#which you think would maybe ease it a little?

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss!lando norris x reader

part thirty-seven: this ends now

word count: 8.3k (i'm so sorry y'all)

warnings: this chapter contains graphic violent content. reader discretion is strongly advised.

thirty-six | thirty-seven | thirty-eight

The Leclerc estate looked different in the dark – less like a palace, more like a mausoleum. Even the marble seemed colder under the clouds. Lando’s boots echoed on the stone as he stepped through the gates that someone —some fool— had left unlocked.

Lando didn’t wait for an invitation.

Two guards moved for him near the foyer. 

“You touch me,” he threatened, his voice even, “and your boss will be scraping your teeth off the floor before dinner.”

That gave them pause. He was ushered through without another word. 

And then, he was there.

The sharp click of polished shoes echoed across the marble. Charles Leclerc stepped into the atrium, his jaw set, his eyes cold with something older than rage. The two men flanked him— private security, judging by the expensive tailoring of their suits.

By the time he reached the front doors, Charles Leclerc was already waiting. He was dressed in silk and anger, the dark robe hanging loose around his shoulders like he’d been dragged from sleep. 

He stood at the base of the grand staircase like he was an oil painting come to life, all scorn and silk and spotless white cuffs. His expression was more contempt than confusion.

Across the foyer, Lando’s shadow grew shorter before he finally approached. 

“Lando,” Charles greeted, voice smooth as silk pulled taut, practically through gritted teeth. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Or has etiquette finally died in Monte Carlo?”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Lando mock-pouted.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Charles replied, nothing but venom in his voice. “You must have a very short memory, Norris. Or perhaps no memory at all. Surely even a street rat like you knows better than to bring a blood feud to someone’s home.”

Lando proceeded to step inside without being asked.

The guards flinched but didn’t stop him. Maybe they were under orders, or maybe they knew better.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Charles continued nonetheless, voice low and lethal. “You think you can come to my house, in the middle of the goddamn night, and– what? What exactly is the plan here, Norris?”

With all the nonchalance in the world, Lando’s eyes flicked to the portraits on the walls. Generations of Leclercs, frozen in oil and arrogance. 

But Lando Norris walked like he wasn’t surrounded by the best money had to offer or men twice his size with weapons slung across their shoulders. He walked in like he wasn’t one twitch away from never walking out.

The leather of his motorcycle jacket was dripping from the storm outside. The red accents on the shoulders of his jackets glistened, reflecting the little light from outside ominously. Even his hair was misty, darkening the color as if to suit his intentions for the night.

In short, Lando Norris walked in like a threat in human form.

What confused Charles even more than the ease with which the Brit had entered, was the nonchalance with which he’d done it.  

Charles laughed. He couldn’t help but find humor in this blatant act of idiocy.

Only a fool would do something like this.

But Lando continued to stand there, an unsettling calm in his posture, like he had all the time in the world. As if he wasn’t at the doorstep of Charles’s home, soaking the entry carpet with the dirty water from his shoes like it wasn’t handmade Turkish silk, woven just for the Leclercs.

The audacity–  

Charles took a step forward, his fury restrained only by old money etiquette.

“Perhaps you are too stupid to know, but let me explain this to you,” he inhaled deeply, breathing in all the patience he possibly could so he wouldn’t strangle Lando with his bare hands.

“You want to settle something with me, you do it like a man. You do it on the streets, with terms, controlled. But this?” He gestured around them. The chandelier above them almost seemed to tremble faintly from the sheer force of the Monagesque’s voice. “This is war without rules.”

“Good,” Lando answered, his voice flat as he appeared entirely unamused. “Because I’m done with rules.”

Charles’s lips twitched – not a smile, but a warning.

“You forget who you’re speaking to,” he seethed, words forced from between clenched teeth.

“No,” Lando replied. “I remember exactly who I’m speaking to. A man so careful with his hands he sends other people to do his dirty work.”

The guards moved to take a step forward, sensing the rising tension. Before they could move any further, Charles stopped them with an arrogant wave.

“I take it this is about the girl?” Charles asked, tone suddenly dismissive, like he could toss the whole topic away like lint off his sleeve.

Lando didn’t flinch, tensing every muscle in his body until the entirety of him went rigid.

Say her name from your filthy mouth, I dare you. I’ll rip your throat out before I let you say her name. You don’t even deserve to know it, you bastard.   

There was a beat of silence where something ugly passed behind Charles’s eyes — remorse, or perhaps regret that they hadn’t aimed better.

“I warned you,” Charles said slowly, carefully. “You dragged her into this.”

Silence.

“No,” Lando shot back. “A lot of blood has been spilled, Leclerc. Margot, Daniel…” a brief flicker of emotion crossed his eyes, but it was gone before the other man could even notice it.

“And I am not in the business of forgiveness.”

Charles gave a patient sigh, like standing here was boring him, like he was wasting time explaining simple mathematics to a toddler. “They were mere casualties of consequence. You know what happens when people get close to you.”

There it was. That sentence.

It pulled the last stitch of restraint from Lando’s chest.

Lando’s voice dropped, quieter than a whisper, sharper than glass. “You want to talk about consequence?”

He then reached into his coat pocket. The guards went to step forward again, this time to restrain Lando before he could pull out his weapon. Curious, Charles raised a hand, and they froze where they stood.

Lando peered up at them, as if annoyed by the buzzing of a persistent fly instead of two men, trained and armed. As he maintained eye contact, he reached into one of the zipped pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small black drive.

“Logan found this. Oscar verified it.”

Lando tossed it forward, the men watching it as it slid across the marble, until it stopped neatly at Charles’s feet.

The older man stared down, then back up. “And what is it I am looking at?”

“A mistake,” Lando announced breezily, a hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Your mistake.”

Charles didn’t blink. Lando didn’t wait.

“If you play it, you might recognize the person there. Your brother was caught outside Brews & Books, back in November. It’s funny, because I don't remember you having any business in that area…” he trailed off dramatically, entertaining himself by passively observing the ornate decor around them

“Imagine my surprise when I see Little Leclerc’s face caught on the corner cam at the bookstore.”

Though Lando was smiling, even Charles was smart enough to know that this was nowhere near as small an issue as Lando’s tone might suggest.

“Rookie mistake,” he smiled.

Carefully, Charles lifted his gaze from his inspection of the drive to look up at the man stood across from him. “So, what, you came here? To my home?” A flicker of disbelief crossed Charles's features, and then the fury settled in. “You’re mad. This is a line no one crosses.”

“Oh, spare me the performance,” Lando snapped. “You’ve killed in clubs, burned businesses to the ground, shot people in broad daylight. Don’t lecture me on lines!”

“I warned you to stay out of this.”

“You killed my friend,” Lando said, jaw clenched. “You tried to kill the only person I have left.”

“Daniel was collateral,” Charles hissed, stepping closer, the mask cracking just enough to show teeth. “He was simply standing too close to you. Don’t you get it? ”

Lando’s hands curled into fists, but he didn’t move.

Instead, he studied the man in front of him — Charles, dressed in black-on-black, composed even in wrath, but letting through something far more interesting now. Something that glimmered at the edges of certainty.

Fear.

“You always act so untouchable,” Lando said, quietly now. “But even your little empire has cracks, doesn’t it?”

Charles’s brow ticked.

Lando kept going. “You cleaned up everything so carefully. Bribed witnesses. Burned tapes. Covered your tracks. But even you missed something.”

He stepped forward, ignoring the additional guards that had suddenly materialized at the sides of the room.

“Arthur.”

Charles’s expression faltered — just slightly, but enough. His stance shifted to a more defensive one. Lando was on very thin ice. 

“Careful, Norris.”

It was like he didn’t even hear him. Lando was on a roll, and he was nowhere near going back now. “The kid’s green. You’re groomin’ him for something, yeah? Future heir, ’s that it? Hm, but he’s sloppy. Doesn’t know how to stay in the shadows like you. And guess what?”

Lando pulled out his phone and pressed play.

Grainy footage rolled – a timestamp, a street corner. The shop sign was unmistakable: Brews & Books. And a too-familiar figure ducking around the alley in a hoodie just a little too clean, eyes darting behind dark sunglasses.

Arthur Leclerc.

Charles didn’t breathe.

“I know where he’s been,” Lando said. “I know what he’s seen. And if I follow him long enough, I’ll know everything you’ve tried to hide.”

“You threaten him—”

“I didn’t say a word yet,” Lando interrupted. “But you get it now, don’t you? This isn’t about money or respect or even revenge anymore. No, none of that.

I jus’ think it’s about time someone teach you a lesson.”

Charles’s face flushed not with fear, but with fury. His expression contorted, transformed into one of controlled, burning, blistering rage.

“You come into my house and threaten my brother?” he boomed. “Do you really want a war that bad, Norris?”

Lando shrugged. “I didn’t come here for war. I came here for you.”

The younger of the two stepped closer now, the sound of his shoes echoing in the still silence of the grandiose hall.

“But hey, if you want t’ make it about Arthur, I’ll adjust.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Why?” Lando asked, voice low, his head tilting almost as if he was genuinely confused. Even his voice changed, suddenly syrupy sweet and full of mock naivety. “Because he’s young? Because he’s innocent? Because he’s the only piece of your dynasty that can still look in the mirror without seeing ghosts?”

Charles stepped forward, the rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

“This is your death wish,” he said. “And I promise you, Lando — if you leave here tonight, it’ll be in a bodybag.”

Lando smirked.

“For your sake, Leclerc? You better be right.”

As Lando brushed the excess water off the pads of his shoulders, Charles stepped up to him.  “You’re out of your depth, Norris,” Charles declared. “Whatever stunt you think this is — it ends here.”

Lando stepped inside anyway, crossing the threshold of the entrance like it meant nothing. He now stood squarely beneath the extravagant chandelier that hung from the center of the domed ceiling, looking more comfortable than Charles himself. “Then stop me.”

The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, the two guards that had been standing beside Charles now flanking the floor to ceiling windows on either side. Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t have to – the house was a fortress, and he clearly thought himself to be untouchable.

“You think showing up to a man’s home — his sanctuary — will earn you justice? You of all people should know there is no such thing as justice.” Charles sneered.

“No,” Lando corrected. “I think it’ll earn me your attention. And I’ve got it now, haven’t I?”

Charles stepped forward, the heat rising in his voice. “This is a declaration of war. The kind that doesn’t get walked back.”

“You started that the moment Margot died.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“No,” Lando said, jaw clenched, “but you gave the order.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he laughed — a short, humorless thing. “Look at you. You’ve done more damage to yourself than I ever could.”

Charles’s smile dropped. The air grew still.

“This is your last chance,” he said tightly. “Walk out of here while you still can. You may have your network, your girl, your tragic little vendettas, but here, Norris? You are outgunned, outnumbered, and out of time.”

“I think you’re mistaken.” He turned slowly, letting his words hang in the air like a noose tightening.

Charles didn’t respond, but Lando saw the flicker – barely half a second where his weight shifted. His shoulders squared — too quick, too sharp.

Defensive.

Protective.

Lando surveyed Charles’s expression carefully, taking his time until he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

“You think you are so untouchable, so protected here, in this little castle of yours,” Lando gestured to the estate surrounding them. “But I’ve been going through old footage, CCTV, armory logs, phone pings. And you know what I found?”

Lando took another bold step forward, looking far too certain of himself for someone who Charles believed was supposed to be scared shitless by now.

Perhaps he had been too kind a host, he mused.

“What?” he demanded, irritated and clearly done with Lando’s games. "What is it that you think you found?”

“A pattern. You were always too clean. But someone wasn’t.”

He took a step forward, past the guards who now stood just a touch tenser, just a touch readier.

“Little brother,” Lando said quietly. “The one who’s always three steps behind.”

Charles’s eyes sharpened.

“Arthur,” Lando continued. “He’s the one who got caught outside Brews & Books in your unmarked car, with the wrong plates. He’s the one who trailed me that day.”

But it was the next thing he said that struck fear down to Charles’s bones.

“And I think he’s here tonight.”

“You have no proof,” Charles snapped, but it was too fast, too defensive.

Lando smiled. “I don’t need proof. I just needed doubt. And you’ve got plenty of it.”

Silence hung like wire between them.

“You touch him,” Charles said, voice low and furious, “and I will bury you.”

“Oh, please,” Lando said, stepping close enough to see the hate in his eyes. “You’re the one who taught me, yeah? There are no rules.”

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Charles asked, descending the last few steps. His voice was soft, dangerous. “You don’t come into a man’s house. That’s not a rule. That’s law. Even the dirtiest of us respect that line. What you've done here isn't business. It's insult. And now you think you can threaten my brother? That’s suicide.”

Lando took a step closer. Charles faltered—not in step, but in certainty. It lasted a second. Maybe less.

“After what you did,” Lando continued. “You thought I’d stay civilized after that?”

“Civilization,” Charles murmured, “is the only thing keeping people like you breathing.”

Lando’s gaze narrowed. “Then maybe it’s time someone stopped playing civil.”

Just then, as if divinely timed, a door opened. Another figure stepped out—taller, younger, all nerves and false bravado.

Arthur.

He froze when he saw Lando.

Lando didn’t turn his head, but his eyes moved. Just enough to catch the flicker of guilt, the half-step backward, the shadow of recognition.

He knows what he did.

Arthur’s spine snapped straight. He opened his mouth — then closed it. Too slow, too unsure.

Charles turned, sharp. “Arthur—”

“Did he know?” Lando cut in. “Or maybe he was just following orders? Actually, it doesn’ matter now, does it? Because he got caught. Your downfall has arrived, Charles Leclerc. And it starts with the weak link.”

Arthur bristled, having the audacity to look offended. “I’m not—”

“You’re a pawn,” Lando sneered, turning his attention to the younger boy. “That’s why he sent you. Disposable enough to shadow me, stupid enough to get seen”

“I didn’t shoot her—” Arthur snapped, but it was too late.

“That’s enough!” Charles shouted, his face reddening as he threatened to explode with fury. He held up a hand, silencing his brother before he could dig himself into any deeper trouble, before he got himself into something Charles couldn’t get him out of.

Finally, Charles straightened, buttoning his cuff with all the performative calm of a man trying not to explode.

“Get lost, Norris,” he spat, before turning to his guards. “Kill him, don’t kill him, I don’t care.”

He glared at Lando, obsidian eyes boring into his own with the most fury Lando had ever seen.

“I want him gone.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lando smiled, fluttering his lashes mockingly. 

Did he think this was some kind of joke?

Charles sighed, before going to pull his handgun from the waist of his pajamas. It looked like he’d have to take care of this himself. He didn’t mind, though it did mean there would be a bigger mess to clean up.

Charles glared at Arthur to get back inside, away from the inevitable mess that would unfold here tonight. He looked back to Lando having already pulled out his own gun.

Lando stepped forward again. The guards tensed, unsure whether they were supposed to intervene.

Still, Charles didn’t move, torn between his anger and a morbid sort of curiosity. 

“I’m not here for games, Leclerc. I’m not here to dance around threats or sit across the table like we’re equals. I’m here because you killed Daniel. I’m here because your brother put my girl in the crosshairs. And I’m here,” he said, voice low and final, “because I want you to understand something very clearly before this ends.”

Charles went eerily still.

Lando wasn’t here to talk. He wasn’t here to bargain. He was here because he’d been pushed so far off the edge of sanity that the only way out was through.

"I'm not here to threaten you."

The words echoed in the marble-clad quiet of the Leclerc estate. A space carved from power, gleaming with untouchable wealth. The kind of place where men like Charles were meant to be invincible.

There was a pause.

Then Lando smiled—sharp, mean.

"I'm here to end you."

“You– You’re bluffing,” Charles stammered.

Lando smiled. Simple, clean, and more dangerous than any knife to the ribs. Charles’s eyes narrowed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop even further.

“You are out of your mind,” Charles muttered, but there was no real conviction in his voice. Only the hint of uncertainty that Lando’s words had planted.

“I’m not.”

“You couldn’t possibly think you could even lay a finger on me here, let alone kill me,” Charles laughed, but it was a strange, nervous sort of chuckle – nowhere near the confidence that was meant to daunt his enemy.

Lando didn’t reply. Looking bored, he simple made a slow, deliberate motion with his hand. He raised a single finger, waved out once, side to side, as if ringing an invisible bell, before pointing right at Charles.

A red dot appeared then.

Right over Charles’s heart.

The red laser sight of a sniper flickered on Charles’s chest. Then, it shifted, just barely, to the center of his forehead.

Good work, Oscar.

Charles’s breath caught in his throat as the realization hit, the color draining from his face. It was like time itself slowed, his pulse skipping a beat.

A sniper. A cold, precise killer waiting for a moment.

He’d be dead before his guards could even draw their weapons.

“D’you still think I’m bluffing?” Lando asked, as his hand slowly dropped. 

“You wouldn’t.”

Lando raised his palm, closing it into a fist before resting it by his side. The light disappeared with it.

Charles had only begun to take a breath of relief when–  

Glass shattered. 

A single shot rang out.

Then, chaos ensued.

Charles moved without thinking, instinct cutting through his initial shock. He ducked behind one of the expensive sculptures, his heart racing. The echo of glass, the sharp staccato of bullets, all of it instantly transformed the polished, pristine estate into a warzone.

His men didn’t have time to regroup. The moment he looked back to check on his men, he knew they would be of no use to him — all of them either dead or about to be, as they used their assault rifles to return fire at a target they couldn’t even see. 

Lando had played him. He’d been stalling, waiting for backup until he knew he had the advantage, and Charles had played right into his hand. Now, he was rapidly losing control of the situation, and it gnawed at him.

As Charles ran to duck behind another pillar, he watched as the statue he’d just been crouched behind shattered to pieces, a pullet piercing straight through its marble foundation. The gunfire was relentless.

How many gunmen did Lando have? He needs to call backup, needs more guards, needs—

But before Charles could complete that thought, the gunfire stopped, the final ringing silence following the last shot. As he tactfully peered out from behind the stone pillar, he watched a cold, cruel grin spread across Lando’s face.

“You’re not very good at this, are you, Charles?” Lando singsonged, unnervingly pristine amidst the active threat and destruction.

“I have reinforcements on the way,” Charles panted, fixing Lando with a threatening glare. “You may have your shooter, but I have an army, Norris. What will you do then?”

Lando didn’t answer. In the moment in between, Charles’s eyes swept the space — looking for his guards, planning out his angles. He made no sudden moves yet –  not with Lando standing there like a lit match in a room full of gasoline.

“You’ve made your point,” Charles yelled, voice controlled as he stalled for time. “But you forget — this is my house. And I don’t lose control in my house.”

“No,” Lando said, eyes glinting. “But you do lose something else.”

It happened slowly.

Charles opened his mouth to answer—only to realize he hadn’t seen Arthur in at least ten minutes. First, he glanced toward the right hall, where his youngest brother had last been standing. 

Nothing.

Then, when the gunfire stopped, a whisper came into Charles’s earpiece. “What is it?” Charles whispered, trying to confirm the words lost in the electronic garble.

The voice on the other end of his line hesitated. “We’ve… lost visuals on Arthur.”

Charles went still.

“What?”

Arthur’s guard repeated it, quieter. “Not sure when. He was on the east wing minutes ago.”

Lando’s smile widened—wolfish now. Sharp. “Oops.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” Charles bellowed, finally stepping out from where he’d sought cover. “You’re out of your depth.”

Lando tilted his head. “Then why haven’t you stopped me yet?”

The older man shouted into his earpiece. “Find Arthur.”

No response.

He frowned. “Now!”

When still he heard nothing, Lando’s smile widened like the crack of a coffin lid.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Charles stated coldly.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Lando snorted, stepping deeper into the house. He seemed right at home amidst the destruction and the opulence. “The only thing I’m not sure of yet is whether I’ll use bullets or rope.”

“You think you can walk into my house and—”

“Funny thing,” Lando said. “You still keep calling it your house.”

Charles stiffened.

“You think just because you built this kingdom that it makes you untouchable. You think men like you stay kings forever,” Lando practically sang. He took one more step forward, and for the first time, Charles took a step back.

“Yet here I am.”

“Security—”

“Won’t reach you in time.” Lando tilted his head. “They haven’t had eyes on Arthur in nearly twenty minutes, by the way. Disappointing, really.”

Charles’s face twitched, just slightly. “Don’t lie to me!”

“Oh, Charles. We’ve known each other a long time now. Wouldn’ you know if I was lying?”

The room fell silent. Too silent.

“You’ve lost eyes on your brother.”

The words landed like a gunshot. Charles stiffened, composure slipping just enough for Lando to see it—the hit had connected.

“You think you’re clever,” Charles muttered, a sad attempt at regaining his footing. “But we keep track of our own.”

“Clearly not well enough.” Lando smiled, looking quite pleased with himself.

“You see, I thought about killing you first,” Lando explained, eyeing the older brother, voice light but empty of warmth. “But then I realized... people like you don’t break when you bleed. You break when your legacy does.”

He turned slightly, his eyes on the door as if waiting for someone.

Charles suddenly surged forward, carrying the full momentum of his entire body weight — some pathetic, hail mary attempt at catching Lando off guard but Lando caught him by the collar and slammed him back against the nearest wall.

“You wouldn’t—” he choked out, face pressed up against the wall.

But Lando cut him off. “I already did.”

Charles blinked, his face flickering for the briefest of moments. There it was—the hesitation in his eyes. The flicker of fear.

Lando continued, his words deliberate, as if pulling back the layers of a secret too dangerous for anyone to know.  “Kid’s just a pawn, but he’s a pawn you forgot to protect. You left him out in the open — vulnerable — and now I’ve got him.”

Charles took a step forward, fury rising in him like a tidal wave. His voice was tight, barely contained. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” Lando asked, tilting his head slightly, like he was savoring the moment. "Do you really want to test it?"

Charles’s blood turned cold. “Where is he?”

Lando didn’t answer.

“You were looking for someone?” he taunted.

Charles didn’t have time to react. The front gate was slammed open, interrupting their intimate little affair. The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn, just in time to see Oscar entering the room, stepping out of the shadows with a calm precision that sent a fresh wave of dread down Charles’s spine.

Amidst the shattered glass and stretching shadows, Oscar appeared to be moving like an apparition in the chaos. He was Lando’s gunman, a ghost of death made real.

The Aussie had always been more quiet, choosing to observe more often than to announce his presence with witty quips. But now, he stood too quiet, too composed. It was as if he knew this was the moment to ensure the final nail in the coffin was driven home.

Oscar, Lando’s cold-blooded enforcer, stepped into the foyer. His presence was as subtle as a strike of lightning—quick, precise, and deadly. Charles couldn’t possibly understand why Oscar was here, why Lando would give up his trump card like that but making him vulnerable out here in the open. He didn’t understand, at least until he looked beside him.

Charles’s blood turned to ice.

In Oscar’s hands, he carried a figure bound and gagged, a sack over the head. The second figure was taller, the canvas bag over the head obscuring his face, his wrists bound behind his back. Charles watched him struggle against the restraints, noticed him wearing—

Charles’s stomach turned.

I know that jacket.

It was his brother’s favorite, a vintage racing bomber with a cracked red stripe on the sleeve. Worn at the collar, frayed at the edges. Custom-sized. There was no mistaking it.

Arthur.

His baby brother.

He was alive, but barely. His hands were tied, a black cloth bag thrown over his head, and he was making muffled, weak noises through the cloth. A low, desperate plea that Charles wanted to never hear. His younger brother was barely able to stand, and when Oscar shoved him forward, Charles’s breath hitched.

It was Arthur Leclerc, his own younger brother, who had been shoved into the room like a rag doll, arms bound, a bag over his head. His muffled shouts for help reverberated through the chamber like a dying heartbeat.

“No…” Charles whispered, voice barely audible.

Lando watched him, his gaze calculating, a predatory look in his gaze.

“Don’t.” Charles’s voice cracked – a warning, a plea.

Oscar’s grip was ruthless. At Lando’s nod, he shoved the boy forward. Arthur fell hard, his knees instantly hitting marble. He let out a choked, muffled noise —desperation– and flinched as cold metal pressed against the center of his forehead.

Lando’s gun.

“Lando—”

“D’you feel that?” Lando asked softly, almost kindly. “That pulse ‘n your throat? That ache ‘n your chest? That’s what it feels like when someone takes the one thing you’d kill t’ protect.”

Charles could barely hear him. He didn’t know if it was the leftover ringing from the gunshot or the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, but everything felt muted. All he could do was stare at those shoes. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from those sneakers, the white pair with the green trim — Arthur’s favorite, a limited pair Charles remembered he’d spent weeks trying to track down.

Charles struggled against where Lando had him held against the wall. “Stop—”

Lando let him go. With his gun already in hand, he slowly turned his attention back to Arthur, before pressing the cold barrel to the bowed head in front of him once again.

Oscar came to stand beside him, his face expressionless.

Would they really kill a child? Would they really make him watch as they blew his little brother’s brains out?

Charles felt vomit rise in his throat. He watched as the boy shook, trying to breathe. A muffled sound broke free—raw panic.

“Norris,” Charles called weakly. “That’s my brother.”

“Oh, is it?” Lando said, feigning surprise. “Huh. Shame.”

“You can’t—”

“I definitely can,” Lando said flatly.

He twisted the gun, just enough for the metal to dig into the front of the boy’s skull.

“You hurt me. It’s only fair I get to hurt you too. Plus, m’ bein’ quite nice, really. Look, I didn’t even do anything to you. Just your brother, but since he was the one tailin’ me, he’s fair game, yeah?”

The gun pressed harder against his skin, creating an indent from the pressure. Beneath the canvas, the younger boy whimpered.

Charles’s composure cracked just a fracture. “Please,” he said tightly. “Whatever it is you want, we– we can negotiate.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

Lando chuckled, until it turned into a deep, full-bodied laugh. Charles looked at him like he had finally, properly gone insane, but he didn’t care.

What about this is funny?

“There it is!”

He looked up at Charles, his face lit up with sort of indescribable joy. “You know, I always wondered what would finally do it. What would finally make you beg?”

As Charles knew now, it was always Arthur. 

Arthur, the weak link. Arthur, the brother who couldn’t shut his mouth and didn’t know how not to be seen. Arthur, who killed a woman because he thought it would make him a man.

The boy’s knees scraped as he tried to shift, too terrified to do much else as the marble floor pressed uncomfortably against his kneecaps.

The muffled screams from Arthur—the desperate, guttural noises of a man who knew exactly what was happening, even though his face was covered—cut through the air. Charles’s face rapidly drained of color, his body going rigid with a mixture of disbelief and panic.

Lando didn’t give him a chance to speak. He didn’t care for the pleas Charles might make, the way his voice would crack or his eyes would soften in desperation. No, this was a moment of pure control. Power. Lando’s finger rested on the cold metal, pressing just hard enough to remind Charles who was truly in charge here.

Charles’s face twisted. “If you touch him—”

"Put him down," Lando ordered.

Oscar, without hesitation, shoved Arthur to the floor, making him fold closer to the floor with a harsh thud. Arthur’s body slumped from the impact. His breaths were ragged, but it wasn’t just fear that had him shivering. It was the desperate effort of muffled screams.

“No!” Charles screamed, but he couldn’t move. His body refused to cooperate as his gaze locked onto his brother’s trembling form.

Arthur was on his knees, his head down. His voice was still distorted, struggling against the gag.

Lando’s voice was eerily calm.

“Do you recognize him, Charles?” he asked, leaning in just slightly, waving his gun around casually like it was a toy instead of a real weapon. “I thought you might. Funny how the details slip away when you’re so busy hiding your tracks.”

His head snapped to Lando, fury sparking in his eyes.

"You can’t do this. You—" Charles’s voice was tight, desperate. "If you kill him— if you kill Arthur— you’ll never get what you want. You’ll never see anything through. You’ll lose.”

Lando’s eyes hardened. He didn't blink. Instead, he simply pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Arthur's head, just hard enough to make the boy flinch.

The world held its breath.

Click.

He pressed the barrel against the side of the bag-covered head. The figure beneath flinched. The gagged cry that came from under the canvas was unmistakably raw and terrified.

That’s when Charles snapped.

“Stop. Stop. Stop!” He shouted, his voice cracking through the silence. “Norris— Norris, don’t.”

Lando looked up, gaze glinting like a knife just before it slid in.Charles’s eyes darted back to his brother, his mind racing. The sound of Arthur's muffled cries was the only thing that filled the air.

"Please, don’t," Charles breathed. "Please, Norris. He’s just a kid. He’s not a part of this. I never meant for him to be."

Lando let the silence drag on, letting Charles stew in his fear. He wanted him to feel it, to understand that the blood on his hands wasn’t just from his own choices, but from the lives he’d destroyed in the process.

Charles’s voice cracked again. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just... don’t kill him.”

Lando smirked, lifting the gun just slightly so that it was no longer pressed against Arthur’s head.

"What do you think?" Lando mused aloud. "What is your life worth, Charles? What is Arthur’s life worth?"

Charles clenched his teeth.

"You think this is a victory for you, don’t you?" he spat. He hated this, hated how Lando was treating it like this was some game, rather than a matter of life or death. He hated feeling like a puppet on strings, dancing to whatever tune Norris sang. But most of all, he hated Norris for forcing him to look in the mirror and recognize the monster in his reflection.

Lando's smile only grew colder.

"Victory? No. It’s just... retribution."

The moment stretched on, before Lando quickly grew bored of all of the talking and decided it was finally time for action.

"Alright, let’s do this,” Lando nodded to Oscar, cracking his neck and stretching his wrist.

Charles’s expression shattered—rage giving way to something rawer: terror. He immediately jumped in, intending to at least put himself between Arthur and Lando’s gun. He didn’t know if that would stop Lando, but maybe it’d confuse him or deter him or at least buy Arthur an extra second so he could try to escape.

As fate would have it, he found himself in a similar position just an instant later, the business end of Oscar’s personal handgun pointed right between his eyes.

“Easy there, mate.”

Charles directed his attention to Lando, like he was the one with the power to change this. But then he saw the way Lando’s gun was pointed at his brother, the safety clicked off.

”You wouldn’t—” he tried pathetically. He couldn’t help it. For once, Charles Leclerc was all out of cards to play.

“Let me guess,” Lando cut in, mocking. “Family is sacred?”

He tilted his head. “You should’ve thought of that before Arthur pulled the trigger.”

And then, with the same calm Charles had once used to sign death warrants, Lando raised a single finger to hover over the trigger.

“NO!”

Charles tried to lunge.  Oscar stopped him with nothing but a step forward and then Lando  whispered a single word in his ear.

“Beg.”

It came out of him like a command. Not loud. Not cruel. Just final.

Charles froze.

“You want to talk about rules?” Lando said, voice low and unforgiving. “You broke them. You started a war you didn’t finish. Now you’re gonna learn what happens when someone like me decides to finish it for you.”

Charles’s breathing turned ragged.

“Please,” he whispered.

Lando stepped closer.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Please,” Charles said again. “Please, don’t hurt him. He didn’t—he’s just a boy. He didn’t understand. He was trying to prove himself.”

“And he did,” Lando said. “Just not in the way you hoped.”

Charles dropped to his knees, hands open.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Money. Territory. Everything. Just let him go.”

Lando considered that. Then, he smiled – a thin, soulless thing.

Arthur’s muffled screams echoed louder as he struggled, the desperation in his movements adding weight to the tension. The sound of his little brother’s panicked cries was the only thing Charles could focus on. His hand, trembling now, reached forward as if trying to stop it, to make it all stop, but the words came out in a frantic whisper.

“Please.”

Lando let the silence stretch between them before he responded. “You had your chance, Charles. You had the opportunity to stop this. But you’re too fucking careless, too arrogant, and now it’s your little brother who’s gonna pay the price for your mistakes.”

Oscar stepped back, keeping a steady hand on the gun in his belt, while Lando continued, his words slow and deliberate. "I don’t care about your empire, Charles. I don’t care about your family’s legacy. But I will care about you when you beg. I’ll care about it because it’ll be the last thing I hear from you.”

Charles’s shoulders slumped, the full weight of everything crashing into him like a flood. The power—the control—was slipping away, bit by bit, and it terrified him. For the first time, he saw it. The pure, unrelenting force that was Lando Norris. And he knew, deep down, he would never escape it.

The gun was still pressed to Arthur’s head.

Lando leaned in close, just inches away, his voice barely a whisper.

“Beg. Like you mean it. Like your brother’s life depends on it.”

Charles, his throat tight, his body fighting the instinct to break, finally whispered, the words barely audible.

“Please, I’m begging you... don’t.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to Oscar, who took a step back, giving him space. For a long moment, Lando stared at Charles, his cold gaze unwavering.

“You should’ve known better,” Lando murmured. And then, as if flipping a switch, he pulled the gun back, the danger not entirely gone but a shift in how he wielded it.

Charles collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, the weight of his failure crashing down around him.

“I’ll make it quick,” Lando promised softly.

And with that, the empire Charles Leclerc built began to crumble.

His eyes widened in horror.

No. No. No. This– That wasn’t the deal. He can’t–

The word tore out of Charles like muscle from bone. “Merde— don’t!”

Lando smiled.

“Ah, finally. So you do have a heart,” he said softly.

Charles stepped forward, panic chasing the tail of his voice. “You don’t want to do this. Norris— Lando, I’m serious. This is not the way—”

“Why not?” Lando’s tone was glacial. “You used your brother like a pawn. If you don’t care who gets caught in your crossfire, why should I?”

“I care!” Charles shouted. “He’s just a kid, he—he doesn’t know what he’s doing—he’s not part of this!”

Lando clicked the safety off.

And then, quietly, “Oscar?”

Oscar nodded. “On it.”

Then, with theatrical ease, he reached up and ripped the bag off the boy’s head. Charles breathed the greatest sigh of relief, finally breathing oxygen for what felt like the first time in years, as his eyes finally landed on that familiar mop of blond hair–

Wait, blond?

Arthur doesn’t have blond hair.

Charles blinked again, only to find Logan, his blond hair tousled, his eyes wide and gleaming with mischief.

Wide-eyed. Gagged. Blonde. Same height. That jacket. Familiar green-trimmed sneakers.

Logan coughed as Oscar helped him take the gag off. “Fucking hell—your gun is cold, man.”

Oscar grunted. “You kept squirming.”

Lando stood, gun still in hand, but no longer aimed.

He looked at Charles, whose face had gone pale, every bit of power and superiority draining out of him like wine from a shattered glass. Logan stood up with a groan, rubbing his wrists as he came to stand beside his boss. He was grinning now, the gag halfway down his neck.

“Evening,” he saluted. He turned to Lando and Oscar then. “Y’know, next time, I wanna be the scary one.”

“Next time,” Lando rolled his eyes.

Charles staggered back.

His face twisted in disbelief, horror, then dawning realization.

He’d begged… for the wrong person?

Lando lowered the gun and tucked it away.

“Where’s…” he cleared his throat, hoarse from yelling and pleading. “Where is Arthur?”

Footsteps echoed behind them. Max Fewtrell strolled in from the side hallway, chewing on a toothpick like this was a neighborhood bodega.

“Arthur’s not here,” he said cheerfully, the way people might discuss the weather. “But I did find his laptop. And his phone. And his little black book. Amazing what you can find when the house is this big and the help’s this underpaid.”

Charles didn’t speak. He only stared at the objects like they would somehow speak and tell him where his brother was.

Lando crouched down, leaned in. “See, Charles,” he murmured. “I came here to prove I could’ve ended you any time I wanted.”

Lando crouched, getting eye-level with Charles now, whose anger was smoldering into something raw and painful.

“I didn’t kill—”

“No,” Lando said. “But you let it happen. And that’s worse.”

He straightened.

“From now on, every time you look over your shoulder, you’ll see me. Every mirror, every dark corner, every deal you try to make—I’ll be there, haunting you. You don’t get to sleep peacefully ever again.” 

“Then kill me,” Charles spat. “If you want revenge so badly, do it. Get it over with.”

Lando leaned in close, voice nearly a whisper.

“Oh, I don’t want to kill you, Charlie. I wanted to ruin you.”

He crouched down in front of Charles and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to wake up every day knowing that the thing you love most is alive because I let him live. Not you. Not your money. Me.”

Charles’s shoulders shook.

And with that, Lando and his boys turned their backs on a shattered prince, walking out into the night—Logan in tow, Oscar guarding the flank, Max not far behind.

They left the Leclerc estate in ruin—not in ash or blood, but in something far worse.

Fear.

The doors slammed shut one after another.

The car was silent for a few beats, the windows fogged slightly with the residue of adrenaline, cold air curling through the open vents, and the scent of gun oil still clinging to Lando’s jacket.

Lando slid into the driver’s seat without a word. Max, of course, took shotgun. Oscar and Logan were left to climb into the back, Logan still rubbing at his wrists, the red marks raw.

Lando didn’t turn the key yet. He just sat, eyes forward, letting the silence settle. His jaw was tight, knuckles still a little pale around the steering wheel.

“Well,” Logan muttered, “that was fun!”

Lando didn’t answer. He sat in the passenger seat with his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, like the sound of silence itself tasted better than air. A small, amused curl played on his lips — one that hadn’t moved since he left Charles Leclerc kneeling in his own marble entryway like a man begging the devil to go easy.

Max climbed in last, casually tossing Arthur’s confiscated belongings into the center console.

“You could’ve told me you were going full Bond villain,” he said, but there was no real bite, just a grin of shared satisfaction. “You had me searching between oil paintings and family crests like I was casing the fucking Louvre.”

Lando just laughed. “Noted.”

“His laptop was unlocked,” Max added. “No password. Classic little brother move.”

He turned then, looking back at the two sitting in the back of the car. “And where’d you two come from? I thought you were taking care of the thing in America this weekend?”

Oscar grinned. “Nah, we stuck around for this. Boss left his phone on in his pocket, so we heard everything. Leclerc didn’t even know what hit him.”

“And the jacket?” Logan asked. “How’d you know he’d recognize it?”

“He’s a big brother,” Lando said simply. “They notice stupid shit like that.”

“Hmm, Arthur’s laptop was unlocked,” Max added. “No password. Classic little brother move.”

The laughter faded gradually, like dust settling after a storm. Silence trickled back in. Outside the windows, the road stretched long and dark, the only light coming from the dashboard and the faint glow of the city in the distance.

Oscar cracked his neck in the passenger seat. Logan was still half-bound in the back, rubbing at the angry red marks on his wrists and shaking off the adrenaline.

“You really went full drama with the tape and everything, huh?” Logan muttered, voice still somewhat hoarse.

“You looked great,” Oscar said, deadpan.

“Thanks,” Logan grunted. “I was aiming for kidnapped chic.”

Oscar punched him on the arm, and the two shared a laugh.

“You didn’t have to tie me so tight though,” Logan muttered, tugging at the red marks. “My bones are not decorative.”

Oscar rolled his eyes at that. “You wanted it to be convincing, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I also want to be able to type again. What if I get arthritis from this? You know how cold it was in that room? My knuckles were—”

“Logan.”

Lando look at him through the rearview mirror. “You did great. Now stop complainin’.”

That shut him up.

But only for about thirty seconds.

Logan whistled low. “So what now? Charles isn’t going to just lie down and take this. It’s only a matter of time until he finds Arthur. And when he does—what’s stopping him from coming after us?”

For a second, the only sound was the faint purr of the engine. Then Lando’s eyes met Max’s in the rearview mirror. They exchanged a single look.

“He won’t find Arthur.”

Logan blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lando said, finally turning in his seat to glance back, “he’s already long gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Little Leclerc’s already on his way to someplace new.”

Logan blinked. “Wait– what?”

Oscar leaned forward a little. “You’re kidding. How?”

Lando let a small, dangerous smile curve at the corner of his mouth. “I texted Max the minute I walked through the front door. Told him which wing to check.”

Lando kept speaking, quiet and sharp. “Arthur had an escort waiting the moment he stepped out for ‘air.’ Thought it was a Leclerc security driver. He’ll wake up three countries away, passport stamped, head spinning.”

Logan gawked. “Where’d you send him?”

Lando reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. He held it up to show them a live location dot ticking slowly across a map.

“Saarbrücken,” he said simply.

Oscar let out a low, impressed whistle. “Germany?”

Lando gave a small, satisfied nod. 

Logan squinted at the map, brows furrowed. “Who’s in Saarbrücken?”

Lando’s smirk widened.

“Our German friend is gonna get him there,” he said. “He still owes me a favor or two. He’s Ex–Stasi, collects vintage knives.”

Oscar barked a laugh. “That guy?”

Logan was still squinted at the map, brows furrowed. “What’s in Saarbrücken?”

Lando’s smirk widened.

“Nico Hulkenberg, he’s gonna take very good care of Arthur,” Lando said, voice cool and unhurried. “Feed him, keep him safe, teach him how to properly scrub the serials off a gun, maybe.”

Logan slumped back in his seat. “Jesus.”

“Mhm.” Lando finally glanced at the rearview mirror, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “More importantly, he’s gonna get him to Vettel.”

Logan squinted. “Vettel…?”

Lando’s grin widened. “Sebastian. He’s good people. He was in the game for bit, absolute menace. But he’s retired now.”

“Oh my god,” Logan practically squealed with excitement. “You gave Arthur to the Sebastian Vettel?”

Oscar laughed. “Perfect. That man once raised three goats and an orphaned fox in his garage. He’ll make Arthur chamomile tea and emotionally rehabilitate him in two weeks flat.”

“He’s already halfway to Bavaria by now,” Max updated, checking his phone. “With no phone, no idea where he’s going, and zero chance of escape.”

“He’ll take good care of him,” Lando added, rolling the window down to let in the cold night air. “Kid’s harmless. He just needs a change of scenery and someone who knows how to make him feel useful. Sebastian’s good at that kinda stuff.”

Logan slumped back into the seat, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I hate how smart this all was.”

A look passed over Lando’s face, something surprisingly thoughtful. Max realized for the first time how close he’d been to giving up one of the few principles he had left in this world.

Lando must’ve been feeling what it’d be like to almost kill a kid.

“Arthur needed a new start,” Lando announced, clearing his throat. “And Seb’s got a whole ranch in the Alps now. So  he’ll be walking goats and reading philosophy in no time.”

Max barked a laugh. “Assuming he doesn’t drive Niko insane first.”

“He won’t.” Lando’s tone was final. “He won’t be anyone’s pawn again.”

The car fell quiet again.

It was a moment later when Logan added, whispering lowly as he leaned in closer. “You’re kinda terrifying, you know that?”

Lando didn’t answer. He only smiled.

They drove in silence after that, the weight of what they’d finally accomplished trailing behind them like smoke.

a/n: as some of you already know i was literally typing this at graduation lol but this chapter is finally done! i have to say this is one of my favorite chapters we've done so far, so pls pls lmk what you think!

[jijournal]

CHARM ME UP | D.M

Summary: You’ve made it a habit to give small charms to those who need a reminder that they’re not alone. But there’s one person you keep finding reasons to give them to—one boy who always seems to need a charm.

Pair: whimsical!reader x draco malfoy

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It starts with a button.

Draco Malfoy is sorting through his school robes one morning before his Charms exam when he finds it—buried deep inside the lining. A small, copper button glints under the pale light of the Slytherin dorm. It’s not the sort of button that’s part of his uniform. He runs his fingers over the smooth surface, then turns it over, finding neat handwriting on the back:

“A charm for clarity. You’ve got more in you than you think.”

He stares at it, his brow furrowing as he wonders if it’s some joke. A prank. Who would leave something like this in his robes? He’s about to toss it aside when he feels a strange pull to keep it. For some reason, the button doesn’t feel like an intrusion. It feels like… like it’s supposed to be there.

Without much thought, he slips it into his pocket, and the moment passes. He heads to the exam, but as he stares at the test before him, something feels different. His mind, normally clouded with thoughts of his father’s disapproval or his next move, clears. The questions seem easier to answer. By the end of the exam, he’s finished ahead of schedule. He walks out with a sense of accomplishment, something he hasn’t felt in a while.

Later, he checks his grade: top of the class.

Draco doesn’t believe in luck. Not really. But as he stands there, staring at the paper, his fingers instinctively reach for the charm still nestled in his pocket. He doesn’t question it—he simply keeps it.

A few weeks later, the charm reappears again, this time at a Quidditch match.

Draco pulls on his gloves before stepping onto the pitch, and tucked inside his left glove, he finds something small and coiled. At first, it’s nothing but a slight vibration against his fingers, but when he pulls it out, he sees a miniature broom, made of green thread and silver accents.

He examines it briefly before noticing a tiny inscription hidden on the side.

“For steadiness. And aim.”

Draco rolls his eyes at the absurdity. It’s another charm, no doubt—one of those ridiculous little trinkets that had become a nuisance around Hogwarts, but there’s something almost soothing about the weight of it in his hand. He tucks it into his pocket with a sigh, deciding it can’t hurt to keep it for good measure.

The match itself feels different than usual. His focus sharpens. He plays with a fluidity he hasn’t felt in months, his broomstick gliding through the air as if it’s an extension of himself. The team wins, of course—victory after a clean sweep—but it’s the ease with which they’ve done it that lingers in Draco’s mind.

When he later pulls the charm from his pocket, it feels like more than a silly token. It feels like something that worked.

He still doesn’t believe in luck. But he starts to think that maybe there’s more to these charms than he’s letting on. And once again, he tucks it into his tin.

Over the following weeks, Draco notices the charms popping up more frequently. Each time, it’s something different, something subtle—an object that seems so small but always holds a significance that lands right when he needs it most. A paper crane, its wings unfolding and refolding in a rhythmic pattern whenever he’s about to get a question wrong in class. A smooth stone with etched runes of protection, just when his father sends another cold letter. A tiny moon made of thread, glowing faintly in his hands, during the rare moments he’s truly alone.

It’s like magic—real, tangible magic—that only appears for him, and only when he needs it most. He doesn’t know who’s behind it. Doesn’t know how they’re doing it. But as time goes on, he doesn’t question it.

Not really.

Instead, he starts paying attention.

He notices you one afternoon in the library, bent over a stack of parchment, fingers working methodically on a charm of your own. You’re quieter than most, a bit of a mystery even among the usual crowd of Hogwarts students. But Draco’s not the only one who notices that there’s something different about you. While most people bustle about, you’re always where you need to be, your hands always working, always helping.

You’re not flashy. In fact, you’re the opposite of attention-seeking. But when he sees you slipping something into Pansy’s cloak before her Defense class, and then sees Pansy humming softly to herself like her cold walls crashed down, Draco knows. He doesn’t need anyone to confirm it.

It’s you.

And somehow, that doesn’t feel like a surprise.

One morning, Draco wakes up to find another charm tucked under his pillow, folded neatly like a forgotten note. He hadn’t expected it—not after the intensity of his father’s letter the night before—but there it is, sitting like a small spark of hope. It’s a simple charm—just a tiny star, stitched in gold thread, but it feels warm in his hand as though it’s been waiting for him.

“For brightness on dim days.”

He doesn’t know how you knew. He doesn’t need to know. But for the first time in months, he sits with it, feels its warmth against his fingers, and lets himself believe that things might just be okay. That maybe he’s still allowed to be good.

That he’s still allowed to be more than just a Malfoy.

The charm stays with him longer than any of the others. He keeps it in his pocket for a week, letting the weight of it ground him. It becomes his little secret, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s light—somewhere, somehow.

By now, Draco knows where to look. He doesn’t have to search the hallways like he did before. He simply keeps an eye on you, watches as you slip in and out of classes, a quiet observer in the background, always stitching and folding and mending things that no one else notices.

One day, he catches you in the library, sitting by the window with a small bundle of thread in your hands, your eyes focused on your work. He knows better than to approach you immediately. He’s learned to wait, to observe, and so he watches you for a while, seeing the way you pause when someone asks for help, seeing how you always offer something when others least expect it.

He clears his throat when he’s close enough, making you jump slightly in surprise. Your eyes widen, but you don’t back away.

“Who are they for?” he asks, his voice steady but filled with curiosity.

You blink, surprised at the directness of his question. For a moment, you hesitate, then answer, “Depends who needs them.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “And who decides that?”

You smile, the kind of smile that makes him wonder if he’s stumbled upon a secret. “I listen.”

Something inside him shifts at those words. It’s so simple, yet so profound. You don’t just make the charms. You feel them. You understand them.

Draco finds himself leaning against a table, unable to break his gaze. He doesn’t say anything more. But from that moment onward, he watches you even more closely, noting the way your hands move with such intention, how your eyes flicker with understanding when someone comes to you for something more than just a charm.

And, in a way, he starts to wonder if he might need something more, too.

The next Saturday is sunny and warm—a rare break from the usual dreariness of Hogwarts. Draco finds himself walking through the halls, his thoughts preoccupied with the latest charm he’d received, a small coin that had somehow found its way into his pocket before a particularly tense conversation with his father. His fingers close around it now, absentmindedly, as he walks toward the greenhouse, only to stop short when he sees you.

You’re kneeling in front of a row of plants, your hands buried in the dirt. He watches you for a moment before he speaks.

“Got a charm for me?”

You look up at him, startled. Then your lips curl into a smile, soft and hesitant.

“I thought maybe you were ready for something different.”

You reach into your bag and pull out a small note. It’s folded neatly, no charm this time, just a scrap of paper with delicate handwriting.

Draco unfolds it carefully and reads the words:

“For when you’re ready to ask me to Hogsmeade.”

He looks up at you, his heart thumping in his chest, and for once, he doesn’t hide his smile. Not from you.

He holds out his hand, offering the same quiet invitation he’s kept hidden in his heart for so long.

“You free next weekend?”

And the smile you give him in return is all the answer he needs.

“Yes.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[odoraful]

𝑰𝑰: 𝑳-𝑶-𝑽-𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀

xiao follows through with baizhu's advice and realises a lot more about his own feelings for you

⟡ part I: doctor, doctor!

⟡ content — xiao x gn!reader ; first love/confession ; perhaps a tad bit sad at the start but it gets better i swear!! ; zhongli and hu tao appearance ; xiao was oblivious in the first part, but he definitely isn't in this one hehe ; both of you are yearners for each other ; 4.3k words

⟡ a/n — finally finished!! i posted doctor, doctor in february and it's now may... omg i'm so sorry my lovelies for the wait 💔 i was a little sleepy when editing but anyway i really hope it's a good continuation :')

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the past, Xiao would have never thought being bad at talking to be a disadvantage. He was once taught that it was a slower way of resolving things compared to the pointy end of his spear. Now, he silently wished he could speak with ease. Like the honeyed tales Zhongli could weave, or the precise lectures of Cloud Retainer. Xiao’s words were always blunt and rather clunky. And it didn’t help his speech if you were in his presence too.

Speak to Y/N about how they’ve been feeling, Baizhu had recommended. He had agreed so quickly in the moment because it sounded easy. Of course he could ask you, he had spoken to you dozens of times before. This time was no different, in fact, this was right in his repertoire: making sure you were in good health. Yet, with you standing beside him by the balcony at Wangshu Inn, his tongue became all tied up. Maybe it was the way the breeze toyed with your hair, your eyes glittered, or skin glowed in the morning light. The sight of you made all his words fizzle out.  

Archons, what has come over me? he wondered.

You turned to face him. He quickly tore his gaze away.

“What did you want to talk about, Xiao?”

Your question was to be expected. He was the one who had mentioned he needed to speak to you about something (which was the exact reason the two of you were standing out here). Yet, it still left him somewhat flustered.  

He kept his gaze on the vast landscape of Liyue—a brilliant canvas of yellows and greens.  “I wanted to tell you that you needn’t hide secrets from me,” he said.

You cocked your head to the side. “Secrets?” he was met with the sound of your light chuckle. “Do you think I’m living a double life or something?”

Xiao glanced to his side at you. It was enough to see you wiggling your fingers at him as you continued to tease, “Maybe I’ve secretly been a Fatui agent this whole time.”

He shook his head. “What I mean to say is… you can speak to me about anything. I know well that emotions can be confusing, but I will always try to understand them.”

Though Xiao seldom followed along with your joking remarks, he always replied to them in his own dry manner that you enjoyed. However, this time there was a seriousness to his words that caught your attention. Emotions? Confusing? Your chest grew tight as you straightened your back.

“Xiao, I wouldn’t hide anything from you,” you answered, genuinely.

Sensing your own concern, he faced you fully. “I know, but something has been different recently.”

Shouldn’t such trust and closeness between people mean being able to talk to them about anything? Both the good and the bad? Xiao was prepared to shoulder any of that weight for you. He reached for your hand that wrapped the railing of the balcony, encasing your fingers beneath his.

“Tell me what has been troubling you, please.”

It came out as a plea. Small and anguished. You had never heard Xiao sound like this before. And it was because of you.

There was only one thing you had been keeping from him. Something (or someone) that had been on your mind for a longer time that you cared to admit.

“Nothing’s been wrong,” you still denied, ignoring the open warmth that radiated from his hand into yours. A silent invitation from him to you. 

“I won’t accept that,” he responded gruffly. “It is bad to keep your emotions… bottled up.”

Xiao echoed the metaphor Baizhu used when they met. The mortal expression had sounded unusual when he first heard it, but now he understood—corking up emotions for too long can lead to spoiling.

“When you’re with me, you appear tense. If I am the one causing your trouble—”

“No!” you exclaimed, leaning in towards him. “W-well, yes, maybe. I-it’s complicated.”

What am I doing!? you thought. His touch was too hot. You pulled your hand back, fidgeting with your fingers, not knowing what else to do in your embarrassment. If Xiao had been offended, there was no hint of it on his face, only worry as he let his empty hand fall to his side.  

“Complicated? If there is a reason why, I will listen.”

You tilted your head upwards, staring off into the endless blue above, as if calling upon the Heavenly Principles themselves to give you strength and confidence.

You exhaled a breath.

This was it. The time to confess and be done with it.

“Xiao, I like you.”

The words you spoke felt foreign on your tongue. To be fair, you never thought they would ever come to light.

Every miniscule sound became too loud in the silence between you two. Your thrumming heart in your ears. The chatter of people echoing from below. The wind rustling through the golden leaves above.

Anticipating a greater reaction, you were surprised to see Xiao’s face remained neutral. Only a slight frow in his brows.

“I like you as well...” he said, carefully though obviously confused.

“No, no,” you shook your head, sighing deeply, “for me, it’s in a different way. I like you as more than just friends.”  

At your clarification of the distinction, Xiao’s eyes widened.

He had spent enough time observing people to know of romantic affiliations. Though, he never realised it could be directed at himself. Strangely, something within him stirred hearing you. A tether. A want. However, it seemed locked away in an unfamiliar space of his heart, collecting dust. Whether he intentionally cast such desires aside himself long ago, he could not say. Reciprocate, whatever inside him seemed to call out. But his old habits stifled such new feelings, knowing the hardship of entwining yourself too closely with others. His own karmic debt tainting all those who came near.

You saw the change in his reaction—knowing that he understood what you meant now—and hurried before he could say anything else.

“I can’t pinpoint when it started, but I know I’ve liked you for a long time, and that’s the reason I’ve been so jittery lately.”

You recalled his strong grip when he caught you from falling and his words of concern in your home accompanied by his gentle touch. You decided not to divulge too much of the private thoughts you had in those moments.

For all your previous hesitations, the words now seemed to uncork and flow freely out of you. “And I know people may see you as abrasive or unfriendly, but you have shown me just how caring you are so, so many times and every time I can’t help but like you more and more.”

Xiao remained motionless, processing everything. He was locked with parted lips and wide eyes staring into your avoidant gaze. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to reply to you. He just didn’t know how. The tether in his heart begged him to speak, but his lips might as well have been glued together.

“Please don’t answer me yet,” you spluttered. “I know what you’re going to respond with…”

There was a sad finality in your tone that struck him. You knew Xiao did not like you in the same way. He had expressed before his affections towards you as only friends. All the little gestures he did, no matter how fluttering, could not be interpreted as anything else, you believed.

You looked at him properly for the first time since your confession. “I want some time to prepare myself before I hear from you. Is that okay?”

Xiao nodded, finding the strength to move his body when his mouth failed him. “I-I would like some time to think, as well,” was all he could reply, his voice ragged.

He also needed to sort through his own tangled mess of thoughts. Figure out whatever in Celestia he was feeling inside. Emotions truly were confusing.

You gave a small smile. Meant to be a sign of reassurance for him that you were not so troubled anymore, but the wobbled corners of your lips perhaps betrayed that. “Alright, we’ll speak soon.”

You turned away from the balcony’s edge. Xiao watched as your figure disappeared down the steps and out of his sight.

One question had been answered, but it had left many, many more for him to understand.

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The consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour had experienced much of life (and had an eclectic set of memories to show for it). He did not shy away from unknowns as they would eventually become facts to him through reading a scroll passed down through a family’s generations, listening to the slightly drunken tales of a wizened sailor, or any other method of storytelling that he had the honour of encountering. And because of his wealth of knowledge, Xiao decided to meet with him.

Zhongli was inside Funeral Parlour. Not at the front desk, which the Ferrylady was currently standing behind, sorting through a ledger, but to the side in a waiting area. There were shelves filled with all manner of books and oddities, and comfortable seats for clients who generally needed to seek relief. Zhongli was drawing a finger against the spines of each book, wondering whether the collection needed updating, when the door to the Parlour creaked opened.

“Xiao! It’s lovely to see you,” Zhongli welcomed, surprise filling his face.

Xiao closed the door behind him gently, his eyes landing on Zhongli by the shelves. Recognising who the adeptus was, the Ferrylady simply nodded in acknowledgement, leaving the pair to catch up.

“Had I expected you, I would have provided more fitting refreshments,” Zhongli commented. “Here. Have some tea, if you wish.”

Xiao nodded in thanks as he was poured a cup of jasmine tea. He waited for Zhongli to be seated down first before he followed.

It had never been difficult for Zhongli to read Xiao. The distracted gaze, shoulders somewhat bowed, hands clasped in his lap. It was like Xiao was just another book on the Funeral Parlour’s shelves. Zhongli raised the cup of tea to his mouth, peering at the young adeptus from the rim before taking a sip.

“You seem... troubled. Is something the matter?”

Xiao watched the steam rise lazily from his teacup. Of course, Zhongli could easily pinpoint what was happening with him. Lingering emotions from the conversation Xiao had with you three days before bubbled up. It still felt surreal to him that it all happened.

“Yes, there has been something troublesome,” he admitted. “Y/N... told me that they liked me.”

Zhongli stilled his movements. You were no stranger to him. Naturally, he knew of many residents in Liyue, and he had also assisted you with his expertise in the past for commissions with the Guild. Now, he would never go so far as to say spying, but he also wouldn’t deny that he kept a special eye on you. Your close relationship with the young adeptus was something he was pleased to see blossom. Which was why it was confusing to see Xiao so unsettled in telling him the news of your confession.

Zhongli gave a comforting smile, placing his cup back on the table. “Y/N has confessed to you? I scarcely believe that that would be troublesome, but rather exciting.”

Xiao could only give a grunt in response.

Detecting this internal conflict, Zhongli lowered his voice, “Well, how do you feel about them?”

“I-I don’t know, which is the root of my problem.” A frustrated sigh escaped the yaksha. His mind was in all manner of disarray. “How do you know if your feelings for someone are different?”

Your words echoed in his head—as more than just friends.

“By different, are you perhaps referring to love?”

Zhongli’s pointed emphasis on the final word made Xiao redden. Again, he was not unfamiliar with the idea of romance. He had seen it in the streets of Liyue Harbour, from the young, sheepish sweethearts to the old, contented couples. Xiao had believed himself unworthy of it. But now, hearing the word spoken aloud, that wanting tether within him pulled again.

At Xiao’s sudden shyness at love being brought up, Zhongli had to stifle a chuckle. Still so new to the world, he thought.

“You know I cannot speak for your feelings, Xiao, but judging from how you came to me, it does seem there is more to your affections than what you first believed,” he observed.

Xiao ruffled his hair with his gloved hand. Zhongli was right. There was something more with you. There always had been.

“At rest, I have always sensed my karmic debt,” Xiao said. “But, since meeting them, the pain has lessened. I feel peaceful.”

The endurer of eons knowing peace. It felt foolish for Xiao to say, but it was the truth. He had never known safety and warmth to be with another person until you. His past had locked away these comforts from him, but the dust collected from forgotten emotions now seemed to blow away.

“Is this truly...” the word choked up in his throat. Zhongli had said it so easily before (even with the tiniest hint of amusement), but the word had not yet found its rightful place in his vocabulary yet.

“Why must this be so difficult...” Xiao instead groaned.

Zhongli gazed fondly at the young adeptus. “It is your first time. Do not be so harsh on yourself.”

He began to muse aloud. Xiao watched on, letting the sentences Zhongli weaved take hold. “Love enters each of our lives in many ways. Someone’s presence can come swinging like a sledgehammer, unexpectedly knocking us off our feet.”

With a knowing smile, Zhongli continued, “Or... it can be more subtle, like a pebble dropped into a still pool of water, rippling the surface from the centre outward.”

Xiao looked down at his filled cup of tea. Ripples. That was exactly it. Unassuming how you entered his life, and how impactful your stay had been. Finally, he took a sip of his tea, finding it less bitter than he would usually taste.

“Thank you for your guidance, as always.”

Zhongli laughed, “You needn’t be so formal, Xiao. I’m pleased you sought me out. Though, I do hope you come visit me again with some good news.”

Xiao nodded, albeit bashfully.

The old companions continued with the conversation. Largely, Zhongli tried to get Xiao to speak more about you. He knew full well that chance to be young and hopeless in love had been robbed from Xiao for centuries. So, with each short response Xiao gave about you between stutters, the redness never leaving his face, Zhongli was left more than satisfied.

After a short while, Xiao said goodbye, going back out to fulfil his duties with a newfound lightness. As he closed the door behind him, a shrill voice exclaimed from the stairs leading to the second floor of the Funeral Parlor.

“Was that the Conqueror of Demons?!”

Hu Tao had her hands on her hips, looking expectantly at her consultant.

“It was. You’ve just missed him, unfortunately,” Zhongli replied, leaning back in his chair.

The funeral director hurried down the steps, standing directly in front of his seat. “Oh, come on, you could have totally interrupted my meeting to have me say a quick hello!”

Zhongli gave a disagreeing hum. “We both know that you don’t enjoy funeral business being interrupted.”

Hu Tao puckered her lips and blew air out, creating a trill sound. Of course, Mr Zhongli was correct in saying that, but she was just making a joke! She slipped in the chair Xiao was just in, crossing her legs.

“So, why did Xiao swing by anyway?” she then gasped, “Is there new clientele?”

Zhongli shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had always left the invitation open for Xiao to visit your home if he wished for a change of scenery. Though Wangshu Inn was gorgeous (and you would do anything to wake up to a view like that every day) there was still some charm to the quaint housing on the outskirts of the Harbour that you knew he would enjoy. All you asked for is that he did not teleport directly into your house unless you were in some peril, which he would know when his named was called. For every other time, however, he would have to knock before he could come in.

There was no peril here, but you did need to see him. Desperately. It had been three days, and your insides had stopped roiling since confessing. You were only left with preparedness now at hearing his answer. No matter how hard you tried to suppress it, there was a small part of you that hoped. Hoped Xiao might have a sudden change in his affections and realise he saw you as more than his friend.

You closed your eyes and steadied yourself.

You opened your mouth, beginning to say his name—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sudden noise pulled your focus away.

You weren’t expecting anyone at this time. Perhaps it was your elderly neighbour passing over some food she made, or a salesman looking to find customers for his wares. Frowning in the direction of your front door, you walked over and opened it ajar, just enough so you could see who was standing there.

You hadn’t even said his name, yet he knew he needed to come.

Familiar dark-greenish hair framing the amber eyes of a once harsh gaze, now softened since the day he met you. His chest puffed up and down, as if he had just run from somewhere. He looked at you like your parting had been years and not just a handful of days.

Your hand slipped from the handle, letting the door swing open fully.

“Xiao?” his name fell from your lips.

This was a very rare occasion where Xiao hadn’t thought things out fully before executing a plan. All he knew was that he needed to see you as soon as his meeting with Zhongli concluded.

“Hello,” he swallowed, composing himself. “I would have come sooner, but you instructed that I do not use my powers—”

“I know, unless I’m in grave danger,” you finished. “Thank you for knocking.”  

His politeness despite everything brought a small laugh from you as you spoke. It was a moment of your liveliness that Xiao took to like a moth to a flame, fluttering with desire.

You stood aside, allowing him to enter. The last time he was here he was convinced that you were ill and, quite innocently, wanted to nurse you to good health. Now, he knew the true reason for those symptoms and had come to an understanding of his own.

His boots tapped against the wooden floorboards of your home, and he came to a stop in front of you. Neither of you wanted to sit down, too filled with mirrored jumble of anxiety and hope.

“I have my answer,” he said.

He had never known his nerves to be this weak until now. His palms were sweaty beneath the fabric of his gloves, and his breath constricted. He can’t have imagined the amount of courage it took for you to have done the same thing.  

“Alright,” you folded your arms across your chest to bury your sinking heart. Even in matters like this, Xiao still got straight to the point. “I’m ready to hear it.”

Xiao flexed his hands at his side, trying to ground himself.

Although he could never paint flowery words with his speech, there was one thing he could always rely on—his bluntness.

“I-I love you.”

...

Oh.

This certainly had to be a dream.

A dream where the man you like just said that he loves you.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice raw and gravelly.

Did he say it in a strange way? Xiao silently cursed himself looking at how motionless you were, hands falling to your side. He knew he should have practiced it aloud beforehand.

“Was that... wrong of me to say?”

Your head spun. Delirious laughter almost spilled from you.

What he had just said was the furthest from wrong. Any small hope that remained in you unfurled and bloomed brilliantly.

"This... isn’t a dream, right?” you whispered.

Xiao moved closer.

“No, it isn’t.”

This had to be real, otherwise, why did his hand feel so warm as it brushed against yours? His fingers gently took your hand. It was the only proof he could offer that this wasn’t a dream. That he was here, and his words were true.

“You love me? Really?” you had to confirm again.

“I do.” He did not waver in his answer, “I do love you. I should have realised it sooner.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The urge to cry became more tempting each time Xiao repeated that he was in love with you.

“I-I was sure you weren’t going to feel the same way,” you sniffed.

His chest seized up hearing your voice shake.

He recalled a fleeting memory. Resting beneath a shaded tree, dappled light cast across his face as conversation drifted through the air. The commotion from four others whose voices he could never forget for as long as he lived. They were speaking about falling in love once the war was over, how it would feel like when love found them. Peace in these lands must be achieved first, one had said. To which one commented what a buzzkill that was, which was followed by laughter from the others. Perhaps Xiao should have listened more closely to learn something then, rather than closing his eyes, letting the sound lull him.

“I... have little experience or knowledge of these things. These distinctions are quite new to me.” Xiao held your hand tighter. His pale cheeks dusted with pink. “Speaking with someone else helped me understand what my feelings for you meant.”

He was so close once again. Yet, you didn’t freeze up like before, afraid of revealing your hidden affections. Instead, you melted into his touch, adjusting your grip to feel more of him. There was nothing to hide between the two of you anymore.

“I’m sorry for making you uneasy for so long,” he quietly added.

“You don’t have to apologise, I’m not angry at all.”

Relief washed over him. There was even a smile on your face. Bright and warm and enveloping him like the morning sun. Playfully, you swung his arms back and forth.

“In fact, I’m really, really happy right now,” a chuckle accompanied your words.

Xiao’s lips curved into a smile too seeing you in higher spirits. “I am glad. To be honest, I feel much... lighter.”

Weightless, even. The taut desire he felt three days ago when you confessed had eased. He had gotten the courage to tug and pull on that tether until he was standing here with you in his arms.

“I think I have loved you for a long time but never believed myself to be worthy of it. You are too good natured and kind, and if something happened to you because of me,” he closed his eyes, unable to even stand the very idea, ���I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

You had never once thought Xiao could hurt you. Even in the beginning when you met, though he was coarse as gravel, he always remained attentive. There was much of his past that left painful memories and only fed him sorrow and doubt. Despite it all, however, he still had a soft heart.

You reached out a hand, grazing your fingertips against his cheek.

“Xiao…”

His eyes fluttered open hearing his name being called so sweetly under your hushed breath.

“Can I hug you?” you asked. “Usually this is the part where people would hug each other.”

He nodded, burning to hold you as well. You encircled your arms around his chest, entwining your fingers behind his back. He wrapped his own hands at your waist and pulled you in, your body flush with his, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Your breath tickled Xiao’s ear as you tucked your chin by his shoulder. Both of your heartbeats drummed with ineffable tenderness. It almost dazed him how much content swelled inside. He knew now why so many couples liked to hug.

Xiao was the first to lean back to look at you again. You were struck by this intensity of his eyes, seemingly lost with desire. Before you could think of anything else, your chin was tilted upwards.

Then, his lips were on yours.

You didn’t think Xiao could surprise you twice in such a short time.

The kiss was soft, like a falling petal brushing against skin. How much time had passed? Seconds, minutes, hours? You couldn’t tell. All you could focus on was the warmth from his lips and the shiver that it caused up your spine. This time, you were the first to pull away. Your cheeks were hotter than probably any of the springs in Natlan.

“How did you—” you stuttered.

Xiao cleared his throat. The spell he was just under seeming to disappear as he blinked away from your gaze, his blush intensifying. “I’ve seen many couples in the city do it. I-It just felt right to do.”

Shyly, he added, “Was that alright?”

He had a habit of second guessing himself when it came to his affections. Luckily, you were someone who was more than happy to give reassurance.

“It was more than okay,” you beamed. “It was perfect.”

You both stayed like this a moment longer, your hands around his back and his on your waist. Xiao spoke of meeting with Baizhu and Zhongli, which displayed a commitment to you that was far too endearing for your heart to handle.

There would be good news indeed when the time came to tell your companions what happened.

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⟡ taglist (hello lovelies!! thank you again for your patience 🥹🫶 i've never tagged people before so i hope this works) — @sizzles-z-4002 @redninjakitty14rp @butterescapism @fuyustuffs @unstablemiss @evilenbypotato

[comatosebunny09]

CEO Sylus, trying to court the cybersecurity specialist working for a company with which his investment firm is collaborating.

You're either blissfully unaware of his interest or intentionally staving off his advances. Either possibility makes him more tenacious with his pursuit, to the point where he has his men tail you on your daily ventures throughout the city to ensure you're safe, and he goes out of his way to "conveniently" run into you outside of work.

He corners you at a Target. Blatantly states with all his chest and with all the conviction of the world, "I want to pursue you."

Suspicious, and with a sigh and slumping shoulders, you blurt out, "I have a kid."

Sylus scoffs, inwardly rolling his eyes. That's all? A deterrent. Is that supposed to scare him? "So? I have two myself."

The tension drains from your face. You loosen your grip around the handle of your cart. "Really?" You laugh that sweet sound, coyly sweeping some hair behind your ear. "How old are they if you don't mind me asking?"

A cold spike of fear shoots through him. Shit. He didn't think you'd be interested in that. "One moment," he says, snatching his phone from his pocket.

A comically large bead of sweat forms on your temple. You scan the barren aisle for an escape route while Sylus holds the speaker to his ear. You're visibly uncomfortable, thinking this man has lost his marbles, or maybe he's a human trafficker.

"How old are you two?" he coolly asks the twins when they answer his call in unison. He nods upon their answer, their ages seemingly news to him.

Sylus slides his cell back into his pocket. Returns his gaze to you. He blanches at the discomfort haunting your features. You look like you might make a run for it. He knows how insane he has to sound. He would run, too, if this hulking weirdo came up to him, baring his soul.

It's time for damage control.

With a disarming chuckle in his throat, he says as casually as ever, "They're adopted. Recently adopted. Sorry. Sometimes, I get so swept up in work, I forget important things like that."

Your expression eases up. You trade your uncertainty for a smile, your laugh relieved. "It's all good. Sometimes, I forget my own birthday. That's what happens when you get old, I guess."

He finds your mirth infectious. Your energy.

He couldn't get along without it, not after how kindly you treated him when he snuck into your class to check on his subordinates. You treated him like any old employee, and though he was sure it was because you didn't know he owned those clients you instructed, he still appreciated how patient and candid you were.

The air between you grows uncomfortable. He gestures for you to continue shopping, a charming cant to his lips. You signal for him to follow you with a head tilt and a playful grin.

Tamping down his giddiness, Sylus shoves his hands in his pockets, quietly strolling beside you while you shop. You fill the space with idle chatter, occasionally turning to him for his opinion on different brands of toilet paper and disinfectants.

He inwardly preens. Although the conversation is mundane, it means you're trying. Giving him a little room to wiggle into your daily life. It's a start. He's determined to make you his, kid and all.

[moriitis]

HIII, how are you?? I hope you're having a great day/night!

I just wanted to tell you that I REALLY loved the HCs about Toby being a father (and the one where the child died left a severe trauma in me..)

So I was thinking—could you please write one where him and his child (maybe a girl?) have a day out together? Like going for a walk in the woods or.. maybe going to the mcdonald's or something like that? Or just doing something fun together! I would really love to read that! C:

you're one of my favorite writers, and I really enjoy your work! :3

(also, I’m really nervous bc I’ve never requested anything before, so please don’t make fun of me or smth😭🙏) srry if bad english :b

Oh my god, bet.

But quickly, admire;

HCs under cut!

"Hey, w-wh-what toy did you get?" Toby utters, leaning over the table to peer over toward the box in the kid's hands. The young girl admired the box closely, with a steady precision before shrugging softly. "I don't know," she whined softly, narrowing a glance at her dad that had stolen a fry from her side of the table. "They're all different inside." Holding out a hand, Toby lifted an index finger. "Let me look." Quickly, the young girl pulled the box close to her chest - protecting it with a furrowed brow. Confusion etched across his features as he studied her and her prized toy intently. "What?" he asked with a shrug in his shoulder, taking a moment to take a cautious gaze around the McDonalds. It was quiet, which was no surprise, it was a moody, midday Monday. There weren't many people inside; which is how he liked it. Last thing he needed was more attention, especially when he technically snuck his kid out to grab something to eat. "You're going to open it," the kid whined, earning an honest chuckle from Toby. Shit, he hadn't thought of that but now she gave him an idea. Immediately, he threw his hands up in surrender and shook his head softly, a big dumb grin across his features. "Whoaaa, damn, I-I- I won't," he chuckled in-between a stutter, the child eyeing him suspiciously for a moment before sliding the box toward his direction. Catching it with ease, Toby assessed the box. It was probably another crappy, cheap toy; at least it wasn't a book or something. The promotion was from this upcoming kids film he'd never heard from but it had some cats and dogs in it; something the kid loved. "Looks boring," he mumbled, sliding the box back toward the little girl that sat opposite him. "You know, when I was a k-kid, t-these toys were wayyy b-b-better." There was a smug grin across his face, like back in his day he was even allowed to eat at McDonalds - his family were too broke even for this greasy shit.

"So, was that like.. forty years ago?" the child asked, fingernails toying with the edge of the box as she peeled it open. Toby could feel a dagger in his heart, shit, did he look that old?

"I'm nn-not that old-" he protested, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand as he observed - finding himself way too eager to figure out what kind of toy she got.

With a soft shuffle, the kid pulled out the toy and out fell out a little plastic toy of a ginger cat. Sure, it was a kids toy, but was that it? It opened its mouth and.. that was it? Toby's lips narrowed, trying to surprise some laughter at just the thought alone.

"Awh! A kitty!" the little girl exclaimed with excitement, holding it up in front of his face and waving it about proudly. Toby's eyes fluttered, trying to focus on the toy before leaning back a little to take one more look around the restaurant.

"Hey, you g-gonna eat that?" he asked, pointing at a lone nugget that sat on the table. The girl, who was too preoccupied with the cat at this point, simply shrugged; which gave Toby a clear signal that he'd just eat it for himself. He'd only just managed to scrape by enough for a kids meal, so he'll eat whatever was left behind.

A silence fell between him and the kid as he run his tongue over his bottom teeth, remaining on high alert. The last thing he wanted was to get caught.

"Daddy, look, look, you're not looking!" Toby blinked and glanced toward his daughter, narrowing his brows for a moment. The kid pottered the toy cat along the table, meowing loudly and suddenly attacking Toby's other hand he had flat on the table.

"This cat's l-l-loud-" Toby mumbled, watching with a little smile across his face. A part of him still couldn't believe this was his kid? He could see Lyra in her eyes. Lyra would've loved her; he hoped anyway.

"Well, yeah, they are loud, look - listen, I can do a really loud meow-"

Before she even got a chance to suck in a deep breath, Toby clamped a hand over her mouth quickly.

"No, no, no, no, I believe you!" he exclaimed in a hushed whisper, cautiously removing his hand away from her mouth. "Plus, my m-mmeow would be l-louder." He shrugged with a challenging smirk.

"Daddy's are not allowed to meow," his daughter chuckled, leaning back on the leather chair with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Toby took it as a challenge, the whole 'responsible parent' being thrown out the window at the thought of out-meowing his daughter in a restaurant.

"What?! Who the h-hell made that rule up? Dad's are t-totally allowed to meow."

The little girl continued to giggle, shaking her head with a little, "nuh-uh" following.

Toby took a look around, cleared his throat and quickly sucked in a breath before releasing a loud 'meow' that practically stopped everyone in their tracks; looking over toward him with concern. The kid was a giggling mess, Toby watching with a hint of satisfaction across his features.

"See?" he asked, pinching another fry from her happy meal box. They were pretty cold, but he'd take it. It took a moment for the little girl to recover from her laughing fit, shaking her head softly.

"Not loud enough." Toby raised a brow, shaking his head softly with a little chuckle to himself.

Maybe becoming a dad made everything worth it.

[hp-debates-ramblings]

You are... Making assumptions about my life for thinking teenagers fighting on the right side is braver and more courageous than an adult who decides that maybe an innocent baby should be saved bc that's what the woman he's in fatuated with would want and then spends the next 14 or so years bullying anyone who wasn't in Slytherin?

Also, yeah, going into protests is brave. I don't know why your making it seem like it's not. It is. Maybe it could be classified as stupid (dunno what protest ur marching and whatnot) or something but ur still brave for doing that.

But uhh you shouldn't make assumptions about some one bc they think something about a character.

That's like saying if you make a fic about kidnapping, ur a kidnapper. Or if ur mc cheats on someone it's cause u do it too etc etc

Real stupid, inaccurate and puts your whole argument down the drain. Not that I really get what the point of ur argument is.

You first said Snape was braver than some kid who knocked Lily up. And for one, that was not why I called him brave. For another, in HP ur an adult after 17 so they weren't even underage.

Nd I hate James so I told you other people who were plenty braver than Snape imho.

And so you... Decided I was some sort of screwed anti poor people stuck up kid?

And as I said, James' bare minimum was not what he did. Which should matter much bc Snape was doing more than just not the bare minimum. But didn't you say that points to morality?

James' bare minimum was being neutral and quiet. He was not in any danger. He could have just stayed home and had his fun or played quidditch or whatever. Him coming out against the DE was his courage. Was his good morality and the very opposite of stuck up rich guy with everything handed to him. He did more than he had to. Completely more than he had to. Infinitely more than he had to.

Which people forget bc he was a good guy doing good stuff.

Harry fighting Voldemort is a bare minimum bc what else could he really do? Ron doing so isn't the bare minimum bc he and the rest of the Weasley's could have not participated.

And James could have done that to. He wasn't in danger until he actively stood against the death eaters. Actually he was safe until he refused to become a death eater. But he was a pure blood. A rich one. His home would have been protected by all sorts of spells. He'd just have to stay in there. He could have stuck a bet with Voldemort. In fact he could have been Mate I don't want to be in the middle of this and just left. It would have worked. He would have been fine.

Minus not becoming death eaters when Voldy told them to (bc he didn't tell them to), the Weasley's were neutral/inactive. Yeah Molly's brothers fought. But she and her husband didn't. And the family (those who didn't fight) were safe.

Not saying everyone who didn't fight were safe in either of the wars but James could have absolutely not fought and stayed perfectly well.

But he chose to fight. When he had a choice, itnwasn the bare minimum. It was the flinging high max and he did it

What even does the maximum even feel like to you? There was little anyone was doing other than:

Neutral/inactive

With Voldy

Against Voldy

This was the three options. And James chose the most deadly one. He had all three available. Hed have been fine j going back in Voldy after the war. He was rich like the Malfoys.

He chose to give up his peace and comfort and ease and fight. Not one bit bare minimum. And not one bit less than what Lily or Sirius or Remus or Snape had to offer to anyone. Not any less than what Harry or Ginny or Luna had to offer. He didn't chose the easy part.

He chose the most dangerous thing. He did more than the others bc his bare minimum was being inactive. His options were just sleeping while people died. Or killing them. Or doing less active resisting (knot that there were any) he could have made a fortune from the things he could make or take over his dad's business or make a name for himself as a Quidditch played or through transfiguration or just sit and live in the massive wealth he had.

He fought. He did not have to. It was not bare minimum. He was way braver than Snape bc he had options. Snape did too. He chose wrong. But not fighting in a war as a 18 or 19 year old wouldn't have made him wrong or a coward. But he chose to fight. To actively go against the guy who couldn't really hurt him much if he just went Nope lol I've got better things to do than get hurt and nearly die everyday.

I think Severus was one of the bravest characters in the series

🐣

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Secret Secret - Chapter 8

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

Masterlist |

The 2-and-a-half-hour flight from Incheon to Narita was single handedly the most terrifying 2 and a half hours of your life. Sat in between a random girl in her early 20’s and one of the stylists, you clutched the elbow rests for dear life as the plane shook from turbulence.

The girl side-eyed you. “If you're going to puke, don't do it on me”

You didn't even have the energy to correct her on her assumption. You were sure anybody who glanced at your pale and pinched face would assume you were just a nervous flyer but guessing that your nerve wrecked frame was thinking about the metaphorical bomb currently resting down below in the cargo area was the furthest thing from anybody’s minds. Except, maybe, Chan.

Chan, who had tried to reassure you in the half hour before he boarded (you didn’t board until later, with most of the other staff), and who you hadn’t talked to since the flight took off.  Chan, who you knew from the few weeks you had been working with him would surely take responsibility for anything wrong that happened. Who held way too much weight on his shoulders. You almost felt guilty for needing his help, but at the same time relieved that at least you weren’t going to go through this alone.

The moment the seatbelt sign was off, you were determined to get some space. You licked your lips and forced a smile onto your face, turning to the stylist next to you. “Sorry, excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.”

She gave you an odd look but made no move to get out of her seat, instead leaning back in her seat and giving you an expectant look. You shuffled past her and practically ran to the bathrooms in front of you, almost entering the empty room when the curtains leading to the first-class section shifted to the side, and you blinked up at Felix.

“Oh, good. I was just going to go looking for you,” He whispered behind his mask, glancing behind you and then shuffling to the side. “Come here.”

The two of you moved to the smaller area where drinks and snacks were held, the area empty and out of view of the rest of the cabin. After confirming there wasn’t anyone watching, he dropped his mask and swiped his hoodie back, running his fingers through his hair.

“Please tell me Chan has a plan,” You practically begged, fingers gripping his arm a little tighter than you normally would.

“He has a plan,” Felix said slowly, looking like he didn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

You stared at him expectantly, but when he didn’t elaborate, you frowned. “Why do I have a feeling he doesn’t actually have a plan?”

“No, he does!” Felix insisted. “It’s just … probably not one you’d like.”

“What do you mean?”

He gave you a sheepish smile.

-0-0-

You were going to murder Chan.

To be fair, you weren’t coming up with any great ideas to deal with the problem you had caused to begin with, but when he told you he had a plan, you weren’t expecting to be directly involved. You paced in front of the elevator of the hotel you had been set up in, two floors below where the boys were settled in, waiting for the confirmation text from Felix.

It was a simple plan, which should have eased your worries.

Felix was roomed with Hyunjin. Hyunjin had a sensitive nose and liked to shower after getting off the plane. So, while he was in the shower, Felix would get the suppressant for you and hand it off before he finished.

Simple.

But your mind couldn’t help but go over the million ways that everything could go to shit over and over again as you anxiously waited, wearing a hole in the fancy carpet that probably cost more than a year of your paycheck.

For starters, if Hyunjin opened his suitcase to get a change of clothes before getting in the shower, the towel wrapped bottles would be right on top, ruining the entire plan. Felix assured you that Hyunjin usually grabbed his clothes after his shower (which provided an image you desperately tried not to think about), but usually was not enough of a reassurance for you.

Then there was the worry you would be caught on their floor.

As an employee it wouldn’t be totally out of the norm to be up there, but as only a translator it would be odd for you to be interacting with the members outside of work reasons, and you desperately wanted to avoid rumors or any attention to yourself at the moment. And if somebody caught you with the suppressants in your hands, it would also make this entire plan pointless.

Not to mention the time constraints.

You didn't have to worry too much about your company assigned roommate, since she was a makeup artist you didn't know too well, and she had excused herself to another colleague's room after throwing her bag onto one of the beds. On the other hand, the boys had an interview in 2 hours and would only be given an hour at the most to unwind, get changed, and then they would be leaving. You had to rely heavily on Chan to make sure the other members wouldn’t be roaming the halls or in the elevator when you had to go up.

And as if your thoughts had summoned it, your phone buzzed in your hands.

You froze, taking a moment to just stare down at your phone with wide eyes, and then you pressed the elevator button.

It took exactly 43 seconds for the doors to the fifth floor to open up, and you shuffled quickly down the hall to room 502, which unfortunately was at the very end of the hall. The very door you were heading towards opened a few seconds before you reached it.

Felix peeked his head out, face breaking out into a blinding smile when he saw you. “Hey!”

“Shhh!” You hissed, getting closer. “You got it?”

He pulled his hands out from behind the door, and you nearly cried at the sight of the toweled bundle. Everything had gone to plan so far.

“Here. You should get back soon, Hyunjin won't be long.”

You accepted the bundle, cradling it close to your chest like it was a baby. “Thank you.”

“Felix?”

The two of you shared a wide-eyed look as Hyunjin called out from the room. He waved you off before closing the door behind him, and you shuffled back towards the elevator while looking down at the towel to make sure both bottles were still in there.

As you were two doors from the elevator, the last door to the right suddenly opened, and Minho paused as you passed him.

It was only pure adrenaline that kept your feet moving when your entire body wanted to freeze. You cursed whatever god was listening.

Of all times.

A minute later and you would have been in the clear.

You pressed the button for the elevator and held your breath, waiting for him to say something. But he didn't, and you quickly got onto the elevator and pressed the button for your floor without looking up, too scared at what you might see. It was only as the doors began to close that you risked a glance, only to find Minho already walking away, his back the last thing you saw as the door shut.

You bit your lip hard enough it started to bleed.

Well, that went well.

-0-0-

For the entirety of the day, and then the following, you found yourself wondering if Minho would confront you.

Both Chan and Felix (who you had frantically sent a message to the moment you returned to your own room) assured you that Minho wasn't the curious type and wouldn't tell anyone, but you found yourself still staring at him every time you were in the same room.

Thankfully, the actual work at hand left you busy enough that your worries didn’t have time to fester into anxiety. Translating during interviews would be easier when in English speaking countries, but Japanese was a language that the boys were only familiar with from an idol’s perspective, so complicated questions had to be simplified, and slang had to be translated.

You were still impressed at how much Minho seemed to understand, and Chan did his best to answer what he could in Japanese, but more often than not, it was quicker if you translated for the interviewer. All in all, it was one of the last interviews of the week, two days before their first concert, and you were ready to wrap everything up.

And then the last question was asked.

At first, you had simply thought you misheard it and asked the interviewer to repeat the question, mentally going through the approved list of questions that had been confirmed weeks ago. As far as you were concerned, the questions should have been over. And then the question was repeated, and your mind seemed to catch up to the actual words being spoken by the middle-aged Japanese man as if he was asking about the weather.

You weren’t sure if his nonchalance made the question worse or not.

There was a moment of silence. You glared at the interviewer, he smiled pleasantly at the group, and the group were starting to realize something was up as they all looked expectantly over at you.

You refused to return their gazes, keeping your mouth shut.

After what felt like a minute, but was only a few seconds, the interviewer finally realized something was up. He turned to look at you as well, but at your continued silence, he then turned back to the group with an awkward laugh and had the audacity to start trying to ask the question in English!

It was butchered, the verb he was starting to use was the wrong one, but you didn’t even want the members to get even an idea of the horrible question he had thought was at all appropriate to ask.

You cut him off. “Thank you so much for this interview. Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have today.”

Even speaking in Japanese, you’re sure your voice gave away your anger, and a few of the members (even a staff member in the corner) all gave you wide eyed looks as you stood up, ushering the interviewer away.

You were thankful that the team’s security members, despite not speaking a lick of Japanese, were quick to pick up on the change in vibes, helping you get the interviewer out of the room. You spared only a short glance back at the group- at the confused and worried look that Chan had- before you spun on your heels and followed them all out.

The moment the doors were closed, the interviewer was rounding on you, pushing against securities hold on him. “What was that? I didn’t even get to thank them-“

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for that incredibly inappropriate question you just asked!” You yelled at him.

“Please, as if it’s a crime to ask a question,” he scoffed.

“It’s harassment, is what it is.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable question in Japan-“

“I don’t care!” You shouted, and the security member closest to you gave you a look. You ignored her. “It should never, never, be appropriate to ask a pack about their mating cycles! The fact that you think it is, is disgusting! You should be ashamed of yourself. There is a reason we have a list of approved questions, and it’s so our idols do not get embarrassed or feel attacked by an interviewer.”

The interviewer shifted uncomfortably as he realized that the people in the hall were now all staring at the scene. “It’s a legitimate medical question. If they’re going to be on tour for such a long time, it’s bound to cause delays, a-and their fans are entitled to know!“ he stuttered out.

“Get him out of my sight,” You told the security guards in Korean, and without listening to the protest’s the interviewer tried to give, you walked back into the room you had just left.

You nearly hit Jisung in the face with he door, and he began to sputter as he realized he had been caught listening in. The other boys, all way too close to the door to not have been eavesdropping as well, at least had the decency to pretend they weren’t. You ignored them, making your way over to the manager.

You could feel a headache growing in your temples.

“I need you to blacklist that interviewer, maybe get in touch with the company he works with. He should never be allowed to interview any of our idols again,” You whispered softly to Soojin, and he gave you a worried look.

“Do I want to know what he asked?”

“No, you don’t.”

-0-0-

The first day's concert went by without a hitch. You translated anything the boys struggled to say in Japanese, but they had been practicing their lines, and any improvised sentences were simple enough that even the members less familiar with the language could react in their own way. There was one embarrassing moment where you had been too busy laughing at something Felix had said that it wasn't until the crowd's yells of confusion clued you in to the fact that he had spoken in Korean, not Japanese. You quickly translated his words over the exclamations of the other members.

It was only after the concert, in the hotel bar late at night, that you finally managed to talk with Chan since the flight. It wasn’t planned, but the moment you spotted the alpha sitting by himself at the end of the bar you found yourself heading in his direction, only taking a moment to make sure that nobody was looking in your direction.

There were only three other individuals in the bar, one of them the bartender. It made sense.

It was nearly 2 in the morning.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You wondered, making yourself comfortable in the seat next to Chan.

He startled, eyebrows shooting up as he spotted you. He said your name softly, like he wasn’t really sure you were there, and then he smiled. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Chan nodded. “Me either.”

In reality, you had woken up from a nightmare. You couldn’t remember anything that had happened in your dream, only that it had left you with a feeling of dread. The hotel bar wasn’t your original destination, but the restaurant had been closed, and you were suddenly glad you had decided to get a drink instead of laying in your bed for the rest of the night. Chan’s presence was surprisingly calming.

The bartender made his way over, giving you a tired smile. “What can I get you?”

You ordered your favorite drink, and it wasn’t until it was brought over, and you had taken a sip, that Chan finally spoke.

“Thank you,” He whispered.

“Hmm?”

Chan let out a sigh, straightening up and turning to you. “Thank you. For defending my pack against the interviewer yesterday.”

You stared at him with a blank stare for a few seconds, mind racing as you tried to figure out what gave it away. “Who told you?”

“One of the security guards speaks Japanese. We’re close.”

“Ah.” You were suddenly a lot thirstier, sipping at the rest of your drink to keep from having to speak until you realized that he had thanked you. “Right. You’re welcome.”

There’s a moment of awkward energy, where you’re suddenly not sure if you should leave or not, but then he lets out another sigh. He stands up slowly, placing a hand to the back of your chair as he passes behind you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.

It wouldn’t be until you were finished with your own drink and ready to leave a few minutes later that you learned he had paid for your drink.

-0-0-

The second day was setting up to be fairly similar to the first. You were starting to get into a pre-show routine, which allowed you a moment of calm to listen to music and hang out in the staff resting area while the others were running around getting everything set up. You would only be needed right before the concert started, having already gone through sound check and made sure your microphone was working fine.

According to your phone, you still had around 40 minutes until you needed to head towards the backstage area you would be translating from.

You closed your eyes again and planned on getting in a quick nap.

Your earphone did a good job of blocking out noises, but you could still hear the door opening every once in a while, and people chattering, though you couldn’t make out the words. You were hidden somewhat in the back of the room, laying on a couch that was facing another couch with a table in between.

In between songs, you could hear footsteps approaching.

You had planned to ignore it, thinking it was just another staff member looking for some peace and quiet, but the footsteps weren’t heading towards the couches in the back. You paused your song and lifted your head, only to be met with an empty room.

Confused, you looked around.

The door was still closed, but you could have sworn the footsteps hadn’t left. It wasn’t until you sat up, the leather of the couch making a squeaking sound as your weight shifted, that you noticed the figure huddled in the corner.

Jisung stared at you with wide eyes, like he was also surprised to see you there. Considering your clothes blended in to the couch, he very well might have been.

“Oh, sorry-“ You paused, noticing his pale face, the way his shoulders were moving too quickly, and the fear that was starting to burn your nose.

Oh.

“Jisung, are you okay?” You asked him, even though you knew the answer.

He bit his lip, face falling before he hid it in between his arms, legs curling up against his body until he was protected from your sight.

The distressed scent grew stronger.

You swore softly, moving quickly but carefully towards the panicking beta.

For a moment, you were glad that he wasn’t an omega. The scent of a distressed omega would linger far longer than that of a beta, and that would bring way too much attention to you, regardless if it was your scent of not.

Jisung didn’t move even as you got close. You paused near the table in between the two of you, eyeing his shoulders carefully to make sure he wasn’t hyperventilating. It seemed as if it was more of an anxiety attack at the moment, possibly embarrassment at breaking down in front of you.

You grabbed a bottle of water just in case.

Less worried knowing that the beta was actually breathing fine, you allowed yourself to get comfortable on the ground next to him. It was silent for a few minutes, in which you sent a quick message to Chan from the number he had given you all that time ago.

Y: 'Jisung is in the staff lounge. He seems upset.’

You received a reply instantly.

C: 'Minho’s on his way.’

Y: I don’t think he wasn’t company right now.’

Despite being read instantly, you didn’t receive a reply. You assumed that there must have been a conversation of sorts, and Minho was either convinced not to barge into the room or had been held back, because the doors remained close until Jisung finally let out a sigh, lifting his head.

He eyed you with red eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You offered him the water bottle without a word, giving him a reassuring smile and then allowing him some privacy to put himself back together.

Your phone beeped from your alarm.

“You have thirty minutes before the show starts.” You gave a quick look over, noticing his stage outfit and tear-stained cheeks. “You should probably get a makeup artist to help with … you know.”

You motioned to his face, and he nodded, still looking unsure.

Even with the lingering pressure, Jisung made no moves to get up or leave. You allowed him another minute, and then let out a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jisung huffed. “I don’t-“

“It’s okay if you don’t.”

“No, it’s okay. I just … sometimes I just have bad days,” He admitted, playing with the cap of the water bottle.

“Everyone has bad days,” You offered, then wondered if your words would be taken the wrong way. You quickly added. “People will understand if you’re not okay.”

“I know. But being an idol, it has so much … so many expectations. To go out there, to people who paid sometimes hundreds of dollars, who made plans to come see us, who might never see us perform again, just to not give it my all …”

He trailed off, wiping his eyes as they began to tear up again.

“I just don’t like feeling this way.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t sure there was anything you could say. Instead, you offered him some emotional support, leaning your head against his shoulder and wishing that you were open as an omega and able to help him calm down with your scent.

But the next best thing came in the form of Seungmin finally opening up the door. He eyed you two carefully for a second, unsure if he should come in, but Minho pushed past him and didn’t hesitate to make his way over.

“Jagi,” he breathed, looking relieved once he was close enough to gauge that his fellow member was okay. Just in case, he asked, “are you okay?”

Jisung nodded his head, and you pulled away in worry that your presence might be in the way.

Seungmin walked in at a much calmer pace, pumping out the much-needed calming hormones. “You having a moment, hyung?”

Jisung laughed. “Don’t call me that you little gremlin.”

Minho and Seungmin both seemed to lose some of the tension in their shoulders at his reply. You were surprised when you made to get up, only to have Minho’s attention on you at the slightest movement. For a second, you felt like a prey animal about to be pounced.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and despite staring right at you, his next question was still directed to Jisung. “Do you need some more time?”

It was only as his gaze dropped down that you realized you were holding Jisung’s hand in your own. You flushed in embarrassment, but your reaction only drew a downright predatory grin from the Alpha. Seungmin sighed.

“We don’t have that much time,” He muttered, shooting Jisung an apologetic look. “If you want to sit this one out, you need to let us know now.”

Jisung shook his head, giving your hand a squeeze. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

He said it almost to himself, but you smiled reassuringly when he faced you.

“Thank you,” He said, with more confidence than you expected. You watched as he got to his feet, remembering the conversation you had had not that long ago.

‘I guess it’s easy when you’ve got a stadium full of beautiful people screaming your name’

“I’ll be cheering you on,” You told him, raising your first and shaking it towards him. “Fighting!”

And with a genuine smile, Jisung left looking better than when he had arrived. Seungmin gave you a small nod as he followed, but Minho lingered long enough to watch you get to your own feet and begin to gather your things. You expected him to say something, but he finally left without a word.

-0-0-

Finding Chan in the hotel bar later that night wasn’t as much as a surprise as it had been yesterday.

You sat down without worry. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

He laughed, giving you a soft look as he slid a drink over to you. It was the same one you had ordered the day before. You blinked in surprise.

“How did you know I was going to show up?”

“I didn’t,” He offered, looking down at his own drink. “But I hoped. I wanted to be able to thank you again, for what you did for Jisung.”

You shrugged. “I just did what felt right. He looked like he needed a friend.”

Chan continued to stare at the side of your face, and you hoped he would blame the blush that was starting to creep up your neck on the alcohol.

Once again, he paid for you as he left.

After everything that happened that day, you were more than eager to settle down and try to get some sleep. You would have a day off tomorrow and the day after, but there were a few more interviews scheduled for the weekend before you’d be flying out on Monday. So far, you were glad to know the first leg of the tour was almost over.

You entered the elevator without realizing you were being followed.

Minho slipped in next to you without a word, and you froze.

He didn’t say anything as the doors began to close, but he made no moves to push any of the buttons. It’s only when the elevator hadn’t moved for a few seconds that you realized that neither had you.

You tentatively reached forward and pressed your floor number.

He finally spoke when the elevator began to move up. “You and Chan seem awfully cozy.”

You swallowed. “He was just thanking me for helping out with Jisung.”

“Hmmm. And I suppose Felix was just lending you a towel the other day.”

You found yourself praying for any god out there that could hear for a way out of this conversation.

“I didn’t want to go down to the front desk. Felix had an extra,” You lied, hoping it would be enough.

“You want to try that again?”

You took a deep breath. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“I don’t know,” Minho drawled, giving you a predatory look. “Am I?”

You were on opposite sides of the elevator, but the step he took towards you suddenly put him within arms reach of you, and your heartrate jumped.

You almost laughed in relief when the elevator suddenly stopped. The elevator had reached your floor, but it seemed as if your prayers had finally arrived, if a little late.

Or maybe someone up there had a sick sense of humor.

The elevator doors made a strange screeching sound as they began to open, and you both turned to stare in confusion. Only halfway open, they stopped.

And then the elevator shifted, creaking.

You shared a wide-eyed glance with Minho, unable to even make a noise before suddenly the elevator dropped.

The sound that escaped you was something you didn’t even realize you could make. The elevator stopped almost as quickly as it had dropped, but through the still halfway open doors you could make out that the elevator had settled somewhere in between two floors. You shuddered as the creaking noise continued, scared too even make a move.

It was after nearly a minute of silence between you two that Minho finally spoke.

“Are you okay?”

You eyed his tightly clenched fists that were doing their best to leave their impression on the railings, the way his muscles were tense, the look of pain on his face.

“Are you?”

He let out a huff, releasing his grip slowly. And then he began to slide down the elevator wall until he was on the floor, legs spreading out in front of him. He let out another breath, and then another, and you suddenly began to grow worried he was hyperventilating.

You shifted forward, pausing to make sure the elevator wouldn’t move, but it seemed to be stable. Figuring it was okay, you walked the two steps until you were next to him, kneeling by his side.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re okay,” You told him, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

He slapped your hand away. “Don’t!”

His voice was rough, almost a growl. You felt your chest tighten in worry and rejection, but he was still breathing hard. Was he going to pass out? You wanted to help him, but afraid to touch him again, you held your hands out in front of you to get his attention.

“You need to breathe,” You said softly, trying to hide your own panic. “Take a deep breath in.”

He shuddered again and then let out a bitter laugh. “That’s not- I’m not having a panic attack.”

“Well, you’re definitely not calm,” You argued.

Minho closed his eyes, his head slamming back against the wall hard enough to let out a clang, and you reached forward without thinking.

“Be careful!”

He grabbed your wrist, eyes opening only a sliver to glare at you. And then, as you stared at each other in anger, he suddenly seemed to droop. He let out a swear, dropped your wrist, and swallowed.

And then the scent began to reach you.

There, lingering in between the fear and anxiety that had originally escaped from the first few seconds of the elevator dropping, was an unmistakable scent.

Your mouth dropped. “Oh.”

Minho let out a groan. “I’m sorry. I can’t-“ He let out another shuddered breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I … It’s okay,” You offered, moving back.

Suddenly everything was starting to make sense. The lingering stares, the flared nose, the almost predatory way he had been behaving. No wonder he didn’t want you touching him right now; you were surprised he hadn’t bitten you with his instincts running this high.

Alphas could be very sensitive when in pre-rut.

You turned back to the bigger problem, pressing the emergency button on the elevator and hearing a soft ringing noise. Your first concern was getting the two of you out.

But there was a bigger problem you were starting to realize.

It was late. Really late. You had gotten out of bed without thinking about it, but now it was all you could think about. The fear and anxiety lingering in the air wasn’t just coming from Minho.

You didn’t have your fake pheromone perfume on right now, just scent blockers. And they were starting to wear off.

And you were stuck in an elevator with an Alpha going into rut.

“It’s going to be okay,” You reassured Minho when the emergency alarm didn’t immediately get attention. “We’re going to be okay.”

But you weren’t so sure.

-0-0-

Taglist: I think I got everyone. If I missed you or you want to be added to the tag list, free free to ask.

@3rachasninja @lilyuwon @brojustfknkillm3 @yukichan67 @mallielovssyou @mintchip17 @iweirdthingsblog @maisyyyyyy @neivivenaj @jc003 @skz-ot8-stay @passionandsuga @ms-flowergirl @kayleefriedchicken @seungmonggg @luvvvash @galaxy4489 @quokkahannie4 @joyofbebbanburg @xxeiraxx @lemonn015 @dazzlingjade @tenshimara @danceonmyheyday @staytinyluv @mamaj-right @dessianna1 @sillyhal @minh0scat @iris-iiridescent @fackeraccount @bumblebeebeebumble @hanniesbubuwife @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @k-pop-luv04 @stopstaring4455 @mbioooo0000 @bby-boo4u @yumuramma @juju-227592 @idiotmaterial @channieismylove @kpetts @headfirstfortoro @iknow-uknow-leeknow

[regular-lord-reckoner]

so i took my car in today because i thought it might just need some more brake fluid and although i tried to just look at it myself i couldn't for the life of me figure out which part under the hood was the brake fluid reservoir without having to lean all over my car and get all dirty, so i figured i might just have to pay a service fee and whatever for the fluid itself...

turns out i need all new brake pads !!

ahaha

haha

ha

yay

[o4o41]

Rapha is an emotional Rapha-in-distress

Rise!Rapha is an emotional Raph-in-distress. He doesn't necessarily need to be lifted because he's huge and all. He'd like an emotional lift and support.

He can become a P-chan. And meet a human, they take care of him and he's touched. To take care of smb defenseless is a really great quality from them.

Or

Be saved Ariel-style or

be cared for like wound-healing (Maybe like a Dr Goodfellow type of woman, an only black woman from 1987 tmnt show. And I've said before that he will be interested in biology and heritage. In other version like TMNT Unleashed universe Rapha is a 'animal-planets' facts erudite).

He's a damsel dude-in-distress but in an emotional aspect. He'd like smb to lift him and make him secure. In a mental manner.

Rapha is an emotional Rapha-in-distress

[theogonize]

fwb!suguru who knew he wanted to fuck when he first laid eyes on you. then wanted to take you out to endless dinners to chat his ears off when he first spoke to you.

fwb!suguru who grew to like you without fucking you, almost forgot it was what he wanted you for – a life together or a night together?

fwb!suguru whose dick got painfully hard when you taunted him, rolled your eyes at him or outwitted him. he lived for your sassiness.

fwb!suguru who happened to fuck you on a random night unexpectedly and it changed the trajectory of his life.

fwb!suguru who stayed after every dick appointment. cuddled with you on the bed, watched movies or your favourite TV show, ordered take out and held you in his arms till you both inevitably fell asleep.

fwb!suguru who couldve sworn he wasn't in love with you. he would still fuck other people (and then come back to you, poor baby was thinking of you the whole time)

fwb!suguru whose grown accustomed to your presence. he calls you when he isn't feeling okay, you call him when something bothers you. he's grown used to you telling him all about work, how you got your nails done, how you saw a cute cat near your apartment. trivial details, which coming from anyone else he would hang up, but he looks forward to them with you.

fwb!suguru who eventually stops fucking other people and is just your man, without you knowing.

fwb!suguru who is determined to mark you up in placed people will notice. your neck, your thighs, your collarbones.

fwb!suguru who believes in giving you his all. all of his long girthy dick that pumps you full it should be criminal, his long slim fingers that have made you orgasm so often and hit that deep spot with unbeat ease, his long tounge... oh god his tounge. he thinks maybe even his long life ahead is yours too, all yours. his little kids too maybe? he doesn't like to think too much about that.

fwb!suguru who has to have your pussy checked with his tounge daily. he has to lap up your insides no matter any circumstances. his voice purrs across your body when he talks you through your orgasm.

"mhmm yeah cum all over my face beautiful, I know you want to"

fwb!suguru who gets sick at the thought of you sitting so pretty for another man when you tell him you're going on a date. suguru who looks so disturbed at the thought of another man even looking at his pretty girl who isn't really his.

fwb!suguru who takes you to corporate events just so he can call you his girlfriend, even if it's just pretend. when you question him it's always "easier explanation than a friend i fuck on the regular, isn't it?"

fwb!suguru who knows how you like your coffee in the morning. he knows what you like for breakfast, your comfort food, your hobbies, your favourite movies, your least favourite movies, your icks, your past. he knows you like he knows himself. he thinks of you when he passes your favourite cafe, he texts you when he sees something in the colour you like.

fwb!suguru who is sure he hasn't felt this way before, who is so vulnerable with you that it scares the shit out of him.

fwb!suguru who is afraid, angered at everything about you. he's angry at how you lull him into a sense of security, how you hold him, how sweet your voice sounds when you call him by his name, how you take care of him, how you listen to him. he hates how your pussy clenches his dick for dear life, milking it dry and how you never let a drop of his cum go to waste, licking it up like a little slut. he's fearful too. about losing you. about where loving you the way he does leads. loving you? wait. he loves you? fuck. fuck. fuck. this hasn't been according to plan at all.

[irndad]

i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician. 

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages. 

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back. 

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out. 

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home. 

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it. 

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust. 

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun. 

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes. 

“You okay? 

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out. 

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life. 

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it. 

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the  trick before she drops off her analysis. 

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again. 

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long. 

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can. 

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up. 

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel. 

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her. 

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers. 

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms. 

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.” 

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down. 

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.” 

The words taste like barbed wire. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right. 

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering. 

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.” 

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now. 

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life. 

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow. 

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part five

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mutual pining, lots of yearninggg, kissing (I KNOW YAYYY) dry humping, teasing, fingering, public play, fluffy and cute- there will be a part six! (final) pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Four - Final Part>>>

Escort! Satoru finally does it, he asks you on that date, watching the shock in your eyes, the trembling of your lips as you step back, and Satoru feels it then, the hammering of his heart. Is it too late? Should he have reached out again to you after the first night, when you didn't answer? His blue eyes peer at you over those glasses, as the sunlight beats down on your skin, making his cheeks just a little reddened, striking across his pale skin.

Escort! Satoru eases his hands gently off your face, when you swallow nervously - he hurt you so badly that night, the embarrassment of asking him to hold you, dying for a mere kiss on the lips. How could you be so foolish, truly, you had to try to forget him in any way you could, after sleeping with him and knowing he would never be yours, always sharing him, he was just there because of your money and maybe he enjoyed it. But it wasn't more.

Escort! Satoru realizes how much he fucking missed you now, as if some void is filled by your presence, but you lower his hands gently, holding them for a moment. 'I was so...' stupid, you were stupid 'I'm very sorry I asked you for things you never do,' you sigh, looking around, seeing people walk by. 'I should have respected your-' Satoru stops you then, tilting your chin up, your gaze focused on him. 'I should have held you, okay? I'm sorry...' you feel your eyes fill with the tears, as words you've dreamed of are spoken, and they feel just like that- a dream. 'I want a real date, could we?'

Escort! Satoru eyes you when your phone rings, and you look down nervously. 'I have a date tonight, the first in... years' Satoru steps back now, glaring at you. 'With who?' you blink in surprise. 'Why does it matter to you? Do you think after months I wouldn't ever wanna try?' Satoru grips your wrist, thumb brushing against the veins gently, sending shivers down your spine, as he tries to compose himself, he has no right to be so mad, so jealous. 'Fine, then give me a date after' he murmurs, desperate for you, how can he see you and not try? After everything he's been yearning for appears before him, and he knows how badly he fucked up. 'I don't know...' you want to, god you do, but you also know how badly Satoru can hurt you, uniquely. 'Please just, give me a chance to explain myself, to be myself and not...' he trails off, the wind blows gently and a little blossom lands on your hair, which he sweetly brushes away. 'One chance'

Escort! Satoru is furious thinking about anyone touching you, though it's toxic and unrealistic in every aspect. His job was to touch, though he'd throw it all away if you asked, god he would, because he doesn't find joy in any of it. No amount of money fills this emptiness, but he never thought he'd have a chance with you - only to ruin it. 'I'll go out with you this weekend, but you pick the place, and pick me up' you say softly, his heart thuds as he nods eagerly, desperate and pathetic for you - something he's never been until you ruined him with just your energy, your body, that laugh he'd love to have back. Memories of your night fill him then, as he aches to touch you, to know you, to kiss you.

Escort! Satoru plans the date to a tee, but the whole time he's wondering - where are you going, and with who? Would you prefer them over him? Meanwhile you're trying to get through that date, mind wandering, you just tried to open up for the first time since Satoru broke your heart - even if it was your own fault. You try to smile, and enjoy him, a handsome man that surely was perfect on paper, and interested in you. As the night goes on and the drinks pour, you think to yourself, you should try, letting him kiss you at the end of the evening, wondering what you'll feel. It's nice, but it's nothing like just being near Satoru. Frustrated almost to tears, you're laying in bed that night, as the man in your head that you almost pushed down enough, is back front and center.

Escort! Satoru can't stand it, knowing you're on a date, he almost texts you so many times before he caves - 'ready for our date?'- he smirks, hoping your with whoever it was. But you don't answer him for hours, until you finally write him - yes - and that's it, no sweet banter like the two of you had. It's different, had you really already moved on? He trembles as he texts you - 'how was the date?' - and you write - 'it was fine, any jobs tonight? - and that's when he realizes you're mad. The sweetest girl he met is so clearly mad. He hadn't taken a job tonight, and he's cancelled his week, but he gets it clearly. - 'no job tonight, I'm excited to see you' - He's never said that to anyone. You heart the message, emotions catching, excitement but apprehension in equal parts, you just don't know if he's serious, you're so scared to let go again.

Escort! Satoru picks you up that night in his car, some little Maserati sports car that looks like it goes way too fast. You can't act like he's not sexy as fuck as he steps out of it, opening your door and grinning at you, but you try to hold back, smiling with a 'thank you' as you slide in next to him. Satoru's hand craves to press on your thigh, but fuck if he's not nervous, he hasn't had a date since he started this career despite his job being to go on dates, not a real one, not with someone he asked. He's damn near shaking with his nerves, trying to play it off, as he drives through the quiet streets, smiling over at you with a quirk of his lips. 'You look beautiful' his words make you flustered, nervously tugging a bit on the gorgeous dress you're wearing, glittering like the stars in the sky - fuck your very skin itself glitters. 'you're saying it truly this time?'

Escort! Satoru glares now, foot on his break, scowling at you. 'what do you mean truly? you think I didn't mean any of it?' you blink back unexpected tears, looking out the dark tinted window as he drives once more. 'It was your job, that's all, and I told you I took it too far, you shouldn't feel bad that happened. I - ah!' he skids to a stop suddenly, pulling off the side of the road, and unbuckling your seatbelt so fast you can barely register. He's got you on his lap so fast, as cars whirl by, shaking the fucking car and shocking you further, as he handles you like it's nothing. You brace your hands on his chest, so nervous now, hands clenching the black jacket of his tux, breaths faster and faster. 'You are beautiful, I never said that because of a job' he swipes away your tears, lips hovering over yours, as he exhales, breath tickling your lips. 'What are you doing, Satoru?' your whisper is weak, as he drags you even closer, and his eyes dart to your lips. 'What I should have done that night'

Escort! Satoru slams his lips on yours then and there, you feel it like hot, electric shots going through your body when he does, when he's pressing those plush, glossy lips on yours, and you're shattering over him, lost in his kiss. Satoru has never felt anything like it, like finally kissing you, his tongue slipping in your mouth, drinking up your every cry, every gasp, as you roll your hips just right, and he feels the heat he's been dying for against his aching cock. 'Fuck...' his hushed words are met with your little cry, which just has him dragging you down harder, ready to devour every sweet inch of you, but barely being able to drag himself from your lips, gasping as he pulls back, eyes meeting yours, glimmering now. 'Satoru you... kissed me...' you're close to crying now, trembling as he sighs, cupping your pretty face, the one that's haunted him. 'I've wanted to since I first saw you'

Escort! Satoru keeps kissing you, over and over, desperate and messy, you almost cum just from that friction against you, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, as his huge hands press into your skin. 'I need you, fuck I need you sweetheart- god you have no clue' you're easing back, struggling to compose yourself. 'Am I so VIP?' you tease softly, and he feels it then, the soft way you're asking - not judging, but scared. He exhales, resting his head on yours, shaking his head and pulling you down again. 'I'll gladly delete my whole fucking profile, for a chance with you' his words sink in fully. Your cheeks are hot under his gentle touch. 'I just don't... Satoru, you don't have to do this for me. I understand...' He kisses you once more, before your phone rings.

Escort! Satoru glares, and you can't help but giggle. 'Are you jealous?' he just sets his jaw, as you look over and see it, holding the phone with a shaky hand, and he pulls you harder on his cock, having your eyes roll back in your skull. 'Tell him you're on a date' he whispers, gripping you so tight, before easing you to sit back in your seat, kissing you over and over. 'Let's get there, okay?' you're trying to compose yourself, seeing him shift and wince while he drives once more, pouting. 'You enjoying my pain, sweets?' you can't help but giggle again. The date is pretty and serene, the restaraunt on the roof top, swathed in moonlight. Satoru feeds you carefully, the two of you sharing dessert, talking and laughing like the first time he fucking met you - when he knew then, something was so special about you, something he could never pin fully, but he sees it, with how the candle light hits your face, your sweet blush as his hand slips up your thigh.

Escort! Satoru is not happy to learn you've had a kiss, and your amused little smile is quickly lost, when he slips his fingers between your thighs, and you wildly look around, as he smirks at you. 'That's cute, you kissed? did you like that?' he's taunting now, possessive gaze, that you can't get enough of, fuck you want all of him, even though you're scared, so scared to be hurt again. He's pressing his fingers against your panties, which are soaked, watching as your eyes get lidded, hand gripping the thick white cloth, and he slips under then, feeling the heat he'd been dying for, leaning in close. 'Asked you a question, hmm?' you lean closer, hips shifting, jerking as he thumbs your twitchy little clit, making you gush. 'Would you be mad if I liked it, Satoru?' he sighs, slipping two fingers in your slick hole, making you almost moan in the fucking restaurant now. 'You're wet for me, aren't you, all me?' He's curling them now, acting so casual as a waitress refills your wine, and you pray no one hears the squishing noises your juices are making.

Escort! Satoru can't help but suck you off his fingers, right before he makes you cum, and you're throbbing around nothing, wanting. You're clenching your teeth as you watch, as if he's finishing his dessert- and when he tastes you again!? He can barely control himself, eyes dilated while you sink into his tastebuds, ready to finally give you what you want, and need, and deserve, fuck you so good you can't function, and hold and kiss you. Satoru slips his lips on yours in front of the restaurant, and you taste yourself, whining into his lips. Suddenly a girl sees him, a frequent client who'd gotten too obsessed, and walks right up to him, crossing her arms. He eases back in the seat, as you look down shyly, unsure of who she is. 'I'm on a date' his words make your heart flutter now, as she glares. 'ah, so you do kiss? was this some special package, do you know how expensive you are?' you bite back a smile, and Satoru just grins, shaking his head like a little shit. 'It's different, she's my girlfriend.'

Escort! Satoru blushes when you whisper 'your girlfriend, huh?' in his ear moments later, as a very angry client stomps off, and he brushes back your hair, hard body against yours, studying your face. 'Would you... be my girlfriend?'

taglist 1 @shydroid3000 @aducksmokingquack @miya4life @ravenbc @yenayaps @nezukuwu @etsuniiru @ieathairs @kenqki @princess-bblgm @belovedxiao @ninikrumbs @ieathairs @myahfig4 @theelegantpotato @vvaoo @aldebrana @celestep004 @whoisteona @ladyneisa @lililovely78 @gamerhere @wstaley2 @allthesqueaks @slut4donghyuck @maisiefrancesca @yittten @femaholicc @jjknanamin @that-b-word-lol @devastyle @mat-mat-mat @jkslaugh97 @ovela @mxgnolia @rikiswifeyyy @kaayyhunnyy @gojos1wife1 @arabellasolstice @01ve3rz @jud3thedude @firemoonlightfly @vyluvs @artist1936 @kyelikesanime @alygator77 @seternic @qlucoise @mysticranger575 @undermegumisbed

[puff0o0]

Self aware simon who is so in love with you that he starts giving you free stuff from your wishlists

You were confused when the first package arrived at your address

It wasn't just any item on your wishlist, it was the most expensive one

At first you wondered if maybe it was for your neighbor and not you. But it was address to you, which made you wonder if someone bought it for you

You looked for any indication on who could have gotten you this on the package, but you couldn't figure it out

anyone you asked denied getting you it as well

You just saw it as a lucky yet creepy coincidence that you would talk about for the next week. It definitely boosted your mood and you were happy to receive it

But then the same creepy coincidence happened again

and again

and again

and again

It got to the point where you even called the police thinking you had some crazy stalker

(they didn't do anything which did NOT ease your paranoia and worry)

But little did you know it was Simon who managed to transfer his coding to your network, work his way into your wishlist, and put in fake transactions so that you could get stuff for free

all that work for someone who doesn't even know he's head over heels in love with them

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE ONE (TO MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND) ✦ AZRIEL

✦ SUMMARY: Azriel prided himself on restraint—on silence, shadows, and secrets. But you, with your unshaken confidence and maddening obliviousness, were testing every last thread of his sanity. As chaos ensues, the Shadowsinger realizes one thing: he might be doomed.

✦ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

✦ WARNINGS: crack fic, archeron!sister (briefly mentioned), miscommunication, angsty fluff and humor (maybe??), obliviousness, azriel is stressed and about to have an aneurysm—azriel fanart by harleetattoos

✦ MAY'S RADIO: this was a fun little experiment 😅 azzie boy is a certified swiftie™ 😆 i hope this is somewhere close to what you had in mind, lili bestie! -> based on this post by @lili-of-the-wildfire 🖤

< back to general masterlist

Azriel was losing his damn mind.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of self-control—of mastering his shadows, his emotions, his very existence. But this? This was unraveling him at the seams.

And he was at his limits.

Not the normal limit, like when Cassian got a little too rowdy or Rhysand smirked a little too much. No. This was a whole new brand of suffering.

Since the moment you were thrown into the Cauldron, he had kept his distance—watching, waiting, giving you space to adjust to your new life, to the Night Court, to him. Knowing how difficult it was for your sisters, knowing that maybe you needed time to grieve what you lost.

But you—you seemed fine.

You smiled, you laughed, you trained with Cassian and traded insults with Rhys, you asked Mor endless questions about the best places to visit in Velaris. You were fine.

Except Azriel knew that wasn’t true.

Because he felt it—the crackling in the air whenever he was near you, the way your emotions bled into his own, even when you weren’t looking at him. The bond—the one you were blissfully ignorant of—was there, thrumming between you.

And it was killing him.

Because you didn’t know.

You were testing him in ways he never thought possible.

Which was why you were currently sitting across from him at the dining table, casually eating a pastry, completely unbothered by the fact that every time you so much as breathed, the bond between you screamed at him.

“I was thinking,” you said, licking a crumb from your finger, completely unaware of the way Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, “maybe I should go to the Winter Court for a while. Just to clear my head, see more of Prythian, you know?”

Azriel’s fork snapped in half.

You blinked at him. “You okay?”

No. No, he was not okay.

“You can’t,” he said, voice tight.

Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

“You can’t just—” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave. You belong here.”

You scoffed. “I belong nowhere, Azriel. That’s kind of the problem.”

He exhaled sharply. “You belong with me.”

“Excuse me?,” your expression twisted in confusion. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose. He had planned to do this delicately, to ease you into it, to find the right words—

That plan was dead.

“You’re my mate.” he rasped, voice strained.

“…Okay?”

Silence.

Azriel just stared at you. His mind short-circuited so violently that his shadows actually stopped moving.

“…Okay?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You shifted on your seat. “Yeah? You seem really stressed about it, though.”

His eye twitched. His shadows twitched. Everything twitched.

Cauldron boil him, you had no idea what it meant.

He inhaled sharply, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you understand what that means?”

You folded your arms. “Is it, like, a fae kink? I mean, I don’t judg–” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm?”

A FAE K—?

He had seen battle. He had been tortured. He had infiltrated enemy territory and survived things that would make even Cassian cry. But this? This was what was going to kill him.

“I—No,” he choked, rubbing his temples like he could physically press the stress out of his skull. “It’s not a kink. It’s a bond. The mating bond.”.

You hummed, swishing the tea in your cup thoughtfully. “Right. So, like… what does that mean, exactly?”

“You don’t know,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t know. No one told you.” He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. “I’m going to kill Rhys.”

His shadows curled and twisted like they were also on the verge of a complete breakdown. “It means we’re soulmates. Destined. Bound by the Cauldron itself. You’re mine.”

You blinked. “I what?”

“You. Are. My. Mate,” he repeated, slower this time, as if you were a particularly dense trainee.

You tilted your head. “So… like an arranged marriage?”

Azriel made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His hands were shaking.

“No,” he gritted out. “It’s deeper than that.”

You frowned. “Like a super intense best friendship?”

“I—NO.”

You hear someone wheezing, barely holding their laughter in—then, moments later, a crash followed by a yelp.

You turned just in time to see a figure darting away, a blur of wings and siphons.

Cassian.

Azriel’s shadows had found him eavesdropping—and, judging by the way he stumbled, they had made sure he regretted it.

Azriel’s eye twitched. He’d deal with him later.

“Was that…? Is he okay?” you asked, glancing toward the door.

Azriel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’ll live,” he muttered, clearly deciding that his brother’s suffering was not his current priority.

Instead, he turned back to you, inhaling deeply, speaking very slowly. “The bond ties our souls together. It means you’re meant to be with me. It’s why you feel drawn to me.”

Your face scrunched in thought. “Oh.” A pause. “I do feel really attracted to you.”

Azriel’s heart stopped. His wings tensed.

Finally. Finally, you were understanding—

“I thought it was just, you know… female hysteria.”

Azriel.exe stopped working.

You gestured vaguely. “Like, I figured I just had a stupidly big crush on you. Thought maybe it was the trauma or the near-death experience. But the mating bond? That makes so much sense.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow, I really thought I was just—”

Azriel inhaled sharply. Fine. If words weren’t getting through to you, maybe this would.

He reached deep into himself and gave the bond a firm tug.

You gasped. A shiver shot down your spine, warmth curling in your chest like liquid sunlight. Your breath hitched, and—Cauldron damn him—you gasped, eyes going huge and then giggled.

Azriel felt his soul crack in half.

You blinked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, what was that?!” Then, catching the look on his face—his pinched expression and the slight tension in his shoulders—, you gasped again, pointing at him accusingly. “Was that you?!”

Before he could respond, you beamed, wiggling excitedly in your seat. “Oh my gods—do that again. That tickled.”

Azriel was going to pass out. Or throw himself off a balcony. Maybe both.

“I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it nearly bruised. “You—You don’t just have a crush on me. That feeling? That’s the bond. The Cauldron literally forged us for each other.”

Your smile faltered and you squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

Azriel’s grip on reality was slipping.

“Yes.”

“…Huh.” You sipped your tea. “Neat.”

Azriel’s vision blurred. He was on the verge of blacking out.

Cassian’s laughter echoed from the hallway.

Azriel snarled. “Go away, Cassian.”

More laughter. Then a whispered, “I cannot wait to tell Rhys.”

Azriel inhaled so sharply his chest ached. He turned back to you, shadows writhing. “You do understand what this means, right?”

You smiled. “Of course I do.”

Azriel exhaled in relief.

Then—

“Anyway, as I was saying—I think I’d still like to visit the Winter Court and maybe then the beaches in Summer.” You smiled dreamily. “I could get a nice tan. A little vitamin D never hurt anyone, right?”

Azriel dropped his head onto the table so hard he thought he might develop a second brain injury to match the first one you’d unknowingly given him.

< back to general masterlist

[mournthebird]

Knots.

summary: You help the soldier with some self care.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Flashbacks of SA | Intimate handlers

a/n: Bit of a short one, but I thought helping him shave would be nice <3 And maybe trim his long hair a bit too. Two more chapters to go and I think that will be it for this series. I wrote this quick so please don't mind any errors. ;; wc: 3.1k

"Your hair has grown a bit."

Your voice cut through the air, startling him out of his previously zoned out mindset where his thoughts had been drifting aimlessly through memories and half-formed ideas. He blinked several times, slowly turning to look over at you with slightly unfocused eyes that gradually sharpened with awareness. It was then that he truly noticed his hair, for the first time in what felt like forever - the weight of it, the way it fell across his vision, the unkempt state it had fallen into. He hadn't really paid any attention to how he looked since he...well, he couldn't remember when. The days and months had blurred together into an indistinct haze.

"...sorry." He mumbled, the word coming out soft and uncertain, not exactly sure what else to say in response. You didn't sound like you were upset or berating him, which was a small comfort, but old habits died hard. He never got to tend to himself before, he wasn't allowed to - personal care had been a luxury far beyond his reach. You never asked him to look after himself either, so he wasn't sure what he could've done to avoid your comment, leaving him adrift in unfamiliar waters of self-care and personal autonomy.

"It's alright, don't apologize," your reassurance was nice, washing over him like a warm blanket and helping to ease some of the tension from his shoulders.

You gently reached out, your fingers carefully threading through his dark, unkempt hair. Over time, he had grown increasingly comfortable with your gentle touches, no longer tensing or pulling away when he knew your hands were approaching. The progress had been slow but steady - though he would still occasionally flinch if caught unaware by sudden contact, the reflexive response born from years of conditioning never failed to go away completely. In those moments, you would always take extra care to reassure him with soft words, reminding him that he was safe.

"I can trim it for you, if you want." You offered softly, studying the way his hair had grown past his collar. Your hand drifted downward, fingers ghosting along his jawline where several days' worth of stubble had accumulated. "And shave some of this," you added, feeling the rough, prickly texture beneath your fingertips. The soldier's own hand rose hesitantly to mirror your gesture, touching his jaw as he swallowed thickly, considering the offer.

"...if you want to." His voice was quiet, uncertain, still struggling with expressing his own desires.

"Do you want to?" You emphasized gently, wanting him to make the choice for himself.

"...yes." The word came out barely above a whisper, but it was decisive.

The ceramic sink gradually filled with warm, gently bubbling water as the fragrant soap and rich shaving cream created a luxurious foam inside it. You swished the gleaming razor through the water, the metal catching the bathroom light as you turned back to face the patient soldier. He sat perfectly poised on the wooden stool in the bathroom, his big blue eyes gazing up at you without much of an expression.

"Keep still alright?" You spoke in gentle, soothing tones, bringing the well-honed blades up to his stubbled cheek and carefully drawing them down to his defined jaw in smooth, measured strokes. Of course, Soldat remained absolutely motionless, like a masterfully carved statue perched on that little wooden stool, his posture relaxed yet perfectly controlled. He allowed you to delicately adjust his head to whatever angle was needed as you continued shaving his face, your movements precise and unhurried to make sure every swipe was perfect.

"Doing okay?" You asked gently, pausing to check in with him about halfway through the intimate ritual. The soldier lifted his gaze to meet yours, his expression almost innocently vulnerable, making your stomach suddenly flip with unexpected emotion. In all your time together, he had never looked at you quite like that before - with such openness and implicit trust.

You took a moment to admire his features in quiet appreciation - the strong, defined angle of his jawline that spoke of nobility, the soft pink hue of his perfectly shaped lips that almost held a permanent, precious pout, and those remarkable eyes that drew you in. Those eyes, windows to his soul, held such warmth and vitality that it made your heart ache. Despite all the pain and suffering he endured, despite every obstacle that could have dimmed their light...his eyes remained steadfastly, beautifully bright.

"Almost...done." The words left your lips in barely more than a whisper, gentle and soothing as you finished your careful ministrations. You took a warm, soft cloth and delicately dabbed his face dry, making sure every spot was attended to. You reached for the aftershave, applying it with gentle strokes across his smooth skin.

As your hand came to rest on his cheek, you found yourself lingering there longer than strictly necessary - drawn in by the warmth of his skin, unable and unwilling to break this moment of connection.

Your heart fluttered as you observed how he responded to your touch - the way he ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, pressed his cheek further into your palm, seeking more of that tender contact. It was a small gesture, but one that screamed at you in the quiet of the bathroom.

Focus, focus.

"Now let's see what we can do about that hair." You reluctantly pulled your hand away from his cheek, watching as his expression shifted - his brow furrowing deeply and lips turning downward in a small, almost imperceptible frown that tugged at something deep within your chest. The warmth of his skin lingered on your fingertips, a sensation you tried desperately to ignore.

No, you couldn't feel like this. It was wrong.

Moving behind him, you took to brushing out his hair first. Your hands worked with practice having to do this with your own hair, gently running the brush from the ends and gradually moving higher to ensure the least amount of discomfort when working through the stubborn knots. The methodical strokes seemed to calm you both. He sat perfectly still for you, but you could sense there was more he yearned for in your touch - an unspoken desire that radiated from him in waves.

He wanted you to hold him, to continue the gentle ministrations with his hair just as you were doing now, to show him that tenderness wasn't just a distant memory. Every careful stroke of the brush seemed to remind him of a truth he had long forgotten: that touch doesn't have to hurt, that it could be soft, nurturing, healing instead of harmful.

The man yanked its hair with savage force, causing sharp pain to radiate across its scalp. "I told you not to miss," the handler spoke with a familiar malice that it became familiar with. The spot where its hair was continuously yanked developed that persistent, throbbing ache that it desperately tried to push from its consciousness, knowing any reaction would only make things worse.

It couldn't flinch, wouldn't dare to show even the slightest reaction. HYDRA had made it clear what happened to assets that showed weakness, that dared to respond to discomfort. Even the smallest involuntary movement could result in severe consequences.

A gentle tug of the brush running through his hair pulled him abruptly from the dark memory, your soft and immediate apology working to ground him in the present moment, reminding him he was safe now. "Sorry, just found a stubborn one in here..." your caring voice helped chase away the lingering shadows of the past.

As he sat in the silence of the bathroom, his mind began to wander yet again, drifting through the corridors of his fractured memories like a lost ghost. His thoughts scattered like broken glass, shards between gentler memories with you - moments of peace and quiet understanding - against the more vicious ones that lurked in the shadows of his consciousness. Their dark tendrils constantly tried to wrap around and forcefully pull away all the lighter, precious memories he desperately held onto, attempting to corrupt them in classic HYDRA fashion.

Even still, it held onto him, refusing to let him go.

The soft, ambient light illuminating the bathroom in a gentle, warm glow caught his metal arm at just the right angle, creating a mesmerizing play of shadows across the surface. He found himself caught in an almost trance-like state, meticulously tracing the intricate grooves and carefully engineered plates with his eyes, his gaze tiredly half-lidded as he tried to focus his scattered thoughts by counting how many precise lines were drawn against his titanium forearm.

This handler was different from the others it had in the past.

He was unpredictable in his actions and reactions, displaying a volatility that made every interaction an exercise in cautious observation. It found this characteristic particularly distressing, as it undermined any attempt to establish reliable behavioral patterns.

The man exhibited a jarring duality in his demeanor - he could be loud and openly sadistic one moment, taking visible pleasure in displays of unnecessary cruelty, while in the next breath he would transform into something completely inverted.

His manipulation took on an almost hypnotic quality, reminiscent of a serpent's mesmerizing sway, as he would speak in soothing, honeyed tones while orchestrating harm with calculated precision. Like a constrictor coiling around its prey with deceptive gentleness, he would wrap his victims in a façade of care and comfort, all while administering his particular brand of venom - a poison that worked through words and actions rather than fangs, but was no less deadly for its subtlety.

A snake. That is how it described this man.

Sometimes beautiful to look at, but knowing the true nature of his scales, it knew better.

Then why did it fall for his sweet tone, why did it fall for the gentle touch?

Soldat blinked slowly, struggling to maintain focus on your gentle hands as you carefully brushed through his tangled hair, but he found his troubled mind inevitably wandering back to darker memories.

He ran his calloused fingers through its matted hair, feeling his way until he discovered the painful knot hidden at the base of its skull. His fingertips were uncomfortably warm and sticky with blood, but he purposefully ignored that sensation. He quite liked it, but held his tongue. As he roughly prodded at its injured head, examining the wound, the slight involuntary flinch it gave in response only caused his cruel smirk to grow wider with satisfaction.

He struck without warning or mercy. Like a perfectly trained rattlesnake that had been patiently coiled and waiting for precisely the right moment to unleash its deadly strike.

The handler's iron grip suddenly seized its hair, violently yanking backward with such unexpected force that it actually cried out in genuine pain this time, unable to maintain its usual stoic silence.

Why did it feel so much more vulnerable and powerless with this particular handler?? How did he possess such an uncanny ability to draw out its voice when others could not?

"Goddamn, babe. You're bleeding quite profusely now, aren't you? What did we discuss earlier about this situation, hm? No crying whatsoever. We simply cannot afford to keep weak assets in our organization - you understand that, don't you?" He maintained that eerily gentle tone he typically used when offering comfort to the thing, a purposeful torture that only intensified its mental confusion and emotional distress.

The asset writhed in discomfort, experiencing an excruciating burning sensation across its entire scalp that made it desperately yearn for solitude and rest. Sleep called to it like a siren song, but given its handler's current temperamental state, it knew that such relief would likely remain frustratingly out of reach.

The night before, it had been tasked with cleaning the entire arsenal belonging to the agents - a task that consumed countless hours just to achieve the required gleaming finish on each weapon. Even after completing such an exhaustive task, the asset wasn't granted even the briefest moment of respite, ordered to remain awake as punishment for a small misdemeanor it couldn’t even recall.

It harbored an overwhelming desire to beg for mercy. Every fiber of its being wanted to plead desperately with its handler for some small measure of compassion. However, such displays of weakness were strictly forbidden and promised a horrible punishment.

The soft, rhythmic snip of the scissors cutting through his hair acted as an anchor, helping to ground him in the present moment. You moved with care and gentleness, working to trim his hair back to that familiar length - the same as when you met, falling just shy of his shoulders. Your hands moved with a focused steadiness, fingers carefully carding through the strands while the comb followed in their wake, creating a gentle, repetitive pattern before the precise, delicate snip of the scissors would break through the quiet once more.

He made a conscious effort to focus on the floor tiles now, trying to count the individual squares, to trace their patterns with his mind. But there was only so long he could maintain that fragile concentration before the memory's dark tentacles began to wrap around him, inevitably dragging him back down into those depths he fought so hard to escape.

The comforting rhythm of the snipping gradually faded away, growing distant and muffled, as the harsh, commanding voice of his last handler in HYDRA took over, flooding his consciousness with unwanted recollections.

Hand after hand, yank after yank, a relentless rhythm of violation and control.

A different flavor of foul tasting fluid spread along its taste buds as the asset was kept down on its knees, forced into submission. The men surrounding it formed an impenetrable wall of bodies, barely giving it any room to move or breathe, pressing closer and closer until the weight of their presence crushed against its consciousness. It felt - wait…no. It quickly corrected itself - it didn't feel.

It didn't feel.

It didn't feel.

Bad asset. Disobedient asset. Failure of an asset.

It deserved this. This was necessary for its conditioning and punishment for ever developing feelings. It wasn't supposed to feel humiliation or be opposed to anything they do.

Assets don't have preferences.

Assets don't have desires.

Assets simply obey.

It licked their boots, it let them insert themselves without resistance, no matter how painful it was, no matter how much its body tried to reject the intrusion...it didn't feel. It couldn't feel. Assets don't have the luxury of feelings.

It did feel.

Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath layers of conditioning and denial…it did feel.

The soft shudder that rippled through his broad shoulders suddenly broke your careful concentration, the final decisive snip of the scissors having just been completed moments ago. Your attention immediately shifted from the scattered clumps of dark hair on the floor to his hunched form, noting with concern how he seemed to physically withdraw into himself while perched uncertainly on the weathered wooden stool beneath him.

Despite his imposing physical presence and considerable stature that normally towered over your own frame, he had a peculiar way of carrying himself - shoulders drawn inward, head slightly bowed - as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible.

"Soldat?" You asked softly, carefully making your way around to face him, your heart clenching at the sight that greeted you. His nose was red and running, skin mottled and blotchy, fresh tears carving glistening tracks down his trembling face. He remained frozen in that tense, hunched position on the stool, head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest, eyes squeezed firmly shut as if to block out the world around him.

"Hey, hey...what's the matter? Did you not want me to cut your hair?" You asked with gentle concern in your voice, reaching out with to brush aside the newly shortened bangs that had fallen forward to hide his eyes from your worried gaze. The dark strands were still slightly damp from the earlier wash, sliding easily between your fingers as you tried to establish some sort of connection with him.

You remained in patient silence, giving him the space and time to express himself naturally without any sense of obligation or hurry. Your fingers moved with gentle, soothing motions through his hair in a repetitive pattern, while your other hand occasionally lifted to tenderly dab away the moisture from his flushed cheeks and reddened nose with your sleeve. To your surprise, he accepted these gentle touches without any resistance or signs of discomfort, allowing himself to be comforted by your presence.

"...Н-Нет [N-No]," he finally managed to vocalize after several long moments, his voice emerging fragile and unsteady, trembling with each syllable. Though he had slipped back into his native Russian tongue, you found comfort in recognizing the simple word.

"Can you tell me what it is?" You inquired carefully, your hands moving to cradle his face between them. You made no attempt to direct his gaze upward, instead letting your palms rest against his skin with gentle reassurance, offering silent support through your touch.

He kept his eyes tightly closed, focusing intently on your hands as they rested on his face while your thumbs gently stroked back and forth across his cheekbones. They felt so different from what he had grown accustomed to - gentler, warmer, filled with an unfamiliar tenderness that made his breath catch slightly in his throat.

He remained silent, something you had come to expect from these sessions, though you couldn't help but wish he had grown comfortable enough to open up by now. Still, you quickly pushed aside these thoughts, knowing it was not your place to feel these selfish things when he was still so deeply hurting. No matter how well and gentle you were with your ministrations, you knew this kind of deep-seated pain and suffering wouldn't simply vanish overnight. These wounds needed time to heal, perhaps more time than either of you initially realized.

Your attention was suddenly drawn back up as his trembling hands wrapped around your smaller wrists, the contact unexpected but not unwelcome. The soldier finally opened those glistening eyes - pretty, baby blue eyes that seemed to hold a sea of unspoken emotions within their depths...

"I...I just...want to feel you." He whispered, the soft admission tumbling from his lips like a secret, making your heart equally speed up and ache all at once. His gaze was pleading and gentle, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw, as several strands of his disheveled hair fell into his face when he raised his head to look at you better. "...Пожалуйста [Please]."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Pinterest. I do not claim as my own.

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Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

[lymtw]

A Perfect Night For Wine

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Toji invites you over with a simple text of:

You busy tonight, doll?

To which you respond with:

I don't think so... Not that I know of. Why?

He laughs through his nose when he reads your message. Even the way you text him has your timidness imbued into it. It's precious.

Come spend the night at my place. You told me you're off tomorrow, right?

I am, but are you sure? Driving home is not a problem for me. I can hang out and go home after.

You're staying. I wanna try something with you and it requires you to stay the night. You can't go home.

Oh okay! I'll be there in 10.

Drive safe.

Toji likes that you're very precise about the time you'll be arriving somewhere, and if you're ever late when it comes to spending time with him, you apologize profusely, nonstop. You won't stop blubbering about why you're late and how sorry you are for making him wait, even after Toji's expressed that he's more than understanding. He's the king of showing up late to plans, so he can't be a hypocrite and scold you when you don't do it often at all.

You're so sorry, though, and you don't shut up about it until he makes you shut up with a kiss. You're helpless, and you can't for the life of you figure out where to put your hands when you're so focused on the grip he had on your waist to pull you up against him.

He releases your lips, cracking a grin at the look of wonder on your face. He can't deny the pride that swells in his chest at his ability to disarm you and prevent you from having a total meltdown over a three minute delay.

Toji has gotten so much better at handling situations like these with you. It's only fair for him to gain satisfaction out of making you feel better. After all, you are a first for him. You're emotionally fragile, you're a nervous wreck, and your voice competes with the wind just to be heard. Toji doesn't set aside the fact that you're also beautiful, warmhearted, and you try for him. He sees your attempts to be affectionate. You'll slowly reach your hand out to hold his and then bail the second he catches you. He ends up having to interlock his fingers with yours because your embarrassment doesn't allow you to try again. He still appreciates that you leave your comfort zone for him and allow him to guide you towards new experiences.

"Stop with the guilty feelings, ma. We have all night and all day tomorrow. What's a couple minutes to ensure you get to me in one piece?" He says, comforting your droopy self. You look like a sad, abandoned puppy, now sporting rosy cheeks from his surprising gesture.

"Okay," you say, feeling a little more at ease. "What did you have in mind for tonight?"

"Follow me," he says, leading you through his living room to his kitchen. He pulls out a stool for you and points at it. "Sit." You want to laugh at the way he says it like he's teaching commands to a dog, but you know he doesn't mean it that way, so you obediently sit down like one anyway.

"Have you eaten anything?" He asks, silently hoping you have because he doesn't have anything to make you dinner. He would have to order in or pick something up.

"I ate a couple hours ago. Still pretty full," you respond, watching him reach up for something in his cabinets. There's now a tall glass bottle with a red label and matching cap sitting on the counter.

"How 'bout it?" He says, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. "We could go to the couch and watch a movie or something."

He's never seen you under the influence of anything, but based on your reaction, maybe he'll get a show tonight. He's always wanted to know what you would be like if you were more extroverted and outspoken. There's nothing wrong with the way you are, but if things keep going the way they're going between you and Toji, he's bound to meet your chatty alter ego at some point in the future. What better way to have this experience than in a secure place with someone who can handle their alcohol and take care of you if it turns out that you can't.

"Okay, sure." You giggle, excitedly.

You're a lightweight. Even the fruitiest, sweetest alcoholic beverage will quickly take a toll on you while you're sipping on it. Wine is a step up, so you'll have to try your best to keep it together for the sake of not looking sloppy in front of Toji.

Toji brings down two glasses, and pours out the deep red liquid into them. One for you, one for him. He hands the glass to you, and nods at your quiet "thank you".

Toji watches as you immediately take a sip. He sees the way your nose scrunches at what you consider to be a funny taste, but the second you put the glass down, you smile like nothing. You don't like it at all. You hate the bitterness, and the fact that it's made with fermented grapes lives in the back of your head.

"How is it?" He asks, holding back a chuckle. You're too sweet for your own good, pretending to enjoy this for him.

"I like it," you say, pressing your lips together.

"Yeah? I think it's kinda gross. Guess I was expecting more from a fancy ass bottle, but brands are gonna brand, huh?"

You giggle, almost involuntarily. You're one gulp in, and already you're starting to feel the effects.

One of your worst habits includes chugging drinks that don't taste good, just so you can get them over with. You even do this when your drink is messed up at coffee shop. You're too nice to ask the barista to remake it, so you suck it up and drink the incorrect beverage solely for the caffeine you hope it has in it. This time is no different. You hate the taste of alcohol. You don't do plain shots, you can't stand hard ciders, and wine is no exception, but you're doing this for Toji. He cracked open the bottle to share with you, so you're going to drink every ounce of the liquid in the glass, whether you like the taste or not.

You bring the glass to your lips again, taking a much larger sip. The glass is a little less than halfway now, and your eyelids are starting to feel a little heavy. Not in a sleepy manner, but you can't seem to hold your eyes open as wide anymore.

You exhale through your nose, shut your eyes, and then blink them back open to take note of your altered state.

"That was a lot. How are you feeling?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in your demeanor. You seem a little more sluggish now. You turn your attention to him, your eyes rolling when they turn to meet his.

"I'm good, how are you?" You ask, like it was the start of a conversation rather than an ongoing one. Your eyes almost shut completely when you smile at him.

"You're tipsy already, aren't you?" He asks, with a grin on his face.

"Pshh, what? No, i'm not," you say, contradicting yourself with a giggle. "Answer the question, baby. How are you?"

"Fine," he responds, lingering on the pet name. You've got loose lips, now. In any other circumstance, you would address him by his name. Most of the time Toji is the one giving you pet names, for the sake of flustering you. He loves the way you look at him when he calls you doll or sweetheart, somewhat shocked every time the words leave his mouth.

"Yeah? That's good." You pick up the glass one more time, sighing before you mutter, "'scuse me. Gotta finish this."

With that last sip, the glass was now empty. Even Toji thinks you drank that too fast, but he still has the courtesy to ask you if you want more.

"Mhm, I'll have a little bit more. Just a tiny bit." Toji pours as much as he did the first time, chuckling when you nod in approval of the quantity. "That's perfect. Absolutely, perfect. You're a genius, my love." You flash him a smile before starting on the next glass.

Toji was considering having another glass, but that was before you called him "my love" in a tone so warm that he felt like he just had a bowl of hot soup that was now settling in his stomach. That was before you smiled at him in such a free spirited manner. It was too late for him to see you in this state while completely sober, but he sure as hell wouldn't be adding anymore alcohol to his system. He can't miss something like this, so instead he leans forward on the counter, and intently watches your every move.

"I got something on my face?" You ask, dragging your sleeves all over your face. You examine your sleeves and they're clean. "You liar. You're looking at me like that for nothing." You squint at him, a slight scrunch in your nose to define your defensiveness.

Toji laughs, his focus now on the small pinch in your brows. "Don't go picking fights over nothing. It's not a crime to look at my pretty baby."

Your faux tough exterior immediately crumbles, the irked expression on your face dropping to the ground, at the sugary words he uses on you. Your face feels very warm, and now there's an indefinite blush on it. You can't stop smiling at the look on Toji's face. He's so focused that he's gone speechless, and you eventually break into a laughing fit because of it.

"Hey... i'm usually the quiet one. Why aren't you talking, pretty boy? Need me to shut up?"

The pet name has Toji glancing at your glass, noticing that it was full for less than five minutes. This was new— you being flirtatious towards him. He didn't have any complaints about it whatsoever.

Once again, the quantity of the wine in your glass was below the halfway mark. "Nah, baby. Talk to me. You must really like the wine, huh?"

"Mmm..." you lean forward towards him, with your elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm. "What makes you say that?"

He actually snickers this time, earning a sly grin from you. "You're chugging it like it's water. It's either you love it or it tastes like ass and you're dying to spit it out."

You pick up the glass again, one last time. "Let's find out if I like it," you say as if you're not on your second serving. You let the liquid hit your tongue, and you are instantly repulsed by the flavor. The glass is tilted all the way up, signaling that you've finished two cups of wine in less than fifteen minutes. Your cheeks are filled with the drink, blown up like a puffer fish, which makes Toji smile softly with anticipation for your reaction. Your tongue stays on the roof of your mouth, keeping the wine in your cheeks separate, to give you a break for a few seconds. You release the bubbles of your cheeks and your mouth is flooded with the bittersweet liquid. You swallow the burgundy mouthful and smile with your lips pressed together once it's all gone. The mouth drying effect of wine is your least favorite thing about it.

"So?" Toji prompts.

"It's-" you gag, clasping a hand over your mouth with wide, slightly teary eyes.

Toji's chest and shoulders shake as he contains his laughter, his lips pressed together tightly to stifle the smile threatening to show itself, but his eyes tell you everything.

"Wooo, sorry about that," you say, chuckling through the embarrassment. "It's good," you repeat, still muffled by your palm.

"Yeah? Want more?" Toji asks, holding up the bottle with a teasing grin on his face.

You almost gag again but manage to control yourself. "No, thank you. Any more and I'll doze off, and we both know that's not what i'm here for." There was a hint of sultriness in your tone, something Toji was not sufficiently familiar with. It was a completely welcome shift from your normally tentative way of speaking to him.

"I know why you're here, but I wanna know what you think you're here for."

You stand from your stool and lean more of your body onto the counter. Your hand reaches for his, and for the first time, you don't pull back before making contact with his skin. "To love on you, of course," you say, with those pretty rosy cheeks. Your eyes remained glossy and your nose was still red from trying not to bring the wine back up earlier, but Toji thought you looked so cute.

"Is that right?" His thumb brushes over your knuckles, feeling the softness against his rough fingertip.

"Let's go watch that movie you were talking about and you'll see what I mean."

Toji was loving this. Your confidence, your lack of holding back anything you had to say, it was truly baffling how you could be someone else entirely with just a couple glasses of wine.

You keep his hand in yours, and as if it were your house, you say, "come on," and drag him along to the living room.

This time you say "sit" and point at the couch. This time he's the obedient dog and does as you say, sitting on the exact cushion you were pointing at with a smirk on his face. He moves the couch pillow aside to make room for you, but you had another seat in mind. You take two steps towards him before slowly dropping yourself into his lap, straddling him.

"I see you're finally taking your seat on the throne, hm?" He grins, resting his hands on your waist. This is the closest Toji's been allowed to watch you giggle without you burying your face into his neck and it's a trip. He can see the details of the creases around your eyes and the lift in your cheeks as you smile. He feels fuzzy, and he didn't even finish his glass of wine, so he knows it's not that.

"Stop making me laugh and pick a movie, will you? I'm here for that, too."

He picks up the remote for the TV and turns it on. "How are you gonna watch the movie while facing me?"

"Actually,.. can I tell you a secret, baby?" You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the hair that reaches towards the nape of his neck, combing through it gently.

"What's that, princess?" Toji asks, vert eyes flitting between your eyes and that sweet smile of yours.

"I don't wanna watch a movie. I... wanna look at you... and that's it." Your nails gently scratch the back of his head, eliciting a tingly sensation that makes chills run down his spine.

"That's cool, too," Toji says, turning the TV off again, not caring that it was on for less than a minute before you changed your mind. He sighs, adjusting his position beneath you. Your thighs are secured around his hips, your knees touching the backrest of the couch.

"You're so handsome, my baby. God, look at those eyes," you whisper in awe, before giggling and bringing your hands to his face. You trace the bags under his eyes with your thumbs while admiring the haunting shade of green that scopes on you. Toji's hand comes up to loosely wrap around your wrist. He's not there to stop you, he just wants to move along with you as you observe his face.

"I know I don't say this to you enough, but I find you..." you sigh, blinking slowly, "enchanting..." You lean in and kiss the left corner of his lips—his right, and feel the smooth, tattered skin beneath your warm lips. "and I love you," you mumble into the cicatrix. "So fucking much, baby. And i'm sorry that you'll never know exactly how much because you aren't me." You're looking at him with so much adoration and touching him with a delicacy that can't be put into words. It's a deadly combination, one that has Toji in a chokehold and forces him to soften up even more for you.

He tightens the hold he has on your waist, pulling you closer until your stomach is pressed to his, as a result. You being so affectionate towards him is making him feel really good, and you have no idea because you're too focused on appreciating him. He's subconsciously leaning into your touch, his softened gaze meeting your lovestruck one.

"Fuck. I love you, too, princess," he murmurs, squeezing your wrist in his hand. He pulls your hand down to his chest. "Want you to aim for my lips, this time."

"Okay," you say, smiling before closing the distance between your lips and Toji's. He can still taste the remnants of the wine you inhaled minutes ago, but it tastes much better and a lot sweeter on you. Toji can hear your high pitched little hums as you kiss him, happiness pouring into your kisses. You're trying so hard not to laugh in his face, and trying is the best you can do, right now. You never were good at hiding your smile from Toji. He can't see it, but he can feel the way your lips widen, and he's occasionally kissing your teeth when your sluggishness keeps you from matching his pace. With little pants leaving you, you drag your lips away.

He sighs, frustrated by the loss of your softness against him. "Baby..." he groans, the sound almost whine-like to your ears. He wants more, so much more of you, and you're ignoring him. You're too busy kissing his chin, and his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.

You drag your other hand down to his chest and keep your hands splayed out on it as you let your lips trail his jaw, lightly sucking on the skin. Toji can't help but think about how this version of you will be gone in the morning. You won't be as outwardly affectionate, you'll go back to second guessing every move you make with him and shrinking every time he steals kisses from you, instead of confidently kissing him back like you did a minute ago.

You make your way down his neck, pressing kiss after kiss on him before you move towards his ear. "I love you, Toji," you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear after. "Love you, love you, love you soooo much," you barrage, before throwing him off with a bite to his earlobe. You giggle like a menace into his ear, the warmth of your breath luring goosebumps out onto his skin.

He chuckles, repeatedly squeezing the soft skin of your waist between his hands. "Yeah? Tell me again," he murmurs snaking his hands beneath the back of your shirt. Your skin is very warm, and there's nothing to blame but Toji and that shitty wine for making your body react this way.

With uninterrupted hands, you course your fingers through his hair and lean in to bite him again, this time on his neck. Toji chuckles at how you instantly rush to soothe him with your tongue and a warm kiss, even when you inflicted zero pain on him.

"I love you, Toji," you repeat into the wet indentations you left behind. "My love... my handsome man... I cherish you, you know?"

Toji is practically purring at all the affection you're showering him with. The slurring of your words is blocked out and they remain clear as day to him. He manages to hum a deep little "mhm" to your last statement.

"It's just so hard to talk to you sometimes. You... you're so intimidating, sometimes. I don't expect you to understand..." you divert your gaze to his shoulder, not able to look him in the eyes as vulnerability takes sudden control of your emotions. "It seems like I don't appreciate you sometimes—all the time, but I do, Toji. I do appreciate you, and I can't ever say I love you enough to show it. Words aren't always enough."

Toji catches the waver in your voice and his eyes dart to yours. You're tearing up, and you're trying to still your quivering lips by pressing them together.

"Shit," Toji mutters under his breath. You have the saddest expression he's ever seen and it's messing with his heart. He pulls his hands out of your shirt so that he can swiftly pull you into his warm embrace. "Hey," he coos. You're shaking against him, holding your breath to avoid sobbing. Your lungs burn, but you'd rather feel that than make a scene of your tears. "Don't be sad, mama. What's with the tears, hm?" he murmurs. He can feel your tears dampening his shoulder, but the fact that you haven't made a sound is concerning. "Breathe or you'll die," he says, only half joking. He rubs a soothing palm against your back, his other arm around your waist.

You let out what sounds like a mixture between a choked laugh and a sob, slowly but surely regulating your breathing. You don't even feel like saying anything anymore because you know your voice will give way to even more pity.

"You're more than enough for me," Toji says, his chin resting on your head. "I know how you feel, you know how I feel. We're complete." He can feel the way you scrunch his shirt up into your fists. As if he would go anywhere without you. "I get you and you're stuck with me. Got it?" You silently nod against his shoulder in response. "Sit up and let me look at you."

You really don't want him to see you this way. Your eyes feel swollen and you don't feel presentable.

"I can't..." you say, barely audible. You release his shirt and let your hands go limp behind him.

"Why not?"

"I'm not pretty right now. Don't look at me."

"I'm gonna look at you," he challenges with a teasing grin.

"Toji, don't look at me."

"Too late, it's happening. Plan's already in motion," he says, sliding his arms onto your shoulders.

"Toji, don't-" He effortlessly pushes you off his shoulder and gives you a once over. You look defeated and you're unable to look him in the eyes, but at least he can see you now.

"Don't know what you were so worried about. You look the same but more blush-y." You finally give him your slightly reddened eyes, a soft smile appearing on your face. You look like your sober self. "Yeah, you look the same."

"Are you lying?" You ask, still not regaining the full strength of your voice yet.

"I wouldn't tell you if I was, but no, i'm not lying. You're so pretty." Toji wiped away tears that were stuck beneath your eyes, and you giggled. He washed away your sadness within a couple minutes. Toji always did this for you in exchange for your love and affection. He lifted your spirits when you didn't feel deserving of him, and with time, he got much better at recognizing the signs that came with this ridiculous idea you planted in your head.

"You're done loving on me? Already?" He asks in playful disbelief.

"You're not done with me? Do you actually want more?" You ask, hesitantly.

"Don't want more, I need more," he corrects, returning his hands to their rightful place on your waist. "Get all up on me, princess."

You giggle, leaning closer towards him to peck a kiss onto his cheek.

"Mhm, like that," he says, contently, when you pick up the pace and start smothering him. "Yeah, baby, there you go." His forearms go beneath your shirt, encircling around your bare waist and pulling you close to him like before. "Who's getting spoiled like me?" He says through a grin. You're holding back laughs as he continues to praise you for your affection.

"S-Stop," you say through a wheeze, not able to contain the sound any longer when you looked at him.

"What are you laughing at, huh?" He chases you this time, pressing his nose into your cheek before planting a light kiss into your jaw.

"You're so unserious," you say, turning your head as he keeps going with the kisses.

"Mmm... I'm serious about you," he says, feeling the vibration of your laughter against his grin. "So serious."

Your cheeks feel incredibly hot from how much you've been smiling. In this little drunken haze, things are so good. You're so happy, you're so affectionate, and you talk so much. This isn't like you at all, but it's not hurting anyone, especially not Toji. There was one minor slip, but you moved past it so quickly like the words never left your head to begin with. You're just so simple... so easy to take care of.

Toji notices the way your eyes are starting to lid with tiredness, and while he would love for you to doze off in his arms right then and there, you'd probably prefer waking up in a bed.

"Let's go to bed, yeah?" He suggests.

"What? No! I just got here... We can still talk, and kiss and- I'm not even tired."

Toji grins at the way you fight him on this, and he has half a mind to indulge you when you look so adorable, but he has to stand his ground. He's right.

"But, you are. You can't even hold your eyes open, anymore."

You feel sad again because the rest of the night would be going to waste if you both go to sleep early. You're there to spend time with Toji, and yet you feel like it's your fault your time is being cut short. You're thinking you shouldn't have drank the wine so quickly, if at all.

"Listen, doll," Toji says. He doesn't like the sadness that resurfaces on your pretty face. He doesn't think you should look that way because of him. "We're just gonna go lay in bed. We don't have to go to sleep. We can stay up as long as you want. Light on or light off, whatever you wanna do, let's just move it to the room."

You sigh, still not completely convinced that the night isn't over, but Toji managed to persuade you. "Will you carry me, please? My legs feel like jelly."

"Of course. What kind of person would I be if I let you stumble into the room on your own?"

You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, your face buried into the crook of his neck. "You'd still be my favorite person, but i'd be a little upset..."

Toji stands from the couch, humming in response to your quiet mumbles.

"...but not really upset. Just a little bummed. Not for too long, though, 'cause I love you, but I would expect an apology from you if I fell down," you draw out.

Toji cracks at your little ramblings. It's a ten second walk from the couch to the bedroom, and the whole time you were working through a hypothetical conflict.

"Yeah? You'd want me to say sorry?" He asks, setting you down on the bed.

"Mhm, and then I wouldn't be upset or bummed anymore," you mutter to yourself as you roll onto your back.

"That's fair. Want the light on or off?"

"Off," you blurt. "Let's tell scary stories," you trill, enthusiastically. You pull the blanket over your lower body until it reaches just below your chest.

Toji makes his way to the bed after turning off the light. He takes his shirt off, and out of habit lets it fall to the floor. "We're not telling scary stories this late at night," he says, joining you beneath the blanket.

"But, they're funny," you say, turning to face him. "I don't get scared, either."

"Depends on who's telling the story. I'm sure as hell not gonna feed you a nightmare, doll."

"Boo," you say, lowly. "Whatever, i'm over it already," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Toji watches you grow more and more tired as you throw random, nonsensical topics at him. You're taking longer to respond by the minute, and you're dozing off while humming in thought. You shake awake each time it happens and try to keep the conversation going, but Toji just shushes you and tells you to go back to sleep.

"I can see the moon through the window," you mumble, looking past him.

"I know, shh..." he hushes you, again.

"There's only like... one star," you whisper, in awe.

"Baby, come here," Toji says, like he's about to lecture you about the rules of sleep, but really he's just thinking that if his body heat doesn't put you down, he's gonna have to stay up with you until you fall asleep on your own.

You scoot closer towards Toji, tucking your arms into your chest when he reaches out to pull you into him the rest of the way. His body exudes so much warmth, you feel like you don't need the blanket at all.

There was nothing left for you to say when you couldn't see or feel anything but him. It was as if you were gone the second he enveloped you in his arms. You were small to the brink of nonexistence, no longer there to tell him what your surroundings were, or to ask him thoughtless, silly questions. You were no longer there to fight off the sleep he only seemed to bring closer towards you. Feeling his warm skin against you made you change your mind about this invisible fiend that was pulling your eyelids down. You now welcomed the calls to rest from your steady heartbeats.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, but for good measure, he poked at you with a whisper of, "Ma?" and waited a few seconds for your response. Nothing. He sighed and coiled around you tighter. Thoughts of the night ran through his head. Your soft, yet, occasionally bruising kisses and the imprints of your teeth on his skin, your unapologetic laughter, your certainty in using the pet names that claimed him as yours. He was weak for the amount of times you openly told him you loved him. It was a psychedelic dream, to say the least. One he hoped would continue once he followed you into slumber.

You woke up hours later, completely smothered by your bear of a man. All you could do was stare up at the ceiling, while you waited for Toji to wake up because he was literally breathing down your neck. His arm rested over your chest, his legs were tangled with yours, and his face was right beside your face. You weren't feeling the effects of the wine anymore, and luckily, you didn't have a headache or any signs of a hangover. You were back, which meant...

"What are you staring at?" A deep, raspy voice jolts you out of your thoughts.

You look at the handsome face next to you, and as if your heart can hear and see, it wakes up. "Nothing. Just woke up," you lie.

"Mm... you were staring hard at the roof. I thought it came to life or something," Toji chuckles. You smile, briefly, before looking at the ceiling again.

Toji releases you and flips onto his back, wanting to know what's so fascinating about the space you're looking at. "What are you thinking?" He asks, when he discovers nothing but blank space.

You take your time, not wanting to stumble over your words. Your heart skips a beat when he turns his head to look at you. In the time it takes for you to respond, you both could have gone back to sleep again.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he finally says, following the idiom with a question. "Did I even use that correctly?"

You can't help but laugh, nodding your head to answer his question. "I'm thinking about last night. Sorry if I said anything stupid."

Toji turns his body towards you again, thinking the only thing that's stupid is that he's still staring at the roof instead of staring at you. "You didn't. You were calm, from what I got to see, at least."

"So... boring."

"Not boring," he instantly catches. "You were perfect. You didn't have me running around chasing you, you weren't a brat—it couldn't have gone better, ma." He purposely missed something in his less than brief recount of the night to you. He can think back to the emotions that seeped through your little daze, and your insecurity about outwardly showing him love, all he wants, but there's no way in hell he's bringing that up to you, now. "You ramble a lot," he adds, a soft smile emerging on his face.

You can feel your cheeks warming up. "Oh god," you groan in embarrassment. "That's not- Sorry, that sounds... not so fun. Annoying of me, actually."

"Stop, it was cute," he assures, adding more fury to the blush creeping on your face. "Then you wouldn't go to sleep 'cause you kept seeing stuff outside the window."

You wanted to drown yourself in the blanket. Shame and embarrassment were winning their battle against you, as always.

"That was also cute," he says, watching the way your lips twitch as you bite back a smile. "You know my favorite part, though?" He says, grinning as he leans towards your ear.

"N-No, what?" You ask, trying so hard not to giggle.

"When you kissed me and told me you loved me," he murmurs into your ear like it's a dirty secret.

You snicker, the short sound of amusement evolving into laughter within seconds. You throw the blanket over your face and partially over Toji's face. The sight of your veiled body shaking with laughter lured out a couple chuckles of his own.

"That's funny?" He asks, pulling the blanket down, allowing you to see the sly grin he's sporting.

"A little bit," you respond, smiling— a remainder of your laughter.

"Silly girl. Come here," he says, dragging you back into his arms. "There's no reason you should be awake at six in the morning on your day off. Let's go back to sleep," he murmurs into the crown of your head. "We can go out for breakfast, later."

"Okay," you mumble, eyes shut already as you embrace the natural warmth of his body.

"One more thing," he murmurs. You don't raise your gaze, but your ears are open and you're listening closely. "Tell me you love me."

You didn't expect that, but you weren't going to deny him of such a simple thing. The words were easy to recite because you meant them with every fiber of your being. "I love you, Toji," you comply, immediately.

He sighs, contently, almost like hearing those words revitalized him. "Love you, too, mama."

That went out to every version of you.