking in, some with partners and some without. They were all dressed fancy, exotic almost. 

“Come,” Sylus beckons. He extends his hand out to you, and you take it. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would have you by his side. You were practically glued to him. His arm around your waist was possessive, but protective. You tried to reassure yourself that you were safe in Sylus’ bubble. It was time to truly find out now. 

Upon entering the grand hallway you noticed others taking a step back from Sylus. Eyes trailing as you walk past. You weren’t stupid to not notice such a thing. Some whispered, others looked away entirely. You knew Sylus had immense power, but how much power could he possibly have? Still, you held your chin high. Your gaze never wavered. As you two enter a massive room, a couple people come to greet Sylus. 

“Sylus, sir, we’re grateful for your presence tonight. Who might—” The man addressing Sylus stops mid sentence upon looking at you. His expression is unreadable, and you weren’t sure if you were grateful for that. He suddenly snaps out of his concentration on you and bows. “My deepest apologies. Please, both of you, enjoy tonight to its fullest.” You were surprised to hear him apologize sincerely, not giving you another glance. You feel Sylus fingers touch your side a little deeper, unsure how to define it. 

“It’s quite alright. Thank you,” Sylus said, his words short. You both begin walking away from the man. You try and look up at Sylus, but he continues to stare straight ahead. You already had so many questions. A servant holding a tray of glasses pauses in front of you two, offering. Sylus grabs two glasses, each containing a deep, red liquid. You give him a puzzled look and he smirks in response. 

“What? It’s just wine,” he said, amused by your confusion. “We’re not only allowed to consume blood. We need it to survive though. If it makes you feel better, there are a handful of humans here too.” He takes a sip and licks his lips. The gesture makes you blush a bit. 

“Humans…like me?” You asked, hesitant to say the word ‘pet’. 

“Hmm…a few. But we do business with regular humans as well. You’d be surprised how involved we are in the world today,” he said. You stare back into your glass, trying to convince your brain you weren’t drinking blood. The scene laid out in front of you was beautiful, grand even. Guests were dressed up like royals, their beauty unique yet striking. Light music echoed around you, but you weren’t sure where it was coming from. Everyone chatted and laughed during the conversation, having the time of their lives. It put you at ease a little, to see this was quite a normal, fancy gathering. No blood baths, no rituals. You weren’t looked at like fresh meat, although you couldn’t help notice the awe in some people’s eyes as they tried to glance at you. 

“Sylus…how powerful are you?” You asked, sipping on the wine. It was good, you craved more. Sylus cocks an eyebrow, a bit surprised at your question. 

“And what brought this on?” He asked. 

“Well…I knew you were powerful. But since we’ve been in this place it’s like everyone regards you as a higher being…” You hope that came out right, not wanting to offend him. There was just so much you didn’t know about him. You hear him scoff, for better or for worse.

“I have fought my way to the top. It wasn’t easy…I have always been unlucky,” he admitted. You weren’t exactly expecting him to open up so easily. “I’ll take what’s mine. I made sure that everyone knows my name, that’s all.” A beat of silence made it clear he was done talking. So much for opening up, you thought. You wondered what he used to be like before this power but knew it was not a question to ask. Not now, anyways. “You will find out in due time,” Sylus added, a bit quieter. Before you could question what he meant, a different man approaches Sylus. He stares at you, surprise in his eyes .

“You found her?” The man said, almost to himself. But you still heard him, feeling confused at his question. Sylus clears his throat and the man diverts his attention. “Ah! Sorry, sir. I came to inform you that we found him. We are holding him in a room for now, awaiting your orders.” The man bows deeply, not looking Sylus in the eyes as he speaks. You look at Sylus, curious about the situation. 

Sylus sighs. “I didn’t think he would be found so soon. This changes things a bit.” He looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked…mad. 

“Who?” You blurted. Maybe you didn’t want to know. It sounded like dirty business he was dealing with. 

“We’ve been looking for…someone,” he said vaguely. “I didn’t expect him to be caught here. I have to take care of it now.” He clenches his jaw, clearly irritated. It suddenly clicked in your mind that he meant he might leave you. Alone. The man who approached Sylus was still waiting to guide him away. “You’re safe here, as long as you wear that choker. Stay here. Do not leave,” he commanded, his voice stern. “I will only be a minute. Be good.” He pats you on the head once, like a child. He begins following the man before you have a chance to respond. 

You watch Sylus as he turns down a hallway, now out of sight. You swallow, trying to ease your nerves. You drink the rest of your wine, trying not to meet eyes with anyone else in here. He said he would only be a minute…But from what you’ve learned when someone wrongs Sylus, he likes to take his time. Or so he claims. You were a little thankful he didn’t bring you for something like that, despite being completely alone. You fidget with the choker, your mind recalling the man’s words. Found her…had Sylus always looked for you? This newfound thought bounced off your head, anxiety starting to creep in. 

“Ugh…” You groan to yourself, staring at the empty glass. 

“Would you like more wine, miss?” A male voice asked behind you. You turn around, trying to make yourself seem small to this stranger. As you meet his face, your stomach sinks to the ground.

“....Caleb?” You whispered, almost afraid to say his name out loud. His eyes are wide, frantic, staring all over you. 

“Act natural,” he whispered, barely audible. Your heart was in your throat, you couldn’t believe it. Caleb, your childhood best friend. He was practically the only family you had…before you were taken. It’s been months now, since you last saw him. Why was he here? Why now? How did he know you were here? Questions flooded your mind, your throat tightening. You had no idea how to begin speaking. 

“Why?” You whispered back, trying to calm yourself. You weren’t sure who was looking. God, if Sylus knew, he would probably be angered. This wasn’t good, every second passing by was a second of Sylus returning. You felt nauseous. 

“Are you hurt? Did he do anything to you? That monster—I swear to God. I’m here to save you, I’m getting you out of here.” The weight of his words barely sank into you. You still didn’t understand how he knew you were here. At a vampire gathering, too!

“Caleb, you can’t– you can’t be here. Caleb this isn’t safe,” you tried telling him, but he wouldn’t listen. “How did you know I was here? Tell me.” His gaze softened as he looked at you. His eyes glance at the necklace and his expression becomes horrified. 

“I know who he is. I’m not letting him take you again. I don’t care if I die trying.” He grabs your wrist with force. It made you wince. You had to stop this, before Sylus came back.

Time was running out. 

“Caleb you need to leave!” You said urgently. Sweat formed on your brow. “I’m fine. He doesn’t hurt me! Please, leave, I’m okay!” You said, a little louder this time. He tugs you with him, causing you to stumble. A few people look over at you, whispering to each other. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as the panic becomes overwhelming. He tugs harder, trying to break you out of your stance. “Caleb please!” You beg through gritted teeth. Before he can say anything back, you feel a tall presence behind you. Your stomach churns, knowing Sylus has returned and is looking at Caleb. You don’t turn around as you watch Caleb drop your wrist, his face hardening with hatred.  “Well…you heard her,” he says, his voice deep and slow. He places both of his hands on each of your shoulders. “She said leave.”

[alessiathepirate]

Hannibal NBC

THE SIMPLICITY THEY SHOULD HAVE: Will Graham x fem!reader

Summary: She liked watching Will do things he actually liked to do. Watching him sit on the floor working on those boat motors was the sight she wanted to see everyday.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

So- I actually looked up an article about boat motors and about how to repair them, so I can describe it in a close-enough way, but in reality I've never seen a single boat motor in my life. So if it isn't desribed like it should be described - I'm sorry.

Warnings: references to Will's work, but surprisingly nothing more

•••

She liked watching Will do things he actually liked to do. The things that made him relaxed, but entertained in a good way.

It didn't only give Will a peace of mind, it also made her feel a certain kind of calmness and safety she's never felt when Will was out working on a case, trying to get into people's minds.

Watching him sit on the floor working on those boat motors as the muscles around his eyes and mouth tensed up from concentration was the sight she wanted to see everyday. When he isn't thinking about anything gruesome, when he isn't scared of nightmares or for her safety, when he is home doing what he likes with all his dogs around him being lazy - that was the sight she liked, those were the happiest moments she had about Will.

It felt domestic. It felt normal.

It felt like something they should have everyday.

The simplicity of it was the thing what made it so special - because otherwise nothing about their relationship was simple.

She was lying on her stomach in their shared bed, keeping herself up on her elbows. She was supposed to be reading, so she can finally finish the book she has started months ago but couldn't find the time to finish because of all the crazy, abnormal things that had been going on. This was the only normal evening they've had in months, the only truly relaxing one, yet the book isn't the real entertainment.

Will on the other hand certainly is.

"It's not very nice to stare."

His voice is truly entertaining too, especially when it's calm, relaxed and slightly teasing.

"I never said I was a nice person." she said, not even trying to hide her smile.

"Really? I thought was dating a nice person." he didn't look up from his work, his hands were still moving the screwdriver he was holding, trying to get a stuck screw out.

"I can be nice." she started, feeling her heart flutter as she noticed how Will's curls were messier than usual - God, he looked cute. "Just not when I have such a handsome boyfriend to look at."

That made Will look up, finding her gaze and making eye contact, abandoning his work for a while. She almost giggled at how his cheeks turned into a slight pink shade at her compliment. She rarely saw Will blush, very rarely.

"Such a charmer."

"I try my best." she smirked. " 'Everything alright with the motor?"

"Yeah, the screw's stuck but it'll be fine." he looked down at the boat motor, then back at her. "So, you abandoned the book again."

"Yes." she answered shortly and then continued: "I found something much more entertaining."

"That's a very nice book." Will voice carried a teasing edge.

"Yeah, well I just decided to enjoy the moment." she lost the smirk and the teasing, and used a sincere smile and honesty instead. "We rarely have a calm evening these days. I'd rather spend it watch- admiring you and talking to you, than look at words my mind can't comprehend right now anyway."

Will lost the smirk too and the small, happy smile he sent her way was truly the cutest thing she's seen him do so far. It wasn't anything big, sure. It wasn't a surprise date, it wasn't a gift she wouldn't need anyway - it was something she really wanted to see: a honest smile. A smile what told her everything and a smile what didn't hold anything back. He was comfortable, well rested and happy - the only thing she wanted.

"Come here." he said those two words softly, there was nothing rude or demanding about it.

She got off the bed and walked toward him. When he patted the floor next to where he was sitting, she understood what he wanted. She sat down next to him and crossed her legs.

"Would you like to help me?"

It was rare that he asked for help - no matter the context.

He trusted her, he loved her - she was sure of that. For a second she was too scared to open her mouth and speak, not wanting to ruin the softness of the moment.

"Of course." she swallowed; she was unable to hold back a smile. "What are we doing?"

"We'll try to remove the propeller so we can replace it with a new one. Then we'll try to find out why the battery is dead and if the spark plug needs to be changed." he explained it slowly and patiently, taking a look at her face here and there, making sure she understands what he's saying. "Sounds good?"

"Yeah. How can I help?"

"If you could get this screw out so we can take the propeller off, that'd be awesome."

"I can try."

She took the screwdriver from him as he turned the boat motor towards her so she can get to work. The first time tried to remove it the screw didn't move at all. That's why the second time she tried it she used more force - and to her surprise the screw moved.

She looked up at Will for a second with a grin. "It looks like that's something only women can do."

"Right. Thanks." she could hear that he was smiling, his pride wasn't hurt like any other man's would be.

"What now?" she asked as she took off the propeller.

"Now we'll take a look at the spark plug..."

And Will started to explain everything. He told her how to take the spark plug out, he explained what the most common problems are that can kill the battery in seconds. He spoke and then let her do the work, praising her when she did something right and chuckling when she messed something up. He corrected her and then watched her work with a smile.

She had a feeling that he likes to explain it to her, he likes the thought that he can teach her something new what isn't criminal profiling or basic self defense stuff.

By the time the motor was taken apart her fingers felt numb and she felt herself getting tired. Will must've felt it too, because he took the wrench she had in her hand.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"No, but I think for today you've done enough."

"Enough good stuff?"

"You've done a wonderful job with this for a rookie." Will's smile was genuine - so was hers.

"Yeah, no surprise you're a teacher. You can explain how everything works really well." she rested her head on his shoulder and even if Will tensed up a little from the sudden affection, he didn't push her away - he pressed a soft, barely even a real kiss to the top of her head.

"I think you should go ahead and lie down. I'll join you in a second."

"No. I'll wait here with you."

And she waited.

She waited until he put the new propeller on. She watched as he checked on the oil. She watched as he started to clean up the mess - putting different tools into the toolbox and cleaning the floor with the rag he had close by.

At some point they changed their position. Maybe it was because of Will moving and turning while trying to not move to far away from her - she didn't know for sure. But she was hugging his shoulders from behind while she rested her chin in the crook of his neck and her legs were wrapped around his waist.

It was a comfortable position for her - and must have been a pretty uncomfortable one for Will.

But he didn't complain. Sometimes he brushed his hand along her shin or knee, or took one of her hands and held it. And it was Heaven.

She couldn't really believe in anything good in this world, not after she saw what the world is like and how bad it actually is. She saw it all through Will's work and night terrors - but one thing was for sure, in that moment she felt like they were both in Heaven. They were home, they were close, the dogs were lazily lying on the rug around them.

It felt safe.

It felt normal.

It felt nice.

"Sweetheart?" she was half asleep when Will finally spoke up, his voice wasn't more than a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Let's go to bed, okay?"

"Sure." she answered, but stayed still for a moment. "Will?"

He hummed and she felt the noise go through his whole body.

"I like these evenings. The calm ones."

Will didn't say anything. He didn't have to. She knew he felt the same way. She knew it because he took her hand and pressed a kiss on it. She knew it because he carried her to bed. She knew it because that night he didn't wake up from a night terror.

She liked watching Will do things he actually liked to do. But she liked it more when he slept calmly.

[marigold-hills]

The Black Wizard (Part1)

When Remus leaves his hometown, it’s not to seek his fortune, or adventure, or – gods forbid – love. He leaves because he’s a monster, and monsters do not belong in society. They belong in the Waste.

This is how it happens:

It’s May Day. The village of Hogsmead is abuzz with excitement. Revellers and drunks, lovely dressed up ladies and dapper gentlemen circling one another, for propriety's sake staying respectable distances away. The gentlemen whistling at the ladies, the ladies pretending to be aghast by the behaviour, covertly blushing and giggling.

It’s a perfect day. Sunny, warm, bright.

For Remus, it’s perfect for a different reason.

Everyone is too busy to notice their pockets getting lighter. Too buzzed to pay attention to the man dressed in ill-fitting clothes waking too close to others. A casual jostle is just this - casual. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to raise concern.

Remus has a few pilfered wallets in a hidden pocket he sewed onto a stolen vest, along with his favourite book of poetry he never parts from. Some small valuables nobody would notice missing until it would be too late to track it to him. It’s easy, this. He’s done it for years.

“My apologies,” he smiles at a man in a soldier’s garb, whose money pouch he just appropriated. This one feels good for more than one reason - the soldier was in the process of accosting a lady who did not seem pleased to be accosted. She takes the moment he gets distracted by Remus and ducks away. Remus would like to say that he makes sure to only steal from those who deserve it, but it wouldn’t be true.

Food is food, and money is money, and both are something he needs to live. Remus can’t get a job, on account of being a monster, on account of how many days he has to take out to recuperate and travel somewhere far enough to make sure he wouldn’t let himself lose on Hogsmeade. He’s tried: he worked in a bakery right after his parents’ passing, then in a post office, a fishmonger and a greengrocer. He tried his hand at hunting game and selling it at a market, but his aim was poor and he couldn’t stomach the job. Each time he had to take sick days talk begun: simple at first, concerned. That poor Lupin boy, they would say, all alone now and so sickly. But soon the compassion ran out in favour of annoyance (“you need time off again? It’s barely been three weeks”). Followed, unfailingly, by questions.

Questions he has to steer people from if he wants to keep himself safe.

He’s tall but can make himself look unassuming, his hair once golden-auburn now streaked with grey from the effect of too many full moons. It’s perfect for this job, being easy to look over and hard to describe. He’s young but looks old. Feels old, too, but that’s not something for people to see.

Remus makes mistakes in this work so rarely that he doesn’t notice he’s made one until it’s too late.

He’s following a well-dressed man, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The man is exceptionally pretty, with short black curls barely skimming the tops of his ears and a gait like royalty. Remus follows behind him at a stretch, slow and careful, until they round the back of a seedy pub and the man turns around like he is the one who set the trap.

Green eyes like poison.

“Trailing the Wizard of the Waste, that’s brave of you,” the man says with a voice that freezes Remus midstep.

Because he knows better than that. He knows not to go for the people who are dressed overly expensive, with rich black fabrics and shining peacock plumes in their hats. He knows chances are somebody is watching over the really rich. That the possibility of a greater payoff doesn’t compare to the risk of being caught.

And yet here he is: caught.

“Or maybe simply foolish,” the Wizard says. “You don’t look a fool, but such things can be so deceiving, don’t you agree?”

The way his eyes pierce through Remus: all he can think is he knows. Somebody knows. Remus has been found out.

“You would know all about deceiving looks, wouldn’t you,” the man finishes like a purr of a cat poised to kill.

Remus turns and runs, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. Remus remembers what the townspeople did the last time someone was found out. Remembers the stench of burning flesh.

He doesn’t look back once before he flees, not even when the Wizard shouts “my regards to Sirius!”, to his retreating back. 

***

The road to the Waste is long and winding. The moon was not long full, and Remus still feels the effects it had on his body. He walks slow, using a stick he found in some bushes as a makeshift cane. Takes breaks. Bundles himself up tighter against the bracing winds. Admires the views. His hometown grows smaller and smaller, falls silent at the foot of the hill, lovely little toy buildings with their twinkly lights of windows.

He wonders if he’ll miss it. Can’t make up his mind, one way or the other. He should – right? It’s all he’s ever known.

“What do you think?” He asks his cane, because there is no one else to talk to, “will anyone notice we’re gone?”

The cane, of course, doesn’t answer. Only the wind blowing past him hears his question.

At the top, the hill becomes a plateau. Flat, green, peppered with clearwater lakes. Stretches for miles, in all directions. Remus remembers, from long-ago lessons, that the Capital is due North, and that to the East is the border with a neighbouring kingdom. It’s hard to believe when as far as the eye can see the Waste stretches, neverending and full of things ready to strike.

The sun is starting to set when he spots the Castle.

It moves towards him at considerable speed, rattling along the grass and shaking like it could come apart. By some miracle, or some magic, all of its various sticky-outy parts stay precariously attached where they seem to belong.

Remus thinks well, this is just my luck because the Black Wizard lives in the Castle, and the Black Wizard eats hearts. The heart of a monster is rumoured to give great strength, indulge the power, strengthen the spirit. Remus expected dying in the Waste – he just didn’t think it would be before nightfall on the very first day.

From Remus’ hometown the Castle could sometimes be seen far off in the mountains. It looked grand and stately, mysterious in how sometimes it was low in the hills and sometimes almost completely out of sight and far away, plumes of coloured smoke raising from its chimneys colouring the sky in reds and golds.

Up close, the Castle is ugly. Makeshift. Materials that don’t fit together, made to be imposing rather than reasonable. The embodiment of style over function. There are turrets where no turrets make sense, windows with no light behind them, and the whole front of it looks like a giant open maw. A lion’s jaw.

Remus stands still. “Now we’ve done it,” he says to the cane. Casts a final look back at the town. At the setting sun. At the lake some distance away, great and shimmering as it reflects the last rays of sunlight.

The Castle stops, the entrance at his feet. The door opens.

Remus walks towards it.

***

The Black Wizard isn’t inside. There’s only an abundance of spiders and one very chatty fire.

Remus is cold. His joints ache where they were broken apart and stitched back together not five days earlier. If the Wizard set a trap for monsters, then this monster walked right into it, with no fight.

“That’s a nasty curse you’ve got on you,” the fire’s voice is like crackling kindling.

Remus sits in a chair at the hearth. Lets the heat unlock his body. “Mmm,” he says, half in response and half in bliss.

“I could help you with that, you know. There are potions. Maybe spells.”

“Could you now,” Remus isn’t convinced. The fire sounds like he would expect – fickle, volatile, unreliable.

“Sure I could,” the fire answers. “But you’d have to help me out first. We’d call it an exchange.”

“Mmm,” he’s falling asleep now. The walk was long, and the warmth is so very pleasant.

“My name is James, not that you’ve bothered to ask.”

Remus doesn’t respond. He’s already asleep.

PART 2

******

NOTES:

Hi! I’m back with another part-per-day fic. As it’s December I’ve gone with my ultimate comfort movie to make an AU from because who doesn’t like cosy ghibli vibes?

IM SO EXCITED to say this has a companion artwork by the ridiculously talented @jaioes go check it out and give them lots of love.

See you tomorrow and happy December!

@tealeavesandtrash

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@wannabelilybriscoe

@quiethauntings

@veganbutterchicken

@euripidestrousers

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[twst-drabbles]

Kalim 9

Summary: You sit on the fence, relaxing with a drink at hand as you wait for Kalim to come with his colorful parade.

(Kalim certainly brings a certain energy to everything he does, huh?)

It’s early in the morning, just past the pink of dawn as you settled on the edge of your stone fence. You don’t have to worry about falling, since this wall’s pretty wide. So you settle back on your hands, just letting yourself watch the sky as it does it’s nice colors.

So, why are you here so early in the morning, when it’s not even a day of hiking? Simple. Kalim called you the week before about his plans. He was rambling and you didn’t exactly catch the reason why he’s celebrating, but you did catch that he was going to do a parade. As much as you like to do your own thing, you rarely find any reason to say no to him. Yes, yes he can be exhausting, but rarely do you ever leave him not feeling satisfied.

Anyways, you’re pretty sure that there isn’t a special occasion or holiday that would warrant Kalim’s need to make a parade happen, but Kalim is as Kalim does and he usually does what he wants. No need for reason, so long as it plants smiles in peoples faces and hearts.

You heard little grunts as Ace and Deuce lugged themselves over the edge of the fence.

“Shouldn’t you guys be sleeping right now?” They’re even wobbling about like they’re ready to conk out. They flopped on their backs, clearly exhausted and tired. They probably heard you waking up in the morning and just decided to follow, just in case. Guard dogs to end, these two.

You pulled out a clean napkin you had in your pocket and placed it over those two. They didn’t so much as squeak.

You grabbed your drink and took a long sip. As soon as you finished, that’s when you picked up a multitude of voices. Off in the distance, at the end of the road, an orange light blasted up into the as a flare would. It burst into an array of flowers and sparks, quiet and gentle, bright like fireworks, but without the loud sounds.

Kalim was the first face you saw, riding on his magic carpet, waving at you as droves upon droves of people followed behind him. In perfectly practiced form, the mages behind let their magic sing. They crafted glitter, pretty sparking lights, and delicate images.

For all your apathy towards magic, you have to give credit where credit’s due. These mages have such fine control over their magic that they can practically make paintings in the air. It can’t be an easy feat.

And, well, you can’t help but notice that Kalim has taken your request to heart. This celebration, this parade marching down your street as Kalim flew this way and that, dancing upon his carpet, was very quiet. No louder than the claps of your hands, really. The magical fireworks are a little much, you’ll be honest, but it’s tolerable.

Ace and Deuce have fully fallen asleep, and this quiet parade has not woken them up, funnily enough.

“So? What do you think?” Kalim flew up close to you, legs crossed as waited for your response with wide, expectant eyes.

The sun was well up in the sky, and yet somehow, Kalim seemed brighter.

“I liked it,” you said with a smile, “It was very fun. Thank you, Kalim.”

[pookalicious-hq]

blue velvet... jinx x reader

next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for eachother. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities word count: 2.5k a/n: this is a start to my jinx x reader series that i'm planning on making, lmk if you like it loves mwah.

You laid flat on the rooftop, the rain pouring down in heavy sheets, each drop landing with a soft patter before joining the steady flow that ran across the stone. The water soaked through your clothes, turning your skin cold, but you barely noticed. The downpour was like a thick, weighty blanket, wrapping you in a cocoon of sound that muffled the world beyond. The constant rhythm of the rain against the roof matched your heartbeat, slow and steady, while the distant rumble of thunder vibrated through the air, a low and soothing hum.

Above you, the sky was a swirling mass of dark, ragged clouds, woven tightly together and swallowing any hint of light from the city below. The scent of wet stone and earth filled the air, sharp and fresh, mingling with the metallic tang that came with every crackle of lightning.

Water pooled around your body, gathering in shallow dips on the rooftop, but you didn’t shift or move to avoid it. Huge wings lay limp at your sides, the once-soft feathers plastered to the surface, weighed down by the relentless rain. They felt heavy, but not in a way that burdened you—more like the sensation grounded you to the earth beneath.

You closed your eyes, the cold wetness of your soaked clothes and skin fading away. In its place, warmth blossomed in your chest with each roll of thunder, spreading through your limbs like a quiet fire. The storm was a comfort, a reminder of who you used to be. Here, exposed and uncaged, with the sky as your only ceiling, you felt a sense of peace she rarely found in Zaun’s suffocating depths.

A poor bird with no room to fly had found solace within your element. The rain could not trap you; the storm could not harm you—it was part of yourself, the only place where you felt free.

If not for the nagging bruise forming on the side of her torso, you might as well have fallen asleep. With a tired sigh, you tugged your shirt up slightly, just enough to inspect today’s damage. The faint glow of distant lightning illuminated the angry purple blossom spread across your ribs, each raindrop that hit the tender skin sending a dull ache through your body. It wasn’t the worst injury you've had, but the soreness lingered, a reminder of the fight.

Nothing had been broken—just your pride, really. The job was supposed to be simple: in and out. No one should have touched you. Yet somehow, they’d managed to land a hit. You winced, not so much from the pain but from the fact that you let it happen.

The rain pattered against your exposed skin, a cold contrast to the heat radiating from the bruise. You laid your hand over it, as if willing to take the pain away. But the storm, for all its comfort, couldn’t heal what was beneath your skin. It could only distract you from it.

You closed your eyes again, letting the sound of the rain drown out the frustration still swirling inside you. The job wasn’t a failure, but it hadn’t gone smoothly. And now, lying on the rooftop, you were trying to forget the adrenaline, the chaos, the way your powers surged uncontrollably for a moment when things went wrong.

In the distance, the thunder grumbled like a low growl, echoing the storm within your mind. You sighed deeply, letting your body relax further into the cold stone beneath you as if you could become part of the rooftop itself and disappear into the sky.

The storm continued its relentless downpour, the city below a blurred mess of shadows and rain. You barely registered the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles behind you. You were too lost in the corners of your mind, too focused on the rhythmic thrum of rain against skin.

But the familiar voice, always loud enough to cut through anything, broke through the storm’s lull.

"Birdie!" Jinx’s voice rang out, playful and teasing. You opened your eyes, blinking through the raindrops as Jinx approached, her figure a blur of wet blue hair and mismatched clothing. "You really pick the weirdest places to hide, you know that?"

You didn’t move, letting your head rest against the cold stone as she watched Jinx saunter closer, completely unfazed by the rain. "Not hiding," you muttered, though your voice lacked its usual edge. "Just… being."

Jinx dropped down beside you with a huff, legs crossed beneath her, her bright eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Being what? Wet? Miserable? Extremely lonely since I’m not with you?"

You chuckled softly, chest rising and falling with the effort. "Something like that."

Jinx tilted her head, and for a moment, the playful sparkle in her eyes dimmed as she noticed the way your hand hovered near your ribs, just below the edge of your shirt. Without asking, Jinx leaned forward, brushing your hand aside with a featherlight touch, her eyes sharp as she inspected the bruise. By now, there were no lines that hadn’t been crossed between the two girls.

"Well, shit," Jinx muttered, her voice dropping an octave. "Looks like they got a good one in, huh."

You sighed, letting your hand drop into the pool of water beside you. "It was dumb. They got lucky."

"Lucky?" Jinx’s brows shot up, her grin returning as she sat back on her heels. "Birdie, they didn’t get lucky. They got stupid. Anyone who lays a hand on you is just asking for it. And by it, I mean getting zapped into a pile of dust, super duper dead."

You gave her a half-hearted smile in return, your eyes drifting back to the sky. "Maybe next time."

Jinx shifted closer, lying down flat beside you, her shoulder brushing against your arm. For a few moments, you both laid there in silence, the rain continuing to pelt down, soaking you both. Jinx let out a small sigh, her voice softer now. "You know… I could’ve helped, right?"

You turned your head slightly, meeting Jinx’s eyes. "I know."

"You should’ve told me," Jinx’s voice had a hint of something uncharted in it, something she didn’t often let show. "You don’t have to do everything alone, you know?"

Your gazes met—a soft union between your own foggy grey eyes and Jinx’s cobalt blue, tinged with navy highlights from the stormy sky above. The rain slid down your faces, unnoticed, as if the world beyond the rooftop didn’t exist for that brief moment. There was a weight in Jinx’s eyes that you hadn’t seen in a long time—something deeper than the usual spark of chaos.

You hesitated, lips parting but no words coming. You were supposed to be the strong one, the one who could handle whatever Silco threw your way. The one who didn’t need help. But here, under the clouds, lying beside Jinx, that strength felt more like a burden.

"I…" your voice faltered, the confession stuck somewhere in your throat. Your mind raced for a way to explain it, but all that came out was, "I didn’t want to bother you."

Jinx blinked, the corners of her mouth twitching into a lopsided smile, though there was still that trace of vulnerability in her expression. "Bother me? You? Birdie, come on…" She nudged her gently with her elbow, trying to pull out the usual banter, but her heart wasn’t fully in it this time. "You're never a bother. Not to me."

You could feel your chest tighten, the words sinking in. For so long, you'd been on your own, dealing with the pain, the chaos, and the aftermath of everything done to yourself. You had always tried to find an escape. But now... now you weren't sure if you wanted to escape anymore. Not when Jinx was here.

"I didn’t think you'd care." The words came out quieter than you intended, almost lost in the rain.

Jinx’s smile faded, her eyes widening just a little as if the admission had surprised her. She stayed quiet for a moment, studying your face like she was piecing together a puzzle. Then, with a soft sigh, Jinx shifted closer, her arm brushing against her side as she rested her chin on her hands, lying on her stomach now.

"Of course I care, you dummy," Jinx murmured, her tone unusually soft. "I care way more than you probably realize."

Her words hung in the air between the two, heavy with meaning that you weren't entirely sure how to respond to. The familiar warmth that the storm usually gave you was now radiating from Jinx, the closeness between them bringing a different kind of comfort.

“You know I love you more than anything in the whole world, right?” Jinx said as she propped her head on top of your chest, voice light but with a warmth that you always found comforting.

You chuckled softly, fingers absently running through Jinx’s soaked blue hair. “Yeah, I love you too.”

The words felt easy between you—familiar. To yourself, it was just how they you: two best friends who stuck together through everything. You didn’t notice the way Jinx’s smile faltered for just a split second before she buried her face in your chest, hiding the small sigh that followed.

Jinx had given up on trying to explain how she felt. She’d tried before, more times than she cared to admit. But you were so... broken it was like trying to explain the stars to someone who’d never looked up. Where did all your love go? Yet, lying there, wrapped in the storm, something shifted in the air between them.

“Good,” Jinx mumbled, her words muffled by your shirt. “Just making sure.”

You smiled, closing your eyes again as the rain drummed softly against your skin. You didn’t realize how much weight those little words carried for Jinx. You just knew that, with Jinx beside you, the thunder felt less chaotic. Less like something you had to run from.

For Jinx, that was enough. It had to be.

She looked at you beneath herself, watching you relax into the rain, face peaceful. If this was all she’d ever get—a friend who didn’t mind when she crashed on top of her, who laughed at her jokes and let her stay close—then that was more than most people ever got in Zaun. She could live with that.

As long as you were happy, Jinx would be too.

The sound of the rain became a gentle backdrop, creating a world where they were just two girls finding solace in each other’s presence. You could feel Jinx’s breath against your shirt, warm and steady. It made your heart swell in a way you couldn’t fully grasp. The tension you carried in your chest began to ease, slowly replaced by the warmth of Jinx’s affection—a connection that was undeniable, yet uncharted.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like?” Jinx’s voice was muffled, her chin resting against your chest. “If we just… left all this behind?”

“Zaun?” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes. But where would we even go?”

“Anywhere!” Jinx exclaimed, her enthusiasm peeking through the softness of her tone. “We could go to the surface, see the sky for real. Or just find a place where nobody knows our names, where we can be whoever we want.”

You considered it, the idea stirring something inside. “It sounds nice,” You said slowly, “but it’s not that simple. You know that.”

“Why not?” Jinx’s voice was firm, a contrast to the rain’s gentle cadence. “You don’t owe Silco anything, Birdie. And you sure as hell don’t owe anyone else anything. You’re stronger than literally anyone. We can do this together, you know.”

You let your fingers tangle deeper in Jinx’s hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like the rain. “I don’t want to put you in danger. Not again.”

Jinx lifted her head, their eyes locking in a moment that felt both fragile and electrifying. “You think I care about danger?” she scoffed, though her voice held a playful edge. “I’m literally a ticking time bomb. And as long as I’m with you, I’m not afraid of anything.”

“But I am,” you admitted, your voice a quiet confession. “I’m afraid of losing control. Of becoming someone I can’t recognize. Someone who always hurts people.”

“You’re not that person,” Jinx said, her tone unwavering. “You’re not Silco. You’ve got a good heart. Just look at how you took care of me when I was—” She paused, her voice trailing off as a shadow of memory crossed her face. “You’ve always taken care of me.”

“And you’ve always been there for me, too,” you replied, your heart swelling at the realization. “I don’t want to lose that.”

“Then we won’t,” Jinx said, a determined fire sparking in her eyes. “You’re my Birdie. I’ll fight for you. We’ll get out of all this together. I promise.”

The sincerity in Jinx’s gaze struck you with an intensity that made your breath catch. It felt like a lifeline, like a bridge spanning the chasm of fear that threatened to swallow you whole. In that moment, you saw not just Jinx, but a future—one where they were free, one where they could carve out their own lives.

“I just—” you hesitated, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over. “I’m too weak.”

Jinx leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. “We’ll figure it out together. And if you ever feel lost, just look for me.”

You closed your eyes, the warmth radiating from Jinx wrapping around you like a shield. You felt the storm inside you start to settle, the chaos slowly fading. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe.

With a small smile, you whispered, “Okay. Together.”

Jinx’s grin broke wide, her eyes sparkling with mischief and joy. “That’s the spirit! Now, if we’re gonna run away from all this, we need to come up with a plan. And maybe a cool name for our adventure.”

“Adventure?” you chuckled, spirits lifting. “Like a real one? I’ve never had an adventure.”

Jinx sat up, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she launched into a grand idea. “We’ll be the legendary duo! The Storm and the Joker! Together, we’ll conquer the world! We’ll make people remember us!”

You laughed again, the sound bright against the backdrop of rain. “The Storm and the Joker? Might hafta re-evaluate your naming skills.”

“Shush! It’s perfect!” Jinx cackled. “Come on, don’t you feel it? The energy? The potential for power!”

You felt the warmth spread through you, the playful spirit in Jinx infectious. “Alright, alright. I believe you,” you agreed, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

Jinx’s grin widened as she bounced to her feet, pulling you up beside her. “We’re not going to be just any duo—we’re going to be the best duo! And the world won’t know what hit it!”

You couldn’t help but grin, the rain still pouring around them but feeling lighter now, as if the storm had shifted into something else entirely—something exciting. Maybe it was the promise of freedom or the bond they shared. Whatever it was, it felt right.

“Okay,” You said, a newfound determination blossoming within. “As long as you're with me.”

a/n: hi loves, i hope you like this little intro to the mc and her relationship with jinx. sorta gives some backstory cues but you don't need to focus too hard on that.

thanks for reading pookies, lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist <3

[meaningofaeons]

Your writing is so pretty !! I really love your characterization ngl. I feel like you're great at keeping them in character! I was wondering if you could do some hcs of Blade, Dan Heng and Gepard having a crush on a more experienced/older member? For an example, Dan Heng having a crush on an experienced Nameless who was on the Express before him and sort of was the one who was more hands on with helping him learn the ropes. The same implies with the other two for their respective occupations. Idk, I see a lot of character x new member person but never the reverse. I think it's a little cute lol.

Thank you for reading and thanks double if you write it!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ seniority

⊹ character(s) - gepard landau, blade, dan heng ⊹ word count - 1.9k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, fluff, reader is a silvermane guard lieutenant (gepard)/a senior member of the stellaron hunters (blade)/a senior member of the Nameless (dan heng), reader pretty much implied to be older in these, at least in terms of like physical appearance/age

hi anon!!! ♡(ﾐ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﻌ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﾐ)ﾉ I was a big fan of this req ever since you first sent it in! I agree, there's so many "omg reader is an inexperienced baby and the character helps them and falls for them<3" but where's my characters getting swept off their feet by READER who's the senior member fr?!?!? no hate to anyone who writes the former, but I really like strong and capable readers !!!!! enjoy the req <3

⊹ Gepard Landau

Gepard pretty much knew you from the second he joined up with the Silvermane Guards.

As a Landau, it was always his duty, so he'd striven to do his best. However, just because it was his duty to stand at the top of the Supreme Guardian's defenses, doesn't mean he never looked up to anyone.

Despite being similar in age, you'd been a member of the guards far longer than he, enough to stand at the rank of Lieutenant before he had even joined.

At first, it really was just admiration. That, and a sense of seeking mentorship.

He'd follow you around like a lost puppy, the then-humble private Gepard trying to get any pointers he could from you

Would ask you to train with him now and then, or would ask how he can best show his dedication to the guards

Being so busy, however, you rarely had time to entertain these wishes.

Even as a Lieutenant and not a Captain, there were certain duties you had to uphold yourself. If you bowed to the whims of every Silvermane Guard, you'd be nothing more than an errand runner, or perhaps just a simple trainer.

You did notice him, though—how could you not?

He was the eldest son of the Landaus, of all families.

Not to mention, his achievements already far outweighed his ranking.

You only provided minimal guidance when he sought it, and yet here he was, smashing every expectation.

Gepard didn't of you as anything other than a superior, someone to strive after and look up to. Even as he took the ranking of Captain and rose above your station, he still deferred to you on many things.

He would seek your advice in handling situations, and the two of you began working closer every day.

Outside of normal duty, the two of you began talking as well—however, it was mostly about work.

Even with all of that, he still saw you as nothing more than someone to be respected. He still saw you as just a superior, surely. That's all it was.

Those fluttering feelings in his chest when you bested him in a spar? Pure awe at your superior strength and wit in battle.

The heating of his cheeks when you'd toss him your water flask, telling him to drink up and get back on his feet? Just a minor cold, he was sure of it.

Well, for a while, at least, he could justify it as such...

One day, he arrived to his greenhouse after work—a place for his lackluster hobby of keeping flowers—only to find you, the Lieutenant he admired, watering each bud and taking careful care of each petal.

"W-What are you doing here, Lieutenant Y/N?!"

"Ah, forgive me for intruding. Ms. Sergeyevna was unavailable, so Serval asked me to check on your flowers."

You then chuckled a bit.

"Also, you're above me in ranking now, Captain Gepard. No need for the formalities."

And when you smiled, it sent a bolt of lightning straight through Gepard's chest—something he couldn't brush off or ignore any more.

You looked radiant.

He had to get out of there quickly.

"W-Well, thank you for your help! I best be off..."

Before he left, though, he couldn't help but pause, fidgeting at the door.

"Something the matter?"

"Erm..." Gepard was stammering, ready to smack himself over the head for his blunder. "I-If there's no need for formalities, then there's no need for you to refer to me as 'Captain' outside of work, Lieute—" He cut himself off. "Y/N... So..."

You only smiled.

"Okay, Gepard."

When Gepard ran (or rather, stiffly marched) back home after that little exchange, he was beating himself up mentally for such a foolish request.

And yet, the red of his cheeks and the pounding of his heart never did quite dissipate.

⊹ Blade

In Blade's mind, there wasn't much to say about you.

You were a fellow Stellaron Hunter—so?

He was mostly only assigned to Kafka thanks to her Spirit Whisper calming his mara.

Not to mention, the day he arrived to the Stellaron Hunters, you weren't even present. On a mission, as Elio had said.

However, the two of you would eventually cross paths when Kafka was assigned to a separate mission (after ensuring Blade would be stable during her absence, of course).

"This is Y/N. They have assisted the course of destiny for many years now. Be courteous to them."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Blade."

The first thing Blade noticed was how you were... warmer than he expected.

Kafka didn't have much to say on you other than non-answers (her usual go-to for any questions) and Silver Wolf had only mentioned you being scary.

Had she perhaps meant... in battle?

Surely the person before him wasn't scary in any capacity.

You were skilled, yes—once he went on jobs with you, he could easily tell why you were still a successful member of the Stellaron Hunters.

In any other situation, perhaps he would've said he admired your prowess.

However, you were still but an enigma, and for a long time, Blade didn't like that.

He chose to keep his distance where he could. While he would obey you in missions to assist Elio to his full capacity, he never actively hung around you if he didn't have to.

Despite this, you seemed to hang around him as much as you pleased, and against his obvious displeasure.

"Blade, would you like a snack? I brought plenty for this particular job, since it could get long."

"That coat can't be comfortable all the time. Why don't we go and get you a new one? It's not bad to have options."

"Is your hair getting in the way? I can braid it or tie it back."

He'd never answer you at first. Your kindness was uncomfortable.

However, one day, he did. And he still doesn't quite know why.

"Blade, your bandages are unraveling again. Should I rewrap them?"

"...If you must."

You had stopped at that. Blade actually answered you?

"Haha, I was beginning to wonder if you had a voice at all! C'mere, I'll do those right up for you."

The gentle feeling of your hands redoing the bandages across his battered body did not make Blade flush, nor did his heart rate accelerate.

But a fuzzy feeling had wormed its way into his chest, and he didn't want to think about what it could mean.

But even if he didn't think about its meaning, surely it wouldn't hurt to pursue it from time to time?

It certainly felt better than the agony of mara rife through his walking corpse of a body.

Blade began spending time with you, even outside of missions.

You were reading somewhere? He'd suddenly appear beside you, claiming to be at a loss for things to do, thus he decided to sit for a while.

You were in your room? He'd ask if he could sit in the corner and polish his sword—the lighting in your room was best for such care.

You were about to head out on a solo mission? He'd either ask Elio to accompany you and appear just as you were to head out, or if he was denied, he'd ask you to tie his hair back before he went in case he was called out—Kafka and Silver Wolf, he claimed, could never do it quite right.

It's honestly very endearing.

This big, scary beast of a man becomes a stubborn kitten in your presence, never willing to admit he desires your presence but seeking it out anyways.

And to Blade, that's fine.

He doesn't need words to tell you how he feels.

Hell, he'd probably be loathe to speak his feelings into existence himself. He's still in denial.

He'll continue to show you in just the way he always has—being as close by your side as he can.

⊹ Dan Heng

Unlike with Blade, Dan Heng has some level of interest in you from the start.

You're there when Himeko brings him aboard, introducing him to her fellow Nameless as the newest member.

To be fair, though, he does have some sort of interest in every member of the Nameless, but something about you is a tad different.

You appear younger than Himeko or Welt, likely closer to his own physical age.

That alone makes you somewhat more approachable.

Not that Dan Heng is really approaching anyone on the express right away, though...

It definitely takes you stepping up and approaching him first for him to open up.

It probably starts with you helping him out.

He's always diligent about obeying your advice and help.

As independent as Dan Heng can be, he's respectful to your authority as a more experienced Nameless.

(Not that there's much of a hierarchy or seniority in the Nameless, but he respects you anyhow.)

He's having trouble compiling all the information for a certain entry? You're pointing out things he missed, sort of like a beta reader.

When the two of you are exploring the latest planet you've stopped by, you keep him safe against dangerous monsters (not that he's incapable of fighting, but he appreciates the assistance)

If he's looking for the next volume of a book he's been reading, you're the first to find and get it for him.

And if it's not on the Express, you fetch it for him elsewhere.

You're very open, which he's not used to—Himeko and Mr. Yang tend to leave him to his own devices, after all—but it's not a bad feeling, per se.

He begins to take notice of the ways you stand by him, help him, watch his back.

Not to mention, the manner in which you try to ensure he's welcome at every turn, considering your senior status as one of the Nameless and his relative recent arrival.

As you spend time with him, it's only a matter of time before you can nonverbally understand the quiet Xianzhou native.

"..."

"..."

"Hmm, I see. I'll go get you the latest volume, Dan Heng. I'm sure they sell it on this planet, too—I've been to their bookstores before."

"Thanks."

Himeko and Welt don't really know quite what goes on when this happens.

Over time, you're always the first to communicate for Dan Heng if he isn't present, which he truly does appreciate.

"Dan Heng would like whatever, as usual. Can you prepare the breakfast I had last time, Pom-Pom? He seemed to enjoy it when he tried mine."

"Oh, Dan Heng won't be joining us. Said he needs to organize the archives."

To anyone else, it might just look like a senior Nameless taking the new guy under their wing, but Mr. Yang and Himeko both grew to know better.

They both saw the way that Dan Heng looked at you when he thought no one else was looking at him.

Or perhaps he just didn't care as long as you didn't see the way his eyes shone, an almost imperceptible affection shining behind them.

They both noticed how Dan Heng would go out of his way on planets you weren't exploring to buy you a souvenir, or get you a snack reminiscent of your favorites.

Even March—when you, along with the other Nameless, finally discovered her and rescued her from her ice-prison—as a relatively new member could catch on to how he felt in just a few short weeks.

"Hey, Y/N! Are you and Dan Heng dati—"

"Shh!"

The pink-haired girl eventually had her curiosity sated every time she got to take a photo of Dan Heng's ever-slight smile at the sight of you returning to the Express.