#The Critical Windows Update

[technijianravi]

Critical Windows Update: Apply Patch Now to Prevent Black Basta Ransomware

[steevejr]

truly so baffling to me to hear people complain about their electronics like my coworker was complaining that her 2017 Mac was so slow its barely functional and it’s like what do you MEAN your 8 year old Mac is dead? mine is from 2013 and runs flawlessly?? what are you doing to your $1000 machine ??? filling it with peanut butter and TikTok viruses?????

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst. [ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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

The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

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

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

[ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

If you like my work, you can buy me a Ko-fi. (Tips are not expected, so don't feel pressured to do so.)

[prokopetz]

It's kind of funny how Teams users have been complaining for the better part of a decade that the minimum width of the dockable chat windows is too wide, and Microsoft has basically been telling them to get fucked, then they discontinue Skype and tell all of its former users to switch to Teams, and within 72 hours of Skype going down for good, Microsoft suddenly pushes a "critical" update for Teams that gives it more flexible dockable chat windows.

[jenovacomplete]

a failed update from billion-dollar cybersecurity firm crowdstrike has crashed windows machines worldwide today (july 19th 2024), leaving everything from airport terminals to checkout machines to delivery apps to banks stuck with a blue screen of death. here's a screenshot from downdetector (au) to illustrate:

the issue appears to be with crowdstrike falcon, a form of antivirus software widely used in the corporate world -- with emphasis on the world. there have been reports from the us, uk, australia, germany, india, france, japan and more. places affected include (but are not limited to) supermarkets, banks, basically every airline, public transport networks, major broadcasters, emergency services, corporate offices, healthcare providers and stock exchanges.

(woolies pic via archiestaines9 on twitter; s3pirion; akothari. yes that is masahiro sakurai of smash bros fame)

emergency service lines are currently experiencing problems within the american states of alaska, arizona, indiana, minnesota, new hampshire and ohio. similar problems likely plague other areas of the world, they just haven't been reported on yet. australian emergency services are operating, and critical infrastructure remains stable. be sure to check in with the local news stations still online for more updates.

welcome to y2k............................. 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[queerculus]

it's honestly nuts to me that critical infrastructure literally everywhere went down because everyone is dependent on windows and instead of questioning whether we should be letting one single company handle literally the vast majority of global technological infrastructure, we're pointing and laughing at a subcontracted company for pushing a bad update and potentially ruining themselves

like yall linux has been here for decades. it's stable. the bank I used to work for is having zero outage on their critical systems because they had the foresight to migrate away from windows-only infrastructure years ago whereas some other institutions literally cannot process debit card transactions right now.

global windows dependence is a massive risk and this WILL happen again if something isn't done to address it. one company should not be able to brick our global infrastructure.

[snapscube]

Can you please elaborate on the original FFXIV getting blown up?

yeah so, in summary, when FF14 was first released it was helmed by an entirely different team of producers who were very much not interested in learning from developments in the MMO genre up to that point and kinda created a mess of a game. it wasn’t really due to one thing in particular that the game failed though, the entire production was highly mismanaged. people knew in beta that it was going to be a mess but they pushed it out anyway and it was a major flop critically and a big hit to square’s reputation. the producers were then removed from the project and another producer named Naoki Yoshida who had a lot of experience working on the Dragon Quest MMO was brought on to replace them and hopefully improve the state of the game.

when realizing just how fucked FF14 1.0 was at the time, yoshida gave square a bit of a hail mary option and was like “we can improve this game, but it will never be great in this form. let me continue making updates to the game… while also in the background secretly rebuild the entire game almost from scratch”. fucking miraculously square was like “yeah sure” and actually gave that idea the greenlight, with a 2-year window to release.

so that became the plan. improve the game in incremental amounts for players currently sticking with it, and then wipe the whole slate clean and release a FF14 2.0 that was a fundamentally remade experience, actually taking more design inspiration from other successful MMOs and other final fantasy games. they didn’t just decide to wipe the original game on a meta level though, they actually worked the destruction of FF14 1.0 into the plot of both games. and so, famously, the day that the servers for 1.0 were shut down was a day where IN GAME players fought a horde of deadly monsters spawning around the world until inevitably a giant moon crashed into the world and took the servers offline for good. and then when you play 2.0, they frequently reference this calamity in the early MSQ and players who stuck with 1.0 until the end actually got their entire character transferred over with a special tattoo, opening cutscenes, and special dialogue throughout the MSQ that connects them to the game that was deleted.

there’s a 3-part noclip documentary that goes into more detail, it is FASCINATING stuff.

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part four!

LUCK OF THE DRAW

[prev/next]

summary: Uncle Tommy teaches you about the gambler's high in Stratford. And when you return home, you're forced to put that poker face to good use.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap, gambling, allusions to addiction, oral f!receiving, tommy 'let me eat it before we go' miller, unprotected piv, praise, breeding kink, light angst, teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, orgasm delay, creampie, no beta, this part ends on a cliffhanger im so sorry

note: full disclosure i know absolutely nothing about poker or casino games so like...let's not look too hard at that

wc: 11.6k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

The consultation goes far better than Tommy expects. 

You meet with a woman named Miranda. She’s tall as hell and wears one of those pinstripe blazers that reminds Tommy of his high school principal.

He lets you do most of the talking. You’re real good at it and have Miranda laughing five minutes in. The three of you walk through the house and Tommy’s critical in his observation. There’s ten bedrooms and four balconies and marble floors that shimmer and shine. The backyard has a goddamn waterfall in the heated pool and ten acres of woods behind it with a private lake and a brand new dock. Secluded and quiet. It’s beautiful. The most expensive house Tommy’s ever stepped foot in. 

Miranda explains that she wants to keep the house's old bones. Likes the charm of the curving archways and the transom windows and the laundry chute in the hallway. But the rest of the house is rather dated.

The roof needs to be completely redone—something she failed to mention in the email exchanges. Tommy clocks that one before they even step foot out of his truck.

The plumbing needs updated, there’s only power going into the left half of the house, the insulation needs to be switched with something more modern, and the wood that makes up that big, wrap-around porch is so dry rotted that it needs to be fully replaced.

Tommy makes note of all of it. Is overly observant because he knows Joel will want every little detail. And he tries not to get too excited. Truly, he does. 

But…they could do it with their fucking eyes closed.

Five million dollars. 

Even after labor and material cost and everything else, for this one job Tommy alone would get paid two hundred grand easily. And he can’t imagine everyone on the crew would want to go all the way to Stratford for a month, and so that paycheck would likely be even more than he thinks.

Truthfully, he’s never cared much about moving out of his apartment. It’s always been just him there with the occasional on and off again girlfriend. There’s space to fit his things comfortably and his neighbors are nice enough, so he’s never given a place of his own much thought.

But when Tommy thinks of his future now, his brain subconsciously makes room for you in it. 

He can see it clear as day when he dreams. Sees himself cooking dinner in the kitchen while you sit at the butcher block island he built with his own two hands, sipping whiskey from an icy glass. Sees you on the front porch steps while he’s out mowing the lawn. Sees you standing at the refrigerator late at night, bare feet on the tile, wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, trying to twist off the cap on a jar of olives that he always tightens just a little too much because he likes when you ask for his help.

You’re in everything he does. Present and future. Sometimes Tommy thinks even his past decisions had been made with you in mind, leading him right here. Right to you.

Miranda has lunch delivered during the consultation. A big spread of meats and hard cheeses and whole grain breads. She pours mimosas for you and herself but Tommy declines her offer. Wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel with an ounce of champagne in him if you’re the one in the passenger seat.

The two of you talk about labor pricing while you eat. Tommy sits silently beside you, taking slow bites of his turkey club concoction he’s put together, and lets you do your thing. 

Isn’t surprised at the easy way you make conversation. Slipping in those personal questions between the ones about dollar signs to make Miranda more comfortable. You ask how her husband’s doing on his business trip to Italy and about her son’s basketball tournament. If he didn’t know any better, Tommy would think the two of you have been friends for years and not just the two weeks you’ve been emailing back and forth. 

And when Miranda offers to pay another half million at the end of the consultation, Tommy isn’t surprised about that, either. She says, “My husband and I really love the work Miller Contracting does. And what’s even better is you’re good people. At the end of the day, that’s what we’re paying for.”

You tell her it was nice meeting her. Explain that Joel makes all final decisions so you can’t promise anything, but you’ll do what you can to sway his favor.

Miranda understands his hesitation. Knows it’s a long process and far away from home but swears to make the distance worthwhile.

Tommy hasn’t even pulled fully out of the long, winding driveway before you’re plucking your phone out of your back pocket and dialing Joel’s familiar phone number.  You put it on speaker and hold it between the two of you.

It only rings twice before he answers. “Hey, kiddo. How’d it go?”

“It’s real, Joel,” you say, the smallest bit of pride in your voice. As if to say, I told you it would be. It’s almost undetectable, but Tommy hears it. “Everything she said in the emails was true.”

“Did you check the basement? The plumbing down there, is it accessible?”

“Sure is.”

“And the furnace?”

“Yep. And the water heater and the HVAC and the foundation. I triple checked it all. Just like you taught me.”

“An’ she didn’t leave anything out? Nothin’ at all?”

“The roof,” you say. “But we figured as much from the exterior picture she sent us.”

“So she did lie.”

“It ain’t that bad,” Tommy interjects. “Would take us less than a day to fix. An’ I don’t think the roof was even in the proposal plan, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you answer. “Not once has she asked about us redoing her roof. Could be something she wants someone else to do.”

“Alright, fair. But the cost of labor—”

“How much would it be? For housing and food and travel expenses and everything else. Including pay for each day for everyone who wants a hand in it. How much would it be?”

Joel’s hesitation translates, even through the phone. “A lot. I don’t—I don’t know off the top of my head.”

“Highball it.”

Tommy can’t hold back his grin. Has never in his life heard someone talk that way to his brother during one of his stubborn moods. You speak clearly. Concise. Your voice holds an edge that’s devoid of fear and cowardice. He can hear Joel’s teachings in the way you speak.

Joel sighs heavily, and Tommy would bet money that he’s squeezing his jaw or massaging the incoming headache from his temple. And then, finally, he says, “Four hundred thousand, maybe. I can’t imagine Cooper or Adam are going to want to go, they’ve got those young kids an’ all.”

“And what if I told you it would all be paid for and then some? Outside of the five million,” you say. 

“Where are we gonna get the kinda cash for—?”

Before Joel finishes, you’re explaining, “Miranda just offered another five hundred thousand. That means three and a half million dollars in profit after max material cost.”

“But Christmas bonuses and—”

“Joel.”

He stops. Silence hangs in the air, and Tommy knows it’s not because he doesn’t trust you, it’s because he doesn’t trust Miranda. The offer seems almost too good to be true. It’s taken them so long to get this far, and now that they’re here, Joel’s having trouble wrapping his head around it. 

Tommy wishes he had something wise to say. Something to sway his brother, something to calm the anxiety he can see written plainly on your face. But he isn’t like you—doesn’t always have the right words. And so he holds tight to the steering wheel with one hand and extends his other, giving you a soft smile when you thread your fingers between his.

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” you say. “The three of us are the only ones who know, so if you decide not to take the job, no harm no foul. And you know I’ll have your back no matter what decision you make. Okay? But一if we get half before the job, half after, we won’t need to spend a dime out of our pockets. It’s real. And you’ve worked hard for it. It’s not a hand out and it’s not charity. You built this business from the ground up. You deserve this, Joel.”

Tommy knows his brother’s done for before he even speaks. He’s been on the receiving end of these talks with you, the ones where you say everything he wants to hear with so much conviction in your heart it’s impossible to discount it.

Joel sighs again but it’s a little lighter this time. He says, “Alright, let me…just let me talk to your mom first. I’ll tell you as soon as I make a decision.”

Before you even make it back to the hotel parking lot, Joel sends you a wordy text explaining his agreement terms. He wants to wait a month before they start construction. Says he needs to figure out who’s able to lend a hand and give them time to inform everyone they need to. He needs to replace Noah with a new hire and find a decent job for everyone who stays in Austin so they still get paid, too. Says to put the words ‘half the payment at signature, half after completion’ in the first draft of the contract.

The second you’re back in the hotel room, you’re pulling out your laptop and setting it up on the edge of the bed to tell Miranda the good news. You promise to have a complete breakdown of Joel’s terms sent by Monday afternoon and a revised agreement sent by Friday.

Tommy waits patiently while you work. He flops back on the mattress beside you and admires the way you look and the soothing sound of your fingers as they hit the keys.

He doesn’t rush you. Gives you all the time you need and concocts a plan of his own while he lays beside you.

And when you finally close your laptop, there’s a satisfied smile on your face. “This is going to change everything,” you say. “I mean, if Miranda has people tour her house when it’s finished they’re gonna want to know who did it, right? This opens up a whole new world of clients for us.”

Truthfully, he’d never thought that far ahead. Supposes that’s why you’re so good at what you do, always seeing opportunities before they’re staring you right in the eye. “I think this is cause for celebration,” Tommy says. “You bring some goin’ out clothes?”

That troublesome smirk finds its way onto your pretty face. “Picked an outfit as soon as Joel told me you’d be my chauffeur.” You stand to your feet, fingers already working at the buttons of the white blouse you’d bought specifically for the consultation. “Where are we going?”

“You’re gettin’ a birthday do-over,” he answers, a tone of finality in his voice. “S’been eatin’ at me, so I’m gonna make it right.”

Tommy pushes himself to his feet and comes to stand in front of you. His hands take over for yours, undressing you slowly. You tilt your head back to stare up at him, lips parted just slightly, eyes beginning to darken with desire he’s familiar with now. “You already did,” you say, and it warms his heart to hear it.

But it’s not just the end of the night he wants to fix. It’s the beginning, the middle, the aftermath. He has a chance to give you everything you wanted that day without fear of prying eyes, and Tommy thinks he’d be a fool not to take it.

He pushes the pearlescent buttons through the satin fabric of your blouse. One by one. Revealing the red lace you wear beneath. “Y’know, I’ve got this…this errand to run.”

The prettiest crease forms between your brows. Tommy presses a kiss there. “We have errands?”

It takes considerable effort to fight his grin. He likes the way the word we sounds in your mouth. And that assumption is no surprise, really. He can’t remember the last time he did anything without you at his side. But he shakes his head. Says, “Nah, just me. You go ahead an’ get all dolled up. I’ll be back in an hour. Yeah?”

The confusion on your face persists. And Tommy knows you like the back of his hand, so he tries to ease your mind. To put some of your uncertainty at ease. 

“I just gotta pick something up,” he clarifies. “An’ it won’t be a surprise if you’re there the whole time, now would it?”

You narrow those pretty, suspicion filled eyes at him, but that grin gives you away.

Tilting your head up with gentle fingers beneath your chin, Tommy kisses you once, twice. Three times for good measure. “Be good,” he says.

“Never.”

He’s still smiling when he slides into the leather seat of his truck. It’s so easy, being with you. Loving you. Like second nature. As if it’s what he was made for. 

And while he drives through the streets of Stratford, Tommy can’t help but think about a future with you. Even though there’s a little voice in the back of his head, reminding him that fantasizing about it will only make the inevitable devastation worse.

But it’s just too good. It makes his heart race, thinking about the way you’d look with a diamond ring on your finger and a belly swollen with his baby. He’d ntroduce you to all his friends as his pretty little wife and when they tell him to stay for one more drink he’d say, ‘nah, gotta get home to the misses’ with a big grin on his face.

He’d buy a plot of land and build your dream house with his own two hands. Tommy knows just what you like—has seen all those Zillow links you send him when you’re tucked behind that desk on the job site. He’d make sure it had a big window in the kitchen above the sink and hardwood floors and all the hardware in the house would match. Brass, of course—because that’s the metal you always notice.

But most of all, Tommy would keep you happy. Satisfied. If you wanted to work, he’d drive you every morning. If you wanted to stay home, he’d pick up extra hours if need be. He’d take you to see the sights of the world or spend the weekends cozied up on the couch—whatever you wanted. 

He’d indulge your every whim and never let you participate in a bad idea alone. Whatever kept those stars in your eyes and that troublesome smirk on your sweet mouth.

And Tommy knows he’d be happy regardless of place or time. As long as you’re there with him.

When he arrives at the locally owned jewelry store he’d found online, he doesn’t linger. Does what he came to do and gets back to you with a sense of urgency.

Tommy hates being apart from you. Even if it’s easier knowing you’re waiting for him, the distance feels heavy. Like a waste of precious time. And you must feel it, too. Because as he’s pulling back into the hotel parking lot his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Your text simply reads ‘miss you.’ His favorite one to receive. 

Tommy thinks he’ll never get over the way you make him feel. Wanted, needed, like he’s the most important man in your life. It doesn’t make sense to him, truthfully. He’ll never understand what the hell you see in him. 

But he’s well past the point of rationizing any of what lies between you. So he just sits with it instead. Feels the love you have for each other and the near paralyzing fear that comes with it. Lets that heaviness fill him to the brim because it’s you, and he’s greedy for it all.

When he opens the heavy hotel room door, he finds you fixing a stray piece of hair in the mirror. You smile wide and your eyes light up as they meet his in the reflection. 

You’re beautiful, Tommy thinks. Breathtaking.

His hands itch with the need to touch you, like they always do. Insatiable. And so he does, because for this weekend he can. He comes up behind you and places his broad palms on your hips, right over the waistband of your jeans. Light washed and distressed with glittering pockets, tight and casual but sexy. He presses a kiss behind your ear and promises, “Missed you more, sweetheart.”

Your hands find his, guiding them beneath the smooth satin of your black halter top, pressing them against your soft skin. It’s not an inherently sexual caress, it’s just there. Grounding. As if you need the touch just as much as he does.

“Got you somethin’,” he says. He fishes the small package from his pocket. “Close your eyes.”

When you do just as he asks, Tommy carefully unwraps your gift, turns one of your hands over, and sets the dainty piece of jewelry there. He can feel your excitement as if it were his own. Sees that pretty smile and mirrors it. “A present?”

“Mhm.” His stomach twists with nerves. But he’s not really sure why, because it’s you. Knows it’s something you would’ve picked out for yourself if given the chance. But he wants to impress you. Wants to make sure you feel loved. “Alright,” he says. “G’head.”

You laugh softly and your grin widens, fingers coming up to trace the thin chain of the necklace. In the center of it sits a single, pearl pendant. Small but pretty, not dissimilar to a lot of the jewelry you normally wear.

“I know when you asked for a pearl necklace that you meant the Uncle-Tommy-made one,” he says with a laugh. “But you still asked for it. So I wanted to get it for you.” 

“I love it,” you say. And then you're handing it back to him and gathering your hair in your hands, a silent instruction.

Tommy unclasps the necklace and lays it delicately in the center of your chest. “You know, the jewler lady was tellin’ me all this stuff about gemstones. Said they all kinda mean different things. Like emeralds are for growth and diamonds are for strength or whatever,” Tommy explains.

When he secures the necklace, he gently runs his knuckles down the back of your neck. Feeling you; your skin, your warmth, your pulse. 

“And when she started tellin’ me about pearls, at first she said they’re for purity and innocence.”

“Purity and innocence?” You laugh at that—one of those sweet, belly laughs he loves so much.

Tommy shakes his head, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt. “I know, I had the same reaction,” he tells you. “But just—just listen. Stay with me.”

With a nod, you press your lips together, trying to fight off your amusement.

“An’ then she said they could also be for spiritual connections," Tommy continues. 

You quiet a little then, hearing him, seeing his point before he even alludes to it. Reading his mind in that way you do. 

“I asked her to explain it to me. So I knew I was understandin’ right. An’ she told me a spiritual  connection ain’t somethin’ you can control. Doesn’t matter if it’s someone you shouldn’t want, doesn’t matter if…if it makes sense or if it’s right. It just is. Said those that experience it are lucky. Cause sometimes, for some people, somethin’ like that never happens at all.”

You stare at him in the reflection of the mirror, pupils blown wide and filled with the same intensity he feels. A shared understanding. 

A shared devotion.

When you reach for him and your fingertips snag against the shiny, new hardware on the ring finger of his left hand, you immediately notice it. Can feel the difference, the change from what’s normal.

He smiles as you turn in his embrace, holding his hand up in the space between you. Your brows furrow the smallest bit, and Tommy feels his gut twist with nerves as you closely examine the simple gold band. Thin but masculine, with a single pearl stone set in its center. Twin to the pendant around your neck, one more shared thing between you. Something tangible, something physical that will remain even after the weekend is over.

“They’re the same,” you say. “Like us.”

His heart pinches in his chest at the softness in your voice. “Yeah, darlin’,” he mutters. “Jus’ like us.”

You turn his big hand in yours and press it to the side of your face, and his thumb instinctively caresses the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said last night,” he whispers. “About…about how mad they’d be if they found out. Now, my brother, he’ll hate me for this. I think we both know that.” Tommy swallows hard. “But I…the risk一to me, anyway…it would be…it would be worth it. You…you are worth it.”

The words come out stumbling over one another. Tommy’s not used to this, to laying the truth of his heart out in the open for someone else to see. But he reminds himself that it’s not just someone he’s letting in. It’s you.

And you’re everything.

He can feel your pulse beneath his palm. Steady and unafraid, a direct contrast to the way his heart thrums against his sternum. “Are you saying you want to tell them?”

“I’m saying that I’ll do whatever you want,” Tommy explains, hearing the surrender in his own voice. “If you want to tell them, we’ll tell them. If you wanna keep carryin’ on the way we’ve been, just these stolen moments when no one else is lookin’, then we’ll do that, too. An’ if…if one day you find someone else, then I’ll step back. Won’t blame you, won’t hold you to nothin’ cause I know this一this ain’t the way it’s supposed to go.”

The thought alone leaves him feeling hollow, but he means it. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, no doubt seeing the flicker of disquiet in his eyes.

“What I’m sayin’ is that I’m yours, darlin’,” Tommy explains. “As long as you’ll have me. After that, even.”

For the rest of his disappointing, god forsaken life, all things good about Tommy Miller belong to you.

“I’m all in,” he says. “An’ I mean it. You just gotta say the word, darlin’.”

You stand there, staring up at him, wide eyed and grinning like you’d just won some prize. And he wants you to say it一wants you to tell him that you’re ready to risk it all. To step outside of what’s comfortable and damn every last consequence.

And you want it, too. Just as badly. He can fucking see it.

But then something flickers across your face. The reality of it hits. You remember who exactly it would hurt in the process.

And Tommy knows the decision you make before you speak. Watches you silently take all that temptation and bury it deep. His sweet, selfless girl.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into his touch. “I love you,” you say, and he knows you mean it. But you love them, too. Just as much.

He gets it. Reminds himself you still have the weekend. You still have now.

You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb, lips velvet soft. With that smirk on your face, you say, “All this cause I wanted a facial.”

Tommy laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m kidding,” you say, but the intensity of the moment has passed. Replaced with something lighter yet filled with just as much love. More, even, because this is the kind of airiness that only ever exists when you’re together. The feeling he’s come to crave.

“Drive me fuckin’ insane,” Tommy tells you, but there’s no salt to his words. They’re filled with affection instead. His joy persists, even as he shakes his head and says,  “Spillin’ my guts an’ you gotta make it about that damn pearl necklace. Oughta teach you to respect your elders.”

Your giggles bubble out of you, a familiar sound that eases all of his ache. But once your laughter begins to die down, you take him by the jaw. “Hey.” You tilt his face down so he’s staring right at you. Into you. “You are my home, Tommy Miller,” you say with such finality it makes his ears ring. “Don’t ever doubt that. Not for a day in your fucking life.”

He smiles wide. Lets himself soak up the heat of this moment in case he never gets to experience it again. His hands find your skin, sliding easily beneath your top, stroking just beneath your ribs. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy when you get all bossy,” he says. “You know that?”

“Bossy?” You scoff. “I do not get bossy.”

The lie bleeds through, and Tommy thinks about giving you examples from the consultation and the phone call from this morning, but he’s got something a little different on his mind. A matter that’s a little more pressing. “Mmhm,” he hums, leaning down to kiss the exposed junction of your shoulder. “Sure. Right.” 

You shiver beneath the warmth of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth against your skin. “We’re supposed to be going out,” you say, but you tilt your head back anyway. Giving him more access. “You keep this up and we won’t make it two feet out the door.”

“We will, baby,” he promises. “We will. Wanna show you the city lights. But just…” Tommy kisses a trail down your chest, lips hot and heavy. And then he hooks an arm around your waist, lifting you up and sitting you on the porcelain edge of the sink. “I just gotta take care of somethin’ first.”

He squeezes the supple flesh of your thighs, spreading your legs to make room for the width of his hips. His fingers are careful, moving with the kind of familiarity that only he could ever possess. “Take care of what?”

“Of you.” Tommy smirks. “Look so fuckin’ pretty.” He unfastens the button of your jeans and slides down the zipper to find you bare beneath一and there’s something about it that sets him off. Makes him a little more desperate for you. The knowing, maybe. The realization that you’d planned for this, that you’d gotten all dressed up with the expectation to be dressed down by his rough hands.

He sinks to his knees before you, head positioned perfectly between your knees. “But I never have enough energy after,” you whine, but you arch into his touch as he slides a hand beneath your top and palms your breast anyway. Not an ounce of resistance to be had. “If we fuck now, I’m just going to want to stay here and do nothing else for the rest of the night.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Tommy hooks his fingers in the waist band of your jeans and pulls them down. “Said I’m gonna take care of you. Just wanna eat it before we go, baby. S’that alright with you?”

A flush crawls up your neck, and Tommy would bet that if he pressed his fingers to your cheek that they’d be full of sweet, summertime warmth. He wants to feel it, to taste it. But then you press your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, giving him the green light, and Tommy returns to his trajectory. “Be fast,” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone.

Tommy takes it as a challenge. Pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Five minutes,” he says, mirroring the silly smile you wear. “Go ‘head. Tell me when you start it.”

You shake your head in disbelief but settle in anyway, leaning back against the mirror. You put in the passcode to his phone, set the timer for exactly five minutes, and lay it on the sink beside your thigh. Your finger hovers over the start button. “You’re a little confident,” you say. “There a reason for that?”

He turns his head and bites the inside of your thigh, flicking his tongue over the hurt the moment your breath catches in your throat. “S’cause I know you, sweetheart,” Tommy explains. “Got you memorized. Know your favorite color, your favorite song.” He moves closer, sucking bruises into your thighs in the shape of his mouth. “Know how you like to be touched.”

Your knees drift further apart, breath coming fast. Anticipating what’s to come.

“Start the damn timer,” Tommy demands. And the moment you do, he’s leaning forward and getting his fix. He pushes your thighs apart and lays wet, open mouthed kisses against your clit. Circles it with a pointed tongue that works you up with precision.

He revels in the broken moans that you let slip, in the way your fingers tangle in his curls. You’re so wet, so responsive, so needy. But this is more for him than it is for you; a controlled release, a hit to tie him over while you’re out. 

It’s damn near over when he slides two fingers inside of you. Your body accepts him so naturally, greedy in a way only he understands. Your fingers curl around the sink’s edge, blanching as you try to fight release.

But Uncle Tommy does have you memorized. Presses his fingers against that spot inside that has you gasping, flicks his tongue just right. 

In the end, it only takes him two minutes and twenty-eight seconds before your pussy pulses around his fingers. Your spine bends and your clit throbs beneath his soft tongue, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Tommy doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Doesn’t come up for air until his lips are swollen and his chin glistens with your arousal.

But when he does, you wear this sweet smile. And even though his cock throbs painfully in his jeans, Tommy feels satiated at the sight of it. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, helps you back into your jeans, and zips them up all before the timer goes off.

And when the two of you finally leave the hotel room, you lace your fingers through his and cling to him with that sweet smile still on your face. Safe and satisfied and happy.

You cling to him as he leads you through the busy streets of Stratford. Leaning into him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. It’s such a small, intimate thing, but it pleases him. He likes knowing that if anyone were to look in your direction they wouldn’t assume there was anything wrong about the way he holds you.

Not once do you question where he leads you. You just trust him. Fully and without any reservation. No one has ever trusted him like you do, Tommy thinks. Not any of his friends, not any of the women he’s been with, not even his own brother. 

He gets high on it. On your faith. You know him better than anyone and are fully aware that he’s an impulsive man, that he follows his heart without giving the consequences much thought. And yet, still, you trust him fully. To be good to you, to be good for you.

Thoughts of the potential tomorrow he could have with you persist once more, begging to be acknowledged. He tries to stay grounded in the moment. Holds your hand a little tighter, inhales the sweet scent of perfume that clings to your skin. The sun sets in the distance, just now dusk, still bright. Still day. Still time.

When you round the last corner and Tommy steps into the short line at the entrance, you look at him with an expression that’s a little lighter. Bright eyed and curious. “A casino?”

He grins. “What kinda uncle would I be if I didn’t introduce you to some bad ideas of my own every now and again?”

You turn to the bouncer and present him your shiny new ID; the horizontal one that’d come in the mail not too long ago. They wave you through, and Tommy follows suit.

It’s darker inside. Busy, too. Filled with people of all kinds; some in jeans and work boots, not dissimilar to Tommy. Others in three piece suits and cocktail dresses.

The air smells like smoke and booze and the lingering scent of pine cleaner. Colorful lights cascade over the space, over your soft skin. Hues of blues and yellows and greens. He can hear the faint electrical whirring of slot machines in the distance, mixed with sighs of defeat and the clink of coins and gasps of celebrations. All mixed together, a low thrum that slithers through him, the energy alight and buzzing.

The lights reflect beautifully in your eyes, and Tommy can’t help but get a little lost in it. In you. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He wishes he had the words to explain it, to make you understand that you’ve uprooted his entire life.

Tommy realizes then that he’d been right all along. In the beginning, knowing that the moment he touched you everything would change. That he would change. Red to blue, green to yellow. He’d known it then and had indulged in you anyway. Completely, lucidly aware that nothing would ever be the same for him.

And if he had a chance to redo it all, if he could go back to that night at the warehouse party, Tommy knows with certainty that he’d do it all over again.

Even if you never say the word. Even if you tire of him and find someone your own age who you don’t have to kiss behind closed doors or ten hours away from everyone you know.

Even then, the time you’ve given to him has been worth it. 

You extend your hand, palm out and open. “Drinks first?”

He slides his rough fingers through yours. “Drinks first.”

Tommy leads you to the bar, orders two whiskeys, and pays with his own card. While you wait for the bartender to finish pouring, he hands you a hundred dollars in cash and says, “Now, the trick is to go slow. I know it’s real exciting, ‘specially when you get the hang of it and start winning. But you gotta keep yourself in check. Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Slow and steady. Easy does it.”

“A hundred bucks each,” he explains. “An’ once you’re out, you’re out. We’re here to have fun, not start any new bad habits.”

You jut out your bottom lip, forming a pout. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were gonna remortgage the house and sell your truck.”

Tommy snorts, shaking his head. He thanks the bartender when he sets the two whiskeys in front of you and you clink the edges of the crystal glasses together. “We’ll start wherever you wanna go,” he says. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes you a while to decide. You walk around the carpeted casino floor hand in hand, sipping whiskey and asking a million questions. Sometimes, you linger at some of the tables.

“What’s that one?”

“Baccarat,” Tommy tells you, watching the dealer shuffle the cards in a dramatic fan. “Sometimes you win, sometimes your opponent wins, sometimes the banker wins. Kinda complicated.”

You walk further, past the slot machines and to another small crowd of players. You point to the spinning wheel attached to the table, striped black and red and numbered. “Roulette,” you say. “Right?”

“Supposed to be about math.” Tommy tuts. “Mostly just about luck.”

When you reach the poker tables near the back of the game floor, you move a little slower.

You don’t say anything, but Tommy knows you. So he takes your hand and leads you to the dealer. Buys twenty dollars in poker chips and takes a seat at the table. You do the same, sitting right beside him.

There’s an older gentleman at his other side, graying and drenched in the heady smell of cigar smoke. Beside him sits a woman a little older than you, wearing a sequined dress that casts rainbows over the green table.

The dealer looks to you, and you place the minimum bet in the center of the table. Two blue chips.

Tommy goes next. Adds a red chip to the pool.

The old man places his, and then the woman. And when the dealer places two cards in front of each player, Tommy lifts just the corners of his up and nearly laughs. He’s got an ace of spades and a seven of hearts.

Tommy’s got shit for luck. Always has.

He turns to you, tries to read the look on your face. You just smile at him, maybe a little smug. But he can’t tell if it’s because you’ve got a winning hand or if it’s the excitement of it all.

The dealer discards the card on the top of the deck. Lays it face down off to the side. And then he flips three cards into the center of the table; three of spades, five of diamonds, seven of clubs.

“Bets,” the dealer says.

You lean forward, stacking another blue chip onto the steadily growing pool. “Raise.”

Tommy tries to keep a straight face, but he can’t. The amusement bleeds through, his mouth pulling up at the corners. “Call.” He places the same bet, another blue chip beside yours.

The man beside him folds, and Tommy thinks he must have an even worse hand than the one sitting in front of him.

The woman calls, too. Matches your bet.

The dealer places another card in the center of the table. Six of hearts.

He sees your leg twitch beneath the table. The only tell he’s noticed since the beginning of the game. 

“Bets?”

“Raise,” you say again, putting in two red chips now. Worth more. Nearly doubling the pot.

Tommy shakes his head, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Fold,” he says, pushing his cards face down across the table to the dealer. It’s just you and the woman at the end of the table now. 

And it seems she’s got a hell of a poker face, too. Because Tommy can’t pick up on a single cue between either one of you.

The old man beside him nudges Tommy with an elbow. “Guess we got shown up, huh?”

He laughs. “Guess so.”

Just beneath the table, he holds a five dollar bill between two of his fingers. “Got five bucks on my daughter,” he says. It surprises Tommy at first. But as he looks a little closer, he sees the resemblance there; they share the same blue eyes, the same aquiline nose. “How much you got on your wife?”

It’s stupid, he knows.

But Tommy can’t help himself. Not when it comes to you.

He pulls the remaining cash out of his wallet. “Got eighty bucks in my pocket,” he says, his confidence coming out more arrogant than he initially intended. “On her?” He clicks his tongue. “I’m all in.”

The man holds out his hand, a glimmer of excitement in his pale eyes. “Deal’s a deal.”

Tommy grins. Shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Deal’s a deal.”

When he returns his attention to the game, Tommy sees the dealer lay another card on the table. Six of hearts.

You raise again, adding one more blue chip, leaving you almost empty.

The woman at the end of the table hesitates. Just for a moment, but Tommy sees it. She calls, matching your bet.

The dealer lays the final card on the table, face down. He waits, lets the anticipation simmer. And then he flips it with a quick flick of his wrist. Practiced, meticulous. Eight of diamonds.

The woman lays her hand down first. She’s got an eight of hearts and eight of clubs. And with the eight of diamonds on the table, she’s got three of a kind. A win.

Tommy’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Starts to wonder how the fuck he’s going to explain that he’s lost every last dime before the first game’s even finished.

But then you reveal your hand.

Two of diamonds, four of diamonds.

Four of a kind, and a seven card straight.

“Aw, hell.” Tommy’s eyes go wide and it takes everything in him not to jump to his feet. Still, the excitement spills out of him. Won’t stay contained no matter how hard he fights it. He takes your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, needing to touch you, to feel you, to taste you. “Now that’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, baby!”

Your giggles are girlish and blithe, filled with so much joy you’re damn near swimming in it. You lean in and gather the chips on the table, pulling them toward you. As you stack them neatly at your side, you sip the whiskey from your crystal glass. “Another game?”

“You bet your sweet fuckin’ ass we’re playin’ another,” Tommy says.

The old man at his side claps him on the back, forks over eighty bucks worth of poker chips, and says, “Ya’ lucked out on her, kid.” 

The words stop him in his tracks. They’re said so casually, but they give him pause.

Because they’re fucking right.

He’s lived his entire life in the wrong places and the wrong times. Has never been dealt a good hand and if he has, he fucks it up in a minute.

But he did luck out on you.

Was in the right place, at just the right time. Said just the right words, did just the right things.

He fell hard and fast. But you did, too, and Tommy knows it’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to him.

And this old man who doesn’t even know your name can see it just as clearly.

Tommy nods. Swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I did.”

The man and his daughter both step away from the table, and two others take their place, leaving Tommy to reassess the way he’s viewed his entire life up until this point.

Because maybe all those mistakes prior to the day he met you were worth it, meant to bring him here. To Joel’s that first evening, to the warehouse party, to the crowded bar on Sixth Street, to that diner in the middle of nowhere, to the poker table you sit at now.

He thinks about the jewelers take on a spiritual connection. How it only happens once in a lifetime or sometimes not at all. 

He thinks about the words you’d whispered to him last night. Surrounded by chlorinated water and sandstone walls, safe enough in his arms to ask the one selfish question he’s ever heard uttered from your lips.

What if it wasn’t my mom and Joel who were meant to meet. What if it was us?

All that bad luck for all those years because he was saving it for you.

The dealer shuffles the cards, fanning them across the table.

You sit there for five more games, all of which you win. You came to the table with twenty dollars in poker chips and leave with over two hundred一up higher than Tommy’s ever been himself.

You ask to take a break after the last win. Tell him you want to try something else, to see if you’re any good at the slot machines or blackjack. But the moment you’re away from the table, you’re throwing away that facade you’ve mastered in the last hour and looping your arms around his neck, smiling wide. “Can you believe that? I did good, didn’t I? Six games in a row!”

Tommy laughs and holds you tight against him. “You did so good, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Let’s see who else’s pockets you can run.”

The slots are a let down. An experience, for sure—but not a single round do you or Tommy win more than a single dollar. Yet, still, you sit beside one another and stick coins into the machines and cross your fingers and hope for the best.

Once, you try to mimic the mechanical whirring sound of one of the penny slots, and it’s so accurate that you have Tommy laughing hard enough his side aches.

You go through more drinks—another round of whiskey and you share a frozen, lime flavored margarita tower that’s nearly as tall as you are.

Tommy wins twice at blackjack, and you lose so badly that you’re back down to the same hundred you walked in with. He wants to try another round, but you call it quits and sit in his lap while he plays.

It’s a hell of a lot more difficult to focus with you so close.

He’s supposed to be counting up the value of his hand, but all he can think about is the curve of your shoulder when you pull your hair back and expose it to him.

Tommy presses a kiss beneath your jaw, trying to curb the craving to taste the salt of your skin. 

He watches goosebumps rise on the back of your neck in response, watches you press your lips together to keep that troublesome smirk from forming on your face. You take his hand that rests gently on your hip and slide it just a little higher, beneath the satin hem of your top. 

It’s different than when you’d done it in the hotel room. Less about feeling him and more about being touched.

You shift in his lap, rolling your hips forward, spreading your legs a little wider to make room for the thick plane of his thigh. It’s the smallest change, barely there一but Tommy sees it. Feels it. The warmth, the need.

There’s six other players at the table. The one on your left is close enough that you could touch your elbow to the fabric of his black suit if you leaned over just a bit more.

Filthy, shameless girl.

You shift your hips over his thigh again. More intentional, more obvious.

Tommy’s hand tightens at your side in warning.

That smirk of yours is on full display now as you glance at him over your shoulder, eyes filled with equal amounts of challenge and devilry.

The other players around him show their hands. One by one. And when it’s Tommy’s turn, he lays his cards down to reveal the winning numbers. A ten of hearts and a ten of spades.

He leans forward to collect the chips in the center of the table, and slides his hand a little higher on your waist in the process. Feels your soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips, pressing into the divots between your ribs.

Tommy always feels that gravitational pull towards you, but it’s different knowing what the end of the night holds. He’s less guarded, less careful. He touches you without shame.

There’s nothing hesitant about it. No guilt. Tommy likes it more this way, he thinks. It makes him feel impossibly closer to you. Makes him feel free. Weightless.

His subtle touches are a little different for the remainder of the night. Heavier, full of intent. His hand at the small of your back as you try a rounds of pool, his forefinger beneath your chin, forcing you to look up at him when you ask for another whiskey.

But there’s no rush, no race to get home to feed your desires before the moment passes.

You’re gifted a round of shots from a girl you make quick friends with in the restroom, and the luck of it convinces you to go back to the poker tables. They’re busier now, the night in full swing.

But it makes no difference. You still wipe the floor with the other players every damn game, Tommy included. Even the ones where you’re dealt a losing hand, you’ve got such a winning streak that he finds himself folding out of intimidation.

A little before eleven, the two of you step out onto the balcony to share a cigarette that Tommy lights with the chrome zippo that lives permanently in the front pocket of his Levi’s. You leave the poker table with nearly five hundred dollars worth of chips in your pockets and a carefree smile on your face. 

You lean back against the railing on the balcony, smoke swirling around you in an angelic halo. “I can see why people get addicted to this,” you say, lighthearted.

Tommy laughs. “Yeah, well. Let’s keep that little confession to ourselves. You develop a gamblin’ addiction an’ Joel finds out it was ‘cause of me, he’ll have my ass.”

With the roll of your eyes you say, “Oh, please. If I’m going to develop any addictions it’s not gonna be something lame as hell like gambling.”

He gives you a crooked smirk. “Booze, then?”

“Was thinking heroin,” you joke, passing the half-smoked cigarette back to him.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he says with a shake of his head, but his wide smile only grows. He takes a long drag, letting the nicotine dull the alcohol head buzz that’s well and truly set in by now.

You giggle softly, always happy to present him with that crude humor. But as he exhales slowly, your smile begins to fall. Just a little, as if you’re unsure of exactly how you’re feeling. Caught between one emotion and the next. 

Tommy reaches out his hand. Strokes his knuckles gently across your cheek. “Tell me, baby.”

You cast your eyes away, nudging a small pebble beneath the tip of your sneaker, resigned. And then you admit, “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”

It pulls that anxiety that’s been building in his chest all day to the forefront of his mind. The fear that this feeling won’t last, that it’s coming to a rapid close. That this high has gone on for too long and the come down is like a slab of concrete rushing up to greet him from below.

Tommy wishes he had the answers for you. Wishes he could carry the weight of it all just to grant you peace. He’d do it without complaint if it meant you didn’t have to feel this emptiness, too.

”C’mere.” He opens his arm and you fit yourself naturally beneath it. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs, lying his cheek on the top of your head, holding you as close as his anatomy will allow. His grip is firm, unrelenting, squeezing tight like his body could grow roots into yours if only he could get close enough.

With a long exhale, you say, “I wish we could stay here forever. The pretending gets so tiring. You go home after dinner every night and it’s the worst part of the day. I just…I miss you. All the time.”

His stomach twists and his throat gets tight in the way it always does when his emotions start to choke him. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he whispers. “Not goin’ anywhere. An’ you never have to pretend. Not with me.”

Tommy keeps you close until your shoulders relax and the cigarette burns to cinders between his fingers. And when you finally pull away, you stare at him hard. Like you’re searching for something hidden in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak. To remind you that whatever turmoil’s swirling around inside that pretty head of yours is his to shoulder, too.

But then you let out a dramatic groan. Loud enough to attract the attention of the other smokers out on the patio. You pay them no mind, though, and neither does he. You throw up your hands in surrender and say, “You know what? No. No. Fuck it.”

Tommy thinks the rapid shift in energy may just give him whiplash. He’s got no clue about the silent conversation you’ve had with yourself, but he knows that he loves you. Knows that he’s never had a bad day if you were at his side. Knows that as long as you’re together, he’d do anything. 

Anything. 

A short, clipped laugh escapes him, and then Tommy throws his hands up, too. “Fuck it.”

You grab his hand and lead him back inside. There’s a newfound determination in the way you move, and it frightens him and makes him feel alive simultaneously.

The roulette table is still just as busy as it was in the beginning of the night. Bustling with players and onlookers alike. Tommy stops you just before you start pushing your way through the crowd. 

He wants to know what’s changed. Has the faintest hope that you’re being selfish for once. But he can’t be certain. Not with this.

And so he says, “Hey, wait. Hang on. What, exactly, are we fucking?”

“Each other,” you answer with the happiest smile on your face. “I mean, Christ. I’m not…I’m not doing this anymore. I love you, and I’m tired of feeling bad about it.”

Tommy blinks in surprise. His heart hammers behind his ribcage.

With a sigh, you say, “Look, I don’t一I don’t know a thing about this, alright? I know fuck all about soul connections or how any of this is supposed to go or how it’s supposed to look. What I do know is that Joel’s gonna be pissed and my mom’s gonna think I’m having a crisis. But, like…fuck it, right?”

He couldn’t fight his face splitting grin if he tried. You’ve always been close. Always understood each other in ways no one else could possibly comprehend. But this is something else entirely, like coming home after a long day. Like taking a fresh breath of air. “Fuck it,” Tommy echoes.

Your eyes glitter, neon lights reflected in them as you dig out all of your casino chips from the pockets of your jeans. “We’ll tell them tomorrow,” you say. “The second we get home. I’m all in, Uncle Tommy. Are you?”

You already know the fucking answer. 

And Tommy Miller, impulsive and obsessed man he is, adds the chips in his pockets to the pile in your hands. He says, “Put it all on red, baby,” and you do.

Pushing your way through the crowd, you set every last casino chip on the table. The other players raise their eyebrows in concern or see the opportunity and sport a wolfish smile, but you hardly notice. All your poker earnings, all of his from blackjack, sit in a messy pile on the green game table. You look at the dealer and say, “All in on red.”

“Bold,” the woman says with a nod of approval. “Number?”

You glance back at Tommy over your shoulder. “Twenty-one,” he answers. “For your birthday.”

You quickly stack your chips on the table over the red circle with the number twenty-one written on the inside, hands moving with precision.

The dealer spins the wheel, colors blurring and shifting together. She waits one second, two seconds一and then she drops the ivory-coated ball into the wooden bowl and everyone around the table goes silent. Waiting with bated breath, listening to the steady tick, tick, tick of the dial. 

You and Tommy walk back to the hotel with empty pockets. No casino chips to be found, not a single dollar to either of your names.

But it doesn't matter. Not really. Because you’re laughing and the stars are bright beneath the night black sky and his heart has never been so full. 

He put it all on red. High risk, high reward. Lost every damn dime and still walked away from that roulette table the luckiest man alive.

You race down the side of the busy city streets, sharing rushed and messy kisses that leave him feeling intoxicated in a whole new way. Tommy gets high on you, on your sweet affection, on the unrestrained version of your love.

Once you’re tucked safely back behind the hotel room door, you can’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough. He struggles to untie the satin fabric at the back of your neck, so you resort to pulling it over your head instead.

And when you shove him back against the crisp, white sheets, Tommy’s t-shirt is on the floor but he’s only got a single boot kicked off. You have time now, he knows. Could take things slow, could savor it.

But you don’t have to. You can rush into it tonight because there’s always tomorrow.

The word clings around in his head. Tomorrow. With you. Something he’d always hoped for but never quite let himself believe was possible until you’d said those two pretty words. All in.

Tommy thinks he’s been all in with you from that very first night in Joel’s kitchen. Had placed his bets before he lifted that bottle to your mouth, before that whiskey ever touched your tongue.

When you kick your jeans off onto the floor, Tommy shifts further up the mattress. Leans back against the headboard as you crawl in his lap wearing nothing now but that pearl pendant around your smooth neck.

His cock rests against his stomach, thick and heavy, and his lips part as you situate yourself just above it and slide him through the syrupy wetness that’s gathered between your legs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” Tommy presses his fingers into the softness of your hips, letting you set the pace. He matches your rhythm and helps guide you. “And I—Christ. I’m so god damn in love with you.”

You smile wide, lighthearted laughter filling the space. And you’re so perfect above him—so happy, that it has warmth spreading through his veins. Not just the hot, needy sort of desire he’s used to, but something warmer. Something that only ever exists when he’s with you.

Tommy knows it’s irrational, the idea of soulmates. Knows that people aren’t cosmic matter wrapped up in human skin. But, fuck. He doesn’t care that it’s senseless and illogical—you are the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him.

He lifts his hips, angling them just right so when you roll yourself against him again he slides right in. You sigh in tandem, basking in the sweet, aching relief of finally being close enough.

With your hands braced on his shoulders, you begin to move slowly at first, working up to it, accommodating to the size of him. A steady but incessant rocking, thighs bracketing his waist. Gentle but desperate all the same.

“You got it,” Tommy encourages softly. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Made for me, weren’t you? Hm? Made real special, just for Uncle Tommy.”

He can never get enough of you. Feels drunk on the way you look on top of him when you start to quicken your pace. Feels high on the way you breathe out his name and the way your nails dig into the strong muscle of his back.

You feel so fucking good—messy and wet and so warm it makes his head spin. Tommy lifts his hips in sync with you, getting that much deeper. His cock throbs and twitches with each pass of your sweet pussy, arousal making a mess of the thick curls at his base. “Squeezin’ me so tight,” he says. “Look so pretty ridin’ it.”

The sounds you make are pornographic. Sexy and sultry and mouthwatering.

But Tommy can see that little wrinkle of frustration as it forms between your brows. Knows you need a little more, always just a little more, his pretty, desperate girl. “How’s it feel, baby? Talk to me.”

“Good, so一so good, but…I can’t, hm一please一”

He knows. Of course he knows.

“You need my help? S’that it, huh?” You nod frantically, chest heaving with each ragged breath. And Tommy gets it. He understands.

So he surges forward, bracketing his arm around the center of your waist. He holds you close, your breasts pressed flush against his chest. He lifts you just enough to make room for himself below you, and the new angle has him craning his neck to look you in those pretty, starry eyes.

And then he’s thrusting hard, fucking up into you, reaching deeper than you could get alone.

A sharp gasp leaves your throat, a wrecked sort of sound, and his lips curl up into a crooked smirk. “There she is,” he whispers against your collarbone. He does it again, rolling his hips, sinking in deep. “My favorite girl.”

“Oh god一” You loop your arms around his neck, holding tight. The most intimate embrace he’s ever been a part of, a merging of souls.

He finds a good, steady rhythm. Full of longing and love and promise. He lays wet, open mouthed kisses over every part of you he can reach; the curve of your shoulder, the column of your throat, the arch beneath your jaw bone. “Wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, breathing hard as he feels your walls squeeze tight around him. “Build you a big ol’ house and fuck you to sleep every night in it. Jus’ like this. Put a fuckin’ rock on that finger an’ make you a real Miller, baby. Through and through.” 

“Tommy, please,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me cum一”

“Nuh-uh, not yet.” He slows his hips just enough to keep you there, right on the edge.

You toss your head back and he can feel you pulse around him, can hear the wet sounds from between your thighs with each thrust. “But I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you got it,” he says tenderly. “Just a little longer, hm? Be good. Be good for me.”

And you do, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your sweat-dotted forehead to his. Resisting, fighting it hard. His perfect, filthy girl.

His release gnaws at him. An intense heat that builds low in his belly, flames licking at his insides, growing and growing until it becomes an inferno. Tommy snakes his free hand down his middle and presses the pad of his middle finger against your swollen clit. “Could put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he grunts out, words feral and breathless. 

“Fuck, please, please, I can’t一” 

Tommy’s vision goes blurry with the way you squeeze him like a vice, but he only doubles down. It’s vulgar and depraved and disgusting, but he loves it. And he knows you do, too一you’re one in the god damn same. “Ain’t nothin’ they could do about it then. Be mad all they want, but it’ll be my baby in your belly. Fill you up ‘til it sticks.”

He knows you’ve lost control before you even say it. Can feel the way you pulse around him, can feel the rush of liquid that trickles down his cock, coating him.

“Shit, baby,” he hisses, fucking you through it, pressing his rough fingers into the soft flesh of your side. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy. Deserve to feel so good. My favorite girl.” 

You slide your hands into his hair and crush your mouth to his in a bruising kiss. It’s hot and messy, a clashing of tongues and lips and teeth, desperate in its own right. You say, “I want everything with you, love you so much.”

And your raw adoration is his unravelling. The way it always is.

Tommy spills himself deep inside you, doesn’t stop until you’re both a mess of trembling limbs and satisfied laughter.

You fall back into the sheets, laying on your side, facing one another, fingers threaded together. Tommy kisses the tip of your nose while he tries to catch his breath. Swipes away the strands of hair that stick to your forehead.

He feels faint with the amount of love that fills him in this moment because there’s no reason for him to fight it. No use in worrying about what happens tomorrow, because it’ll be you, and it’ll be him, and not much else on God’s green earth truly matters.

You’re nearly asleep, eyes closed and breath shallow, when he asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Everything,” he clarifies. “Do you really want it all? Marriage and kids and everythin’ else. You want that? With…with me?”

You don’t open your eyes, but you begin to trace the curves of his face with gentle fingertips. The arch of his brow, the slope of his nose, the shape of his mouth. He doesn’t flinch, not even once, because you move like it’s muscle memory.

The thought crosses Tommy’s mind that no one has ever truly loved him before. Not like this. Not like you have.

“Sometimes I think about things that happened before I met you,” you tell him. “Parties I went to, bars I snuck into with my fake ID, vacations and my graduation and road trips. And all I can think now is how much I wish you’d been there, too. I don’t want to have to do that anymore. The wishing.”

He smiles, and when you feel it beneath your touch you smile, too.

Through a sleepy voice, you say, “Everything is better with you.”

Tommy has never slept so peacefully in his life.

Has never been so happy to wake up to his alarm at the ass crack of dawn.

You spend the ten hour drive back to Austin talking. The radio hums low in the background and the air is just warm enough to have the windows down. You put your bare feet in his lap while he drives and you talk about everything the future holds for the two of you.

It’s going to be hard, you both know. Laying out your worst grievances on Joel’s kitchen table. But it’ll be worth it, too.

And after, once things have settled down, and the job in Stratford is complete, you talk about buying a plot of land not unlike the one you’d viewed during the consultation. A couple of acres just outside of town. You talk about getting a dog and raising chickens and painting the kitchen cabinets navy blue and adorning them with brass hardware.

You show him pictures on your phone that you find on Pinterest of cute little farmhouses with big windows above the sink and wood flooring and wrap around porches.

When he asks about marriage and kids, it doesn’t feel weird at all. It feels easy. You tell him you want to wait until you’re twenty five but insist on having at least two.

It feels like the shortest ten hours of his life.

And when you pull into Joel’s driveway, Tommy’s stomach twists and his mouth goes dry. 

But then you grab his hand and kiss his cheek and whisper, “All in.”

And Tommy’s ready. He is. To tell his brother, to deal with the mean right hook that’s likely coming, to start his life. Because it had never really had much meaning until he’d met you.

Your mom and Joel greet you on the front porch. He’s got his arm draped over her shoulders and there’s this look on his face一happy. Elated, even. No scowl to be found.

Tommy thinks there must be good news and feels the smallest bit of guilt, knowing that whatever it is, he’s about to ruin his big brother’s joyful mood.

You don’t make it two steps into the house before your mom takes your hands in hers. She’s nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet, sporting a face splitting grin and bright eyes not unlike your own.

She looks at you, and then at Joel. “I can’t wait. I can’t! It’s killing me.”

Joel laughs. “Alright, then. Go on, tell her.”

Something dark swirls in Tommy’s stomach.

And then your mom holds out her left hand. Nails manicured and painted pale blue and一there. Right there on her finger lays a silver band with a small diamond set in its center. “We’re getting married!”

Your hand jolts back behind you, searching for him, fingers finding the hem of Tommy’s t-shirt and squeezing tight.

For what it’s worth, you put that poker face to good use.

You hug your mom and gush about the ring and tell her how happy you are for her. Joel embraces you and kisses the top of your head and holds you in this fatherly sort of embrace.

But Tommy knows you. Sees right through it. Picks up on every last one of your tells. 

Can hear the shake in your voice, sees the tremble of your bottom lip, notices the way you try to touch him every chance you get, reaching out for safety. A brush of your knuckles, a press of your arm against his, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the security you’d just found.

He and Joel share a drink in celebration in the kitchen and Tommy claps him on the back. Congratulates him while trying hard not to lose his footing, to fight off the dizziness.

They offer to take everyone out to dinner. Your mom says, “Sarah will be home soon. She already knows, but we can all go out to that Mexican place to celebrate. How’s that sound?”

Tommy’s the one who answers. Lies and says the drive has exhausted him. That all he really wants is a nap.

Your mom and Joel are understanding, of course. Promise a rain check. Next weekend, maybe.

The ringing in his ears doesn’t stop until he’s back in his apartment. Empty and silent and smothering in the worst ways.

And it’s right then and there that Tommy Miller knows his luck’s run out.

note: hi hello i just want to say thank you to everyone who's been so unbelievably supportive of this fic it makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts and to share my excitement with you :') i also want to thank all of you who've recommended this little series of mine over on tiktok in the comments of tommy edits i see u and i love u and i would die for u <3 and if you're interested in some edits inspired by uncle tommy, @feelherlove has made some really beautiful ones so be sure to go check those out!! also, i've made a playlist over on spotify for this series as well and have been slowly adding to it for anyone who's interested in that!! or if you have any recommendations let me know!! ok bye love u so much <3

@theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @feliciahardysgf @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth @bbhfilms @virginesquee @njdluvr @royaltyinlife @bunniacula @gojosanna @streamermattsgf @emmasveinyahhdih @yslgreen @dissentientss @rubyscooby @thisisajdesing @millersdoll @pattwtf @zoeyjadetice2010

[divider by @/bernardsbendystraws]

[beloveds-embrace]

PLEASE,….,, im begging you give me a break from the duchy au angst PLEASE GIVE ME SOME FLUFF

We all need a break 🙂‍↕️ here you go, anon! 💗

Dukedom au masterlist (not yet fully updated)

The first snow of the season finally fell and blanketed the grounds of Price manor, transforming the estate into a true winter wonderland. You stood by the frosted window in the sitting room, wrapped in a warm shawl, watching the flurry outside with a soft smile. The warmth of the fire behind you offered a comforting contrast to the icy world beyond the glass panes, the crackle of burning wood a soothing ambience that eased the mind.

It was a rare moment of stillness in the manor, with no pressing duties or social engagements demanding your attention. Your fingers traced absent patterns on the windowpane, thoughts wandering here and there until the sound of a throat clearing drew your attention.

Johnny stood in the doorway, a handsome grin tugging at his lips. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and a hint of snow dusted his dark hair. He stepped towards you, grin softening into something fond. “Lass, ye look far too peaceful. Fancy a bit of fun in the snow?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Fun in the snow? Johnny, I hardly think-”

Before you could finish, Kyle appeared beside him, a resigned but equally amused expression on his face. “He’s already dragged the stablehands into a snowball fight. You’d best join, my lady, before he wreaks havoc on the entire household.”

Your laughter bubbled out before you could stop it. Kyle had snow all over his shoulders. “And you? Did he rope you into this as well, Kyle?”

Kyle’s lips twitched, his tone as dry as ever. “I’m merely here to ensure no one ends up with frostbite. Or worse, Johnny getting pelted by a snowball with rocks in it again.”

“That happened one time!”

It was then that Simon strolled in, adjusting his coat. He cast a critical look at Johnny, and then shook his head. “You’re dragging the Duchess outside in this cold? She’ll catch her death.”

“Not if she bundles up properly,” Johnny huffed, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the coat rack. “C’mon, love, live a little!”

Your protests were half-hearted as he helped you into your newest winter cloak, his enthusiasm infectious. Kyle and Simon waited, and even helped bundle you up further until the warmth on your cheeks were more from kisses than being fully covered.

Within moments, you were outside, your boots crunching against the fresh snow. The air was crisp, the sky a pale gray, and the laughter of the staff echoed from the gardens. They greeted you as you passed, smiles and excitement clear on them.

John stood on the veranda, his hands in his pockets, watching the chaos with an indulgent smile. His sharp eyes softened immediately as they landed on you, snow dusting over your cheek already, giggling as Johnny aimed a snowball at Simon and missed spectacularly.

And then Johnny and Simon both turned their focus on you.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” John called as you ducked behind a hedge for cover, joining a maid who grinned and helped you begin preparing snowballs.

“Come join us, Your Grace!” you called back, cupping your hands around your mouth.

His smirk widened, but he shook his head. “I’m better as a referee, my love.”

Kyle, ever practical, soon found himself roped into the game despite his earlier protests. You shrieked as he launched a surprisingly, scarily accurate snowball your way, only for Johnny to step in and shield you with his body, dramatically flopping into the snow as if mortally wounded.

“Go on without me, lass,” he groaned, sprawled on the ground. You and the maid watched him, giggling. “Tell my story… tell my bairns not to forget me…”

Your laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained, and you offered him a hand. “You’re ridiculous, Johnny.”

“Aye, but ye love it.” He replied with a wink, and checking that everyone else was sufficiently distracted and the maid has left, tugging you down into the snow beside him just for a few moments.

Simon joined soon after, his usual composed demeanor giving way to competitiveness as he and Kyle teamed up against Johnny. Even John eventually relented by your insistence and a little pleading pout, stepping off the veranda to orchestrate a proper snow fort building contest.

Hours passed in a blur of laughter and play just like that, the biting cold forgotten in the warmth of shared joy. By the time everyone slowly returned indoors, cheeks ruddy and clothes damp, the sitting room felt like a haven. You beloved, ever-attentive Kyle was the first to fetch a warm blanket for you, draping it over your shoulders with a small smile.

Johnny disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a while later with steaming mugs of cocoa for everyone. “Best remedy for cold fingers, bonnie.” he declared, pressing a mug into your hands and then a kiss over your temple.

Simon settled beside you, his arm draped casually along the back of the settee, along your back, and you lean into him with a soft sigh. “You’ve got snow in your hair, darling,” he murmured, gently brushing it away.

John watched the scene from his armchair, chest warm and content. The sight of you, nestled among the men he trusted and loved most, your laughter lingering in the air, was enough to make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

As the fire crackled and the snow continued to fall outside, you leaned back, your heart full. Your eyes fluttered shut, dozing in and out of the river of dreams, and though the conversations around you continued they made sure to lower their voices. You could feel a familiar hand, gentle and careful and wholly Kyle, caress your cheek.

And with joy still lingering in your veins, warmth curling your chest, you fell asleep safe and happy.

[mediumgayitalian]

"She's in the bathroom," Austin blurts, as soon as his brother's tall form slips through the soundproofed door.

And, like.

She could be.

Austin wouldn't know. He hasn't seen Kayla since she opened her violin case, yawned, rocked back on her heels, and climbed out the window.

But who knows. Maybe she's been in the washroom for the last three hours. Camp food is tricky. Shit happens, literally. Sometimes devastatingly so.

"No, she is not," Will snorts, and Austin knows the game is up.

But he's not a snitch, so.

"She's playing hooky with Julia in a tree somewhere," Will says wryly, idly brushing Austin's shoulders as he walks past. "She gets pissy every time I bring it up, but I have it on good authority that they are not simply talking up there." There's a shuffling noise, the scrape of a chair against the floor. Austin watches, out of the corner of his eye, as he pretends to adjust his reed; Will tucks himself in a chair in the corner of the small music room, one leg brough up and held against his chest. Cheek resting against his knee.

Tense.

Austin is careful not to say anything.

"Good for her, honestly. Lord knows I was making worse decisions at that age. Mainly Cecil."

He can't help the snicker, pulling off the mouthpiece before he wrecks something. The lamps flicker, ever so slightly, as Will grins, cheeks just barely red.

"You're distracting me," Austin chides, even though he isn't. Will had startled him, when he slipped inside; Austin had glanced to the clock mounted on the ceiling (no, he doesn't know why, other than camp is just Like This, always) and realized, with a grimace, that he'd been staring at nothing for a full forty minutes. "I'm trying to write."

But Will takes him serious, smile dropping.

"Sorry, sorry."

Austin nods, once. Brings the mouthpiece to his teeth. His reed is dry. He needs to soak it. Professionals would put it in a glass of water but it's -- it's inefficient, is what it is. He's got a mouth right there. He makes spit for free. It's fine. It's fine.

It goes no bueno, his songwriting. To his expectation. He's been stuck for the better part of a week, every sound sad and dull or, worse, derivative. He has neglected his Youtube account out of shame. The comments keep piling up. He has talked himself down from deleting the entire channel and then also blowing up the website in shame. Mostly because he doesn't quite know how to nuke a website. But also because, well. Drama. He knows he leans towards it. Father's curse, et cetera, et cetera.

He can feel his brother's eyes on him.

This is not unusual. Nor is it particularly stressful. Austin doesn't mind an audience, never has. But he's human, and he got antsy on stage as a kid, antsier performing in the Lake's cramped living room, in front of busy, overworked but supportive mothers, bored cousins, narrowed-eye grandparents. There's no audience more critical than family.

Will isn't critical. Not by a long shot.

And Will's eyes are always on him, really. On Kayla. On Nico, on Cecil, on Lou Ellen, on Annabeth. Harley. Lacy. On the people whose files he has carefully tucked away in the bottom, locked drawer of the nurse's station in the infirmary, the siblings, the friends, the little ones. The risks. The people whose files he checks three times a day like clockwork, before every meal. Clinically. Biting a hole through his bottom lip as he mouths along the long-memorized notes, scrawls updates in overcrowded margins. Nico's been walking funny in the mornings, and when he exerts himself. Joint pain? and Keep eye on Lacy during CtF, flinching at noises, ASD maybe and Up late June 2nd. Annie had nightmare. Bad. Up meds.

He mumbles them in his sleep, sometimes. The notes. Austin wouldn't notice, except Will sleeps propped against the wall. So when Austin lies down on his top he can hear him, perfectly. And he's a light sleeper.

And he checks the notes sometimes, too. With the key he smuggled from around Will's neck one night, and paid Travis twelve dollars to copy without questions. He doesn't look at the medical stuff much. Not his business. But he can tell, based on how densely packed each new page is, when the spiraling will start.

"You can join me, if you want."

Will startles, even though Austin had been careful to speak quietly, casually; flinches his arms and drops his leg to the floor, whipping up to stare so fast Austin can hear the crick of his neck.

Austin rolls his shoulders, slow and cool.

"You only ever watch."

"I only -- can watch."

Will says it quick, swallowing heavy. In that way he does, when he wants to hide the words. When he wants to lie, but can't.

"No? Everyone is allowed to play."

"Physically, I mean. I -- can't play." He laughs, and it is self-deprecating and mean. "Can't carry a tune worth a damn, hun."

Austin tries not to react. Hun. He wishes Kayla were here, and mentally calls her back out of her make-out tree -- that is what they get, when Will wrings his hands. Gnaws at his lip. Picks at his bandages. It is dolly, usually, or even more often, dork ass or twerp or, most lovingly, and most applicable, brat.

But he calls them hun when he is emulating his mother. When his own words get tangled up in between his chest and his throat and he blurts out whatever else he has memorized over the years, whatever other truth he can scrounge up instead. Whoever he can parrot.

"'Course you can play," Austin says instead, keeping his voice light. He pulls the padded strap off his neck, ignoring Will's rapidly shaking head, and tugs it over poufy blond curls, pressing brass onto scarred palms. Austin has seen him hold 13 mol hydrochloric acid with less wariness. "Just takes practice."

Will flounders as Austin swaps out his mouthpiece, tightening the ligature over a new -- soaked properly this time, see, he's a real musician -- reed. Austin lets him. He imagines two tiny little Wills battling in his brain: one, haughty and stood straight, lecturing on practice makes improvement, the other tense and twitchy and convinced he can do nothing right. He hopes haughty Will wins. Which is saying something, because haughty Will drives him nuts.

"I -- can't," Will settles on eventually, and then slumps miserably. He reaches up one hand -- having carefully checked the saxophone was steady in the other -- and pointedly tucks his hair behind his head. "I, uh. Can't hear when I'm flat as a board." He meets Austin's eyes and smiles, shaky, thin. "Some child of Apollo, huh."

Austin is already shaking his head, frowning, because it's a mean thing to say, and not just to himself. If another Deaf kid walked into camp right this second, shining sun blinking above him, Will would never dream of saying something so dismissive.

"Not fair," says Austin quietly. "Most famous composer in the Western world was Deaf, Will."

"...True." He fiddles with the key guard. "I'm no Beethoven, though. I've...tried, especially when I was a kid. Used to play the guitar and I knew all the fingerings but people would, you know." His ears flush. "Mom's roadies would laugh when I played. And Lee and Diana and the others musta tried to get me in here a dozen times a week, but it was just a disaster. I couldn't keep up and I couldn't tell what I was doing wrong." He shrugs. "Is what it is. I should stick to my strengths, anyway."

"Strengths are what you work on."

"I have worked on it, Austin." There is the first crack of frustration in his tone, the tightening of his hand on the neck of the sax and the twitch of his soft jaw. He takes a minute, swallowing heavy, before sighing, forcing his muscles to relax. Forcing a small, tight smile. "I promise you I have worked and worked and worked on it, buddy. I still -- I dunno, it's still all off. Tuners blink red and nothing ever comes out right. It's fine. I should let you practice, anyway, I just came to watch --"

Austin holds firm to his shoulder, pressing him back to the chair. Wil is stronger than him -- broader, taller -- and could push away. Austin won't even hold him back if he does. His eyes flick to Austin, and then to the door. He knows this.

But he didn't come just to watch. Because he never does. Because he hates coming in here at all, hates to stand by the door and itch at his shoulders and look longingly at shining brass he's convinced himself he's not allowed to touch. He watches their every performance and even joins in on guitar, when he's feeling brave, or when there aren't many foreign eyes to watch him stumble. But he schedules a shift in the infirmary every music block every day without fail, and waits outside to take them to dinner, to their next activity. Looks at his feet when they file out, Kayla first, humming, bopping her head; Austin behind her, locking the door. Guiding the little kids out, in the summers.

Watching him twitch.

"Sound hits in more than one place," Austin says quietly. "You can feel it, you know."

Will says nothing. Looks resolutely forward, hands deceptively loose around the instrument. Slowly, Austin leans forward, swapping their mouthpieces again. Tilting the neck of the saxophone so Will is holding the body, still, but Austin squishes in next to him, bending awkwardly but holding fast, familiar. He can feel Will holding his breath.

"Close your eyes," Austin mumbles around the reed. He moves Will's fingers on the body, pressing down the right keys. "Just -- focus on the buzz in your hands, okay?"

Slowly, Will nods.

Inhaling slow, Austin pauses, considering. And then he blows the first note, and blows it steady, clear. Flat, because it's supposed to be, in this key, but bang on in tune. Concert C.

"You feel that?"

Will just shrugs.

"Okay, I'm gonna play sharp, now. Same note. Just -- faster, waves a little closer together."

He doesn't wait for Will's nod. He knows how sound works. Instead he just pulls out the mouthpiece, so it's barely balancing on the greased cork, and blows the same note, doesn't change Will's hands on the buttons.

It's sharp, alright. Austin fights back a wince.

But beside him, he can feel Will still. Watches the bounce of his leg freeze, watch his breathing uptick.

"Play it again," he asks. "Please. Uh, not sharp, then sharp."

Austin nods, then does. He plays it a little louder, this time, too, with more force, and is rewarded when Will laughs -- a small, bewildered thing, and when Austin looks over he is wide-eyed, eyes sparkling blue, jaw dropped and freckles glittering.

"I felt it!"

Austin grins. "Try this."

He adjust, plays the normal note again. Then pushes the mouthpiece in as flat as it will go, lowers his eyebrows for good measure. Honks. And it sounds awful, even worse than the sharp, but it is worth it for the pure glee in his older brother's giggle, the straight jut in his spine that Austin recognizes -- he can feel the phantom zip of electricity up his own back because he knows that feeling, the feeling of finally getting it. Of laboring over a piece for more hours than there are notes and hardly feeling the muscles on your face, of pushing back tears and fighting the urge to launch five thousand dollars worth of expensive tubing and keys at the wall with all your strength, promising yourself: one more time.

And then getting it, that time.

Feeling the practice really start.

It's humbling, to see it on someone else. To see it on someone who has been trying so desperately for as long as Austin has known him, longer; there is pure, genuine joy on his big brother's face. Not amusement, not satisfaction, not something quietly pleased but something bright and blue and electric, like neon lights on the fourth of July, like the cracking relief of a first loose tooth. Will laughs that snorting, too-bright laugh again, lamps flickering wildly, and asks Austin to play it again. And again.

Austin indulges him, even though his embouchure hurts something smarting; he plays another concert C, and then a D, and then all the way up a scale, playing half-steps, wholes, in-between that don't have names. And Will calls them all out, accurately, finally able to put all the theory he's memorized year after year to use. Finally able to feel what it means to be off-key. To hit the wrong note.

To hit the right one.

They miss dinner. Will doesn't hear the horn and Austin doesn't bother telling him. He watches, instead, Will slide his own mouthpiece on the saxophone and honk his heart out -- not music, not yet, but sound, and good sound, and isn't that step one. Wrong but strong. Stronger than he's ever been, and glowing for it, veins lighting up like glowsticks.

Austin lets him play until sundown. And the Sun, too, lingers, waiting to relish in the endless giggles between every successful blow of his horn.

It's music to his ears.

-- -- --

@willsolaceweek day 2 -- siblings

[makingqueerhistory]

Wash Day Diaries

Jamila Rowser, Robyn Smith

Wash Day Diaries tells the story of four best friends--Kim, Tanisha, Davene, and Cookie--through five connected short story comics that follow these young women through the ups and downs of their daily lives in the Bronx. The book takes its title from the wash day experience shared by Black women everywhere of setting aside all plans and responsibilities for a full day of washing, conditioning, and nourishing their hair. Each short story uses hair routines as a window into these four characters' everyday lives and how they care for each other. Jamila Rowser and Robyn Smith originally kickstarted their critically acclaimed, award-winning slice of life mini comic, Wash Day, inspired by Rowser's own wash day ritual and their shared desire to see more comics featuring the daily lived experiences of young Black women. Wash Day Diaries includes an updated, full color version of this original comic--which follows Kim, a 26-year-old woman living in the Bronx--as the book's first chapter and expands into a graphic novel with short stories about these vibrant and relatable new characters. In expanding the story of Kim and her friends, the authors pay tribute to Black sisterhood through portraits of shared, yet deeply personal experiences of Black hair care. From self-care to spilling the tea at an hours-long salon appointment to healing family rifts, the stories are brought to life through beautifully drawn characters and different color palettes reflecting the mood in each story. At times touching, quiet, triumphant, and laugh out loud funny, the stories of Wash Day Diaries pay a loving tribute to Black joy and the resilience of Black women.

(Affiliate link above)

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH. 5

synopsis: Amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/)[1] is the only genus in the subtribe Amaryllidinae (tribe Amaryllideae). A vibrant bloom that symbolizes new beginnings and fresh starts. They are often associated with winter and the holiday season.

prev ← → next

⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f!reader, angst, slowburn

⚝wc: 3k

⚝a/n: I've been really slacking on updating this series, gonna try harder I swear.

Sorry.

Even the thought of the word sounded wrong to him. He was a king–ruthless and commanding. His subjects kissed the ground he walked on. There was never a choice he made, that was up for debate. Every criticizing eye was swiftly plucked out, questioning tongue severed.

 But, you—seemed to be a point of contention. Ever since your arrival that was the trend you followed. It was vexing, sure and yet he wouldn’t dream of changing the dynamic.

Why did the sight of you crying so affect him? Why was it that you, a mere servant, could disturb his centuries of carefully maintained control? It wasn’t just your fear that unsettled him; it was the realization that you had managed to penetrate his defenses in a way no one else had.

With a frustrated growl, Sukuna stopped pacing and stared at the reflection in his ornate mirror. The king he saw there was every bit as formidable as he’d always been, but the reflection now held a hint of something else—something vulnerable that he could barely recognize.

His eyes drifted to the door, hoping for any sign of your arrival. He replayed the conversation from earlier, the way you had looked at him, shrunk under his yelling.

As night fell, the emptiness of his bed became a stark reminder of your absence. The usual solace of his grand chambers turned oppressive, and no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep eluded him. The silence was deafening, only filled with thoughts of you.

He turned over for what felt like the hundredth time, his frustration mounting. For the first time in hundreds of years–the king of curses could not sleep.

Every creak of the palace, every distant sound seemed magnified in the quiet of his chambers. His usual patience frayed, replaced by an unsettling anxiety. He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him.

The minutes turned to hours.

As the hours dragged on and the first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains, Sukuna finally acknowledged the truth he had been fighting: your presence—or the lack of it—affected him more than he was willing to admit. He needed to find you.

 Throwing off the covers, he rose from bed with a determined stride.

He navigated through the labyrinth of his palace. Looking through every room, his irritation growing each second he failed to locate you.

Finally, he encountered Uraume, who was in the midst of their morning duties. Sukuna’s usual composure was replaced by a rare edge of desperation. “Uraume.” he barked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Where is she?”

Uraume’s eyes widened in surprise. “My lord, I—”

“Do not play games with me,” Sukuna interrupted, his frustration palpable. “I demand to know where she is.”

Uraume, taken aback by the king’s sudden intensity, struggled to maintain their usual calm demeanor. “I do not know, my lord. I have not seen her this morning.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Find her.” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Inform me immediately when you do.”

After what felt like hours of searching, Sukuna’s relentless pursuit led him to the library—a place he rarely visited.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, his gaze swept over the vast array of bookshelves and reading nooks. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a mixture of hope and irritation.

There, nestled in a quiet corner of the library, he finally found you. You were lying on a velvet sofa, the soft light filtering through the high windows casting a gentle glow over you. Your breathing was steady, but the sight of you so unexpectedly calm, yet so isolated, struck him with a fresh wave of frustration.

Sukuna stood still for a moment, the weight of his anger still mingling in his chest. He had expected to find you hiding, but the sight of you resting so peacefully, despite the turmoil from the previous day, left him momentarily speechless.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp. He tried to suppress the concern in his tone, but it seeped through nonetheless.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, slowly opening your eyes. Seeing him standing over you, the mixture of his commanding presence and the faint softness in his gaze was almost disorienting.

“I... slept here.” you murmured, as you sat up.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration remained evident. “Do not think that you can simply evade me. I was looking for you.”

You looked up at him, trying to find the right words to explain. “I..needed a moment away.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face. Away? Away… from him?

His anger seemed ready to boil over. He clenched his fists at his sides, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

He started to say something more, but the words choked in his throat. He paused, his face contorting as he wrestled with his emotions. “Come with me.” he said abruptly, his voice strained. 

Without waiting for a response, Sukuna turned on his heel, and you watched as his broad shoulders shifted, tension coiling beneath his skin. The silence that followed felt like an unspoken command, so you rose quietly, trailing behind him as he led the way out of the library and through the grand halls of the palace.

Each turn felt more hidden, the winding path narrowing until the towering palace walls faded behind you. Sukuna moved with purpose, leading you through a barely visible trail as if he had walked it countless times before. The air grew cooler, more secluded, and with every step, the tension between you deepened, thickening the silence.

When the path opened into the garden, your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen this place before—none of the servants had even whispered of its existence. A private sanctuary, tucked away from the rest of the palace. The delicate rustling of leaves, the vibrant flowers, and the gentle trickle of a fountain made it feel like stepping into a dream, so unlike the cold, imposing grandeur of the palace.

You glanced around in awe, but Sukuna remained still, his back to you, as if the beauty of the garden was inconsequential to him. He stopped near the center, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, barely holding back the storm of emotions that brewed within. You hesitated, waiting for him to break the silence.

"This place..." He paused, as if the words were unfamiliar to him, his jaw tightening with the effort to continue. "No one but Uraume knows of it." His crimson gaze finally meets yours, studying your reaction. You look up at him, caution etched on your face.

“My Lord… why did you bring me here?” You finally find your voice.

His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as if he were holding back words he didn’t know how to express. For a moment, he said nothing, his piercing stare taking in every detail of your face.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, the usual edge softened just slightly. “Because...”

He hesitated, his expression hardening once more, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “Because you needed to see this. Needed to understand that..." He stopped himself again, frustration flaring briefly in his gaze.

He tore his eyes away from yours, staring instead at the quiet garden around you, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze as if mocking his struggle. "I could not sleep." 

“You… couldn’t sleep.” you repeat.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as if he regretted saying it aloud. "No," he growled, his tone sharper than intended. He shifted his weight, clearly battling with himself. "I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t where you should be." His fists tightened briefly at his sides, and for a moment, you thought his temper might snap again, but he held back. He took a deep breath, looking back at the garden.

“Where I should be…” you echoed, the weight of the words sinking in. Bitterness filled your mouth at the thought.

You had never had a place to belong, passing from one household to the next—no family truly wanting you. Being taught to serve, be invisible, to follow orders without question. “Belonging” was a luxury that other people had, you had only known obligations, expectations, and silence.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "My Lord… I’ve never had a place where I was meant to be." Your voice quiet.  You kept your eyes low, avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might see in it. Afraid of what he might see in it. "I’ve only ever been where I was told… where I was needed. There’s never been a place that was… mine."

“I see,” Sukuna said softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

“Your absence… is felt.” His voice was a low murmur, almost introspective.

The admission hung in the air, delicate and uncharacteristic of him. Sukuna’s usual command was replaced with a rare, raw honesty, his battle with his own emotions evident in the tightness of his jaw and the uncertainty in his eyes.

For a moment, you looked up, meeting his gaze. The depth of his words, the way he had fought to express them, was both startling and unsettling. You had never imagined that your presence—or absence—could affect him so deeply.

“I’m… sorry,” you said finally, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “I didn’t mean to cause such distress.”

“No.” he said eventually, his tone laced with frustration and reluctance. “It’s not just… about distress.” He took a deep breath, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. “Yesterday, I... I lost my temper.”

The awkwardness of his apology was palpable as if each word was a battle against his own nature. The struggle was evident in the way his shoulders tensed and his fingers clenched into fists before relaxing. He was trying to bridge a gap that his usual demeanor couldn’t easily cross.

You looked at him, your mouth agape in shock, maybe the night of no sleep had cause hallucinations. Had you heard him? Were you mistaken?

The usual commanding presence that inspired fear and respect was now tempered by an uncharacteristic hesitation and softness. It was as though you were seeing him for the first time, not just as a king, but as a man grappling with his own emotions.

You quickly caught yourself, regaining composure as you took in the full scope of his vulnerability. The stark contrast between the imposing figure of Sukuna and the genuine, albeit awkward, sincerity he had just displayed was striking. His powerful frame, usually so unyielding, seemed momentarily diminished in the garden’s serene atmosphere.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his pink hair in a rare show of agitation. He turned his back to you again, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. “It is… difficult for me, to express… what I mean.”

He cast a quick, almost helpless glance over his shoulder. “You’re... you’re allowed in this garden. Whenever you want. It’s not meant to be hidden from you.”

Slowly, you took a step forward, the shock giving way to a tentative understanding. "Thank you, my Lord," you said quietly,. "For… sharing this with me. And for allowing me a place here."

“You… are welcome.”

Your gaze shifted to a nearby flower, its vibrant petals standing out against the verdant backdrop. Curious, you asked, “What’s this one?”

Sukuna’s eyes followed your gaze, and for a moment, he seemed to find solace in the change of focus. “That’s an amaryllis” he said, his voice regaining a touch of its usual authority.

“Amaryllis..” you practice, tasting the name on your tongue.

“Yes,” he continues, “It symbolizes strength and new beginnings. It thrives even in harsh conditions.” He shifted his gaze back to you, eyes tracing the lines of your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You reached out for him, your hand trembling slightly. Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before he slowly took your hand in his. He guided it firmly to his chest, where his robe parted to reveal the warmth of his skin,a stark contrast to the cool garden air. You could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your palm—a heartbeat that seemed to resonate with the depth of his emotions.

He stared intently into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of sincerity and trepidation. “You have…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have… affected me. More than you know.” 

The air between you grew heavier, your breath catching in your throat as his hand trailed over your face, gentle and calculated. Tracing the soft skin of your cheek, to your jaw—brushing against your bottom lip. As his fingers lingered on your lips, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.

“My lord—”  you began, your voice wavering with a question that never fully formed.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The garden around you seemed to quiet, the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets fading into the background as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, Sukuna guided you to a softer patch of grass further within the garden, a place hidden beneath a canopy of trees, where the light filtered through the leaves in soft, fragmented patterns.

"I meditate here," he said quietly, sharing a secret. He lowered himself gracefully onto the grass, his movements deliberate, leaving just enough space beside him for you to join.

"You… meditate?" you asked, almost without thinking, your tone laced with disbelief.

He turned to look at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you think me incapable of silence and thought?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm, though it didn’t sting. "That I am so detached, so unfeeling?"

The embarrassment crept up your neck, your eyes darting away as you bit your lip. "I didn’t mean—" you began, but the words felt clumsy, an apology for something you hadn't meant to assume.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet breath, his amusement fading into something more genuine. "It is…easy to believe," he murmured, "given how I appear." His hand reached out, beckoning you closer. "Come.”

Slowly, you settled beside him, the grass cool beneath your skin as the quiet of the garden enveloped you both. Sukuna reclined, two arms propped behind his head, allowing the stillness of the space to calm his unease. You glanced at him, the formidable king of curses suddenly appearing more human in the soft light of the garden.

An awkward silence stretched between you. Sukuna, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, cleared his throat and tried to make conversation. "What of your family?" he asked.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, the pain of your past surfacing briefly. "My family… they died when I was young," you said quietly, your voice betraying a hint of the sorrow you felt. "I was left alone after that."

Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "I see," he said awkwardly, trying to find the right words. "I didn’t mean to… to bring up something so... personal."

You looked at him, noticing his genuine discomfort and the uncharacteristic hesitation in his gaze. "It’s alright," you reassured him. "It’s been a long time."

Sukuna let out a frustrated breath, closing his eyes briefly. "This…isn't exactly my strength." he admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"And here I thought you were all-powerful in every aspect." a small smirk tugs your lips as you chuckle. Sukuna’s cheeks flushed slightly, avoiding your gaze.

Before you could react, Sukuna moved with surprising swiftness, crawling on top of you and trapping you gently between the grass and his strong arms. His gaze was intense, crimson eyes piercing, boreing holes into your own.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

The sudden shift in position left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. The distance between you was minimal, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I’m not accustomed to this. It is… difficult. You make it difficult.” 

 He hovered just above you, his breath mingling with yours, “You have a way of unraveling me. It’s... unsettling.”

The warmth between you grew. Every subtle movement of his body against yours sent a shiver through you, making your skin tingle.

Sukuna’s gaze fell to your lips, the tension between you crackling with an electric anticipation. He hesitated, his expression a mix of determination and longing. “What is it you do to me?” he asked, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness.

The man who had always been a figure of strength and control was now entirely absorbed by you, and the realization made your heart race even faster.

His nearness was intoxicating, every touch and glance fueling the fire that had been kindling between you. With a sudden, almost desperate movement, his lips descended on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was both rough and dizzying.

His grip on you tightened, his hands framing your face with a desperate intensity. The moment felt like it stretched endlessly, the world outside forgotten as his tongue entered your mouth with an urgency that bordered on frantic. He explored every inch of you, his taste mingling with yours. The kiss was a maelstrom of sensation, his passion overwhelming in its depth.

Your hands roamed the expanse of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his robe on your fingertips.  Sukuna’s groan vibrated through you, He pressed more of his weight into you, his two lower arms gripping your waist with a possessive force, his nails digging into your flesh as if to anchor himself to you. 

As he finally pulled away from your lips, you were met with the sight of him—his pupils dilated, breathing ragged, and his heartbeat quicker now. Sukuna’s chest heaved with every breath, his expression pure hunger.

He wanted to consume you. And you were more than ready to let him.

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[hyperpopelinnn]

Haven't been here in a while...

Description:Joost imposed the idea of going to fryslân for a week in the summer. What happens there though...?

MDNI, 18+ POST

Warnings/tags: fluff, like slow burn to soft sex, p in v with condom, p in v without condom, creampie,

Authors note: Not proof read!,reader isn't implied to be Dutch but is implied to be able to speak Dutch,Google translator Dutch and frisian, hope you enjoy my first fic :>pls note that English isn't my first language so plssss forgive any mistakes! :)

Word count:1,732

Joost was thrilled. The past few days he's been constantly buzzing with energy - texting you every little Update, sending you the weather reports from Leeuwarden like it was breaking news

When you got on the train from Amsterdam to Leeuwarden, he was basically bouncing up and down in his seat,it was adorable to say the least.

After two and a half hours of him not letting you sleep, you finally arrived in fryslân.

You stretched your arms with a yawn, still a bit dazed from the ride, when Joost gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Wolkom yn Fryslân," he said,not being able to contain his big, giddy grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Hope you won’t forget Dutch here," you teased, your faint chuckle barely being heard. He chuckled, already pulling your suitcase along like he was on a mission.

His response?"Hope you’ll learn some Frysk here," playfully bumping his shoulder into yours while talking.

You gave him a look — the kind that said "don’t push it" but also "you’re kinda cute for trying."

"Let’s just find the hotel first," you muttered, trying (and failing) to hide your laugh.

After finally waving over a taxi (after 4 failed attempts) you arrive at the hotel

Joost held the hotel door open with a small, over-the-top bow. "After you, mijn koningin."

You stepped inside with a huff of amusement. "You’re so unserious."

The lobby smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish, warm light spilling onto the tiled floors. It was calm, quiet — a sharp contrast to the buzz of the train and Joost’s constant narrating of every passing cow.

"Not bad," he said, nudging your shoulder as you both walked to the front desk.

The check-in didn’t take long. Joost chatted casually with the receptionist in Dutch, tossing you a little smile now and then like he was proud of showing off. Within minutes, you were riding up in the small elevator, Joost humming softly beside you.

The hotel room wasn’t huge, but it was clean and warm. A big bed sat in the middle, fluffy duvets folded neatly, and a small window gave a peek at the street below.

As soon as the door shut behind you, Joost flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

"You’ve been here five seconds," you said, setting your bag down by the chair.

"And yet," he replied muffled into the pillow, "I am one with this bed now."

You let out a quiet laugh, slipping your shoes off. "I’m gonna freshen up quick. Then maybe going out for dinner?"

He raised a thumbs up without moving. "Only if I don’t fall asleep first."

"don't worry i'll wake you up" you say, walking off to the bathroom.

"can't make any promises I'll wake up" he joked, his face now turned to side on the pillow.

As you got out of the bathroom and settled in front of the mirror they had on a desk, his eyes watched you intently, after a minute he spoke up "Hey, can I help..?"

You looked over your shoulder, raising a brow.

"My face isn’t a canvas for experiments, Joost."

He grinned, already getting up and walking over. "Oh come on, I’m very precise. Steady hands. Musical hands, actually."

You rolled your eyes, but handed him the blush anyway. "Alright then, maestro. Impress me."

He took it with exaggerated seriousness, tapping a bit too much powder onto the brush. His tongue peeked out slightly as he focused, gently dabbing your cheek.

"That’s not bad," you said, checking the mirror.

"That’s not great either," he replied, examining his work critically. "Round two?"

A laugh bubbled out of you as he leaned in again, totally absorbed.

"Okay okay," you said, taking the blush back.

"That’s enough artistry for one afternoon."

He flopped dramatically onto the bed again, arms stretched out. "Now I need to get ready."

You smirked, tossing a clean shirt at him. "Then chop chop, sleepyhead."

While you were finishing up your makeup, he pulled his suitcase open and started carefully inspecting each item, fingers grazing the fabrics like he was making an important decision. You glanced over your shoulder. He looked almost too serious about it.

"Planning a fashion show?" you teased.

He didn’t even look up. "This is a fashion show."

A beat passed, then— "Liefjeee, can I pick your outfit today?"

You raised an eyebrow in the mirror. "You trust yourself with that responsibility?"

He gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I am a visionary."

You chuckled, and before you could even respond, he was already halfway into your suitcase like a man on a mission. Holding up one top, then another, squinting like he was analyzing the emotional backstory of each piece.

"Okay but this color? This would eat. And with those jeans? No one’s ready."

He kept going—five whole minutes of pure hype, throwing compliments like confetti while tossing clothes onto the bed. "You don’t understand how lucky the world is to witness you in this fit," he said, placing his hand over his heart like it physically pained him.

Eventually, you just flopped back on the bed, laughing. "You should be illegal."

"And yet," he smirked, offering you the chosen top like it was sacred, "here I am."

Before you could even argue, he was already halfway into your suitcase, flipping through your clothes like a stylist on a tight deadline. He held up a top, squinted dramatically, then tossed it aside. Then he froze with another in his hands, turned to you with a grin, and in the most exaggerated American accent said,

"Okay but this color? This would eat. And the jeans? No one’s ready."

"let's just go out already"

Arrived at the restaurant, it was soft, cozy, the lights dim, the chairs mismatched, the air reeking of good food, the sound of people talking all over the place.

Joost looked around and let out a satisfied little "Hmm", nodding to himself.

"This is niceeee," he grinned, sliding into the seat across from you. "You see that lamp? It’s crooked. That means the food slaps."

You laughed, shaking your head. "That’s not how restaurants work."

"It is exactly how restaurants work," he shot back, already reaching for the menu but barely glancing at it. His eyes flicked up to meet yours again.

He reached across the table, gently plucking a crumb off your cheek with a teasing little smirk. "Messy eater," he said softly, but his thumb lingered just a second longer than needed.

You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, but your skin still burned where he’d touched. "Better than loud chewer," you shot back, watching his grin deepen.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The clatter and chatter around you blurred out, like you were sitting in your own little world. You could feel his gaze settle—slow, thoughtful, warm.

He leaned in just a bit, arms crossed on the table, voice lower now. "Did I tell you how happy I am you’re here?"

You smiled, heart catching a little. "You might’ve mentioned it once or twice."

It made the candle between you flicker like it knew something was about to bloom..

To finish off you each got a glass of wine, or eventually it'd turn into two..?

He raised his glass slightly, "To Fryslân—and to having you here."

You clinked yours against his. "To Joost dragging me to the middle of nowhere."

He laughed, that full, carefree kind that always made your chest flutter. "Rude, but fair."

A few sips in, the buzz started kicking in—warm, cozy, a little light-headed. He rested his chin in his hand, eyes soft as they scanned over you. "You look really good tonight," he said, casual but sincere.

Your cheeks flushed. "That the wine talking?"

He grinned. "Nope. That’s been brewing all day."

You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips, but it was no use. The mood had shifted—still playful, but there was something else simmering underneath. His hand found yours across the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

The air outside had cooled, but neither of you felt it—your cheeks warm from the wine and something heavier hanging between you. He called an Uber, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you in.

. His hand slid over, resting gently on your thigh. Warm. Intentional. You didn’t look at him—just leaned slightly closer, and that was enough.

His thumb started tracing slow circles. Not fast. Not urgent. Just… there.

You glanced down at where his hand sat. "Getting bold, aren’t we?"

His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Been thinking about you since before dinner. You looked too good."

The car turned a corner, headlights casting brief shadows over his face. His expression didn’t change—still that same soft hunger.

You bit your lip and said nothing.

The rest of the ride was quiet.

Heavy with silence that wasn't awkward—it was charged. Anticipation threading between glances, between breaths.

When the driver finally stopped in front of the hotel, Joost didn’t move right away. He looked at you. You looked at him. And this time, you were the one who reached first.

"Let’s go."

Entering the hotel, he grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers with his before stepping into an open elevator, pulling you in behind him.

The elevator ride? A whole experience.

He picked you up effortlessly, lips crashing into yours—he didn’t feel like bending down when he could just hold you instead. You melted into it, your mouths moving fast, kisses messy, eager. Tongue brushing your bottom lip, asking—no, begging—for permission.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped out like it was nothing, still holding you, still kissing you when he could. At the door of your suite, he fumbled with the card, finally managing to unlock it without letting go of you.

The second you were in the room, he kicked the door shut behind him and carried you to the bed—surprisingly gentle, like he’d been rough with everything except you.

"God, been waiting all day for this, schatje," he groaned, climbing onto the bed with you. His hands cupped your cheeks as he pulled you into another kiss, deep and eager. One hand trailed down to the neckline of your dress, tugging it down your shoulders, his fingers a little shaky with anticipation.

He broke the kiss for a breath, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. "You know you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen," he murmured, eyes drinking you in. That smile you gave him was his favourite.

You didn’t reply—just crashed your lips into his again. Your hands worked at his belt, fumbling slightly from the rush. He grinned into the kiss, helping you unclasp it with one smooth motion, letting you unzip his pants. He lifted his hips slightly, letting you slide them down with ease, leaving him in his boxers

Finally separating for some much needed air, he was quick to take off his shirt, leaving him in only boxers. But his eyes never left yours. "Y’know I think this is a bit uneven," he murmured, voice dropping as he laid you back against the pillows, trailing kisses from your collarbone downward. His fingers moved to unclasp your bra with practiced ease, and once it slipped off, his boxers were gone too—when, you didn’t even notice.

His eyes lingered, dark and hungry, fingers lightly tracing down your sides. "Zo fucking mooi…" he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he couldn't believe you were real. His mouth followed his hands, lips pressing hot kisses down your chest, nipping gently, sucking a mark just above your heart.

He decided to take it a step further, putting one of his hands on your little panties, pushing it to the side, thumb circling your clit.

When your breath hitched, he grinned against your skin. "Je houdt hiervan, hè?"

(You like this,don't you?)

You could only nod, whimpering a soft "Joost…"

His hands slid lower, palming the back of your thighs before yanking you closer with a strength that had you gasping. "Been thinking about this all fucking day," he muttered, voice rough now, impatient. "Every time you smiled, every time you leaned in—I wanted to ruin you right there."

Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear, pausing just long enough to tease, "Mag ik…?" (Can I...?)

The way you whispered "alsjeblieft"—needy and breathless—had him growling low in his throat.

As his fingers dipped under the waistband, he paused again—just for a moment—pressing a kiss to your hip. Then he leaned over, opening the bedside drawer like it was the most casual thing in the world. His hand returned holding a small silver packet, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with himself.

"You put those there?" you asked, breathless, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He chuckled, tearing the foil with his teeth. "Misschien," he said with a shrug, his accent thick and teasing. "Let’s just say… I had a good feeling about tonight."

"You’re unbelievable."

"Unbelievably smart," he corrected, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time. “And definitely not about to take chances with the prettiest girl in Fryslân.”

He laid you down on your back, pulling back from the kiss.

He tore the wrapper open fast with his teeth, sliding the condom on with a low grunt. His eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, and for a second he just looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world he could even see.

But halfway through, when you were clinging to him, gasping into his mouth, he pulled back slightly, panting hard.

"kan het niet meer, schatje.. " (can’t do it anymore, baby.. ) he whispered, voice breaking into Dutch from the haze "Baby.. mag ik.." “Zonder… wil je dat?”

(Without… do you want that?)

The need in his voice made your stomach flip. You nodded, tugging him closer again. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing shaky, before pulling off the condom and slipping right back in—both of you moaning at the feeling of it, raw, real.

You could feel the knot in your stomach forming, nails digging into his back, god, this felt good. You barely had time to think before he spoke, voice rough against your ear,

"On your hands and knees, liefje."

You blinked up at him, not immediately reacting, your mind hazy from what you had just experienced. He chuckled lowly at your dazed state, his hand sliding down your back.

"Kom op, op je handen en knieën," he repeated, firmer this time,the Dutch rolling off his tongue so easily made you crazy.

Without even giving you a second to recover, Joost gripped your hips, lining himself up again.

You barely caught your breath before he pushed into you in one deep thrust, knocking a whimper out of you.

Joost’s fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave little bruises for tomorrow.

You barely had time to catch a breath again before he pulled you back onto him, forcing himself deeper inside you than you thought was even possible.

The new angle had you arching deeper than ever before, a broken cry spilling from your lips.

It was overwhelming, the stretch, the fullness, the wet heat between your legs — your mind went entirely blank.

"Fuck," Joost groaned above you, his voice wrecked and low. "Taking me so good, schatje."

You could only whimper in response, thighs shaking, body helpless against the way he used you — still so gentle, still so loving, but so goddamn much.

He slowed down for a second, keeping you pinned there, buried as deep inside you as he could go.

His thumb found your clit again, rubbing sloppy, desperate circles, pushing you over that edge again, before you even had a chance to recover.

The only thing you could hear was his heavy breathing, the obscene sounds of your bodies, and the low, messy praises falling from his lips.

"mooi... mijn meisje," (Pretty... my girl) he groaned, voice absolutely wrecked with need.

His fingers dug into your waist, guiding you back onto him, setting a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

Your arms gave out, forehead pressing into the mattress as he rutted into you, the stretch almost overwhelming.

You barely registered his hand snaking around to your front, rubbing messy circles over your clit, chasing your second orgasm.

“Kom voor me, schatje. Laat me voelen.”

(Cum for me, schatje. Let me feel you.)

His words were low, desperate — begging.

When you finally came, clenching around him, Joost cursed under his breath, thrusts growing uneven before he buried himself deep one final time, spilling inside you with a broken moan.

He stayed inside for a moment, panting against your back, almost collapsing over you.

When he finally pulled out, he couldn't help but watch, hypnotized, as his cum slowly leaked out of you, thumb gently pressing against your entrance to push it back in.

"Zo vol van mij," (So full of me.)

Your body was shaking by the time he thrusted into you again, and again, grinding himself deep inside you, spilling into you with a broken groan against your neck.

The feeling of him filling you up had you shuddering, tipping into another orgasm you didn't even know you could reach anymore — a third, messier, sloppier high that left you sobbing into the sheets.

You could feel it, his cum leaking out of you already, your thighs trembling from the overstimulation, but he didn’t pull away immediately — he stayed there, chest pressed to your back, his hand still splayed wide over your stomach like he was claiming you.

Finally, after a few heavy breaths, Joost pulled out with a groan, and you whimpered at the loss.

He smirked, grabbing a tissue half-heartedly from the nightstand to wipe you down a little — though his thumb still lazily spread the mess over your inner thigh with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Ruined you," he murmured, the grin on his face visible.

You were too fucked out to argue.

Instead, you just flopped back onto the bed, boneless and hazy.

Joost chuckled softly, rolling over onto his back next to you.

He reached over to the nightstand again — this time, for a crumpled pack of camel blue.

He lit one, took a slow drag, and then turned his head to look at you, messy and glowing in the soft hotel room light.

He offered the pack toward you with a satisfied look on his face.

“Want one?”

[purelyfiction]

Small Doses - 3

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader | Part 1 | Part 2 |

Summary:

Word Count: words

Content Warning: This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own discretion. || HEY THERE’S SMUT DOWN THERE SO YOU BETTER BE 18!!! (unprotected piv (don’t be hangman - use protection pals), including public and semi-public settings; possessive and intense behavior; strong language; physical marking (hickies); power dynamics in sexual situations; interrupted intimacy; implied consent.)

Author’s Note: remember when i said 'long time no see!' and then didn't update for over a year???? yeah me too. so much has happened since the last time i updated this story and i think it's about damn time for some new stuff in knockout x hangman land (hangout? i guess?) also i've had one other pair of eyes on this other than mine so keep any plot holes or grammar mistakes to yourself bc i cannot take criticism at this time. k thanksssss

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It’s Half-Price Wing Wednesday at the Hard Deck. Which means that it’s a given that everyone (actually everyone) would be commiserating over drinks and cheap chicken after work. And despite the fact that seeing Jake outside of work again was as bad of an idea as leaving your car unlocked in LA - you decide to go to the bar. 

The two of you haven’t spoken much outside of direct conversations over comms at work. You’d scolded him for ditching his wingman - then handed his ass to him. He didn’t speak to you the rest of the day. 

You change at home, throwing on a pair of jean shorts and a random shirt. You’re not looking to impress, you’re just needing to unwind. And when you pull up in the familiar vehicle, you’re immediately spotted. You’re not sure why you even try to walk into the building, hell, why you even attempt to sneak past the familiar F150. Jake spots you instantly and grabs a hold of you by the pocket of your shorts, tugging you between his truck and the car next to him. You’re lucky the sun is setting and it’s near dark when Jake latches to your neck. 

“And where do you think you’re running off to?” his breath is hot on your skin, teeth scraping against already slick skin. 

“Hangman, I’m going to the bar. I’m hungry, don’t test me.” You can’t move from the spot, locked against the side of the vehicle, chest to chest with the man. 

He huffs out a laugh, “yeah, so am I.” It’s punctuated with a familiar click of a car door handle, before he’s guiding you into the back seat. You’ve got half the mind to shut this down. There are so many people you both know - your students - that could see this. When you thought about it, laying back on the leather of the truck’s cab seats, the man above you was also your student. Suddenly you don’t care as much. 

The click of the locks on each of the doors sounds. Someone has clearly learned his lesson. Lock the damn door if you’re about to wreck someone. Jake’s lips carelessly slot themselves between yours, his hips digging into yours as he eagerly grabs at your shirt. You’re almost certain if you hadn’t needed to abide by the ‘no shoes, no shirt’ policy at the Hard Deck, he would’ve torn the old t-shirt in two.

You’re also sure that Penny would be mortified if she knew what was happening in her parking lot right now. Not that it was the first time you’ve done this. Or Jake. Thank god she would never find out. 

Unless she went snooping under your bed, there was no way to know what the two of you had been up to. Or that a six foot sailor climbed out her window the next morning. 

Jake abandons the idea of getting you naked, needing to get release from pent up need that didn’t get an escape the other night. The button of your shorts pops in a matter of seconds as his heavy breaths fall from him. 

“No colorful monologue? Super disappointed, two stars, Jake.” Hands quickly tug your denim shorts down, just below your knees, underwear going with it before one hand is undoing his belt, the other sliding up your thigh slowly. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, I’m a little preoccupied.” A finger glides through your folds, a laugh leaving him when he feels the slickness there. “What a slut you are, I grabbed you not even five minutes ago and you’re already soaked for me.”

You’re fully convinced that his words are what keep you coming back. It wasn’t the vivid green eyes or the towering height he was known for. Or the charismatic grin he always shoots at you. Like a hunter when he witnesses his prey. None of those things did you in the way that his smart tongue did. 

That same tongue is making his way back past your lips, preventing any further smartass comments from you. It’s just hot, shallow breaths through noses that are smushed up against one another. His hands are moving in a practiced pattern, one toying with you as he shuffles his jeans around, pushing them down just enough. One knee pushes your legs further apart, allowing him to properly position himself. Jake soon enough recedes his hand, much to your chagrin. It relocates itself to your hip, the other matching its counterpart. He peels himself from you momentarily before tugging your body closer towards his own. “Get your ass over here.”  

The motion causes your shirt to roll up underneath you. The leather seats were bound to stick to your skin as the heat of California snuck into the dark cabin of the truck. Especially once Jake has fully entered you, and begun to rut into you. 

Familiarity and pleasure meld together as he stretches you. The sound slips from you and he chastises you. “Hey, pipe down, baby. I’ll know you were just fucked, but no one else needs to know you did.” His words are paired with that stupid grin again. 

Your eyes sink shut with the sensation he’s starting to build up, a hand on the back of the passenger seat for stability, the other gripping your thigh. Hot kisses are littered up your neck-

The cab ceiling echoes a thunk, thunk above the both of you. 

“Yo! I’m starvin’ man, get your ass outta there!” Payback’s voice is barely audible through the tempered and tinted glass. And thank God it was. 

“Pen’s gonna run outta drumsticks and you’re gonna be pissed. I don’t wanna hear it.” Mickey tags in. Oh good, now you’re thinking of your aunt while this man is on top of you. And in you.

The mood is once again murdered in cold blood. Jake is cursing under his breath, multitudes about kicking someone’s ass and losing his sanity and his balls to his team’s interruptions. His dramatics continue once your shorts are back where they belong, and his own pants are fastened. “Do you think they make those deer repelling devices for invasive aviators?” The suggestion makes you snort and you expertly climb down from the lifted vehicle. Jake nods your direction, a silent suggestion to go ahead. The last thing you needed was for you to appear in the bar simultaneously. 

You settle into a booth with a drink in your hand not even ten minutes later. The cool liquid is appreciated, as is the quick service to order your wings. Looking around - there’s no sign of Hangman. Cautiously, you look back to the table full of coworkers as your regular waitress takes your orders. “Shouldn’t we wait for Hangman?” You suggest. Phoenix is the one to speak up. 

“He wants wings, he can get his high and mighty ass in here.” With that, she’s easily ordering her food. Not even sixty seconds after the staff leaves the table, Jake appears. He smells like his go to cologne. Did he keep a bottle in his truck? You could vomit a little. And to think he was just inside you fifteen minutes ago. 

“Finally, we thought you weren’t ever gonna show.” Coyote gripes, scooting down the booth to make room for the pilot. 

The U shaped booth could hold just about all of you - which is why Bob and Rooster are sitting at a high top not far off. Bob had been asking questions about Bradshaw’s Bronco, and you all figured it was best to let them continue in the spontaneous interview. 

Once you’ve scooted a few ways down, Hangman settles in right across the table from you. His hands fiddle with a menu, looking over his options. You avoid his eye contact, turning instead to the conversation that is sparking up. 

“Question for you, Bagman.” Phoenix remarks, Jake nods, not lifting his eyes from the laminate page. “That helmet for protection, or just keeping your ego contained? Might wanna check the buckle tomorrow.”

The breath you take in feels way sharper than you intended it being. Jake’s eyes float up to Phoenix and then the rest of the table. He finally sets the menu down. 

“Appreciate the advice, Trace. I’ll double-check my buckle — and you, maybe wipe your visor next time. Could help you actually hit something.” You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting back a grin. It almost felt normal here. Well, if you forgot about the outstanding weirdness between you and Jake, you could’ve been one of the gang. Never mind the fact that you were a co-instructor for this group of individuals. 

That was a reality you weren’t really unwrapping quite yet. These guys were around your age. You’d been in their shoes not even a year ago. Now suddenly you’re in charge and teaching them. It felt odd and in retrospect, how much did they actually have to learn from you? 

Perhaps that's why you are a co-instructor and not the lead. Suddenly, you’re grateful for the experience. Then you remember that the instructor is the same man that broke your aunt’s heart and the discontentment burrows itself right back where it had been residing during its hibernation. Your mind is rebooted when a plate of wings is slid in front of you. Your priorities change very quickly after that.

With dinner out of the way, the group of you surrender your table to other hungry customers, before staking claim at the pool table, like usual. You’re not very good at billiards but that doesn’t stop you from partnering up with Phoenix against Rooster and Fanboy. Bob and Payback sit as onlookers. Coyote and Hangman are on the far side of the room, cuddled up to the dartboard. It isn’t until you’re watching Rooster take his turn that you overhear their conversation. 

“I’ve had that thing for years man. And I’ve been doing some shopping online, trying to find something to replace the damn thing - we’re talkin’ 200 bucks for a piece of wood. I don’t even drink coffee for God’s sake.” He huffs the air out with the propelling dart leaving his hand. “Not to mention, your little guest appearance yesterday left me high and dry with her. Thanks for that by the way.” Jake sends another dart soaring. 

“How was I supposed to know you had a girl over? It was right after work, I didn’t think you’d get into it so damn quick.” The green eyed male glares at his counterpart before approaching the board and grabbing his darts so that Coyote can take his turn. 

“I wasn’t replying to any texts, so you thought to just show up unannounced? You know what, next time I’ve got an inkling you’ve got a girl ‘round, I’ll be sure to introduce myself.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s been almost a week and we keep gettin’ interrupted.” He grumbles. “I swear my sister’s husband has better luck getting laid and they’ve got two under two.”

“That’s probably why they’ve got two under two.” Coyote snorts. 

The clack of the billard balls reminds you that you’re supposed to be paying attention to the game in front of you. Rooster apparently has sunk two balls in while you were eavesdropping on the conversation. Good for him. 

You take your turn rather hastily before pushing your stick into Phoenix’s hand. “I’m gonna go grab another drink.” You say. 

“Grab me another?” The glass in her hand rattles as she shakes the ice in front of you. 

“Sure thing, Phe.” You give her a kind smile before heading off to the bar. Penny greets you, quickly starting on your drink. “I need one for Phoenix too.” You add, which she notes. 

“Yeah, I’ll have Ryan grab that, sweetheart. Ry!” The brunette calls out to the other person behind the bar top, who’s currently closing a tab. A dark haired man with glasses turns to look at your aunt. “You got a second hand that can pour me a draft of Liberty Pole when you get a minute?” When your drink arrives in front of you, the woman swiftly makes her way to the next bar occupant. 

Bespectacled, Ryan appears in front of you not long after that. He pushes the glass toward you with a grin. “There you are, beautiful.” 

You let a small smile creep over your features. “You don’t need to sweet talk the boss’ niece you know.” It’s more teasing than you intended on it being. You’d had it happen before, seasonal help trying to flirt with you in hopes you’d relay their generosity to Penny for some brownie points. 

“I was sweet talking a pretty lady. Not the boss’ niece.” He clarifies. Curiosity digs at you. 

“Oh? That so?” There’s an easy grin that follows your quizzical comments. Ryan lets out a snicker with a nod. 

“Yes ma’am. I’d offer to keep your drinks on the house, but- I’d hate for you to think I’m playing favorites.” You swear he winks at you.

“Dually noted, Ryan.” The words float with the same energy he’s been giving you. It wouldn’t kill you to live a little. Not like things with Jake were actually going to go anywhere. 

You half expect him to have a girl on his arm when you turn back toward the pool table. There’s no girl. In fact, there’s no Jake. 

Coyote’s joined in the crowd that’s gathered over the table, talking strategy with Rooster when you return. Natasha gives an easy thank you as she takes her beer. You almost spill it when the deafening bass of the jukebox roars over the room. A high pitched guitar and steady drumline follow it. 

It sounds like bar music. It startled you, only due to the noise it was creating. It seemed to have annoying characteristics to everyone else around you. Phoenix’s head drops backwards as she groans outwardly. There’s a similar air of displeasure among the group. 

Your brow furrows as Rooster pushes his stick into Fanboy’s free hand, before disappearing into the growing crowd of the bar. When you look at the dark haired woman and her backseater, they’re looking at each other in annoyance. 

“Am I missing something?” You question, before the jukebox dies completely. The collective sound of the room is a mix of groans and call outs to whoever stopped the music. Everyone is looking in the direction of the jukebox. All you can make out through the crowd is a moving Hawaiian shirt, followed by a few tickling keys of a piano wafting over the room. 

You don’t get to linger in it very long before your drink is stolen from your hand and you’re practically kidnapped from behind. If you didn’t recognize the feeling of the hands on your waist - you would’ve audibly screamed. 

Jake’s pulled you back and then directed you toward the bathrooms, a familiar sight for many reasons. There was the time you threw up for a consecutive forty-five minutes after a friend’s bachelorette party when you were twenty-four. Then there was the summer in high school you worked as a waitress for Penny when the seasonal help was behind schedule due to an influx of bad weather. You swore you’d never scrub another toilet ever again, god willing. 

Though, this bathroom is less familiar. A lot less familiar. 

He’s pushed you into the men’s bathroom. 

“Jake, what are you-” he navigates around you to check the duo of stalls in the room before returning to the door; then locking it. 

“You don’t get to talk.” His tone is sharp, the words nearly ricocheting off the tile of the walls. “You’re gonna listen.” No sooner than he’s said it, is he right in front of you. Hands are under your thighs, quickly and efficiently picking you up off the floor and dropping you to the middle of the countertop behind you.

“I ain’t in the fuckin’ mood to watch you make eyes at some toothpick with glasses behind the bar.” He rasps, his hands moving to your shorts again. “You want attention? You got it. But don’t come cryin’ to me when you can’t sit in that damn cockpit tomorrow without feelin’ me everywhere.” 

His hands are all over you. He’s undone the button of your shorts, pushed your shirt up enough to expose your abdomen and has quickly started marking up the skin there with his lips. Nimble and skilled hands are shimmying your shorts down your body. 

Your hand comes up to try to readjust your position, pushing against a soap dispenser on the wall. He is downright possessive. Frankly, you had no idea he’d even seen you at the bar. He’d been watching?

“Should I be filing a restraining order? What with how close you’re watching me and-” 

Blonde hair bounces on his head when it pops up from his hickey-making efforts. 

“What the fuck did I say?” His jaw clenches, ticking with restrained heat. Your stomach knots. It was barely a few words—harmless, stupid flirting. But that doesn’t seem to matter now. Not when Jake shoves his jeans down only to grab your hips like a man about to make a point.

The familiar splitting sensation floods your core, your jaw slacking as he pushes into you. The back of your head has met the mirror behind you, the cool sensation a very recognizable contrast. Jake’s grip is like a vice on your body, moving with practiced precision to work his cock into the best position, the deepest angle. 

He knows when he’s reached it by the sharp cry that escapes your throat. The smirk that it earns on his face seems to help melt some of the intensity in his body. “ I don’t think I heard you, sweetheart. Could you repeat that?” Lips are right by your ear as the stroke is repeated, somehow sinking deeper this time. The cry is a little more drawn out, leaving the bulk of man pressing against you snickering. “Atta girl.” He chimes, his pace picking up a little. 

After being interrupted twice before, you half expected him to be done as soon as he started. Fuck, were you wrong. His hips piston in a rhythmic pattern, leaving your body rocking up against the wall. One hand propped up against his shoulder, the other still on the dispenser. You can feel your eyes drifting shut, but Jake’s hand comes to the back of your head.

“Absolutely not. Eyes open.” You follow the command diligently, eyes locking onto his. “Hi pretty girl,” he coos, smirking as a brief second of instability crosses his face. He soon enough recovers, his pace picking up when he does. The new speed has your lower back begging to readjust. 

Before you can even ask, your hand gives way, and a loud clatter comes from the wall. You glance over, only to find the soap dispenser has pulled from the wall anchors in between the tiles. Jake slows down enough to pull you to the very edge of the counter.

“What are the fucking odds?” He mutters. He can’t help the laughs that leave him, pulling out and looking at you. Your breath is heavy, trying to catch it as you slide off the counter. The damage had to be a sign that it was time to stop.

Jake Seresin doesn’t believe in signs. 

That’s evident when he takes your arm, spins you to face the mirror and rests his hand on your back. Your eyes lock with his in the mirror. 

“Bend.” You listen. Your forearms come down to the cold countertop, your chest flush to the granite. His hands travel down your spine, over your hips and down to your ass. Very carefully, he’s tugging ever so slightly, letting himself get a better look. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, sweetheart.” Jake compliments while adjusting his stance. He eases back into you again, watching your expression wilfully. When he’s bottomed out, he lets his form fold over yours, letting him get as close to your ear as possible. “I bet it looks even prettier leaking my cum.” 

Your jaw drops. The whispered words do laps around your mind as Jake reintroduces a proper speed. You find yourself on your tiptoes, adjusting the angle, winning yourself a treasured groan from the pilot behind you. He can’t seem to get any appreciative words out, so instead, he lets his hand slip between your legs. The minute his touch is on you again, your core feels like it’s working overtime. 

The calculated strokes, the fullness of him inside you along with diligent fingers is a fatal combination. There was no fucking way you’re lasting much longer. There isn’t. 

Adding insult to injury, Jake’s free hand leaves your hip, coming up to the base of your hair and grabs a fistful, helping you to arch yourself off the counter, and bear witness to a rather insightful view of the two of you. His face is focused, hair absolutely wild and intense, his skin flushed. 

“You want to come baby?” The words are panted, mixing with still steady strokes - somehow. It’s impossible to properly nod your head against his grip, which forces a whine out of you.

“Yes. Jake- please- I’m not-“ The fucker moves deeper in time with the pressure on your clit. A groan skips across your breath with the quickened thrusts.

“If you come, I’m coming in you, baby girl. That what you want? You want me to come in you?” His breath paints gaps between his words, his grip still training your eyes on is in the mirror. “You wanna walk out of here with me leaking outta you?” The gruff tone of his voice has a husk to it that you’ve never heard. Not in base camp, not at Penny’s - never. 

And holy fuck. You’ve never needed something so damn badly. 

“Come in me. Come in me, fuck, Jake- please-please-please-“ The pressure of your chest against the counter makes breathing tough as it is, but mixed with the tightness of your core and the short intakes your lungs are pulling, the euphoria is somehow heightened ten-fold. 

The full sensation is accompanied by warmth and electricity. Your peak aligns with his, a rare occurrence for the both of you. His hold on your head eases, letting you rest fully on the bathroom counter to catch your breath. His hand, still lost in your hair, mindlessly starts massaging your scalp. Fuck, if it weren’t for the smell of bathroom cleaner you would’ve believed you were up in the damn clouds right now. 

He’s careful when he pulls out, and tugs your shorts back up around your waist first. Large hands grab your hips and help you stand up properly, spinning you back to face him. He buttons you back up, chuckling under his breath. 

“Oh, good thing we’re in a bar cause you look absolutely tanked, right now.” Jake’s hand pushes a rogue lock of hair out of the way before tugging his own pants back up. 

You feel like you’re on a funhouse floor right now. The kind where the floor wobbles up and down and makes it hard to walk straight. 

Despite that, you make a weak effort to reach up and help him sort the wild mess that is his hair. You’d been leaning back on the counter for support and are surprised when you step forward that your knee buckles. Jake’s arms both to grab you, a devious chuckle leaving him. “Easy does it, let yourself get your legs under you.” 

Your mouth is dry when you go to speak. “You think you’re funny?” The tilt of your head accompanies the question, before the pilot looks at the counter behind you. 

“I’m known to be a comedian from time to time.” He hums, picking up the dispenser and evaluating whether or not it was possible to fix this without tipping off Penny. 

“You might want to go back to clown school. Your jokes are landing about as strong as you did today.” Green eyes cut to, growing sharp as they do so. They don’t deter the smirk on your lips. If everyone else got to roast him, you felt it only fitting to tag along. 

With stronger legs, you turn to the sink to wipe some water over your body. The reflection of yourself in the mirror is downright horrific. Makeup has smudged and your hair is a rat’s nest. It was going to take a second to clean up. 

“I got a draft coming in and you know it.” The defense comes, dropping the soap dispenser back to the counter. “I’m not telling her this happened.” He points to the soap.

You look over your shoulder at him as you use a paper towel to wipe mascara from under your eyes. “And how exactly would I get away with telling her that the men’s soap dispenser is broken?” 

The question makes Jake buffer. He attempts to provide a retort before resigning himself to his fate. “Damn it.”

“Think about this the next time you decide to get possessive in a public place.” You charm, finally feeling like you were somewhat acceptable to the public. 

Jake was right, you did look drunk. But at least you didn’t look freshly fucked on top of it. Drunk accusations were one thing, sneaking off to get laid was another. 

The two of you stick your head out to the hallway, gladly finding Rooster still crooning at the piano, the whole of the bar in his hands. It seemed like Hangman knew his teammates well enough if he was using them for his ulterior motives. 

Each of you manages to merge your way back into the crowd without tipping anyone off. 

Your drink is gone from the table Jake put it, and the rest of the team has gathered around the piano. Sneaking around bodies, you manage to come to the center of the crowd, where familiar faces have huddled up. Phoenix is sat on the piano bench next to a vibrant and loud Bradshaw, your drink in her hand. 

Gratefully, you approach and she smiles at you. “Hey! I was wondering where you ran off to!” She greets, before handing you the glass. Half the liquid is gone by the time it gets to your lips. Damn Hangman. 

“I had to help Penny with something in the bathroom!” You fabricate the lie as quickly as you can. The dark haired woman seems to believe you, and resumes her singing to the song you don’t seem to recognize. 

A quick glance to the bar shows Jake tagging down Ryan and pointing toward the bathroom. 

That fucker. You knew that the bathroom wouldn’t exactly have time to air out before the employee would go check it out. He would walk in and know exactly what had happened there. And exactly who was responsible for it. 

It takes you a few more drinks before you finally end up calling it a night. Afterall, you have to work tomorrow, and if you didn’t stop now, you’d be miserable come morning. Hell, you were going to be sore one way or another, Hangman had made sure of that. Your back had been giving off a dull ache since you left the bathroom, and it would be even worse under G Force in the cockpit tomorrow. 

Despite it all, you get a ride home. The house is quiet, with Amelia likely feigning sleep in favor of playing some game on her phone under the covers. You knew you could check on her and catch her in the act but… you remember sneaking your game boy under your pillow when you were supposed to be sleeping. It was a core memory for you. So who are you to break that cycle? 

Once you’ve changed, and more importantly showered, you make your way to the garage. It was somewhat organized, albeit under-stocked. Granted, Penny was rarely in here. It mainly served as storage and held the important tools and things. So, there had to be some sort of super glue. 

With four options at your disposal, you quickly gather your supplies and make a beeline for your bedroom. Once the door is shut, you set up a makeshift tool bench using an overturned storage bin, then carefully dump the glass pieces of the lamp on top of it. 

Jigsaw puzzles were never your strong suit. You weren’t horrible at them, you always succeeded in getting the outline of the puzzle together, but filling in the middle part was easier said than done. 

So it’s no surprise that you’re able to sort each panel of the lamp shade into respective piles. You’re about halfway through one panel when a tap comes from the window. 

Your head is on a swivel, looking back at the pane. One Jake Seresin is on the other side. 

Reluctantly, you stand up and open the window. 

“What are you doing here?” You quiz him as he climbs through, the reverse of what he’d done last weekend. He straightens himself out and spots the lamp pieces on your bedroom floor. 

“I know what it’s like to lose a beloved piece of furniture. I’m here for the wake.” He laments, a hand over his heart in a show of fake empathy. 

With the window shut, you grunt when you get back to the floor. “I don’t remember posting an obituary anywhere.” You offer, looking back down at the progress you’ve made. It really isn’t much, but it’s better than not trying at all. 

“Not to criminalize myself here, but no need for one when you witness the murder.” He hums, coming to the other side of your workbench, joining you. You scoff and look up at him.

“Witnessed? You’re the prime suspect, Seresin.” The stupid giggles that accompany the words feel somewhat like betrayal of the message. 

He puts his hands up in a show of surrender. “I am innocent, your honor.” Your giggles coerce his own chuckles to join in on the fun. Careful fingers pick up a piece of the remains on the slab in your pseudo-mortuary. “This is hopeless, y’know. Cremation might be a better option.” 

You look up at him from your work. “Is that your professional opinion or are you just trying to get rid of the body?”

“Strictly professional. I would never tamper with an investigation.” Jake hums and puts the piece back down, before inspecting another one. 

You had to give him credit, this felt impossible. What progress you had made, was shoddily mangled back into some motif of what the pattern had been before. And your hands certainly are way more stable when you aren’t five drinks in. 

Jake’s returned to watch you. Granted, this was much different than the bar, but still, he’s got careful eyes on you. 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re actually here?” You question again, sitting up to give your back a break from being hunched over. 

“You didn’t answer my text. I wanted to make sure you made it back safe.” His gaze has moved to other pieces, attempting to find the next piece you need to glue down. 

It’s uncharacteristic of him. He would’ve found out if you made it home tomorrow morning at work. Instead, he’s sitting in your bedroom at eleven thirty at night, playing Operation with your aunt’s heirloom lamp. Or what’s left of it. 

“Got it.” You keep the reply succinct and quick. No need to elaborate on it. Instead, you find the next piece - or what you assume is the next piece - and resume your work. 

A few minutes pass before you’re dropping the piece to the plastic and hissing. A jagged edge caught the side of your finger unexpectedly. 

“Ow, fuck.” You shake your hand, pulling it close to try to see how bad the cut is. 

Jake’s attention is caught by the sound. He extends his hand toward you. “Hey, hey, careful there might still be glass- let me see.” 

Reluctantly, you let him take your hand, leaning across the storage bin, careful not to let any drying pieces catch on your shirt. 

His examination doesn’t last very long. But his hands are gentle as they move. A careful finger prods gently to ensure that it wasn’t contaminated with any shards from the project below you. He seems much softer. It doesn’t last very long. His brash and relaxed demeanor returns when he lets go.

“You’re fine. Just need a bandage.” He shrugs, leaning back on his hands. You look at him and then the door.

“And risk Penny finding this?” You gesture to your glasswork. “No thanks, rather not.” Looking around the room, you’re trying to spot the box of tissues you could’ve sworn was in here earlier. 

After a few seconds of thought, Jake reaches out and grabs your wrist. He pulls your hand back toward him, before ensuring your injured finger is extended, then tugging it to his mouth. His lips carefully wrap around the injured digit, cleaning the wound site. You sit in surprise, the warm sensation disappearing as quick as it appeared. He lets go, and smirks at you. 

“All better, princess.” 

Jake sticks around for about an hour more before you decide to give him a more dignified exit this time. It’s late after all, and you had checked Penny’s location about thirty minutes ago and knew she was home. Which meant she was upstairs and tuckered out for the night. After a night of Rooster’s entertainment, the bar had been unusually busy. It’s understandable that she’s wiped. 

Despite that, your lingering conversation with Jake remains hushed as you make your way to the door. You spot his truck parked down the street, inconspicuously placed. Smart move on his part. You lean on the door frame as he exits onto the porch. 

“I expect you to be on time tomorrow.” You remark, looking at him with a knowing smirk.

“Defy my commanding officer? I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jake retorts, an easy grin on his features. 

Maybe something could come out of this. If he’s showing up unannounced like he did, maybe it could get there. He seemed to care. After all, the soap dispenser at the Hard Deck would still be on the wall if he didn’t. So he did. At least enough to do something about it. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Hangman.” You offer, grabbing onto the door next to you, anticipating shutting it. 

“Yes ma’am. G’night, Knockout.” He gives a mock salute before starting down the steps.

The door is about halfway shut when you hear his voice. It’s muffled so you can’t make it out without opening the door further. 

When you do, Jake is standing adjacent to your captain and instructor, Maverick.

[deedeeznoofs]

The Deep Woods

➺ Update: If you enjoy this story, please feel free to also read some extra headcanons that delve into your life with Sukuna in the woods during the story as well as after the story takes place!

➺ Characters: Ryomen Sukuna, Fem!Reader 

➺ Word Count: 8.2k

➺ Genre: Slow Burn, Fluff

➺ Content: Fairy Tale!AU, True Form!Sukuna, Princess!Reader, Arranged Marriage (not to Sukuna), Abusive Family (not super heavy though just average royal family bullshit), Swearing, Reader Stabs Someone

➺ A/N: This is the perfect time to confess that the reason I started watching JJK was because of all the Disney Princess ships that were going around and I'm not ashamed at all, those ships were unironically cute. 

➺ Synopsis:  Far beyond the kingdom walls in the darkest parts of the forest, there’s said to be a monstrous beast with two faces and four arms. As the only princess in the kingdom, you ignore these rumors and explore among the trees anyways. Unfortunately, it seems curiosity got the best of you, and you come face to face with this exact beast. Though… after meeting him, you begin to question who the true monsters of the kingdom actually are. 

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Your footsteps can be heard echoing throughout the castle walls as you walk on the decorated marble floor. You take a moment to take in your surroundings. Beautiful pieces of art and architecture surround you as you walk through the place you call home. Despite living in the castle your whole life, you always found something new when you walked around. This time, you notice the tiny angels at the top of the pillars, seemingly staring down at you. Were those always there? You thought. It didn’t matter, but it was interesting to take note of. You had to take note of these things if you didn’t want to go insane. It was a good thing the castle was so large and had all of these tiny details, otherwise you would have put up more of a fight to leave than you already do. Sometimes though, you just wished your company wasn’t so terrible.

Taking a deep breath, you open the heavy doors leading to the dinner room. There, you’re met with two awfully familiar faces. 

“Father… Mother…” you say softly, bowing as you enter the room.

“You’re late” your mother curtly states. You look down half-apologetically, “I’m sorry” you mumble. 

She isn’t finished. “Your hair is disheveled as well, did you think this was the proper way to greet us?”. Of course, you haven’t seen either of your parents for the entire day, and during the small window of time when you did see each other, it’s surrounded with criticism. If it wasn’t your hair, it was your clothing, and if not that, it was the way you walked or talked. You’d be more angry about it if you weren’t so used to it. Nowadays, you simply pull up a chair at the comically large dining table where your family sat and quietly eat your food. Your father–the King– would follow suit. Either looking down at his food, or around the castle, or speaking with your mother. He did everything but look you in the eyes. In some ways he was worse than your mother. At least your mother criticized things in your control. Yet, your father’s distaste of you seemed to stem from nothing more than the cardinal sin you committed of being a woman. Your parents have no other children, so it seemed that your very existence continued to be a reminder of their failures– no, your failure to bring an heir to the throne. 

You finish eating your food, but it’s not over yet, because unlike previous dinners, you were on a mission this evening. Setting down your fork to grab their attention, you look at them both and ask “I’d like permission to go to the village”. 

Both of your parents simply stood in silence before laughing. In fact, this was probably the happiest you’ve seen them. “Oh please, what could you possibly get from the village?” your mother questions you, still with a stupid smile on her face. Trying to hide your offense, you straighten your back “I’d just like to see what’s outside of this castle”. 

Realizing you’re serious, your parents stop their laughs, and their faces contort into one of anger. “Don’t put such things in your head,” your mother says “There’s nothing outside of this castle that is of interest to you, a different Princess would already know that”. What she really means is a better Princess would know that. You already knew that they probably wouldn’t agree, but you were unable to stop yourself from wanting to put up a fight anyways. Irritated, you stood up from your chair “Please just– let me see what’s out there, one hour tops, and I’ll never ask again”. 

In anger, your mother abruptly stood up as well and said “Absolutely not. Who knows what the people may do if they find a Princess near their filthy surroundings. Especially those peasant men who could–” 

“You know what. Never mind” you begin to walk away, turning your back on your mother. She didn’t like this very much, “How dare you turn your back on the Queen! Come back here you damn woman” she yells out, but you’re already at the door. You push the door open and slam it closed behind you as you make it outside the dining room. There, you find your Lady in Waiting next to the door, listening into the conversation. Realizing that you caught her, she stood in stock. You simply looked at her before scoffing and turning away to go back to your room, and she scurried trying to follow behind you. 

As you two are walking, she begins to speak up. “You know Princess, maybe it’s for the best that you don’t go outside” she takes a short breath, tired from having to chase after you. “There really isn’t anything in the village that would be of interest to a noblewoman such as yourself” she laughs, but you simply ignore her and keep moving, walking even faster this time, to her dismay. She wasn’t getting to you, but she kept trying anyway, “Also…I’ve heard about a beast roaming the forest near the village. The people say he’s almost 9 feet tall, and has four arms! Isn’t that terrifying?” Now that made you stop, and you turned around to look at her. Yes! She thought, had she gotten through to you? 

“Don’t be stupid” is all you say before you make it to your room and abruptly close the door, leaving her outside. 

In your room, you peek through the large window showing the outside world. There, you���re also able to see the forest that covers the perimeter of the Kingdom. A 9 foot tall beast huh? You thought, oh to be able to see that. Maybe it was stupid to wish for such a thing, but you would be willing to see anything so long as it was outside the castle. You weren’t blind to your privilege, of course it probably wasn’t going to be the stellar experience you expected, but at least you would know, that would be more than enough for you. 

Still, it didn’t matter what you thought because you probably would be staying in this same castle every day for your entire life regardless of your thoughts about it. Turning back to look outside one last time, you walk to your bed and flop down, dozing off to sleep. 

The morning rays of sun stir you awake and nearly blind you as you open your eyes. Somewhat groggy, you slowly get washed and dressed as you make your way to the garden for breakfast. The gardens were the closest to the outside world you could ever get, and as such they quickly became your favorite place to spend your day. You say hello to some of the gardeners as you make your way to the gazebo where your breakfast is already prepared. Your mouth waters as you see the combination of scones and fruit laid out for your breakfast. You get lost in thought as you eat, thinking about how you’ll spend your time for the day.

Your thoughts get disturbed when your Lady in Waiting comes to greet you. You look at her, about to apologize for your behavior last night when she begins to speak “Your Highness,” she lightly bows, “The King and Queen have asked to meet you after breakfast, they say it’s important”. As she raises her head, you ask her what it might be about. Your parents didn’t usually ask to meet with you outside of dinner. You thought for a moment, hopefully this wasn’t about what happened last night. When she tells you that she isn’t sure what the meeting is for, you simply nod and tell her you’ll be there soon. 

Once she leaves, you finish up breakfast and make your way to the throne room. This was the place your parents spent most of their time, and where they held their endless gatherings and meetings. As such, you made it a point to avoid the place outside of times where they specifically ask for you such as this one. 

When you make it inside the throne room, you walk to your parents and give them a bow “Your Majesties” you say, greeting them. Your parents don’t waste any time, and get right to the chase. “We have good news” your father starts. “You’re to be married” he says, gleeful, you on the other hand were anything but. Slowly standing up from your kneeling position, you utter a small “What?”, not fully comprehending what’s coming out of his mouth. “It really should have happened before” your mother begins, “You have been more than old enough for a long time” she scoffs. “Wait!” you yell out suddenly, “I’m not getting married” you say, mostly out of shock at the revelation. 

Your mother sighs, not hiding her disappointment. “How many times do we have to say that it’s your royal duty to provide this family with an heir” she lectures. You simply look down. Damn it, you think, you really didn’t want to do this, but you suppose you had no choice, so you ask, “Who is it?”. This confuses your parents and they look to each other in confusion, so you clarify, “Who am I getting married to”. The fact that you have shown the signs of being willing (or at the very least, compliant), nearly makes your mother jump up with glee. Your father says “This young Prince in the neighboring Kingdom, his father has lots of good things to say–”

“What about you guys?” you ask. It wasn’t that you particularly trusted their judgment, but you trusted them more than some other King who most definitely had a conflict of interest, “What do you guys think of him?”. This makes your parents pause for a moment before your mother goes, “Well… we haven’t quite met him yet”. 

Now, you weren’t very particular about who you were going to marry. You knew it was going to come eventually due to the nature of your family, but this made you angry. To not even know who they were marrying you off to? Have they truly stooped to this kind of stupidity? “So you don’t even know who he is and you want me to marry him?” you question, now somewhat aggressively. 

“We can take care of all that later my dear–” your mother starts again, but you aren’t having any of it “No! Getting married to someone I don’t know is bad enough but someone you guys don’t even know? That’s just absurd!” you yell out, which makes your father angry. “What’s absurd is not having an heir to the throne!” he yells out, his voice booming throughout the throne room. “You are to be married to this man regardless of your personal feelings on the matter” he yells out again. You can’t look at him. You can’t look at either of them. Your brain is starting to hurt and you can’t do anything. So you take one last look at them before silently leaving the throne room. 

Making it back to your bedroom, you spend the rest of the day looking out your window, watching as the sun sets and the moon shows its full glory. Thankfully, no one bothers you for the rest of the day, but you still have a pounding headache from the conversation. Various thoughts fill your head, from I can’t believe they would do this to I don’t think marriage would be that bad, right? All the way back to I shouldn’t even have to question whether it would be bad or not. You eventually decide that you need to clear your head and get some fresh air. Fresh air outside of this damn castle.

Looking out the window, your eyes focus on the forest ahead. The luscious green leaves sway from side to side as you look out at them, as if to call you towards them. Surely, it would be nice to walk through those woods. 

What? No! That’s a stupid decision, you could get lost. Or worse, killed.

…

Well… dead people can’t get married off to strangers.

That thought in mind, you grab a cloak from your closet and open up your window. The cold breeze of the night hits your face as you look out toward the forest, toward freedom… at least for a little while, that is. The only issue that stands in your way is how to get down. Looking down at the ground from your window, you definitely wouldn’t be able to jump without dying or getting injured. Not liking either of those options, you look around your room for anything that might help when you eye a pile of blankets in the corner of your room. Perfect. 

Man, these blankets are long as hell you think as you tie the pieces of fabric together. Once you finish, you securely tie one end to your bed frame and bring the other end out the window. The end of the makeshift rope hits the floor, and you have a mini celebration of your success. 

Feet hitting the ground, you’re able to slip past the guards and make your way out of the castle walls. You aren’t scared, far from it. For the first time in your life, you’re free. You’re giddy for a while and that joy only grows as you get further and further away from the castle. You’re finally able to take a breath, even if only for a mere few hours in the night.

There are no lights in the forest, and you didn’t bring a candle with you, so you only had the full moon to guide you. This was alright though, and you bathed in the moonlight for a while, being at peace. 

Your head is finally clear, and you’re able to stay in meditative thought as you walk through the woods.

Then, you hear a growl. 

You snap out of your thoughts and turn to the direction where the growl was heard. 

You hear another growl behind you. 

Then another. 

It’s a pack of wolves. 

And they’re surrounding you. 

You’re able to see their faces as they step into the moonlight out of the shadows. Their hungry eyes showing you that they do not intend to free you. The beasts give you no path of escape as they inch closer and closer to you. You had no other choice, you were going to be their dinner. Knowing your situation, you simply crouch down and close your eyes. Hopefully, it’ll be a quick death you think as you hear their excited growls and howls around you. 

One of the wolves prepares to lunge at you, but just as it’s about to, another force tackles the animal. 

“Huh?” you audibly say as you slowly open your eyes. When you look around yourself again, there are no more wolves to be seen, all of them taken away by a mysterious force. You are frozen in place. What in the world just happened? 

You can’t think for long though, as you realize…You sense someone else’s presence. 

You slowly turn around to find a large beast in the distance. No, that’s no beast, that’s a man. Except… Why does he have four arms? 

You think back to your conversation with your Lady in Waiting the other day. 

Shit. 

He’s slowly inching toward you. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

The better part of your brain knows to run, but you remain crouched and unmoving, frozen in fear. Eventually, he stands in front of you, looking down at your small form. 

They say he’s 9 feet, huh? You weren’t fully sure if that was correct, but he definitely looked like it from the way he was hovering above you. 

This feeling. It’s pure fear. You weren’t even this afraid when surrounded by the wolves, whom you were fully expecting to eat you. But this, you aren’t even able to breathe. Hell, you can’t breathe, you don’t know what’s come over you. He did save you, right? Maybe he isn’t so dangerous. Though, maybe he’s simply saving you for himself.

The clouds in the sky that were previously covering the moon now moved past, allowing the moonlight to shine on the man’s face, and you’re able to see four bright red eyes looking down at you. 

Not knowing what else to say, you just scream out “P-Please! Please don’t hurt me!”. It was different with the wolves, they wouldn’t have stopped no matter what you said. With this though… Was he more man than beast? Maybe he understood language? You were going to take all your chances, so you continued begging for your life. 

He seemed to have no reaction to your qualms, and simply slowly raised up his hand, getting ready to strike you. He took his time, as if you were so small that he didn’t even need to fully put in any effort to try to catch you. You didn’t give up, you continued to beg for your life until the last moment, hoping to get through to him. You kept on screaming. Kept on begging for your life until the very last moment when he swiftly brought his hand down to your face and–

You knocked out. 

“Princess! Oh Dear– Princess!” 

The voice of your Lady in Waiting wakes you up. Your head is throbbing with pain, and her frantic tone certainly wasn’t helping. 

“Huh?” you groan, you feel the grass from under you, you’re in front of the castle. You begin to slowly remember the events of the night before. Right… you left the castle, but how’d you get back here?

You suddenly remember the wolves and that man that saved you. You begin to frantically look around. Did he bring you back? 

Your Lady in Waiting makes it to you and begins to help you up. She decides to ask “Why are you on the floor?”. She’s picking the stray pieces of grass off of your hair and as you’re about to explain what happened, you realize how incriminating against you the story was. So, you simply tell her, “I’m not sure…”. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t question you any further, and simply goes “Let’s go give you a bath” as she takes your hand and leads you inside the castle. You turn around for a moment and look toward the forest. What the hell happened? 

The hot bath was more than needed to help clean off the dirt on your skin. The steam also helped to relax you as you organized your thoughts. You remember the four-armed man, and his bright red eyes. You think about how he saved you from death. You sounded ridiculous. Was that… a dream? You thought. No… it couldn’t be, it felt too real to merely be a dream. Though, if that was true, why did he save you from the wolves, and why did he bring you back to the castle? Ignoring all that, a man of that kind of build is something out of children’s books. 

It was going to bug you for the rest of your days, you had to go back to find out what on Earth happened last night. It would just be a short trip to confirm, you remembered most of your steps from that night. Plus, it was broad daylight now, surely there would be no predators roaming around.

If anyone heard you, it would sound like you had a death wish. Hell, you probably did… but there was something calling you to go back to investigate that man, and you’d be damned if you didn’t listen. 

Letting the water drip down your body as you leave the tub, you dry yourself off with a towel and pick out a dress. You went for something simple, as you needed to be able to move in case the worse happens and you get attacked by another animal. Or worse, if your new “friend” turned out to not be so friendly after all. 

You’re able to sneak your way through the guards again, and it was actually much easier this time. Turns out, your parents were away from the castle, meaning not as many guards stuck around to keep watch. 

“If I knew it was going to be this easy to leave, I would have snuck out before” You thought out loud in a quiet whisper. 

You find your way back to the forest and try your best to follow the path you remember going on the night before. You walk for a while before you see something of interest. 

Red blood stains paint the dirt coupled with scratch marks, no doubt from wolves. You look around your surroundings. While brighter now, they definitely looked familiar. There was no doubt, this was the place where your life nearly ended. 

So it wasn’t a dream. In your heart you already knew that, of course, the extra confirmation definitely helped. 

You think about your savior. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to look for him, right? You look around once again, as if he would be standing in the same spot. You start to walk down the path further into the forest. You should be able to run into him eventually, right? Wait, why were you even looking for him? 

Against your better judgment, you call out to the stranger, “Um… excuse me sir but I just wanted to thank you for saving me last night”. Nothing. “If you can hear me please come out, I promise I mean peace”. Still nothing. 

After what felt like walking for hours, you nearly give up and decide to cut your losses and go home. That is, until you see a stone figure in the distance. Looking closer, you realize it’s a well. Curious, you walk towards it. Your fingers touch the rough stone of the abandoned well, and you wonder about the last time it was used. You decide to sit for a while and ponder near the spot. You think again about your marriage, and slowly begin to accept the reality of the situation. Hopefully, in the best case scenario, the Prince isn’t so bad. Hell, you’d accept halfway bearable. At least now, you know that when times get rough you’re able to go to the forest to think. 

You ponder a bit more and as you look down at the well, various things cross your mind. Whether they were good or bad, it didn’t matter to you. You were simply allowing your mind to roam wherever it saw fit. You were officially lost in thought. In fact, you were so lost in thought, that you didn’t even notice the giant form standing just behind you…

“Are you stupid?” You hear a gruff voice coming from behind you. 

Shocked, you forget that you’re near a well and jump up, screaming whilst you flail your arms out. This causes you to lose your balance and you fall into the well, causing you to scream even louder. You brace for your fall but it never comes. Instead, you find yourself caught between four large arms. 

“‘Tch, idiot” you hear, though you’re just glad that you’re alive. You’re brought back down to the glorious land, and you’re able to look up at the man in front of you. Looking at him, you see the obvious signs of your previous savior. The iconic four arms and four bright red eyes. Though, now that he’s in broad daylight, you notice some more things. Like the markings on his arms, his slicked back pink hair and a large mouth directly where his stomach is. Forget about children’s books, this man was unequivocally a monster. Though, you couldn’t help but think about how handsome he looked despite this. A stoic expression painted his face, despite showing clear annoyance toward your antics. Yes, handsome was the word to describe him. 

“Don’t stare. It’s weird” he says.

Then again, maybe you simply haven’t met many men. 

You’re about to respond with a comment of your own, when you feel a sharp sting on your leg. Wincing, you look down and you see blood trickling down your thigh. You must have gotten scratched while falling down the well. 

“Ow…” you say quietly, lifting up your dress. The man heard your pains, but didn’t pay it much mind. Rolling his eyes, he simply turned around to another side of the woods and said “You’ll live”. 

“Wait!” you reach out, grabbing at his clothes. This annoyed the man and he attempted to pull your hand away, you don’t budge though. “It hurts!” you yell out at him. He continues to try to get your hand off of him, and he yells out, “Not my problem!”. Finally, he’s free from your hand and pushes you away, causing you to fall backwards. “Owww…” you say, again. Today was certainly not your lucky day.

He’s about to walk away from you when he turns around for a second. Looking at you, he saw your pathetic display, covered in dirt, crouching down afraid to touch your minor cut. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Groaning, he walks toward you and picks you up, easily carrying you over his shoulder. “Hey what are you–” 

“Quiet.” he says, “Don’t make me regret this, brat”. You do as he says. You weren’t afraid of him anymore. How could you be? If he wanted to kill you, he had several chances to do so. Hell, there were multiple instances when nature nearly did the job for him. So you decide to trust him as he carries you through an unknown part of the forest. 

He places you down inside an open cave. Based on the various items around, you assume it’s where he lives. You look around and see makeshift weapons and pieces of cloth sprawled about in the area. It definitely could be better, but it was pretty good for someone who lived in the wild. 

You see him as he takes one of the clean pieces of cloth and pats it on your leg. It stung like hell every time he padded the white cloth onto your skin, but he didn’t seem to care much about your tiny reactions. After a bit you both settle into a quiet, almost intimate feeling as he caresses your thigh, trying to clean the blood off your leg. You were used to getting taken care of, but this, this felt different. 

You take your chance to speak. “Thank you, again…” you say. 

He doesn’t say anything back, only muttering a soft “Whatever” to himself as he continues patting the area.

You continue to try to initiate small talk, saying things like “So… this is your house, how nice” and “The woods are lovely aren’t they?”. This doesn’t earn much of a reaction from him, and it seems that the small smidge of a reaction that you do see, is one of annoyance. You decide to give up, but not before asking him one more question. 

“What’s your name?” you ask. 

He stops for a bit, hesitating, and you assume that he won’t answer, when he says “Ryomen”. 

Pleasantly surprised that he actually answered you, you excitedly ask “Ryomen what?” with a smile. 

He gives a short groan in annoyance and mumbles “Ryomen Sukuna” as he rolls his eyes, still trying to focus on padding down your wound. You no longer mind the pain, instead you’re happy that you’re able to get him to open up. 

“That’s a nice name” you compliment him, and he just gives a low hum in response. 

He finishes patching you up and begins to walk away as he stands, “You’re a big girl, now scram” he tries to be intimidating, though it no longer works on you. You thank him profusely and it seems to do nothing but make him more annoyed as he focuses on anything else but you. 

“Oh I have one more question!” you say as you stand up from your spot. 

“‘Course you do…” he says, you take this as an invitation to keep talking, and you ask him the one question that’s been bugging your mind, “How did you know I lived in the castle?” 

He simply looked at you and gave you a blank stare and said, “You’re asking me that when you go out dressed like… that? It’s obvious”. He looks you up and down as he says the words, causing you to look down at your choice of wear. Oh yeah… of course, you couldn’t hide it if you tried. Though, it at least helped bring you home. Getting your answer, you simply walk away, not wanting to press him further. 

His peace doesn’t last long, however, as you come back. Then, you come back again, and again, and again. 

It started with you bringing a basket of food to him. Something simple, such as some fruits. “I wanted to give you this to thank you for all you’ve done” you said. When you offered him the basket he took the food and left, planning to leave you alone. He didn’t even say a word to you, let alone a thank you. Somewhat offended, you yelled out a “Wait!”, which caused him to turn around. “I thought… we would be eating together” you said, looking down at the floor.

He stopped for a moment before sitting down, grumbling as he took an apple and bit on it. Well… bit is an understatement, he absolutely ravaged the apple, leaving not even the core. 

“You… you eat the core?” you ask him, genuinely concerned for what it might do to his health. 

He just looked at you, chewing on a seed, and said “I don’t waste food” before going back to abusing the rest of the fruits on the basket, all while you stay content with your single bunch of grapes. 

Outside of that short conversation, you two don’t speak to each other. When he finished eating, Sukuna got up and left, not even uttering a single goodbye. However, this was far from the last time you two spoke. 

Every day, you brought him food from the castle. Every day, you insisted that he sit with you to eat it. You weren’t exactly sure why you did all this, maybe it was an excuse to get away from the castle, or maybe you were simply intrigued by the man you visited. You two hardly ever spoke at first, how could you? Sukuna hated your presence, not for any particular reason, he just wasn’t very fond of humans. However, he loved food more than he hated you, so he never complained and was never outright malicious. 

One time though, after a few weeks of you two meeting, he snapped and said, “Stop coming here, brat”. You looked up at him, the bread you brought in hand, and gave him a simple “No”. This response caused him to growl under his teeth, but he didn’t push it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he started to enjoy being around you. It sucked being alone, and most people didn’t want to go near him. Plus, the small number of people who were brave enough to face him were in it to kill him, so he was willing to accept having you around, as simple minded as you were. Finishing the food, he got up as usual, except this time he said “You’re lucky this food is good”, before walking away. 

That small interaction seemed to open the doors for you two to get closer. Eventually, you two began speaking as you ate. Mostly small talk, sometimes you’d touch on your arranged marriage, but it was a topic you wanted to avoid as much as possible. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind brushing over it. 

Even after you two ate, you continued to speak to each other. Mostly walking around the forest, you would ask him about the various plants and wildlife. Something that he seemed highly knowledgeable about, always diligently explaining everything around the forest to you. 

You two sometimes met at night as well. You would steal some food from dinner (something that allowed you to actually look forward to the occasion) and bring it for the two of you to have. While eating, you would look up at the stars together, basking in the light they give off. 

“I can feel you staring at me” you say, looking at him through the side of your eye. He doesn’t let up, in fact, he grows more confident, turning his entire body around to face you. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help but notice something about your face”. You turn around to face him, curious about what he might say. “I swear to God if you say something stupid I will personally poke one of your eyes out–” 

“Your eyes shine more than the stars do,” he cuts you off. You look at him, his face is as calm as it usually is, he’s serious. You aren’t sure what to say, and you stutter around your words, until you hear a hearty laugh and Sukuna’s face scrunched up in a chuckle “Oh man– I can’t believe that corny ass line got you… you really do need to go outside more” he says as he laughs some more, crossing his four arms over his head. Your face is flushed and red from embarrassment and you tackle the man “Ryomen Sukuna!” you yell out, “That’s it, I’m poking your eyes out!”. Sukuna is able to fight you off with his superior strength, and when your embarrassment cools down, you’re able to have a bit of a laugh as well. 

“Well lookie here…” Sukuna says, looking down at you as you struggle being tangled up between some long plants. “Ain’t this a sight to see… so early in the morning too” he chuckles. The food you brought him for the day now on the floor, you continue struggling before you yell out “Ryomen stop staring like a weirdo and come help me!”. He laughs again and goes “I don’t know… there’s no more food so I can just leave you here” he pretends to turn around to leave you. You know he isn’t being fully serious, but in frustration you swing around and begin yelling his name some more. “Okay fine, fine…” he says, as he cuts the plants with his nails “Waitwaitwaitwait—” is all you say before you fall to the floor. It wasn’t a huge fall, but it was enough to hurt. “Ow…” you say, your arms absorbing most of the fall, and thus, most of the pain. Sukuna keeps laughing, “Oops…Hahahaha” he smiles as you stare daggers at him. 

You’re able to get up on your own and pat most of the dirt away. “You know man I’m not really in the mood today” you say as you try your best to look a little more proper. “Oh? What’s wrong?” he asks, still half-joking based on his tone. Still, you answer seriously “I’m meeting my husband today… my family’s holding some stupid party”. You say it like it isn’t a big deal, but Sukuna can read in your face that the thought seriously upsets you, so he lightens up a bit. 

He pats you on the head with one of his hands and goes “Come on… it’s about time I give you some food, yeah? Let’s go hunting”. He begins running, slow enough for you to follow, but fast enough for you to have to catch up with him. You mindlessly follow him before going “Wait… hunting? Wait, I don't wanna– RYOMEN!”. 

Ballroom music plays as you stand amongst the crowd of people, trying your best to keep up appearances. This was technically your engagement party, but with how far you and your future husband seem to be from each other, no one would be able to guess. That, and your “fiancé” flirting with every woman he could lay his eyes upon. Every woman but you, of course. You didn’t miss the way his face dropped the moment he laid his eyes on you. You didn’t mind this, as you weren’t too pleased with his appearance either. Still, the least he could do is suck it up and take it for the day the way you were expected to. Alas, it seems his favorite course of action for the night was to humiliate you by having a public display of his flirtation before you two are even married.

You try to use this to your advantage, “Look at him, mother…” you say to the woman standing next to you, she’s giving out her brightest and fakest smiles to all the guests “You can’t possibly expect me to marry him” you tell her. “You can and will…” your mother says through smiling teeth, she isn’t done though, she never is “If you took better care of yourself, maybe his behavior would be different” she drops her act for a moment, before going back to greeting guests. 

You let out a sigh of sadness and anger, everything felt horrible. Suddenly, the dress you’re wearing is a tad too tight, the music feels a bit too loud, and there’s too many people. Your mother’s comments as she watches your future husband embarrass you doesn’t help either. You need to leave, and you need to leave fast. You somehow find a way to slip out of the party without many people noticing and try to make your way to the only place you felt safe– the forest. 

You somehow make it to Sukuna’s resting spot despite the way you’re dressed. Your feet have blisters all over from your shoes but that doesn’t matter. You’re finally safe here… 

Sukuna immediately notices you and is prepared with a joke, “Woah who let the–”

“Shut up” you cut him off. You knew his comments were mostly in pure fun, and you enjoyed them for the most part, but today was not one of those times. 

Sukuna understood this, and simmered down. “Bad day?” he asks, though he already knew the answer. 

Tears stinging your eyes, you simply look down at the floor and nod. Sukuna pats down a spot next to him and goes “Tell me about it”. 

You take the invitation, and tell him all about your woes. The full story of your forced marriage, the pressure to have an heir, the humiliation you felt as you saw the man you were publicly marrying flirt with as many women as he could right in front of everyone. You were like a river on a broken dam. 

Sukuna didn’t say anything until you were finished, and even once you were, all he said was “Man, what assholes”. It seemed like a mindless comment, but to hear someone else finally say it was enough for you. You two sat in silence for a while before Sukuna looked at you and went “You don’t deserve any of that, I’m sorry”. He was actually fully serious for once. You two locked eyes for a while, not saying a word. You took a while to study his face. You realized this while first meeting him, but it really hit you now. His ever calming facial expressions, the way his eyes looked at you, the way his hair was perfectly slicked back, it was without a doubt, he was devilishly handsome. 

You kissed him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was frustration from this terrible day and you weren’t thinking straight, or maybe, just maybe, it was something more. Sukuna seemed shocked from the sudden kiss, but he held no complaints as he kissed you back.

You fell asleep in his arms, and when you came to, you found yourself back in your room wearing a nightgown. You don’t recall ever coming back, so he must have brought you back on his own and changed you. You would have thought it was all a hazy wet dream, but looking at your night stand, you saw the little bit of ripped fabric from last night’s dress. Definitely not a dream. 

“You’ve embarrassed us!” your mother’s yells boom throughout the throne room. Turns out, going missing at your own engagement party is a big no-no to a lot of people. Your mother goes on and on about how no one was able to find you, and how you seemed to vanish out of thin air. How guards looked everywhere throughout the castle to no avail until someone found you sleeping in your room. 

“Thankfully…” your mother sighs, “The Prince is willing to give you another chance, and is still going to marry you”. 

Your stomach boils with rage at this, they weren’t worried at all! They just cared about the marriage, once again. With all the might in your soul, you yell out a big “No!” toward your parents. This shocks the King and Queen, and the latter slowly walks toward you, going “No? What do you mean…no?”. 

You stutter for a bit, before you go, in the bravest voice you could, “I…I’m not going to marry him”. 

SLAP. 

Your mother strikes you across your face before she turns around, almost as if she’s too disgusted to even look at you. As if you said something so treacherous. She doesn’t say anything, but calls for the guards. As they grab at your arms she goes, “Make sure she doesn’t leave the room, use any force necessary”. This makes your eyes go wide. The marriage was one thing, but not being able to leave was another. “Wait–Wait no…” you yell out, struggling against the guards “Stop! Mom! Stop them! Wai–”.

The doors slowly close in your face as you see your mother walk back to her throne. You continue to try to struggle against the guards to no avail, they throw you into your room and slam the door shut. You attempt to climb down the window but you see the guards posted out there as well. They must have realized what was going on you thought.

You begin to sob. Your first thoughts are of Sukuna. What’s going to happen now? You think back to all your memories of the past few months together, how you felt happy. It wasn’t the fake, saturated, happiness you were used to in the castle, it was real, and you might never get the chance to feel it again. 

Weeks pass…though they feel more like years. You spend your days looking out the window toward the forest, you think of Ryomen and wonder how he must be. You think of your last day together, how you never even said goodbye. Every so often you see him in the distance, and you wave to each other, but even he notices the guards by your window, you see a faint sadness in his face. It was alright, these brief few seconds waving to each other was enough to keep you sane at least, and you needed it as your wedding day inched closer and closer. 

On your wedding day, you saw yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful, wearing a gorgeous white dress and a tiara filled with what seems to be a thousand jewels. Though, it’s hard to truly look at yourself and not feel the least bit upset. The jewels… They looked like the stars. You remember the time you and Sukuna laid under those very same stars, and sadness once again paints your face. 

You dreaded this day, but now that it actually came, you don’t feel many feelings toward it. You only feel numb as you try to dissociate as much as possible. You simply try your best to get the day over with, holding out hope that after the day is over, your restrictions are lowered and you’re able to sneak out into the forest again.

Making your way to the altar, you face your husband. He looks bored as ever, clearly wanting to do this as much as you did. You were okay with this, this means that he wouldn’t bother trying to find out your whereabouts if you suddenly disappeared in random spurts. As the marriage ceremony began, you zoned out. As they go through the traditions, you’re simply thinking about all the things you’d do if you’re finally freed. That is, until you hear the head guard interrupt the ceremony. 

“Apologies for the intrusion, but my men and I have a special gift for the newly-wed royals…” as he says this, the gates open showing a group of guards, and they’re dragging… no. 

“Behold! The four-armed beast! Can you all believe he was sitting right by the castle… how stupid of him to believe he wouldn’t be caught by our men”. 

The audience gasps as Sukuna struggles against his chains, the two of you lock eyes. If he weren’t in such danger right now, you would run to him in an instant to hold him close, making sure to never let go. 

Looking at the Prince, the guard asks “How does the future King feel about slaying this monstrous beast?” 

Shit. Fuck. 

You needed to think fast, you had to somehow stop this from happening. The Prince accepts the offer with a sinister smile, and he reaches for his sword as Sukuna continues to struggle. In your panic, you grab the sword of one of the guards and stab the Prince directly in the chest.

Blood trickling down his chest… he looks at you, no… he glares at you. Everyone stops for a moment in shock, as if this was the last thing any of them ever expected to happen. Suddenly, someone yells “TREASON!” pointing at you, and guards begin to surround you. Taking advantage of the messy situation, Sukuna is able to break free from his chains and run to grab you. Fighting off guards, you and Sukuna run as fast as possible to get away from the crowd.  

You’re both somehow able to outrun the people, mostly thanks to Sukuna’s speed, but this doesn’t stop people from trying to chase you both. Looking behind you for a quick second, you see nothing but a crowd of people yelling with weapons. Wanting to get away at any cost, you followed Sukuna into the shadows of the forest. 

Despite making it to the forest, you two continued running as fast as you could to the opposite direction from the kingdom. Thankfully, Sukuna’s stamina seemingly never runs out, and he’s able to run far. You two only stop after what feels like hundreds of miles, and you aren’t able to hear any people nor see any outline of the kingdom. 

When you finally stopped to catch your breaths, he said it, the words that you both already had at the tips of your tongues…

“I love you” Sukuna whispered into your ear. He whispered it so softly, in fact, that you might have missed it if you weren’t paying attention. You grab his face and cup his cheeks, looking at the gorgeous man in front of you, and with all the love in your heart, you say it back “I love you too”. 

He let out a sigh of relief at your words, as if he almost didn’t expect you to say them, and touched your lips with his own once again. “You’re mine” he repeats, and you had no intention of proving him wrong.

The next few hours are spent with the two of you cuddling on the forest floor together and giving each other kisses. You knew in your heart at that moment, holding Sukuna’s large body against your own, that you had no intention of ever going back to that cold and lonely castle, and Sukuna wasn’t going to let you go either, with his four muscular arms holding you against him as you both laid on the floor.  

“Well… what do we do now?” Sukuna asks you, he was willing to do anything that you wanted. Hell, he’d run thousands more miles to the edge of the Earth for you if you really asked him to. You think for a moment, before going “Well I can’t go back now… I’m probably charged with treason.. Haha”, you say half-jokingly, though you most definitely would be dead if you went back. 

So… the two just kept walking, camping out in different spots of the forest. Thankfully, Sukuna had great survival skills when it came to this, and you turned out to be a quick learner when it came to having to live in the wild. 

Eventually, you two stumbled upon an old abandoned cottage, and were able to live there permanently after fixing it up a bit. At first, you two were worried at the prospect of people possibly coming around, but that fear disappeared as the days went on. You only had each other in these deep woods. Though, that was all either of you truly needed in this world. 

He was a monster. Though, at this point… you were probably one too. 

You never did find out what happened to your kingdom after you ran away. It no longer mattered though, as you were now finally free to live life on your own terms. 

There were no more duties to attend to, no Kings and Queens to please, no marriage to be forced into, all that was left to do was live Happily Ever After. 

–

A/N: I poured out my soul to this story so thank you so much for reading :,) 

[cythena]

SOUND, SMOKE, & SIN

MEET THE CAST OO ⋰ CHAP O1 ⋰ M. LIST

ꨄ︎ summary . you're the industry's most recent headliner. while fame was never your goal, you wouldn't say no this life. you've conquered arenas, broken records, and redefined music. you're something everyone wants a piece of. this chaotic life isn't just external. pulled between lust, loyalty, and legacy in the music industry, you navigate it all on your own. surrounded by a girl's dream roster, you don't even know where to start. but life's too short to rely on critical thinking.

warnings . no smut, language warning

word count . 1.8k words

notes . this is me making my comeback. so for the meantime this is what i'm gonna focus on. i've never written a multi chapter fic before. also had no idea what a taglist was. i'll def do that if you guys want! anyways i want to say expect consistent updates. so expect consistent updates. consistently inconsistent. just while i get back into writing n stuff.

your eyes feel heavy as they flutter open. a sudden bump and your shoulders lift. you let out a soft groan as your head pulses. 

“holy fuck…” you mutter, dragging your hand up to rub at your temple. as your senses come into play, you tsk your tongue at the metallic taste and wipe drool from the corner of your lips. you also drag your palm underneath your eyes to clean – but only smear further – your mascara. the leather seat behind you is cold and unforgiving against your open back.

the smell of fruity cocktails and smoke lingers in your hair. it's gonna get in the seats, you think to yourself. the muffled hum of cars passing vibrates your ears. the occasional horn from a distance buzzes. 

your vision clears up last. you prop your head between the headrest and window to stare at him. the tinted windows filter out the sunlight so much you can't tell if it’s 3 am or pm. that buff man dressed in all black, his scarred lip quirked up in his typical scowl while his thick brows furrowed into a v. he spared you a glance from the road.

“rise ‘n shine,” he scoffs. 

you can barely register that he's speaking to you. in a daze, you adjust your posture. your limbs feel heavy like they’re moving through molasses. 

before you can respond, his sharp voice cuts through the air. “nanami called,” and you groan, your memories come back to you. you can predict what he’s upset about. 

“yeah. no way you're showing up to some event hammered.”

“m’not hammered. fuck, just tired.” you tilt your head up.

“yeah, and i’m celibate.”

“swear, i didn't drink that much. i had like- like two shots.” you hiss and lift up your index and middle in a v shape for emphasis. 

“this is the last time i’m leaving you alone. you can't handle your liquor, can't handle anything.” he faces away from you and his jaw flexes. his voice takes a serious tone as his eyes lock in on the road. “it was a fight to drag your ass outta there, scratched me up and everything.”

that sobered you up. “really?” your body tensed as you tried your best to recall a memory from last night.  

“no.”

toji lets out a hearty laugh at his down joke. his face settles into a confident smirk. the breath you unconsciously held released and you collapsed back into the seat. 

“dickhead.”

a comfortable silence settles between you for a moment. you take a sip of water that magically appeared in the cup holder before you. your throat was screaming for help before. 

you eventually decide to check your phone and see what toji was talking about. kento did call. and text. multiple times. 

you tapped his notification and the phone only rang for half a second. you couldn't even put it to your ear before- 

“red carpet event 8 pm. hair and makeup are scheduled to arrive at your apartment at 6 pm. i already had an intern deliver your dress into your living room. your ride will arrive at 7:15 exactly. do not be late…”

“how am i gonna be late at my own place?” you squeeze in.

“...and for the love of god, sober up.”

“i’m not drunk! what time is it even?” you sigh. “it's 9. i have so much time.”

kento continues rambling about your schedule and professionalism. you mute yourself and set your phone on your lap. 

“so what did happen?” you ask toji.

“you went to mei mei’s party last night at 12. alone–”

“i wasn't alone–”

“shiu doesn't count. told that fucker not to let you out late–”

“what am i, some kind of gremlin? oh, don’t feed past midnight,” you mock which gets a chuckle from him. 

he hushes you so he can continue. “anyways, you were at mei mei’s party without me. i had no clue you were out until you called me this morning. so honestly, i have no clue what happened.” he concluded with a shrug. 

you let out a small “oh” and faced forward. you could tell he was upset but toji was always upset. this time still seemed off, like he was genuinely concerned? is that the word? his eyebrow twitched, his muscles flexed unusually. he was angry with you.

you swallow hard, trying to stop the guilt from sinking and the words from rising. it comes out naturally. 

“i didn't mean to make you worry.”

he doesn't answer right away. the car slowly pulls into the parking lot of your apartment and he turns the car off. his arm settles on the armrest between you. 

“just don't do stupid shit.” he gestures to you. “you've got too much to lose. and you're basically my paycheck.” he jabs your shoulder. “anything happens to you, everything happens to my check.”

“oh boo!” you jeer and shoved at his arm. he finally opens the car door now the mood has lifted. 

he walks with you into the lobby where staff greet you, toji follows closely behind. he waits with you on the elevator and escorts you all the way to your penthouse.

“i’ll be back at 7:30. be ready to go,” he says before the doors to the elevator close and send him down.

you dump your phone on the couch, not even bothering to take a peek at the garment bag on your coffee table, and flop onto the cushions. sleep hits you like a truck. 

you're woken up by your phone ringing. you answer it, half-awake. “yeah…mhm…good, good…yeah let ‘em up.” you yawned as you stood up. your fingers combed through your hair, brushing it out of your face. you hurry to the kitchen sink to splash some water on your face. then you chug the rest of your starbucks bottled coffee from the fridge. 

the elevator dings and in come a trio carrying bags like a tactical unit. 

the lead makeup artist, – rosie, whom you're very familiar with, guides the others to the makeup station set up in another room. you'll join them in a minute. 

“it's nice to see you y/n,” she greets you when you do. 

“i've looked better,” you say dryly.

rosie chuckles softly while the others prep the station. “that's what we’re here for. rough night?” 

you take a seat in front of her. she starts spritzing your skin with some fancy water and a million other skin prep products you couldn't name to save your life. “you could say that. they're new.” you refer to the new girl and boy accompanying rosie. 

“diego and amanda. they're skilled, don't worry.” you quickly wave to each other so they can continue working. diego sets up a clothing rack in the living room out of your sight. amanda preps curling irons and lines up bottles of hairspray.

“your skin is perfect,” rosie comments to herself as she examines your face under the lights. “your pores are going to thank me someday.”

“i think they're still drunk,” you murmur. 

“no eye bags. after a night like yours? oh lucky you.” she tugs at the skin around your eye before rubbing eye cream underneath it. 

diego walks back into the room. "dress is gorgeous, by the way."

"i haven't even seen it. what's it like?"

"well, kinda old hollywood but still really modern. super...you!"

"me?" you question and diego nods again.

"it's steamed and ready for whenever you're done. anything else i can do, rosie?"

your makeup artist seemed concentrated on concealer placements to highlight your face. she juts her chin towards amanda. her focus shifts back to you. she reaches for setting powder and dabs it underneath your eyes and on your nose. then she presses some into your forehead and chin.

amanda starts on your hair from behind, sectioning it into parts and spraying some heat protectant. while she curls, rosie continues swiping nudes onto your eyelids and swooping dramatic eyeliner wings.

somewhere towards the end, diego vanishes off into again. you don't notice he's returned until the cloud of hairspray and setting spray disperse and your dress is in full view.

diego holds a floor length, satin gown colored a rich merlot. it hangs by two thin straps on a sweetheart neckline. the silhouette features a corset-bodice and asymmetrical draping across the waist. but what really catches your attention, is the dangerously high slit riding up the side of the dress.

the elevator dings by the time you finish slipping your heels on. toji finds his way to the room you're in.

"you're early," you say as you balance yourself.

"traffic was easy." he leans against the door frame with crossed arms. he switched his usual black compression tee and jeans for a tailored suit with the collar just loose enough. you adjust his tie for him like always. his hair is slicked back too, away from his now wandering eyes. "and, i had to make sure you didn't disappear on me again."

"you're never gonna let that go?"

"nope."

rosie tilts your chin and inspects your face like a painting she's completed. she pats your cheek and sends you off. "beautiful. have fun. here, it's stocked." she hands you your purse full of any products you may need for touch ups on the go.

for someone who refuses to pamper you, he's real strict on not letting you do anything for yourself at your events. even before the public's eye. he won't let you push the elevator button, open the car door, or even buckle your seatbelt.

you both sit in the backseat on a black suv. toji takes the seat behind the driver, this way you step right onto the red carpet when you arrive. you take your phone out to doomscroll until you eventually reach the venue. while tapping away, you take a glance at toji.

"what?" you side eye him.

"you look good, that's all." he smirks. "might have me working extra hard tonight."

you narrow your eyes at him before scoffing. "as long as you don't start another fight."

"no promises. i take my job very seriously."

the familiar sounds of cheers and camera shutters near. the blocked off street serves as another sign of your approaching arrival. you review your appearance once more before putting your mirror back in your clutch. your driver pulls to a stop in front of the hotel. the white flashes of the camera barely seep through the windows.

toji steps out and walks across the front of the car to your side. seeing him alone cause a huge roar in the crowd. he opens your door and offers his hand for you to take. two additional event staff work to keep the crowd back while toji assumes his usual position behind you.

"for the record,” he murmurs near your ear, “if anyone so much as looks at you wrong tonight, i'm not holding back.”

he escorts you down the red carpet into the charity event hosted by none other than hollywood's golden boy.

CHAP O2

taglist: @poopooindamouf @noooo-onee