#calmly reblogs without comment

[professorspork]

idk how to word this properly but wrt the fanfic thing you reblogged earlier. Why do fanfic writers have such different expectations than any other content hosting platform?

Like lets take youtube as a point of comparison, Engagement like comments and likes largely exists to boost the works place in algorithm, thats why youtubers put in calls to action and other engament bait. Few with decent reach even read the comments and the audience shouldnt try to develop any weird parasocial relationship with the youtuber. Fanfic authors ask for likes (kudos, because the websites gotta use nonstandard language for some reason) and comments despite them not having any impact on an algorithm, and seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author based on tumblr posts like that one.

Why the radical difference in behaviour away from the norm? And honestly with all the (usually) metaphorical blood spilled online about parasociality why are authors really surprised that the audience tries to keep their distance as is best practice with any other content producer?

okay I am going to answer this as kindly and as calmly as I can and try to assume that you are asking this in good faith. because my friend, the fact that you feel the need to ask is, to me, The Problem.

[this is, for the record, in response to this post]

fanfiction writers are not *posting content.* (I also have reservations about engaging with the term "content producer" or "content creator" but let's put that aside for now, I'll circle back to it.) you say "they seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author" as though it is strange, off-putting, and incomprehensible to you, when in fact that is the point of writing fanfiction. it is a way of participating in fandom. it is a way of building community and exchanging ideas and becoming closer with people.

if authors wanted to solely ~generate content~ that would get them attention (?? to what end, the dynamic you have described seems to equate algorithmic supremacy as winning for winning's sake, as though all anyone wants to do is BUILD an audience without ENGAGING with them, which I cannot fathom but let's pretend for a moment that is, in fact, true) then like. if that were the case why on earth would they choose a medium in which they categorically cannot succeed and profit, because it isn't their IP?

you are equating two things that are not at all the same thing. to the degree that parasocial relationships are to be avoided, and "that person is not trying to be your friend they are trying to entertain you, please respect their boundaries" is a real dynamic -- which it is!! -- like. you have to understand that the reason that is true for the people of whom it is true is because it is their JOB. they are storytellers by profession, and they are either through direct payment, or sponsorship, or advertising, or through some other means, profiting off of your attention. i don't say this to be dismissive, many wonderful artists and actors and comedians and any number of a thousand things that i enjoy very much go this route but they do so as a *career choice.* and so when you violate the public/private boundary with them, you are presuming to know a Person rather than their Worksona. the people who work at Dropout or who stream their actual play tabletop games or who broadcast on TikTok or YouTube are inviting me to feel like i know them to the degree to which that helps them succeed in their medium and at their craft, but there MUST be a mutual understanding that that's a feeling, not a fact.

however.

a fanfiction writer is not an influencer, not a professional, and is not looking to garner "success." there is no share of audience we are trying to gain for gain's sake, because we are not competition with one another, because there is nothing to win other than the pleasure of each other's company. we are doing this for no other reason than the love of the game; because we have things we want desperately to say about these worlds, these characters, these dynamics, and because we *want more than anything to know we are not alone in our thoughts and feelings.* fanfiction is a bid for interaction, engagement, attention, and consideration. it is not meant to be consumed and then moved on from because we are NOT paid for our work, nor do we want to be. the reward we seek is "attention," but attention as in CONVERSATION, not attention as in clicks. we are not IN this for profit, or for number-go-up. there is no such thing: legally there cannot be. we are in this because we want to be seen and known.

like. please understand. i am now married to someone i met because of mutual comments on fanfiction. our close friend and roommate, with whom i have cohabitated for over a decade now, is someone I met because of mutual comments on fanfiction and livejournal posts. that is my household. beyond my household, the vast majority of my closest personal friends are people with whom I built relationships in this way.

you ask why fanfiction writers want THIS and not "the norm," but the idea of everything being built to cater to an algorithm to continue to build clout, as though the only method of reaching people is Distant Overlord Creator and Passive Receptive Audience being "the norm" is EXTREMELY NEW. this is not how it has always been!! please think of the writers of zines in a pre-internet fandom, using paper and glue and xerox to try and meet like-minded people in a world that was designed for you to only ever meet people in person, by happenstance, in your own hometown. imagine the writers of the early internet, building webrings from scratch to CREATE a community to find each other, despite distance. imagine livejournal groups, forums, and -- yes, indeed, of course -- comment threads IN STORIES -- as places where people go to *converse.* in the past, we had an entire Type Of Guy that everyone knew about, the BNF ("Big Name Fan") whose existence had to be described via meme because it was SO DIFFERENT THAN THE NORM. treating fellow fans like celebrities or people too cool for the regular kids to know was an OUTLIER, and one commonly understood to lead to toxicity.

in the past, I have likened writing fanfiction to echolocation. i am not screaming because I like hearing the sound of my own voice, though i can and do find my voice beautiful. i am screaming so that the vibrations can bounce back to me and show me the world. the purpose is in the feedback. otherwise it is just noise.

does this make any sense? can you see, when i describe it that way, why an ask like yours makes me feel despair, because it makes us all sound so horribly separate from one another?

perhaps I will try another metaphor:

a professional chef who runs a restaurant will not have her feelings hurt if you never fight your way into the kitchen to personally tell her how much you enjoyed the meal. that would, indeed, violate a boundary. professional kitchens are a place of work, and you have already showed her you enjoyed the meal by paying for it, or by perhaps spreading your enjoyment by word of mouth to your friends so they, too, can have good meals. you show your appreciation by continuing to come back. if a bunch of people sitting around randomly happen to have a conversation about how much they love the food, it wouldn't hurt that chef's feelings to not be included in the conversation. however: EVEN IN THIS INSTANCE, it is ADVISABLE AND APPROPRIATE to leave a good review! you might post about how much you like this restaurant on Yelp, and it would probably make the chef feel great to see those positive comments. but the chef doesn't NEED them, because the chef is, again, *also being paid to cook.* that's why she started the restaurant, to be paid to cook!

i am not being paid to cook.

i am at home in my own kitchen, making things for a community potluck where i hope everyone will bring something we can all enjoy together. some people at the potluck are better bakers, some better cooks; some can't cook at all but are great at logistics and make sure there's enough napkins for everyone; some people come just to enjoy the food, because that's what the party is for. and if I, as this enthusiast chef who made something from my heart for this reason alone, learned after the fact that a bunch of people got together in the parking lot to rave about my dish but no one of them had ever bothered to tell me while I sat alone at my table all night, occasionally seeing people come by to pick up a plate but never saying anything to me -- of course that would bother me, because I am not otherwise profiting off the labor I put in. this is not a bid to be paid, because if someone WERE to say "hey, great cake!! here's five bucks for a slice" i would say no, friend, that is not the point and give them the money back. i'm not trying to Get Mine. I am in it to see the look on your face. I'm in it so you can tell me what about it moved you, so that I can say back what moved me to make it in the first place. so we can TALK about it.

because what happened in the first place is this: one time I had a cake whose sweetness, richness, flavor, intensity, and composition moved me so much that I *taught myself to bake.* so I could see how much vanilla and sugar was too much, so I could learn how to make things rise instead of fall flat, so I could even better appreciate the original cake by seeing for myself the effort and talent and inspiration that goes into making one even half as good.

learning to do so is a satisfying accomplishment in and of itself, yes.

but I also did it because at the end of the day we should EAT the cake. and it's a lonely thing, to eat alone when a meal was always designed and intended to be shared.

so, to answer your last question: i'm not surprised, i'm just sad. because somehow two things that were never meant to be seen as the same have been labeled "content," and thus identical. and it diminishes both the things that ARE intended to be paid for AND the things that are not, because it removes any sense of intimacy or meaning from the work.

i hope you know i'm not mad at you for asking. but i'm frustrated we've come to live in a world where the question needs to be asked, because the answers are no longer intuitively obvious because we're so siloed.

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)

MICROFRACTURE—A quiet crack, invisible but irreversible.

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the roiling clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

“Good morning, Joel,” Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. “Mornin’.”

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

“Loose hinges?” she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. “Mhm.”

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

“You need anything else?” he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

“No, I just...” Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. “I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you.”

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you.”

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. “I know that's not true.”

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “You oughta get inside,” he said instead. “It’s too cold for the kid.”

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the band-aid off a baby.

“Okay. Yes.” She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—“It’s nice to see you around, Joel.”

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

“You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?” Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course not. He adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. “Like dancing?”

“Exactly like,” Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. “Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that.”

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

“There are more pressing matters than romance,” Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

���Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl,” Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm. He was about to lay one on this bitch.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, “Goddamn kid.”

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day, when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. Good for the baby. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

“Ain't my problem.”

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

“Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place.”

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. “Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl.” He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. “Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see.”

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. He focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. “Nursery ain’t even done yet.”

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. “And how exactly would you know that, Joel?”

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. “They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss.”

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. “Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?”

He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start, Ellie.”

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. “You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to act on,” Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. “I helped her out. End of story. Moving on.”

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. “Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?”

Joel’s jaw ticked.

“Yeah,” Ellie added, grinning. “Why’s your face doing that thing?”

Joel frowned. “What thing?”

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. “The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise.”

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. “You could just go over there, you know.”

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. “Oh, c'mon. For what?”

“Dinner,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big.”

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

“We don’t need to be doin’ all that,” he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. “She’s got that nice, big dining room. A sweet bar cart. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party.”

Joel didn’t respond.

“C'mon, man,” Tommy pressed. “What’s stopping you?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, “Pass.”

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each. And one scoop in cold water.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Protein powder. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light from the hearth turned her edges golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins, protein powder,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

“Eat,” he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, it wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. It had been two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

“Good with his hands, my ass,” Joel muttered. “What a fuckin' tool.”

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson. In Texas. In this country.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, welling with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted on the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like an untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle against her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. He didn’t have the time to name it. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologising, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. “It should fit. My father was a tall man.”

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. “I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste,” she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

“Oh, man,” he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, “Dad, just try it on.”

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; that was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

“Can you pass something to Tommy for me?” she asked, voice soft, controlled. “It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible.”

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, levelling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom-made and still brand-new. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the stitching around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled. "A damn beaut."

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten, when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueller one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed. Dad, eighty-four."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slowly, one after the other, before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel sensed that change, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this baby." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is fantastic."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, plunging deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

It didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking while he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse sealed the space, anchoring Joel in the moment. He clung to that belonging.

“Tommy!” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

“What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. “She really did all this?”

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled as concrete in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

{ taglist 🫶: @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

And to those in the reblogs, I have no idea how to respond to your sweet, sweet, wondrous words, but after reading them all, I have the most fulfilling, full eight-hour sleep I've ever had in three whole months! I love all the effort you put into commenting, and sharing your thoughts, I know it doesn't seem big, but really, you've made such a difference in my life :) Thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

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[asterafroditis]

Hi! Can I request a reader who is the wife of Lilia ( respectively the mother of the boys), she is also a fairy so she looks very young. One day she comes to visit the boys at the NRC and the freshman/sophomore/pop club members/house keepers (depending on which of the boys you are writing about) see her and say "what's a girl doing at the NRC? She's so pretty, maybe ask her out on a date (can do without the dating part)" and the boys respond with "dude, that's my mom/wife...".

𐔌 . ⋮ fae matron .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Platonic Cater, Kalim, Floyd, & Ace x fem! reader and Lilia x fem! reader

𓏵 652 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, she/her pronouns used, fluff

I'm going to assume the boys means the other Diasomnia students (´⌒｀;)... This selection is also pretty random, I just chose people Lilia has had good interactions with throughout the story (￣∇￣)

feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

It’s not every day someone unfamiliar strolls through Night Raven College—especially a woman. Word spreads quickly: some pretty girl with otherworldly looks is heading toward the school from the forest path. She’s graceful, warm-eyed, and clearly very beautiful, but she looks too young to be a visiting alumnus, much less anyone important.

─────────────────────────

Cater blinks and lowers his phone, nudging one of his friends who was standing nearby. “Whoa. Who’s that? Total stunner alert.” He squints, adjusting his phone camera a little like he’s trying to subtly zoom. “Pretty sure I’ve never seen her around before. You think she’s like... a new school nurse or something? NRC’s seriously upping its game.”

Before he can open his camera app, a small frame appears beside him.

“Cater,” Lilia says casually, hands in his sleeves, “you do realize that’s my wife, right?”

Cater freezes mid-tap. “...Say what now?”

Lilia chuckles, clearly enjoying this. “Fae don’t really age like humans do. She’s older than you, you know.”

Cater’s jaw drops. “Bro. BRO. I wasn’t trying anything, I swear! She’s just, y’know, super pretty! No harm in lookin’, right?!”

Lilia just hums. “Mm-hm. I’ll let her know you think she’s pretty, then.”

“NOPE—I’M GOOD. THANKS. #OUTOFHERE!”

─────────────────────────

Kalim is squinting curiously, a friendly grin on his face. “Whoa! She’s dressed like a noble or something! Is she lost?” He waves cheerily. “Hey! Do you need help finding someone?”

Before she can respond, Silver steps between them calmly. “She doesn’t. She’s here for me.”

Kalim blinks. “Huh? Wait... really?”

“She’s my mother— err.. Lilia's wife,” Silver says, tone even, eyes already starting to droop again like this is just another Wednesday.

Kalim sputters. “That’s your mom?! She looks—uh—I mean—wow! She’s really elegant!” He scratches his neck sheepishly. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to be weird!”

Silver just nods. “You weren’t. Just... remember that the next time you see her.”

“Noted!”

─────────────────────────

Floyd watches her pass by with mild interest. “Eeeeh? Never seen her before. She’s kinda cute. Got that floaty vibe like a jellyfish... soft lookin’...” He starts walking toward her like a shark catching a scent. “Maybe I’ll give her a squeeze and see what kind of noise she makes~”

Before he can get too close, Lilia materializes behind him. “Touch my wife and I will turn you into something squishable.”

Floyd turns slowly, blinks at Lilia, then lets out a barking laugh. “Eh?! That’s your wife?! You’re serious?” He tilts his head at her again. “Guess I see it. She dresses kinda like you.”

Lilia nods, clearly pleased. “She has excellent taste.”

Floyd stretches his arms lazily. “Tch. Boooring. Was hoping I'd get someone to scream.”

─────────────────────────

Ace nudges Deuce and tilts his chin toward the fae woman. “You seeing this? What’s a girl doing at NRC? She’s... kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

“Do you EVER engage your brain before speaking, human?!”

Sebek’s voice booms from behind them, nearly making Ace jump out of his skin.

“That is Lady Vanrouge! Wife of Master Lilia, esteemed matriarch of the Diasomnia household! How DARE you—!”

“Okay, OKAY, I didn’t know!” Ace holds his hands up in surrender. “She looks like she could be a student, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Sebek scowls, teeth clenched. “You will hold your tongue around her. Show some respect!”

You wave a hand gently, stepping in with a calm smile once you heard the familiar yelling of a certain green-haired freshman. “It’s alright, Sebek. I know he meant no harm.”

Ace, still sweating, mumbles, “Yeah, uh, sorry. You're real pretty and all, but I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on…”

Sebek’s chest puffs proudly. “Lady Vanrouge has always commanded admiration—just not from you.”

[maidragoste]

Hiiii!!!! I (18) was wondering if you could write a Jace x his mothers handmaiden reader, where they have a secret relationship 🤙🏼🤙🏼❤️❤️

anon, sorry for taking so long to write your request. I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading 🥰💖💖

btw it wasn't clarified so I didn't write reader as a low-born handmaiden (that is, the ones who clean the urinals and that) but as a high-born one.

likes, comments and REBLOGS are always greatly appreciated 🥰💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

A frustrated sigh left your lips as you tried to break free from Jacaerys's grip only for the prince to press your body even closer to his so you couldn't get out of bed. You turned to demand that your lover let you go but you remained silent, watching Jace's face. Even though he had his eyes closed you were sure by the lazy smile on his face that he was awake. He looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful but these moments only belonged to you. You wanted to wake up every day next to him but you couldn't. Your duty was to Princess Rhaenyra, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted. Besides, if she found out that you were having a secret relationship with her beloved son, she would throw you out and your family would be very disappointed in you for having wasted the opportunity that the princess gave you to choose you as one of her handmaidens. Not only that but your reputation would be ruined, if rumors spread that you no longer possess your virtue then it would be impossible for you to get a husband. You are a fool to continue with this romance, someday Jace will marry a girl from an even more important house than yours and you will have to sit silently watching everything. There is no happy ending to this.

“My prince, I have to go,” you said, hoping he would stop playing dumb and let you go.

“No,” he complained, lengthening the “o.” Your place is at my side” he moved his face closer to kiss you but you moved, he tried again but you avoided him again “What's wrong” he asked, letting you go so he could sit properly on the bed.

"It's late, I should go. At any moment your mother will wake up, I have duties to do” you responded without looking at him as you got up. You didn't even have a chance to look for your shoes when he tugged on your arm making you return to the bed. He turns you around so that you both face each other.

“What is wrong?” asked again the prince. “Talk to me, please, my lady,” he asked, looking at you with concern while gently taking your face in his hands.

“I think we should stop seeing each other, my prince.” The uncertainty in your voice was clear but still, your words were a dagger for Jacaerys.

“Why?” Your heart ached as you heard the confusion and anguish in his voice. “. I don't understand, yesterday we were fine”

“Yes, we were. But we won't always be. Someday you will have to get married and you will leave me. “I think the easiest thing for my heart is for us to finish our thing now,” you said, closing your eyes without being able to see the sadness in his eyes anymore. If you continued seeing him you were afraid you would go back on your decision.

Your heart skipped a beat when you stopped feeling Jacaerys's hands. You froze as you listened to him get out of bed and get dressed. You should take the opportunity to leave, it's probably what he wanted but you couldn't move. You really had finished everything.

You opened your eyes as you felt the prince's hands in your hair. Your heart raced as he carefully untangled the knots. Once he finished, he kissed your shoulder. “Finish getting ready so we can go talk to my mother.”

“We?” you repeated.

"Yes. I have no intention of marrying anyone but you,” Jacaerys said calmly as if his words wouldn't change your entire world.

“Jacaerys, marrying me is an idiotic move, my house is not that important, and the lords” your chatter was interrupted by the prince's lips capturing yours. You should be firmer and move away, but you can't, so you surrender to enjoying the taste of your lover's lips, feeling more loved than ever.

"I love you and if my mother wants me to be her heir, she will have to accept it," Jace declared and there was no room for argument in his voice. “You are the only wife I intend to take,” he promised before kissing you again.

Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works

@chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1 @joyouart @rosey1981 @alastorhazbin @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @partypoison00 @labellapeaky @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @thegirlnextdoorssister @angeliod @snh96 @aleemendoza2425-blog   @natashaobo @watercolorskyy  @nyenye @savagemickey03 @kishie8 @ewwwitsel @arabis-world @missusnora @nzygftoji @alisoncdariel @cookielovesbook-akie @partnerincrime0 @klara-lily @427120lxld @justhereiguess2 @buckylahey @wa801 @artistadistrada2002 @thelastemzy @justanotherkpopstanlol @yn-jackson

hotd masterlist

[benevolentbones]

me before you | spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst!!! kidnapping, graphic depictions of injury, death, female reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: you go missing on a job and spencer goes ballistic

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy a touch of angst! i think this is my longest fic i’ve ever written:) reblogs & comments appreciated <3

“where is she.” spencer’s voice boomed as he bursted into the conference room. every set of eyes in the cramped police department office shot to the loud sound.

spencer stood in the doorway, his fbi vest still strapped to his body. his hair was disheveled and brushed off of his face, his white button up was half buttoned and the sleeves were messily rolled up to his elbows.

his eyes scanned the room, flickering over the local police force until they landed hotch. he stormed into the room, his face contorting with rage. before hotch could even utter a word out, spencer’s hands were on him, gripping a handful of the older man’s shirt.

“where is she, hotch.” he snarled, hotch using his hands to create a distance between him and spencer.

derek immediately jumped up, pulling spencer’s flailing form off of his superior. everyone watched in shock and horror, spencer had never acted like this, and certainly not on a case.

“we don’t know.” hotch stated, a calmness to his voice, but he was as just concerned as spencer was.

“why- get off of me-“ spencer fought back in morgan’s strong hold eventually breaking free after lashing around.

“why did you let her go in without back up- are you out of your fucking mind.”

“outside. now.” hotch breathed, he didn’t want complete strangers to witness whatever was about to occur. he walked calmly through the doors, his oxfords thudding against the marbled floor.

spencer followed suit after shaking derek off, his steps messy as he fumbled behind hotch, who made a turn into a private empty office.

“reid-“

“no. don’t go there- what were you fucking thinking hotch-“

aaron leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his chest. spencer stood a few feet across from him, pacing the room.

“we didn’t know what we were in for, the house was clear..” he trailed off, recounting the events that took place an hour prior.

~

you, derek and hotch were staking out the potential unsubs house, it was a bungalow in the suburbs and a pretty run down one at that, sitting behind the van you had driven in.

“morgan, take the front. y/n, follow me around the side.” hotch spoke, his dark eyes landing on you.

you nodded, following the older man to the side of the house. from your position you could hear derek shout.

“FBI open up-“ followed by the sound of the door slamming open.

you continued to follow hotch to the back entrance, which he swiftly broke down and then entered the house.

he held his gun up, doing a sweep of the back room. “clear” he yelled out,

from the next room over he could hear morgan yell back. “hotch look at this-“

the dark haired man quickly walked to where morgan was.

they stood in the middle of the living room, the place was run down and smelled like mold. on the weathered coffee table laid a videotape recorder and a note.

hotch bent down, picking up the note. the words ‘i got you, your turn.’ were etched onto the page, hotch turned his attention to derek who beared the same confused expression.

“what does that even mean? l/n get in here.” he yelled out, attempting to get your attention to see if you could help make sense of things.

a few moments passed before he called out again. “y/n?”

hotch walked to where he had left you, the back door was still wide open, he eyes trailed down to the ground, which was when he saw it.

your gun.

from outside the sound of a engine starting up rattled, the tires screeched as the vehicle pulled onto the road.

fuck

“morgan, take the camera and the note- she’s not here.”

~

“what so you’re telling me you left y/n on her own? knowing that she fit the description of all the unsubs victims- you can’t, you can’t be-“ spencer cut himself off, letting out a choked sob.

“reid i am sorry. we will find her.” hotch reached a hand out to touch spencer’s shoulder, a wave of sadness washing over his body as he watched spencer begin to break down.

with hazel eyes brimming with tears threatening to fall, spencer sunk into hotch’s embrace. letting out shaky breaths in between cries.

“you- have to get her back- i need her- she-i can’t let her- go first.“ hotch rubbed soothing circles on spencer’s back, which proved to be hard through the bulletproof vest.

“we will find her, reid. let the team work, go home. you need rest.”

hotch was right, it was nearing two in the morning and spencer had not slept for almost thirty six hours. the circles under his eyes were noticeably more dark, looking nearly hallowed out.

spencer pulled away from the hug, his doe eyes red and puffy from the crying.

“i’ll send morgan with you, we will notify you when we find something. and we will.”

“okay. thanks.” the younger male sniffled, his tired eyes meeting hotch’s as he walked out of the office.

~

your eyes blinked awake, a slight grogginess to your vision. the florescent lighting above you hurt your eyes and your head ached.

you attempted to move but felt your hands and legs bound, your eyes darted around the room. you were tied up, sitting on a wooden stool, the room was practically barren except for a pile of sheets in the corner, a table lined with tools and a camera on a tripod. the red light blinking intermittently.

you spotted a small rectangular window at the very top of the wall, it was covered in weeds from the outside. i’m in a basement.

you wriggled, attempting to break free but only causing yourself to get rope burn, you hissed in pain.

“fuck sake.”

the metal door in front of you swung open, revealing a tall man dressed in black. he had an eerie grin etched on his face, his striking blue eyes staring at you like you were something to eat.

“hello agent l/n, nice to see you’re finally awake.” his voice sounded rough, as you ambled into the door, closing the door over leaving it a few inches ajar.

“thomas wilson.” you spat out.

“you have a smart team, y/n. you managed to find me just after five kills. bravo.” his voice laced with a mocking tone.

“it’s a shame they didn’t have your back.”

you stayed silent, eyeing his form as he began to circle the stool you sat upon.

“but i fear- this may be my last kill, so i’m going to be thorough.”

you felt your stomach drop. you were hoping, praying that maybe the team was on the way, that they would be able to get here in time.

you tried your best to read thomas, you could tell by the way he limped around you that he was injured, and he didn’t seem a hundred percent confident in himself. maybe you had a chance.

“how’d you get hurt? i’m a medic, i could help you thomas. you don’t have to-“ your attempt at empathy was cut off by a strike to your face.

the man pulled back his fist, as you slowly recoiled your head. you could feel your eyes swell, staring intensely at him through wisps of your hair that fell over your face.

“silence. we don’t have much time. i need to prepare.” he muttered to himself, walking towards the table to your right.

you racked your brain, trying to think about the other victims and their similarity to you. hair colour, eye colour, frame and stature, age. but they were all single women, involved in prostitution in one way or another. maybe you could convince him that way.

“i’m engaged, thomas.” you spoke, trying to get his attention. “i know your other victims were all single- i have a fiancé.”

“where’s the ring.” he didn’t bother looking back at you, your empty hand flexed into a fist. you never wore your ring on the field.

“i can show you photos- my phone, it’s in my jacket pocket.” you were trying to delay whatever he had planned, you were grasping at straws.

thomas limped towards you, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. it was turned off, but he rebooted it, unlocking it and going straight for your camera roll.

he caught the bait.

~

“sir- y/n’s phone just turned back on.” garcia practically shouted.

“can you track it? -emily alert the swat team now.”

“on it sir.”

the majority of the team piled into cars, fbi vests strapped to their bodies. garcia sent the location to hotch and the cars sped off, it was just twenty miles from where you were taken.

“you sure this is the right place?” hotch spoke out into his phone, a slight anxiousness to his voice which didn’t go unnoticed by penelope.

“yep. i quadruple checked, the satellites picked up the van dropping the unsub and a victim at this exact address.” garcia stated from the other end of the line, faint clacking of the keyboard could be heard from her side.

“thank you, garcia. keep me posted.” he muttered before ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“did anyone tell morgan?” hotch spoke, morgan had brought reid home and was told to stay with him incase of any updates.

“just now sir.” emily spoke, shutting her cellphone.

~

“see- that’s me and my fiancé, spencer. he works with me.” you stated as thomas scrolling through thousands of pictures of you and spencer.

you could tell this caught him by surprise, you were sure his other victims probably pleaded for their lives, saying they had families and partners to get back to. it made you feel sick.

“it’s not too late- thomas please let me go, i don’t want to leave him.” you mumbled out, fighting back tears at the thought of how distraught spencer must feel right now.

“i- i cant it’s too late. i have to do this.” he stuttered out, still scrolling through pictures on your phone, his face frowning when he came across your engagement photos.

“can i call him, can i say goodbye?” your eyes met his pale ones, you could see from his expression he was thinking things over.

“fine.”

he searched up spencer’s name on your phone, pressing the call button and holding it beside your ear.

spencer was in a car when his phone started to buzz, morgan had received the call about your location and immediately told spencer who refused to let the older man leave without him.

spencer picked up immediately once your contact came up on his phone.

“y/n- are you okay- are you hurt?” he blurted into the phone, putting it on speaker so derek could listen in. he felt a sudden relief at the sound of your voice.

“spence. i- i’m not hurt.” you paused briefly, eyeing the man next to you. he was listening in. “spence, i love you so much.” you mumbled out, white hot tears staining your cheeks.

“baby? what’s happening.” spencer questioned, his hazel eyes beginning to well up.

“i love you- and i’m sorry, i don’t think i have much time left.”

“no. no no no- you promised- me before you-you can’t leave me“ he rambled out, his heart sinking as tears began to flood from his eyes. derek gripped the steering wheel, pressing his foot down on the pedal, they were nearly there.

“i know baby- i tried-“ you choked out a sob, hearing spencer crying broke you.

thomas was getting visibly frustrated, his grip on your phone tightened. “that’s enough.” he muttered out.

“i have to go spence- i’m sorry i love you so much.” and with that, thomas had ended the call. tears streamed down your face as you tried to muster up the ability to stop.

the older man ambled back to the table, he had laid out a number of weapons. you recalled the details of how the other victims died, each one exactly the same down to the last cut. thomas likely suffered from remorseful ocd.

the man turned back to you, a knife in his grasp. he could tell he was battling within himself, he didn’t want to do this, but he felt like he had to. you could faintly hear the sound of cars passing the house, praying that someone would show up.

“i’m sorry” he muttered out as he brought the knife to your collar bone, pressing it into your skin and dragging it across.

you screamed, a wave of pain engulfing you. blood quickly began to trickle from the laceration, staining your white shirt a crimson hue.

if this was how you were going to die, you were going to make sure it haunted him forever. your eyes locked onto his, forcibly making eye contact as he switched to your left side, beginning to slice the other side of your collar precisely.

you gritted your teeth, feeling the cool metal of the knife drag across your skin. he pulled back, now pressing the bloodied knife to your throat. he was behind you, all you could do was stare straight ahead at the door in front of you.

suddenly the door burst open, hotch standing before you with a swat team piling into the room.

“drop your weapon.” he commanded, his voice booming as he pointed his gun at unsub. you have never been so relieved to see aaron hotchner in your life.

“i can’t, i have to do this.” thomas muttered out, his hand shaking as he pressed the knife to your throat. he began to press it firmly against your skin, you winced out at the pressure.

hotch immediately fired a shot, the bullet sinking into the unsubs shoulder causing him to fall back and shout in pain. a member of the swat team rushed to thomas, restraining the male as he put a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

hotch was by your side in seconds, unbinding your hands and legs. “are you okay?” he questioned, concern lacing his usually stoic voice.

you nodded, rubbing your throat once your hands were free. you attempted to stand up, wobbling as you placed your feet on the ground, you felt weak, the bleeding around your collars had slowed but you were still losing blood.

“let me.” hotch scooped you up in his arms, carrying you up the stairs and out of the house. it was dark, and there was a swarm of swat cars and an ambulance waiting for you.

a car pulled up to the scene, the passenger door swung open and spencer stumbled out, barely getting his seatbelt off.

“y/n?!” he called out, scanning the area, once his eyes landed on your form in hotch’s arms he sprinted over.

“spence-“ you began before you were engulfed in a tight hug, hotch passed you over to spencer, making his way to the ambulance to alert the medics.

“i thought- you were-“ he blubbered out, his eyes puffy from crying.

he fell to his knees, his hold on you not wavering. you wrapped your arms around his neck to the best of your ability. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, rocking you in his arms.

“i’m going to get blood on you-“ you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood.

he let out a short laugh, followed by a small cry.

“i’m okay spence- i love you, i’m okay.” you reassured him.

“i’m never letting you go again.” he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath.

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea

[mirisss]

Poly! Enha with their katseye member gf

OT7 Enhypen x member of Katseye! female! reader

Wordcount ≈ 2.9k

Warnings: (Y/n) being clumsy, mentions of blood (no one actually bleeding though), food, I think that’s it. 

Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it!

Please reblog and comment!

Third Person POV

It was a chill night in the Enhypen dorm. Heeseung and Jake were deep into a co-op shooter, eyes glued to the screen, barking commands and occasionally elbowing each other for missing shots. Jungwon and Jay had gone quiet with books in hand, though Jay kept highlighting things with unnecessary intensity like he was doing thesis work. Sunghoon and Sunoo were side-by-side on the floor, debating which jacket color looked better on their favorite fashion site. And Ni-ki, wrapped in a hoodie like a human burrito, was flopped on the beanbag, scrolling through TikTok with one hand and eating chips with the other.

Until he stopped mid-chew. “Wait,” he whispered, blinking at his screen. A video had popped up on his For You Page titled: “Katseye’s (Y/n) being unhinged on live for 13 minutes straight ft. the girl group barely surviving her 💅🔥😭” He smirked, thumb tapping instantly. Only ten seconds in and he was already giggling.

By the thirty-second mark, he knew he couldn’t gatekeep this gold. Without warning, Ni-ki tapped his phone screen and cast the video to the TV, interrupting Heeseung and Jake’s game in dramatic fashion. “NIKI!” “BRO WHAT THE-” “Shut up! You need to see this,” Ni-ki grinned, eyes wide. “It’s (Y/n). It’s chaos.” The room’s energy shifted immediately.

[Clip 1]

(Y/n) is seen in a hotel bathroom with Katseye’s Megan and Lara, trying to film a skincare routine. But instead of applying toner normally, (Y/n) yells, “This is how you awaken your soul!” and slaps the toner onto her cheeks with both hands. Hard. SLAP! Megan screams, “YOU’RE GONNA BRUISE YOUR FACE!” Lara collapses laughing off-camera. 

Jake choked on his drink. “Why is she hitting herself like a cartoon character?” Sunoo nodded seriously. “She really said: beauty through violence.”

[Clip 2]

Daniela is calmly trying to show fans how she makes her matcha, when (Y/n) walks behind her in a dinosaur onesie yelling, “BREAKING NEWS: GREEN BEVERAGE SUMMONS FOREST SPIRITS.” Daniela doesn’t flinch. “You’re so loud it’s honestly impressive.”

Jungwon cracked a smile. “The way Daniela didn’t even react. That’s true friendship.” Jay blinked. “I’ve never seen someone this unbothered by spiritual summoning.”

[Clip 3]

Katseye is live from their dorm kitchen. (Y/n) tries to flip a pancake, and it lands on the ceiling. “…that was intentional,” she says. Sophia gasps, “WHY IS IT STILL STICKING??” Manon: screaming in French

Sunghoon raised a brow. “Is that why she texted me ‘don’t eat the ceiling pancake’ last week?”

[Clip 4]

Yoonchae is trying to teach (Y/n) a simple dance move. (Y/n) trips over her own foot and rolls completely off camera. Katseye’s group chat name on-screen: “Support Group for (Y/n)’s Victims 💔”

Heeseung was laughing so hard he leaned on Jake for support. “I can’t breathe. Who allowed her to be an idol? I mean I love her, but damn is she clumsy,” 

[Clip 5]

(Y/n) deadpans into the camera while holding a plushie. “This is Peepo. He saw me eat an entire jar of pickles at 3am. He will never recover.” Megan in the background: “Neither will we.”

Jay sighed, shaking his head with a reluctant smile. “How is she both terrifying and adorable?”

[Clip 6]

The girls are doing a livestream Q&A. A fan asks: “Who’s the funniest member?”

Before anyone can answer, (Y/n) dramatically falls out of her chair yelling, “ME, OBVIOUSLY!” Everyone else just stares in exhausted silence. Daniela: “Every day I lose brain cells.” Lara: “I respect the confidence.” Yoonchae: “Please help us.”

[Clip 7]

(Y/n) finishes the live by yelling, “Thank you for coming to my TED Talk on why I should be banned from going live after 10pm!” The Katseye girls chant: “CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS!” Megan tosses a plush crown on her head: “Our gremlin queen.”

The screen fades out with dramatic black-and-white footage of (Y/n) walking away from the camera with oversized sunglasses and the text: “TO BE CONTINUED… probably by accident.”

The room was silent for two seconds. Then chaos erupted. “She’s a menace and I love her.” Jake said as he laughed loudly. “This is why we can’t take her anywhere public,” Heeseung followed, holding a hand on Jake’s shoulder as he laughed. “She needs to be studied. Or praised. Or both,” Sunoo continued. “Is she trying to give me a heart attack? Because it’s working.” Jay said, bothing meaning he’s getting a heart attack from worrying and from her cuteness. “Okay but her comedic timing is elite.” Jungwon said. “She’s going to livestream our wedding and set the cake on fire, isn’t she?” Sunghoon asked, followed by Niki who just answered: “CEO of Chaos. No lies detected.”

They watched the compilation two more times. Jake leaned back with a proud grin. “That’s our girlfriend, guys.” Jay snorted. “God help us all.” 

The boys had eventually drifted back into their usual activities after the chaotic compilation, though with more side comments about (Y/n) being the embodiment of a human tornado.

Knock knock knock knock-knock. The signature rhythm. They all froze for a second, then smiled. “She’s here,” Jungwon said, already sounding fond. Sunghoon got up immediately, already pulling the door open before she could knock again. There she stood, hair a little windblown, hoodie half-zipped over her dancewear, phone in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other.

”Hoonie!” she greeted him cheerfully, stepping right past like she lived there, well because, honestly, she kind of did. Her energy hit the dorm like a sugar rush: sudden, loud, and completely unstoppable.

“Ughhh, remind me never to laugh during practice again.” She kicked off her sneakers, one nearly hitting the shoe rack. “Our choreographer nearly threw her clipboard at me! Okay, maybe not threw, but she looked like she wanted to.”

The boys chuckled as she made her way into the living room, talking a mile a minute, hands gesturing wildly as she flopped onto the couch beside Sunoo, accidentally almost clocking him in the face. “Hey! Watch the face! Precious idol visuals here!” Sunoo yelped, dodging expertly. “Sorry! Sorry!” (Y/n) said, not sounding very sorry as she kept flailing.

“It’s not my fault that move looks like you’re trying to summon a sea demon!” She got up and did the move, flinging her arms out dramatically. “Like this,‘RISE, DEMON SQUID!’”

Jake, already laughing, scooted over and pulled her into his side, arms wrapping tightly around her. “I missed you.” His voice was low, warm against her ear, and it cut through her ramble like a sigh of relief. She smiled, softly, briefly, then leaned into him, letting herself rest there for a second before she resumed talking again like a record on loop.

“Oh, and Yoonchae tripped during a turn and took out Sophia like a bowling pin, and Daniela dropped her mic during rehearsal and it hit Lara in the foot who then stepped on my foot which made me turn around and kind of push Manon so she fell yelling what I think was my name, and with her fall, Manon accidentally grabbed Megan's hair causing her to fall over to, it was pure chaos. Katseye is falling apart. We need snacks. And a nap. But mostly snacks,”

“You brought snacks,” Sunghoon pointed out, watching her fondly from the armrest he’d perched on. “I always bring snacks,” she replied proudly, tossing the bag on the coffee table. “It’s called survival.” Heeseung reached for the chips like a vulture. “Survival for us too, apparently.”

Jay finally looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. “Did you get scolded for the laughing or the dancing, exactly?” “Both!” she said with zero shame. “But mostly the laughing. And maybe the squid demon arms. I swear it wasn’t that dramatic in my head-”

“It never is,” Jungwon muttered playfully under his breath. (Y/n) pouted at him. “I feel judged.” “We just watched you hit yourself with a mic stand on livestream. You’re lucky we don’t wear body armor when you visit,” Ni-ki said, but he was grinning as he tossed her a cushion for her feet.

Jake kept his arm around her, pressing a kiss into her temple. “Still missed you, demon squid arms and all.” She turned to look at him, finally still for half a second. “I missed you guys too.” And though she said it simply, casually, the way her voice softened made all seven boys glance up, quietly aware of how much they adored her, chaos and all.

About thirty minutes later, the dorm had mellowed into a low hum again, Jake half-asleep with a throw pillow over his face, Ni-ki and Heeseung now arguing over which anime had the best fight scenes, and Sunghoon scrolling through something fashion-related with one earbud in.

Jay, ever the responsible one, stood up with a small sigh and stretched. “Alright. I’m making something,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. He glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at (Y/n), who was still cuddled into the couch, now munching on one of the chips from earlier. “You haven’t eaten anything proper today, right?”

She winced sheepishly. “I had a little water.” “And?” “…half an apple?” “And?” “…a grape-flavored candy?” she offered, voice going small. Jay blinked slowly. “That’s a crime. Sit tight, I’m fixing it.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d had to cook for seven chaotic men multiple times. It didn’t take long before the sound of chopping and the smell of sizzling garlic filled the dorm. (Y/n) peeked her head over the back of the couch, then quietly slipped away from Jake’s hold, earning a sleepy, half-mumbled “Babe, where you going?” from him. “Kitchen,” she whispered, patting his head. “Smells like someone loves me in there.” Jake groaned but let her go, flipping onto his back dramatically.

When she padded into the kitchen, Jay was focused, sleeves rolled up, brows slightly furrowed as he cut vegetables with clean, precise movements. “Need help, chef?” she asked, already reaching for the knife block. Without looking, he calmly said, “Nope.” “C’mon, I can do it, just a little!” He turned just in time to see her grab the knife confidently, upside down. “(Y/n), no.” He was by her side in two seconds, gently taking it from her hands. “But-” “You’re not losing a finger on my watch,” he said with a fond sigh. “You look cute, but I’ve seen you trip over nothing. Sit.” He patted the countertop, and she hopped up without protest, swinging her legs playfully.

From her new perch, she watched him move effortlessly around the kitchen. Every few moments, as he passed by her to grab another ingredient or adjust the stove, he would pause. And then, lean in to kiss her. On the cheek. On the forehead. On the corner of her mouth. Each time was soft, unhurried, and casual, like second nature.

And each time, she giggled. “You keep doing that, I might melt into the backsplash,” she teased, voice warm. Jay smirked without looking up from the pan. “Then I’d have to clean you up. Not happening.”

He added noodles into a pot, stirred the sauce gently, then came back for a small taste. While he did, he stood between her knees, resting one hand on her thigh, leaning in once again. “Princesses don’t cook, anyway.” He kissed her again, just below her ear. She let out a soft, contented sigh, arms loosely looping around his shoulders. “You always take such good care of me.” He looked up at her, eyes softer now, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Of course I do.” He bumped his forehead against hers. “You deserve it.” In that tiny kitchen, under warm lights and the scent of garlic and soy sauce, with Jay moving gently around her like she was the center of his universe, it was easy to believe it.

Once Jay announced that dinner was ready, (Y/n) hopped off the counter with a proud, “Chef Jay, you are saving lives tonight,” and helped bring the food to the table. “Boys!” she called out toward the living room, hands cupped around her mouth. “Come eat before I start without you!” That was enough motivation. The stampede was immediate.

Jake and Ni-ki almost tripped over each other trying to get through the hallway first. Heeseung abandoned his game mid-round. Jungwon placed his book down neatly, unlike Sunghoon, who tossed his tablet onto the couch with zero regard for battery life. Sunoo had already been hovering near the kitchen door like a cat, waiting. Then came the real battle.

“I’m sitting next to her.” “No, I am!” “You sat next to her last time!” “That was movie night. This is dinner. Different rules!” (Y/n) just stood there, watching the chaos unfold like a queen surveying her court. Eventually, with a dramatic sigh, she clapped once. “Children! Settle down.”

Despite the commotion, it was Heeseung and Sunoo who snagged the prized seats, one on each side of her. “How do you guys always win?” Jake groaned, dramatically flopping into the seat across from her. “Manifestation,” Sunoo said, flipping his hair. “And divine favor.” As everyone tucked in, Jay took his usual seat across the table, subtly watching to make sure (Y/n) was eating enough. She didn’t need the extra pressure, though; her first bite had her humming in delight.

“Jay, this is amazing.” “Right? He snapped,” Jungwon said, already going in for seconds. And then came the pampering. Heeseung leaned over every few minutes to offer her a bite from his chopsticks. “Here. Try this one, mine’s got more sauce.” Sunoo would follow a moment later, gently dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin like a meticulous stage mom. “There, don’t want you looking like a food fight survivor.” Then he’d quietly refill her glass whenever it dipped below halfway full.

She leaned back a bit, mock-sighing with a smile. “I should come over more often. You guys really know how to treat a girl right.” “You absolutely should,” Heeseung said instantly. “Agreed,” Jay added without looking up from his bowl. “We could just keep her,” Jake said, half-joking. “Like, permanently.” “We’d have to build her a room,” Jungwon said, tapping his chopsticks against his lip in fake contemplation. “We’ll just kick out Jake or Ni-ki. Problem solved.”

Jake nearly choked on his rice. “Hey!” Ni-ki, mid-bite, looked up and frowned. “I vote we kick you out, Jungwon.” “Bold of you to assume you have a vote,” Jay added with a straight face. “If I’m getting kicked out, I’m taking the rice cooker with me,” Jake said defiantly, earning a chorus of gasps. (Y/n) giggled as she leaned her head against Heeseung’s shoulder briefly, while Sunoo dramatically clutched her hand like a wounded prince. “So much drama. And I haven’t even finished my plate.” The room was loud, the air filled with the sound of clinking chopsticks, overlapping conversations, laughter, and the occasional dramatic gasp or shout.

~~~

The dorm had shifted into its nighttime rhythm: lights dimmed, conversations quieter, the soft hum of showers running, and the rustle of blankets as everyone started settling in. With a long day awaiting them all, it was finally time to wind down.

In the bathroom, (Y/n) stood in front of the sink brushing her teeth, trying to sway a little to the lo-fi music playing from someone’s speaker in the hallway. Wrapped around her back like a sleepy koala was none other than Sunghoon, arms around her waist, chin resting lazily on her shoulder, and a toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he half-heartedly went through the motions.

“You’re not even brushing,” she mumbled through her toothpaste. “I ammm,” he whined, the words slurring slightly from the brush. “I’m multitasking. Hugging and brushing.” “Barely,” she said with a giggle, bumping her shoulder into his lightly.

She was dressed in a shirt that unmistakably belonged to Ni-ki, the hem nearly reaching mid-thigh, and a pair of Jungwon’s grey sweatpants, cuffed at the bottom so she wouldn’t trip over them. The waistband was rolled twice, but they still hung loosely on her frame.

When Ni-ki passed by the open bathroom door, intending to grab his water bottle, he paused. And blinked. Then blinked again. “You’re wearing my shirt.” (Y/n) nodded, foaming at the mouth with toothpaste. “Mmhm.” He stared for a second too long. Then he turned around, smacked his hand against the wall, and whispered to himself, “She’s so cute it’s physically painful.”

“You okay, Ni-ki?” Jungwon asked, poking his head out of the nearby room. Ni-ki just shook his head, muttering, “It’s the shirt. It’s doing things to me. I need to lie down.” Meanwhile, Jungwon’s gaze dropped to the pants. “Are those mine?” (Y/n) spat into the sink and smiled at him sweetly. “Yep.”

He crossed his arms and tried to act stern, but the corners of his lips were twitching. “You steal from all of us. Equal opportunity thief.” “I’m a collector,” she corrected. “Of oversized boyfriend merchandise.” Sunghoon, still half-asleep behind her, let out a content hum. “You can have all my hoodies. Forever. Just let me sleep like this.”

(Y/n) was then gently pulled between Heeseung and Ni-ki into one of the beds, Heeseung already half-snoring, Ni-ki dramatically wrapping the blanket over her with the precision of a five-star hotel turndown service. She nestled in, wearing their clothes, surrounded by warm limbs, familiar breathing patterns, and the occasional sleepy mumble, this must be heaven she thought before falling asleep. 

[moonydustx]

a/n: just leaving it here

How does it feel?

Part 1 (you're here) - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

warnings: smut, porn with no plot. Law "teaching" F!Reader how to have orgasms. without many warnings to avoid spoilers.

Law x F!Reader

Comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

Law found it funny how escalating a conversation between his friends - coincidentally also his crewmates - could escalate.

It had started with each person commenting something about the most recent island they had visited, the chat continued until the topic became about Shachi having met a woman, staying with her and she said that she had had the best night of her life and then she charged him for the services. Finally, the subject that had left him uneasy: orgasms.

His uneasiness was directed at you and how you claimed you had never had one. That your previous companions didn't seem too concerned about it and you had never been able to get close to the height of your pleasure not even by yourself. You and Law were nothing more than a few stolen kisses when you were both high or when a certain need struck. You had never gone beyond that, you had never assumed anything either. But Law couldn't get it out of his head.

That was when he convinced you to accompany him to the bedroom and as soon as the door closed behind you, he took your lips in a kiss that, no matter how much you both denied it, was full of feeling on both sides.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked and saw you looked lost. "With the orgasm thing."

"Oh." was the only thing that seemed to come out of your lips. Your mind was going haywire with the information.

"I'll understand if you don't want to. I mean, it's a strange request, isn't it?" Law almost let his nervousness get the better of him. "I just want to make you feel good and I don't intend on actually reaching the end and..."

"Please." the request didn't seem clear to him, so you insisted. "Please give me an orgasm."

A growl escaped Law's lips and he had to control himself. The focus was on you and only your pleasure that night. After you discovered what it was like to actually get there, he would let you choose whether you wanted to continue feeling that way with him.

"Take off your uniform." Law took a few steps back and sat down on the bed.

He watched you take off your outfit and remain in just a thin blouse and panties. A sight that pleased him enough. He leaned against the headboard and tapped the padded spot in front of him and you promptly complied, sitting up and letting his arms wrap around you.

"What do you plan captain?" you turned your face so you could face him.

"First, no captain here." he pointed out. "I plan to teach you how to get there. And then you can do it yourself or teach your future partners." the idea sounded bitter on his lips, but he didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.

"So where do we start?"

"This way."

He gently held your face and started kissing you. Calmly, he felt you snuggle even closer to him. Almost like an authorization for him to sink deeper into your mouth.

While his tongue massaged yours, eliciting small murmurs that vibrated between you, one of his hands kept you trapped in the kiss, cupping your face. The other walked around your body, running down the sides of your skin, down your thighs. You squeezed your legs, trying to find some relief from the heat that was starting to accumulate there.

"A kiss is a good way to start." He pulled away just enough to comment, returning to your lips for a few more seconds. "When it's about you, a kiss is a good thing for any occasion."

"Don't say things like that." you moved away from his lips almost definitively, your head lolling just enough to rest against his chest.

The sight - almost as sinful as his own thoughts - was something to behold. You were there waiting for him to start showing you what pleasure was. One of his hands continued to trace some incoherent patterns on your skin, while the other wandered over your hardened nipple.

"Women are a little different from men in this regard." now avoiding touching your nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt, he just circled the areola. "Some are extremely sensitive at this point, others not so much, for some it also depends on the period of the cycle."

This time, he suddenly ran his thumb firmly over your nipple, your back letting you touch his chest for a brief moment, just to seek more contact.

"I see you fit into the first group."

"And what does that mean?" the question sounded innocent and silly, but it was difficult to think with Law so close to you, where you needed him.

Both of his hands came up enough to remove the straps of your blouse and expose your breasts.

"It means I can have some fun with them." he need to focus this was about you and not him. "So fucking beautiful."

His fingers gently slid over the two highlighted points. First he caressed your nipples gently, testing to see how much more you might want. Seeing you tighten your thighs even more and move a little in search of friction, Law captured both nipples between his fingers, eliciting an intense gasp from you.

Since the position didn't allow him to taste it directly on his lips, he at least tried to simulate the sensation for you. The hands that were previously on your nipples briefly went to his mouth and were bathed in saliva. In a calculated movement, Law placed his wet fingers back on your nipples just as his mouth closed on your neck in a wet kiss. A no longer so shy moan escaped you and made his dick twitch inside the pants he was wearing.

"Law, this...this feels good." your body arched against his fingers.

"I bet I could make you cum with just that." his lips untied themselves from you only to speak softly in your ear. "I will do this next time."

His hands allowed themselves to slide down your body again, now exciting a more breathless version of you. Law took his hands to your bare thighs and after caressing them, he gently opened them, placing them on top of his legs. Even though you were still covered by your panties, you felt exposed.

"Most women don't like to get straight to the point. Teasing can help make things more interesting." His hands ran up your inner thighs, raising goosebumps.

"I don't think provoking is the best option." you tried to sound firm, but your voice came out more breathless than you expected.

"This tells me otherwise." without hesitation, two firm fingers pressed your damp panties. "This pretty pussy is so wet just from me teasing you a little."

"Please Law." you tried to move against his fingers, which were now sliding along the sides of your intimacy.

"Did you know that the labia majora also have nerve endings?" he pointed out, ignoring your plea and letting his fingers slide. "Some stimulus can help."

His movement stopped for a brief moment, so brief that you were unable to ask why he had stopped or to contain your moan when you felt him touch through your panties where you needed it most.

"But they're not as sensitive as this one." Law started to make small circles over where your clit was. When he looked at your face, he could see that you had brought both hands to cover your mouth, your nails digging into your own cheek. "Room. Silence." he saw your eyes look around briefly. "Just let me hear you, please."

As soon as the blue dome formed around you, Law deftly removed your hands from your lips and covered them with his own mouth. His tongue invaded your mouth shamelessly while his movements over the damp fabric of your panties became a little faster. Your hands tried to hold on to him as best you could and even with him kissing you so voraciously, your moans still found space to remain there against his lips. Again, he stopped his movements and moved away from your lips just enough to find your attentive eyes, dilated pupils and reddened lips.

"I'll buy you another one. As many as you want."

Instead of explaining why, you just felt his two hands force the fabric of your panties and it split into some pieces.

The touch of his fingers directly against your little bud could be enough for Law to have his own orgasm there. More exciting than that was just seeing your eyes closing in front of his, a loud moan escaping your lips at such a short distance from him. Heavens, that was a little bit of paradise he thought he'd never taste.

"I need more Law, more please." you turned to him again, but one of your hands remained tied to the back of his neck. "It feels so good, so fucking good."

"Fuck" he murmured against the skin of your neck as his fingers slid easily to your entrance. The warm wetness against his fingers left him on the verge of irrationality. Gently, he slowly penetrated you with his middle finger, your fingers against the back of his neck held tight to Law's dark strands of hair. "That's a good girl, I can feel you squeeze me. Is that what you wanted?"

"D-Don't stop Law, please." you involuntarily moved your hips against the back and forth of his finger, searching for more and more.

"I won't stop, babe, I won't." Law removed his entire finger and added his ring finger, slowly penetrating them again. The way you moved your hips against his fingers - and against his cock behind you - indicated that you wouldn't last long. "You're taking me so good, pussy so fucking tight."

“Law, I just…” as soon as his fingers pressed against your g-spot, a sharp scream left you. A knot beginning to tighten and burn inside you. "Fuck, that's it. I c-can feel something, I think… Law, please."

Seeing you start to lose control of your hips and tighten even more inside your pussy, Law knew he needed little for you to get there - and to be quite honest, he was about to reach an untouched orgasm himself.

"Stop holding back." His voice came out as a whisper at the edge of your ear, using the palm of his hand to stimulate your clitoris, your increasingly intense moans were a melody for him. "I can feel you squeezing me, begging for more. Come on, give it to me, let me feel you come. Just for me, okay? You're going to do this just for me."

"Law!" With one last moan from you, Law could feel you squeeze him hard and the fingers inside you become drenched as your body softened against his arms.

Giving a few more gentle caresses against your intimacy, Law took his hand away from you and had to dare the urge to put his fingers to his own lips. He would have the chance to taste you and when he does, he will taste it straight from the source itself.

Seeing your tired form nestled against his chest, Law let the caresses against your body be softer and without any trace of malice, just as his lips placed some chaste kisses on the top of your head.

"Thanks for trusting me." You smiled at his thanks, taking one of his hands and placing a small kiss on it. "So... how does it feel?"

"It felt so good, I've never felt that before." you adjusted yourself just enough to meet his lips.

"Yes, it was great."

"I'm sorry for not making it up to you." you pointed out and saw a light laugh escape his lips. "What?"

"I feel like a teenager, but..." his gaze directed yours to the wet spot on his light pants. "Feeling you and hearing you was a little too much for me."

You both laughed for a brief moment, enjoying the little bubble of affection that seemed to be surrounding you.

"Law?" his murmur indicated that he was paying attention. "You must be pretty experienced, right? To know all this."

"Not so much." his fingers intertwined with yours. "Part of it I know because I'm a doctor, so it's easier to know how bodies work. And part of it is because I've seen it in some books."

You just nodded and snuggled into him, his fingers were distracted playing with yours. This time, just like you had done, he called your name and you just mumbled back.

"What I said before." it was strange, but Law felt a little shy about bringing the subject on board. "I take back what I said. I wanted this – what you felt today – to happen just to me and not to other partners."

"It's okay. I also want you to be the one to do this to me."

[moonlight-yelena]

more than enough | y.b.

yelena belova x reader | 1.8k | A secret relationship with your best friend's sister doesn't always work out or the one where Natasha finds out about you and yelena's relationship

Warnings: protective older sister (aka mean natasha), break ups, slight angst scattered throughout

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this was probably written late 2021/early 2022 and was originally an idea that came from a request <3 reuploading exactly as it was written back then

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

‘Y/N! Stop!’ Yelena yelled trying to get away from you but you had her trapped between you and the counter, 'If you keep putting frosting on my nose then we won’t have any for the cake,’ You leaned over putting your finger back into the frosting and quickly swiping it on her nose once again.

'Whoops,’ You shrugged, smiling, instead of going for her nose you smeared the frosting across her lips. You went to turn away when you felt Yelena grab your arm stopping you.

'The least you could do is clean it up,’ Yelena gave you her famous frown. One you couldn’t resist.

Without hesitation you leaned in, swiping your tongue across her lips before pulling Yelena in for a kiss. The kiss soon turned into an impromptu make out session in the kitchen.

Though it ended sooner than you both wanted it to when you heard Yelena’s front door slam shut. You both pulled away just in time before Natasha walked into the kitchen

'Hey Yele - Y/N?’ Confusion etched over Natasha’s face as she looked up from the document she was holding, 'Why are you here?’

'I, uh, -’

'Y/N was looking for you and I said you were coming over later so here we are,’ Yelena cut you off when it was clear you weren’t going to be able to lie to your best friend.

You had met Natasha when you were both recruited to be avengers. You had a similar upbringing to Natasha, you weren’t from the Red Room but you had very similar training. You and Natasha became close friends, finding comfort in being able to confide in each other about things the others wouldn’t understand.

You and Natasha were always there for each other. You ended up being on the run together which led to you helping her bring down the Red Room. Bringing down the Red Room is where you met Yelena, Natasha’s younger sister.

You and Yelena got close fast, bonding by making fun and annoying Natasha. For the most part Natasha trusted you but it didn’t sit right with her when she saw how close you were becoming with her younger sister.

'What’s going on between you and Yelena?’ Natasha asked while you were on the quinjet coming back from a mission.

'Nothing’s going on Nat,’  You were confused where this was coming from. You only spent time with Yelena when Natasha was around. It wasn’t like you were spending time alone with each other.

'Oh,’ You knew Natasha wasn’t completely convinced, 'Well that’s good then. It would violate the rules if there was something going on,’

'What rules?’ You laughed out not thinking Natasha was being serious. But you stopped as soon as you saw her face.

'You’re my best friend, you can’t date my sister,’

'We’ll have to start meeting in secret then,’ Yelena told you with a wink when you told her about the interaction you had with Natasha.

You had no idea Yelena was even interested in you that way, not that you were complaining. Over time the friendship you and Yelena shared turned into a relationship, one you kept hidden from your best friend.

———————————-

You were having a movie day with Natasha while Yelena was on a mission. The other day in Yelena’s apartment was the closest you had been to being caught by your best friend. You thought she had caught you but were relieved when she never mentioned anything to either of you.

'So Y/N,’ Natasha paused the movie and turned to face you, 'When were you going to tell me?’ A look of hurt spread across Natasha’s face while you tried to keep your panic from showing.

'Tell you what?’ You calmly spoke trying to show no signs of the nerves you were feeling.

'Oh don’t play dumb now Y/N,’ Natasha was getting irritated, she just wanted her best friend to be honest with her.

'Nat, I really don’t -’

'You and Yelena,’ Natasha bluntly cut you off, 'I saw you, in the kitchen the other day,’ If looks could kill, you’d already be six feet under.

'Nat -,’

'Save it Y/N. I thought I was clear. I don’t want you dating my sister,’ Natasha’s voice started to raise.

'Tell me you aren’t being serious right now,’ You rolled your eyes at Natasha, 'And since when did you decide who Yelena dates?’ Your voice raising to match Natasha’s.

'I just don’t want you with Yelena,’ Natasha thought it was a simple request. She didn’t understand the bond you and Yelena had formed. You had fallen in love with Yelena regardless of what Natasha wanted. You wanted Yelena and the rest of your days with her.

'Why not?’ You sighed out. If Natasha didn’t want you to date her younger sister then she might as well give you a good enough reason.

'I don’t trust you with her,’ Your heart dropped as soon as Natasha said those words. She trusted you in every other aspect of her life except with her sister. You thought your best friend would be more supportive, 'Look your past says more than I ever could Y/N. You don’t deserve someone like Yelena. She never had the choice like you did,’ You couldn’t believe Natasha would throw your past in your face like that.

'I was a kid Natasha! You know this! It was all I ever knew,’ You stood up and walked towards the door, not wanting to listen to Natasha anymore.

'You’re just not good enough for Yelena,’ You heard Natasha shout from the lounge.

Those last words Natasha said to you was all that was running through your mind. You were beyond hurt that your best friend could think you weren’t good enough. All because of a past that you had no control over. You never wanted to hurt all those people but it was them or you. You just wanted to survive. You confided in Natasha and thought you could trust her.

There was a part of you that believed Natasha was right. Yelena didn’t deserve you. Yelena never had the choice. And once she did have a choice she chose to leave that world of pain behind. Yelena was a ray of sunshine, she was your ray of sunshine. You never want to drag her down to your level.

The cold air seemed to break you from your thoughts realising you were now out of the apartment. Your legs took you to the only place you knew would bring you comfort.

———————————-

'NATASHA!’ Yelena shouted, storming her way through her older sisters apartment. Yelena was exhausted having just come back from a draining mission. Now she had to deal with her sister’s over protective ways and the mess Natasha had just made.

'Hi Yelena, I’m great thanks for asking,’ Natasha rolled her eyes at her younger sister which only fuelled Yelena’s anger.

'Tell me why I’ve come back to this message from Y/N?’ Yelena shoved her phone in Natasha’s face, 'I know you’re the only one she’s been with all day. So tell me Natalia, what did you do?’ Natasha winced at the use of that name.

A pang of guilt washed over Natasha as she read the message. She didn’t realise how much her words had effected you. She knew she was wrong for bringing up your past, one you had no control over.

'Cat got your tongue Natalia,’ Yelena scoffed as Natasha stayed silent, 'You drove away the one good thing in my life. The one person who has never judged me for anything. Why can’t you see that Y/N makes me happy!’ Frustrated tears rolled down Yelena’s face. Yelena didn’t understand why her sister couldn’t be happy for her.

'I didn’t mean to hurt Y/N like this,’ It pained Natasha to see her younger sister in this state, especially when she’s the cause of it.

'Well you did. Lucky for you I know where Y/N will be,’ Yelena harshly grabbed Natasha by the arm and led them down to find Natasha’s car.

———————————-

'You stay here, I’ll go clean up the mess you started,’ Yelena harshly brushed passed Natasha.

'I know you’re out there,’ You shouted from inside the cabin. You had known Yelena was here as soon as she pulled up out the front.

'I know you know I’m out here,’ Yelena sighed, she had been hesitant opening the door not knowing what to expect once she sees you.

'Then why won’t you just come in, Lena,’ Hearing you use your nickname for her calmed the nerves that had started building.

Yelena’s heart broke at the sight of you. Your eyes were red and puffy, it was noticeable that you had been crying. A frown took over Yelena’s face as she was quick to pull you into her arms. Despite your best efforts to push Yelena away, she was stronger than you. You had no choice but to relax and find comfort from her.

'You should know you can’t break up with me that easily, detka,’ Yelena whispered in your ear, 'I’m sorry about Natasha,’ You instantly tensed up at the mention of her name.

'But what she said-’

'Isn’t true,’ Yelena cut you off, she knew where you were going with that sentence, 'Y/N/N you are my happiness. You are more than enough for me. I need you,’ Yelena pulled away to look into your eyes, 'Please come back home with me. You’re more than enough for me. I love you,’ Yelena leaned in to place a kiss on your lips. A soft but passionate kiss.

You let Yelena take your hand and lead you to her car. She gripped your hand tighter as you went to let go of it once you had seen Natasha standing by the car. Yelena rubbed her thumb over your entwined hands, offering you reassurance.

Natasha gave you a small smile and nodded her head to the side wanting you to follow her. You reluctantly let go of Yelena’s hand once she gave you a reassuring smile and went to follow Natasha.

'Look Y/N, I didn’t mean to say the things that I did,’

'But you did,’ You crossed your arms over your chest. You weren’t going to let Natasha off easy.

'I know,’ Natasha looked down towards her hands, 'I’m really sorry. You know I don’t judge you for your past, I’m the last person that could. You deserve happiness and I won’t stand in the way,’ Natasha looked back up at you and you could tell she was being genuine with you, 'I’m scared to lose my best friend,’

'You could never lose me Natty,’ You laughed as you bumped shoulders with her, 'You’re stuck with me forever,’

'You and Yelena,’ Natasha breathed out, 'My best friend and my sister. You both make each other happy, don’t you?’

'She’s my world. I love her Nat,’ You smiled just thinking about Yelena. You looked over towards the car where she was. Natasha noticed how you were looking at her younger sister. She was now grateful that you both had found each other and that you made each other happy.

'I hope you both find the happiness you deserve together,’

[mylovesstuffs]

Objection, Your Honor ! – Lee Chan

Genre: Non-idol au, legal au, detective-prosecutor au, workplace romance and enemies to lovers

Pairing: Dino × fem!reader

Content: Office romance, crime-solving duo/trio, tension, banter, flawed characters, detective/prosecutor dynamic, explicit sexual content MDNI! strong language, intense arguments, suggestive comments, making out, lotssss of kissing, Dino is cocky, reader loses her patience 99% of the time

Word count: 8657 words

A/N: Had to add the word razor every chance I got, lol. I expanded this picture of him with ai since it didn’t fit before. I changed his hair strands, skin, and stuff—and even his eye lenses myself meticulously (not ai). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and please reblog :( and happiest birthday to our Dino! He’s amazing just the way he is—so full of energy, talent, and charm that he never fails to inspire us all. I hope this year brings him nothing but happiness, success, and moments where he feels truly proud of everything he’s accomplished. He’s one of a kind, and the world is brighter because of him. I’m still waiting for him to give me a chance, though...

The slam of the file against your desk was so loud it nearly toppled your coffee mug. You flinched but didn’t look up immediately. No, acknowledging theatrics only fed the beast. Instead, you calmly capped your pen, setting it down with deliberate precision. He hated when you did this—acted like you had all the time in the world when he came storming in.

“You’re welcome for the heart attack,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You exhaled slowly through your nose before finally glancing up. There he was, Detective Lee Chan—better known as Dino, the human embodiment of caffeine and stupidity. His tie was undone, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he had that same infuriating smirk plastered on his face, as if he’d just solved the mystery of the universe.

“Detective,” you said with a polite nod, lacing your voice with as much fake sweetness as you could muster. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this… unexpected visit?”

“I brought you a gift,” he said, sliding the file closer to you. “A slam-dunk case. You’ll love it. All the evidence is right there. Can’t miss.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Last time you said that, I spent three weeks untangling jurisdiction issues. Do you even know how many late nights I had to pull because of you?”

Dino wasn’t actually an idiot no matter how many reckless decisions he makes. His instincts were razor-sharp, his record impeccable, and annoyingly enough he was usually right when it mattered. Last month, for example, his so-called ‘gut feeling’ about a drug ring being connected to a string of convenience store robberies was spot-on. His lead cracked open a case that had stumped everyone else for months. But damn if his delivery didn’t make you want to strangle him sometimes.

Dino, unbothered by your skepticism. “Yeah, but we nailed that drug ring, didn’t we?”

You hated when he was right and he knew it. “Fine,” you muttered, pulling the top file toward you and flipping it open. A mid-level burglary case, nothing too flashy at first glance. But as you skimmed through his notes, it was tight, methodical, and annoyingly thorough—you spotted the potential for something bigger.

“This better not be a ‘just trust me’ situation,” you said, glancing up at him. “If I’m staying late over this, it better pay off.”

He grinned, pushing off the desk. “Relax, Prosecutor. You know I don’t miss. This one’s airtight.”

And the thing that frustrated you most was that, you knew he was probably right. Dino didn’t swing unless he knew he’d hit the target. But it didn’t mean you had to let him bask in the glory without making him sweat first.

Now you opened the next file flipping through the pages. But this time the further you read, the deeper the pit in your stomach grew. And not in a good way. This wasn’t a slam dunk. It wasn’t even a half-hearted layup.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, shaking your head as you thumbed through the mess of paperwork. “You interrogated the suspect without a lawyer present?”

He shrugged. “He didn’t ask for one.”

You gave him an exasperated look. “You didn’t inform him of his rights properly, did you?”

“Details, details.”

“And this eyewitness? The one who conveniently claims they saw the suspect fleeing the scene? They’re twelve, Dino. Twelve.”

“Kids are observant!” he protested.

“They’re also notoriously unreliable in court. Oh, and let’s not forget this,” you said, holding up a grainy surveillance photo that looked like it had been taken with a potato. “Is this your so-called smoking gun? Because it could literally be anyone.”

Dino, arms crossed, looking far too relaxed for someone who had just presented you with a flaming dumpster fire disguised as a case. “You’re missing the point.”

“Am I?”

“Yes!” He sat up, his chair scraping against the floor. “The point is, this guy is guilty. I know it. You know it. Hell, even he knows it. Why are you so hung up on the technicalities?”

“Technicalities?” you repeated, your voice rising despite your best efforts. “You mean the law? The thing we’re both supposedly here to uphold?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, spare me the lecture. Do you even care about justice, or is paperwork your true love?”

Your jaw tightened. “Do you even care about rules, or is your brain just made of air?”

The words hung in the air like smoke after a gunshot. For a minute, neither of you spoke, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

There was a reason the firm always paired you with Dino for the cases no one else could touch, the ones buried under decades of dust or tangled in enough red tape to suffocate an entire department. It wasn’t because you liked each other—oh, God, no. The mere sight of Dino’s cocky smirk had you fantasizing about slamming his face into your meticulously organized desk. And you were pretty sure your obsession with the rulebook made him consider hurling you off the nearest courthouse steps.

No, the firm didn’t stick you together because you worked well; they did it because you got results.

Dino was a wildcard in the courtroom. He was reckless in a way that somehow always paid off. He’d bend every rule in the book, dive headfirst into risks that no sane professional would take, and then, just when everyone thought he was about to crash and burn, he’d pull off a result so airtight it left no room for appeal. To him, the law wasn’t some sacred structure but a weapon to be wielded, a chessboard where his unpredictable moves kept everyone including you on edge. But then there was you: the polar opposite. Where Dino thrived on improvisation, you thrived on preparation. Every motion you filed was flawless. Every precedent cited, every objection raised, was calculated. You built cases brick by brick, layering facts, timelines, and evidence until there was no room for doubt. You didn’t gamble, didn’t deviate, didn’t take risks. You didn’t need to because your method was bulletproof.

So, of course, throwing the two of you together was a recipe for war. You didn’t just clash; you collided like two freight trains on a collision course. Dino would rush into a strategy meeting late, armed with some half-baked plan, reeking of coffee and audacity, while you’d already drafted three versions of the closing argument. You’d roll your eyes at his recklessness; he’d scoff at your obsession with boring technicalities. It wasn’t just your approaches that set you off, though. It was the way he got under your skin. Dino had this uncanny ability to needle you in just the right way. He’d make some offhand comment about your obsession with color-coded spreadsheets or the way you probably alphabetized your sock drawer and you’d feel your blood pressure skyrocket. But you weren’t innocent, either. You knew exactly how to press his buttons, whether it was calling his brilliant-but-illegal idea juvenile or quietly rephrasing his arguments in court to make them admissible without giving him credit. And yet as much as you hated each other, the firm couldn’t stop throwing you together. Those cases where everything was on the line, went to you and Dino. Why? Because for all the throat-slitting arguments, for all the nights you spent slamming doors and trading insults that could scorch earth, you delivered. Together.

It wasn’t pretty. Your fights were the stuff of office legend. Once, he stormed into your workspace at 2 a.m. after you’d rejected one of his leads as ‘inadmissible garbage.’ You’d stood toe-to-toe, voices raised to the point that security came by to check if someone was being assaulted. Another time, you’d shredded one of his witness strategies so thoroughly in a meeting that the room fell silent. Dino didn’t speak to you for three days after that which, honestly, was the most peaceful stretch of your career. But whenever you were on a case together, something just clicked. Dino’s instincts and risk-taking cracked open doors that no amount of careful planning ever could. Meanwhile, your meticulous follow-through turned his madcaps into something actionable. It was maddening, really. He’d drag you into situations so precarious they felt like career suicide, and you’d spend hours, sometimes days, pulling everything back from the brink. But in the end it always paid off.

Take the Serrano case, for example. A cold case involving a missing heiress, dismissed as a dead end by everyone else. Dino had dragged you into some dilapidated motel off the interstate to interrogate a retired cop. The guy’s statement wasn’t even admissible, and you told Dino as much, several times, in increasingly colorful language. But damned if Dino didn’t come away with a critical piece of information: the location of a long-abandoned storage locker. The locker led to evidence, which led to a confession, which led to a headline-making conviction. And as much as you hated to admit it, the case would’ve gone nowhere without his reckless brilliance. Of course, Dino never let you live it down. “You’re welcome,” he’d say, that shit-eating grin plastered across his face as if he hadn’t nearly given you an ulcer.

The truth was, you couldn’t stand Dino because you saw what made him dangerous: he was too smart for his own good. He didn’t play by the rules because he didn’t need to. He could charm his way out of trouble, think on his feet, and pull victories out of situations that should’ve been unwinnable. And that terrified you, because it made you question everything you believed about the law, about order, about the system you’d built your entire career on. And Dino couldn’t stand you because you represented everything he hated: authority, rigidity, rules. He thought you were too stuck in your ways to see the bigger picture, too concerned with ticking boxes to actually fight for justice. He saw your meticulousness as a cage, not a strength. You didn’t see eye to eye, you barely saw each other as human but when it came to the job, you were a fucking force of nature. And that’s what made working with Dino so antagonizing. Because for all the fights, all the late-night shouting matches, there was a small, annoying part of you that knew you wouldn’t want anyone else by your side in the trenches. You both respected each other. You wouldn’t admit it out loud but deep down, you knew Dino wasn’t just reckless; he was brilliant. And he knew you weren’t just a stickler for rules; you were a goddamn powerhouse in the courtroom.

So, the firm kept throwing you together, because when you weren’t busy trying to rip each other’s throats out, you were unstoppable. And that was the most infuriating part of all.

“I care about catching culprits,” Dino said finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. “That’s my job. And I’m damn good at it. So maybe you could try trusting me for once instead of nitpicking every little thing I do.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something about the way he looked at you, equal parts frustration and something you didn’t want to name or maybe it was just you. “You think I don’t trust you?” your voice low. “This isn’t about trust, Dino. We need to do it the right way. Because if we don’t, the culprits walk. And that’s on you.”

He didn’t respond immediately, just held your gaze, his dark brown eyes searching yours. It was maddening, the way he could make you feel like the bad guy when he was the one who barged in here with his half-baked case and his cocky attitude.

Finally, he stepped, grabbing both files off your desk. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped. “You want it done your way? Have it your way. But don’t come crying to me when this guy slips through your fingers.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in your office with nothing but the sound of your own ragged breathing and the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air.

God, you hated him.

…Right?

Two

The crime scene smelled like damp concrete and stale cigarettes. The flickering fluorescent light overhead made the whole place feel like a bad noir film except the lead detective was a walking disaster, and you were too pissed off to even pretend to care about aesthetics.

You arrived late, thanks to traffic and Dino conveniently forgetting to send you the exact location until the last minute. When you finally pushed through the throng of officers, there he was, doing exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do.

“Are you kidding me?” you snapped as you stormed over, heels clicking sharply against the cracked pavement.

Dino was leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, arms crossed, smirking at the suspect he’d cornered—a wiry guy with a nervous tic and shifty eyes. The kind of guy whose lawyer would have a field day with this.

“Prosecutor,” Dino drawled, straightening up when he saw you. “Glad you could join us. You missed all the fun.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you bit out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?” he said, gesturing to the suspect, who looked like he wanted to melt into the wall. “I’m getting answers. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “You’re not supposed to be interrogating him yet! We don’t even have his lawyer present—”

Dino cut you off with a dismissive wave. “Relax. He waived his right to a lawyer.”

You turned to the suspect, your voice controlled but wanting to cut throats. “Did you actually waive your right, or did he pressure you into saying that?”

“I—uh—” the guy stammered, his eyes darting between you and Dino like he was watching a tennis match.

“Don’t answer that,” Dino interrupted, stepping in front of the suspect like some overprotective guard dog, which you kinda agree with since he is a dog. “You’re not his lawyer.”

“And you’re not a fucking prosecutor!” you almost shouted, stepping closer, practically nose-to-nose with him now. “Detective, do you have any idea how much you’ve jeopardized this case? This isn’t some TV cop drama where you can just rough someone up and hope it sticks!”

Dino’s smirk widened, which only made you angrier. “You’re so uptight, I’m surprised your shoes don’t file complaints against you.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who probably keeps a bail fund in his back pocket,” you sneered. “And for the record, I’m shocked you haven’t been arrested for stupidity yet.”

He laughed, low and irritatingly amused. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

You felt your face heat up, though whether it was from rage or the way his voice dipped just slightly on the word cute, you refused to analyze. “Don’t,” you warned, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare try to turn this into one of your pathetic jokes. This is serious, Dino. You’ve completely screwed my angle for the prosecution!”

“And what angle would that be?” he shot back. “Letting this guy lawyer up and walk out the door before we can get anything useful? You’re too busy playing by the rules to actually win.”

“You think winning means cutting corners and breaking the law?”

“I think winning means putting culprits behind bars,” he said, his voice hard now. “But hey, maybe that’s just me. What do I know, right? I’m just the reckless idiot who actually works the streets.”

Oh, God, you hated him. And right now, you hated him even more for standing too close, for taking up too much space in the already suffocating air between you. Your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out reason, a deep, thrumming beat that you were sure he could hear. You prayed he couldn’t, but Dino always noticed things he wasn’t supposed to. It pressed against your skin, heated and unrelenting, until it felt like the walls might cave in from the sheer force of it. He didn’t move, of course. He never did. And you couldn’t decide if you wanted to step back to get some air or close the too-small space entirely, if only to finally shut him up. It was never just about the law with him, never just about his tendency to play fast and loose with the rules while you meticulously dotted every i and crossed every t.

You glared at him, the tension crackled between you like a live wire, sharp and dangerous. For a split second, you wondered what would happen if you closed the already too-small space between you.

Would he flinch? Would you?

His eyes darted to your mouth for the briefest of moments, a flicker, gone almost as soon as it happened. But it was enough. Your breath caught, and your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

Fuck.

No. Absolutely not.

You took a deliberate step back, breaking whatever the hell that was. “We’re done here,” you said, your voice clipped. “And don’t even think about pulling this kind of shit again, or I swear to God—”

“Relax, babygirl,” he said, holding up his hands to mock. “I’ll play nice. Scout’s honor.”

“Like you were ever a Boy Scout,” you muttered, brushing past him. As you walked away, you felt his gaze linger on your back, heavy and unrelenting. It made your skin prickle in a way you hated.

-

The precinct’s parking lot was quiet except for the muffled sounds of traffic in the distance and the faint buzz of a streetlamp overhead. You had barely made it halfway to your car when you heard footsteps behind you, quick and purposeful.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Dino called out, his voice carrying easily through the still night air.

You stopped, gripping your bag tighter before turning around slowly, your expression set in stone. “What do you want now, Dino? Haven’t you ruined enough for one day?”

He strode up to you, hands in his pockets, that damn smirk plastered across his face like he had all the energy in the world to piss you off. “Just wanted to make sure you got home safe, Prosecutor. Wouldn’t want you tripping over your own self-righteousness in the dark.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Touching. Truly. I’m overwhelmed by your chivalry, Detective”

“Yeah, well,” he said, stepping closer, “someone’s gotta look out for you. You’re too busy being uptight to notice when you’re walking into traffic.”

You glared at him, your pulse spiking as he invaded your space yet again. “Funny coming from the guy who bulldozes through cases like a goddamn wrecking ball. Do you ever stop to think, or is ‘consequences’ just not in your vocabulary?”

Dino smirked, his voice dropping to a cocky drawl. “You’re good at running your mouth. Maybe someone should put it to better use.”

The words hit you like a slap, heat rushing to your face before you could stop it. “Excuse me?” you snapped, stepping closer, practically daring him to repeat himself.

“You heard me,” he said, tilting his head, his eyes dark and glinting under the streetlight. “Look at you—so sure you’re in control. So convinced you’ve got everything figured out. But you’re just begging for someone to put you in your place.”

Your breath hitched, fury, sharper and hotter—coiling in your chest. “You think you’re that someone?” you hissed. “Please. You couldn’t handle me if you tried.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “You think you can handle me?” He leaned in, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something woodsy and infuriatingly intoxicating. “You’re cute. I could bring you to your knees before you can even blink. And I’d love to see you there.”

The audacity of him, the sheer arrogance, sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through your veins. “You’re delusional,” you spat, shoving at his chest, though it felt more like swatting at a brick wall. “I wouldn’t kneel for you if my life depended on it.”

Dino grinned, sharp and predatory. “You talk a big game, but you’re all bark and no bite. Face it, you hate that you can’t control me.”

“I hate that you exist,” your voice shaking with anger.

The space between you crackling with an energy that was equal parts infuriating and magnetic. His eyes bored into yours, daring you to look away, to back down, but you refused to give him the satisfaction.

Finally, you stepped back, breaking the spell. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest. “Stay out of my cases, Dino. This is the last time I’m cleaning up your mess.”

He laughed, low and unrepentant. “Sure thing, babygirl. Whatever you say.”

You whirled around and marched to your car, your hands trembling as you unlocked the door. As you slid into the driver’s seat, you could see him pulling his middle finger up at you. That bastard was going to be the death of you.

Three

The morning was already too early, and you were fighting the urge to strangle the first person who dared speak to you. The courtroom smelled like the stale coffee that had long gone cold, and the air felt thick, like it was waiting for something to go wrong. You had a long day ahead, one that started with you walking into the courthouse, still wiping sleep out of your eyes trying to make sense of the case that had already given you a goddamn headache.

You reached your desk, scanning the papers in front of you, mentally prepping for the battle ahead you were about to step into. Not today though, today you were placing your trust in your colleague, Prosecutor Jeonghan.

"Morning, hotshot!" Seungkwan's voice cut through the haze, a little too chipper for the crack of dawn. Your bestie aka the only person who could somehow manage to brighten the darkest corners of a place like this. He grinned as he plopped into the chair next to you, tossing a coffee your way. "You ready to face the disaster that is Dino today?"

"Is anyone ever ready for that?" you muttered, rubbing your temples as you took a sip. "I don't even think I can handle his nasty face right now."

Seungkwan's eyes gleamed. "Oh, come on, you love it. You just won't admit it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond. You both knew it wasn’t that simple, but for the sake of today, you weren’t going to unpack the mess that was your relationship with Dino. It had enough layers to rival an onion, and right now you didn’t have time to cry over the metaphorical scent.

"Alright, you two," Seungcheol, the chief officer assigned to the case and both of your close friend, chimed in with a grin as he entered, stretching his arms. "Get ready for some fireworks. Dino's already pissing off the defense lawyer out there. And honestly, Jeonghan looks proud."

Jeonghan was a menace, no doubt about it, but he was also a goddamn genius. He was the kind of prosecutor who could make you question your career choices every time you shared a courtroom. He wasn’t just a menace; he was a finely tuned madness wrapped in a tailored suit, armed with a smirk that said, I know something you don’t. And he probably did. If there was anyone you’d trust to handle something when you couldn’t or just flat-out refused—it was him. He had the kind of street smarts you couldn’t teach, an instinct for reading people that felt almost psychic at times. Jeonghan wasn’t loud or brash like Dino, but his calm, almost predatory confidence was just as hot. He wasn’t just clever, he was deviously resourceful. If evidence didn’t align perfectly, Jeonghan would find a way to weave it into a narrative that made the jury sit up straighter, lean in closer and eat out of his hand. He didn’t play dirty, not technically, but he’d push right up against the edge of what was permissible, flashing that gremlin smile like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Witnesses loved him, judges respected him, and opposing counsel fucking feared him. And rightly so. Jeonghan didn’t just know the law—he understood the game behind it. He could charm the pants off a room full of skeptics, make them see the story he wanted them to see, and by the time they realized what he’d done, the verdict was already sealed. It wasn’t just skill, it was an art form, and Jeonghan painted masterpieces every time he stepped into the courtroom.

Pairing him with Dino was like setting a match to gasoline. Dino’s reckless energy, combined with Jeonghan’s calculated cunning, created a dynamic so volatile it was a miracle the courthouse hadn’t burned down yet with their play. And of course they got results—high-profile convictions, airtight arguments but working anywhere near them felt like trying to wrangle wild animals while they smugly watched you struggle. Jeonghan was a brilliant menace.

Opposing counsel hated going up against you, Dino, and Jeonghan—a nightmare trio they couldn't outrun. And your firm adored the chaos you three brought to court because, no matter how unconventional the methods, you always delivered wins. You were the dream team they loved, and everyone else feared.

Of course, Dino was already making waves and teaming up with Jeonghan. But now it was only a matter of time before he turned this courtroom into his personal wrestling ring, but the last person he wanted to tangle with? You.

The doors to the courtroom slammed open with a force that could’ve been felt from a mile away. Dino walked in and right beside him was Jeonghan. You could already hear the sound of your blood pressure rising just by the sight of him. He had that look in his eyes, the one that meant he was about to do something ridiculous, something reckless, something that would make you regret ever agreeing to work with him in the first place.

"Morning, sunshine!" he called out as he passed by your table. “Hope you’re ready for this shitshow. You sure you don't want to be the one to put this case to bed?”

You shot him a look that could’ve frozen hell over, narrowing your eyes. "You're not gonna win this case, Dino. Not if charm’s the only thing you’re bringing to the table. Leave it to Jeonghan"

“Oh, don’t drag me into this,” Jeonghan chimed, “I’m just here to look good and clean up your messes later.”

“Careful," he smirked, leaning forward on the back of your chair, his breath hot against your ear. "I might actually win this case with my charm alone. He trusts me."

Jeonghan snorted. “I trust you to do one thing, Dino. Create chaos. Which is great for me, really. Makes me look even better when I swoop in and save the day.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you gritted your teeth. “Maybe if charm was evidence, you’d be a star witness. And Jeonghan, let’s not pretend you’re not just here for the applause."

Though the snide remark hung between you and Dino like smoke, thick and suffocating as he flashed that cocky grin of his, god, it was maddening how much you wanted to punch it off his face. But there was no time for that. You were in a courtroom, surrounded by a crowd of people who didn’t give two shits about your personal grudges. They were just waiting for the show to begin. And right now, the show was all about Dino and his charming ass.

The judge entered, and the room fell into a hush as the proceedings began adjusted to the presence of authority. But that didn’t stop the tension from simmering, especially at your table. Jeonghan handled the case with the precision of a surgeon. Every argument he made was razor-sharp, every point calculated to perfection. Watching him in action was like witnessing a masterclass in courtroom strategy. You felt a swell of pride, not that you’d ever admit it out loud, of course. Jeonghan didn’t need the ego boost. Then there was Dino. While Jeonghan worked the courtroom with elegance and finesse, Dino seemed hellbent on bulldozing his way through the defense with pure, unfiltered madness. Subtlety? Restraint? Professional decorum? Not Dino’s style. Instead, he was practically throwing barbed comments that bordered on outright insults. The poor defense counsel looked like they were ready to crawl under the table. And the judge was not having it. Dino had already earned himself two warnings within the first twenty minutes, and judging by the way the gavel slammed down after his latest stunt, he was this close to being thrown out. But did that stop him? Of course not. This was Dino we’re talking about—a man who seemed to thrive on walking the razor-thin line between brilliance and complete courtroom anarchy.

You sat back, arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold. Jeonghan remained the picture of calm, seamlessly pivoting between making his case and finely cleaning up Dino’s messes, all while maintaining that smug composure. It was clear why you trusted Jeonghan to handle things when you weren’t in the mood or the mental space to deal with the circus. Unlike Dino, Jeonghan knew how to work a courtroom without turning it into a WWE match.

-

The courtroom cafeteria was unusually crowded today. You sat at the corner table, papers spread out in front of you, pretending to focus on work but really just avoiding small talk. The last thing you needed was to deal with someone interrupting your already thin patience.

That was, until Jeonghan slid into the seat across from you, his signature gremlin smile firmly in place. He looked too smug for someone who just wrapped up a grueling morning session in the courtroom. “What?” you asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in your tone.

“Relax, I’m here to bask in my own brilliance,” he replied, helping himself to the coffee you had been saving for yourself. You watched as he sipped it like he’d earned it, the audacity rolling off him in waves. The worst part was that he had earned it. Jeonghan was the only person in the firm who could win a case and steal your coffee in the same breath, and somehow, you wouldn’t want to slap him for it. Well, not entirely.

Just as you were about to retort, Seungcheol appeared, dropping a folder on the table with a thud. He looked like someone who had been wrangling a circus all day, because that's exactly what working with Dino felt like. “You’re welcome,” he said without preamble, flopping into the seat beside you. “I just spent the last hour keeping Dino from getting held in contempt.”

You snorted, finally peeling your eyes away from your notes. “That’s a full-time job.”

“He’s a trouble,” Seungcheol muttered, running a hand down his face. “And somehow, I’m the one who gets roped into damage control every time.”

Jeonghan leaned back, clearly amused. “Oh, please, as if you don't bully him enough.”

Before Seungcheol could argue, Dino appeared for the briefest moment, swaggering past your table. He shot you a grin that was one part arrogance, two parts trouble, and called out, “Don’t miss me too much!” as he disappeared into the crowd.

You didn’t even bother responding. Seungcheol groaned. “See? That’s what I’m dealing with.”

Jeonghan laughed softly, shaking his head before turning back to you. “Anyway, how’s your prep going? Or are you too busy glaring at Dino to focus?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your notes into a folder. “Prep’s fine. Unlike some people, I don’t need to cause a spectacle to win.”

Jeonghan just grinned, and Seungcheol, despite his exhaustion, chuckled. The dynamic was exhausting but damn, did it work.

The case in front of you was messy, layered with too many moving parts. Fraud, bribery, and a corporate paper trail so convoluted it felt like the legal equivalent of untangling Christmas lights. But somehow, between you, Jeonghan, and, yes, even Dino, things were starting to click. Slowly. Painfully

Jeonghan had already pointed out the glaring inconsistency in the timelines. The CEO of the accused company had claimed to be in Beijing during a key transaction, but Jeonghan’s eye caught a discrepancy in a hotel invoice. The CEO had, in fact, checked out two days earlier than he’d testified, meaning he was likely back in the city, orchestrating the whole thing. It was the kind of detail that could unravel a defense if played correctly. You had pieced together a pattern in the financial documents. The bribes weren’t direct transfers, too obvious for someone this slick. But they were funneled through fake consulting fees paid to shell companies. Shell companies you’d traced back to one of the CEO’s close associates. And Dino, well, credit where it’s due, the guy was a bloodhound when it came to witnesses. He’d managed to corner a junior executive who had been ready to deny everything until Dino dropped a few too-specific details about her involvement. Turns out, she had been the one handling the encrypted emails. Dino had gotten her to crack, and now she was teetering on the edge of flipping. Honestly, his ability to charm, intimidate, and outmaneuver people in the same breath was too impressive.

Seungcheol leaned back, rubbing his temples as he reviewed the stack of papers in front of him. Even he had to admit it was a strong case, and Seungcheol rarely handed out compliments. “This might actually work,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You glanced at Jeonghan, who was already scribbling something onto a legal pad, his mind a thousand steps ahead as always. Across the room, Dino was on the phone, probably sweet-talking the junior exec into handing over more details.

Four

The precinct always smelled like stale coffee and paperwork—if paperwork had a smell, that is. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. Or, at least, the kind of home where you constantly wanted to throw someone through a window. And today that someone was Dino, like he wasn’t a full-grown ass man but a goddamn trouble magnet with a badge.

The day had already been a shitshow. Another interview, another suspect who thought they could outsmart the system or worse, you. And it didn’t help that Dino, of all people, had been in the room, throwing in his little side comments like he was auditioning for a buddy cop movie. By the time you stormed out of the interrogation room, you were one bad comment away from losing your badge and your mind.

You headed straight for the coffee machine, the ancient beast that churned out something vaguely resembling caffeine. The cups were paper-thin, the sugar was always clumped, and the cream, if you could call it that, came in those little pods that looked like they expired sometime in the 90s. But it was coffee, and you needed it.

God, you needed it.

Just as you finished pouring your first cup and reached for a sugar packet, he appeared. You didn’t even have to look. You felt him like a storm cloud rolling in, all smug energy and shitty cologne.

“Rough day?” Dino’s voice was way too cheery for someone who had spent the last two hours watching you get stonewalled by a suspect.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Fuck off, Lee.”

Dino laughed, that low, grating chuckle that made you want to slam the coffee pot over his head. “That’s no way to talk to a teammate.”

You turned to glare at him, your hands still gripping the coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping you from committing a crime. “Teammate? You sat there and let me handle the entire interview while you played with your pen like a goddamn child.”

“I was observing,” he said, slanting against the counter. His first two buttons were unbuttoned, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and yet he still managed to look very confident. “You had it under control, right?”

“I had nothing under control, thanks to you, Detective.” you snapped. “Next time, maybe try contributing instead of sitting there like a pretty little statue.”

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?” Dino smirked, and you wanted to throw your coffee at him.

Before you could fire back, Sergeant Mingyu walked in, a towering figure with an easygoing grin. He took one look at the two of you and burst out laughing.

“Jesus Christ, you two are at it again?” Mingyu said, grabbing his own cup and shaking his head. “It’s like we're watching a rom-com, except way more violent.”

“There’s no ‘rom’ here,” you said through gritted teeth, narrowing your eyes at Dino. “Just an idiot who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“What can I say? I’ve got a thing for dangerous women.”

“Dangerous? The only thing dangerous here is you trying to do your job,” you about to fist up.

Mingyu nearly choked on his coffee, laughing so hard he had to set his cup down. “God, Dino, you’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But seriously, she’s gonna bite your head off one day.”

Dino shrugged, unbothered. “Eh, I can handle it.”

“You think you can handle it,” you muttered, turning back to the coffee machine to pour another cup.

Mingyu leaned closer, still grinning. “You know, watching you two is the best part of my day. You’re like fire and gasoline.”

“Yeah, well, one of us is about to get burned,” you said, shooting a pointed look at Dino.

That stupid smirk never leaving his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. For now.”

“Good,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee and praying it would be enough to get you through the rest of the day.

Mingyu’s voice broke. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two actually like each other.”

You glared at him. “Drink your coffee, Sergeant, before I throw it at you.”

He just laughed, shaking his head as he walked away. And you just finished your coffee, trying to shake off the heat rising in your cheeks. It’s just caffeine, you told yourself. Definitely just the caffeine.

-

It was late. Too late. Everyone else had cleared out hours ago, leaving you with a mountain of work and the ghost of Detective Lee Chan's incompetence haunting your every move. You stared at the stack of reports in front of you, each one messier than the last. Half of them didn't even make sense. Who wrote "suspect maybe had a knife, or maybe it was a gun, unclear" in an official report? Oh, right-fucking Dino. If he spent half as much time actually doing his job as he did annoying the shit out of you, you might actually get some sleep tonight.

But no. Here you were. Alone. Stuck cleaning up others' mess like always.

The door opened, and you didn't even have to look up to know who it was. That air had a very distinct energy, and it was currently barreling toward you at full force.

"What the fuck, Prosecutor?" Dino's voice cut through the silence, relentless. "Why the hell haven't you signed off on the reports?"

You didn't bother looking up. "Maybe because they're a fucking disaster, Detective."

He stalked over to your desk, his presence looming, anger radiating off him in waves. You could feel it, hot and suffocating, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking rattled.

"They're fine,” he snapped, planting his hands on the edge of your desk and leaning in. His scent hit you, the lingering smoke of too much coffee. "You're the one holding up the case.”

You finally looked up, meeting his glare head-on. "Fine? Fine? Half of these reports read like they were written by a drunk toddler. Did you even try?"

Dino's jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might actually explode. "You know what, Y/N? Fuck you. I've been busting my ass on this case while you sit here with your red pen, nitpicking every goddamn detail like it's a fucking college essay."

"Fuck me?" You shot out of your chair, slamming your hands on the desk as you leaned forward to meet him halfway. "Fuck you, Dino. Maybe if you spent less time playing the charming jackass and more time actually doing your job, I wouldn't have to clean up your mess."

His eyes narrowed, his mouth curling that only fueled your rage. "You love cleaning up my messes, admit it. Gives you something to bitch about."

"Oh, I hate you so much," you hissed.

"Not as much as I hate you," he shot back, his words a challenge, his tone daring you to push further.

You were too close. You could feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his chest rose and fell with each angry breath. Your heart was pounding, your blood boiling, and suddenly—

You kissed him.

It wasn't planned. It wasn't even conscious. One second, you were glaring at him, ready to rip him apart in chicken shreds, and the next, your lips were on his, hard and unforgiving. He froze for half a second before kissing you back just as fiercely, his hands flying up to grip your waist as if he'd been waiting for this moment all along.

"What the fuck are we doing?" Dino muttered against your mouth, his voice breathless but laced with that same infuriating cockiness.

"Shut up," you snapped, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

He kissed you harder, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip. "I'd rather kiss a cactus than deal with you, but here we are."

You pulled back just enough to glare at him. "You'd deserve the cactus."

"Yeah? Well, I'll shove that cactus down your throat if you keep talking," he shot back as his hands slid lower, gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go.

"Try it," you countered. "And I'll bury you six feet under."

"God, you're insufferable," he growled, but his lips were back on yours before you could respond, hot and demanding, his fingers digging into your sides.

The insults didn't stop. Neither did the kissing. It was a mess, angry, chaotic, and so satisfying. Every argument, every moment of pent-up frustration, every goddamn thing you hated about him poured into each kiss, each bite, each touch. And for once, Dino wasn't the only disaster in the room. But as your back hit the desk and his hands tangled in your hair, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

So this is what it feels like to lose your fucking mind.

You barely registered the edge of the desk digging into your lower back as Dino's lips worked against yours, rough and demanding. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your spine, tugging you closer like he couldn't stand even the fraction of space between you. And you were just as bad. Your fingers clawed at his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His groan vibrated against your lips, sending shivers down your spine. You pulled his hair harder this time, relishing in the pained sound he made. But it wasn't enough.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath hot. "You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"

You didn't even hesitate. "Right back at you, Detective."

His laugh was low, dark, and entirely too cocky, but you didn't have time to bite back because his mouth was on your neck now, teeth grazing your skin in a way that had your knees threatening to give out. You hated him. You really did. But god, he was good at this. Too good.

"You're killing me," he moaned against your neck, his voice filled with desire. "The fuck kind of witchcraft are you doing right now, huh?" His lips moved up to your jawline, teeth nipping slightly.

"Is this what you do with all your coworkers?"

Dino pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Only the ones who drive me fucking insane."

You rolled your eyes, but it was hard to keep up the attitude when his hands slid under your blouse, his palms aggressive and warm against your skin. He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less intense. Like he was savoring the moment or maybe just savoring your complete and utter loss of control. Bastard.

"God, I can't believe I'm doing this with you,” you muttered, breaking the kiss long enough to catch your breath.

"Trust me, sweetheart," Dino said, his voice low and teasing as his thumb traced lazy circles against your clothed nipple. "The feeling's mutual."

You opened your mouth to retort, but whatever snarky comment you had died on your lips as he leaned in again, his hands tightening on your waist. There was something about the way he kissed you—messy, desperate, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to fight you or devour you whole.

The desk creaked beneath you as he pressed closer, his hips slotting between your legs like he belonged there. You could feel his hard cock through his pant, could hear the hitch in his breath when you tugged at his tie to pull him even closer and pressed yet another kiss. He moaned into the kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened it fervently. His hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding his hardness against you. The desk shifted under the force of his movement, scattered papers fluttering to the floor. Breaking the kiss abruptly, Dino's hands slid down to grip your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. He then again stepped between your spread thighs, intentionally pressing his clothed erection firmly against your core. He unbuttoned your shirt one-handed, pushing the material off your shoulders. His mouth dropped to capture one peaked nipple while his hands unzipped your pants slowly, pushing them down your hips along with your lace panties. He spread your thighs wider, settling between them. It was too much and not enough all at once.

"You're gonna regret this tomorrow," you said, your voice shaky but defiant as you pull him into another kiss.

Dino smirked, his lips swollen and pink, his eyes dark that made your stomach squirm. "Probably," he admitted, his fingers brushing against your clit, "But right now? I don't give a fuck."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumline. But then his lips were on yours again, and whatever rational thought you'd been holding onto was gone, swept away in the chaos that was Lee Chan.

And honestly? You didn't give a fuck either.

Five

The morning after was a mess. Not because the office was chaotic, although it was but because every time you looked up, Dino was there. And every time you looked at him, you remembered.

His hands on your waist. His lips on your neck. The way he smirked at you, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and it was driving you insane.

You hated him. You really did. Except, you didn’t.

He didn’t seem fazed at all. He waltzed into the precinct, throwing out cocky smirks and one-liners like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t been pressed against your desk, fucking, the night before, completely at his mercy. Bastard.

“Morning, Prosecutor,” he said, leaning against the edge of your desk in the common shared office with your colleagues, with that infuriating grin. His tie was slightly crooked, and his hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. You refused to notice how good he looked. Absolutely refused.

“Detective,” you replied not even looking up from your papers, your tone colder than the coffee you hadn’t had time to drink.

“Sleep well?”

Your pen snapped in half.

Seungkwan, strolled by at that exact moment, taking in the scene with a raised eyebrow. “Am I interrupting... something?” he asked, his tone dripping with implication.

“No,” you said quickly.

“Yes,” Dino said at the same time.

Seungkwan looked between the two of you like he was watching the world's most entertaining soap opera. “Right,” he said slowly. “Carry on, then.”

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Dino, your glare sharp enough to cut glass. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just saying good morning. Is that a crime now?”

“Don’t push me,” you warned.

“Or what?” he countered, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You’ll kiss me again?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a split second, you saw it—the implication behind his smirk. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cocky grin, and you wanted to murder him all over again.

“Go to hell,” you muttered, shoving past him.

“See you there, sweetheart,” he called after you.

The tension only got worse as the day went on. Every time you crossed paths, it was like a live wire sparking between you. He’d brush past you in the hallway, his hand grazing your arm just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Or he’d lean over your shoulder to look at a file, his breath warm against your neck, and you’d have to fight the urge to deck him or kiss him.

By the time the case finally wrapped up that evening after three months of struggling, you were ready to explode. The courtroom had been a war zone, with the two of you throwing out arguments like grenades to the defense. But it worked. The case was a win, and you should’ve been celebrating.

Instead, you found yourself alone in your office, staring at the note on your desk.

File this under: cases where I was right (and you were hot).

You crumpled the paper in your hand, your jaw clenching, but a smile still crept through your cusses. Of course, he’d leave something like this. It was so... Dino. Cocky, smart, provoking, and always managing to get under your skin. Before you could even think about what you were doing, you stormed out of your office, the crumpled note still in your hand. You found him sitting in his office, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Seriously?” you snapped, holding up the note.

He looked up, his grin immediate. “What? I thought it was cute.”

“Cute?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You think this is cute?”

“Admit it,” he said, now standing up and stepping closer. “You smiled when you read it.”

“I did not,” you lied, your pulse racing as he closed the distance between you.

“Liar,” he said softly, his voice teasing but his eyes deadly serious.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you. All you knew you were pressed against the wall, his lips crashing into yours.

It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was messy and desperate, all teeth and tongues. His hands gripped your waist like he was afraid you might pull away, and maybe you would’ve if you weren’t so darn tired of fighting this. Fighting him.

“Still hate me?” he asked against your lips, his voice breathless.

“So much,” you managed to say, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Good,” he said, kissing you again. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the dynamic.”

And just like that, the war raged on.

The end.

[bunnibombz]

Part 5

Alpha! Simon Riley x Omega! Reader x Alpha! John Price

Warnings: Omegaverse, mentions of knots and scenting, Simon in rut

Likes,comments,and reblogs treasured like gold

Alpha! Simon who awakens one morning to the smell of his own scent. Acrid and overwhelming any other scent in the room so bad he had to look across the bed to make sure you and John were even still there. The anger and jealousy that flared in his gut at the sight of the other Alpha holding you told him everything he needed to know at that point. The rage, the sweating, and overbearing scent. His rut has finally hit for the first time in two years.

Alpha! Simon who nearly panicked at his realization. Immediately getting up out of the bed as calmly as he could despite wanting to put both of his fists through the bedframe, and made his way down the hall to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He wanted to keep you safe, and a strong rut like this with another Alpha in the house surely wasn't the way to do that.

Alpha! Simon who relaxes a bit in the shower. The cool water helping his aching muscles and keeping the brain fog away. Fighting to keeps the thoughts of mounting you on the floor and fucking you full of his cum like an animal was getting harder and harder. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever.

"Simon? Are you okay?" Your voice was coming from outside the bathroom door, you must of gotten the key.

"Fine, just... go away right now okay?" He gruffed from the partially open shower door.

"Are you sure? I-"

"Yes! Please just go". God how he didn't want to snap at you like that but he was barely hanging onto his self control. This whole thing hadn't been discussed when it came to your unique situation, why it wasn't a thought he didn't know but it put a wrench in everything. How was he going to get through this after he's had you? An Omega that is his but... isn't.

Alpha! Simon who nearly tore the door off its hinges when he smelled Price's scent outside, the other Alpha making his skin prickle with anger. It was misguided and only because of heightened instincts but at this moment he couldn't tell the difference between an actual threat.

"Simon, I can smell you across the house and now Love is upset, what is going on?"

"It's my rut Price, it hit this morning and I'm just... trying not to go crazy" Simon replied, taking deep breathes through his teeth, "I can't have her around right now, I don't feel like I can keep her safe".

"Well I've got a muzzle if you're worried about bonding too early, that should-".

"No, I don't want to hurt her, I'll deal with this myself. Drop it"

"Do you want me to take her to a hotel for a week? keep her out of the house?"

The growl that bubbled out of his chest didn't sound human. He didn't know which was worse, having you in the house and not being able to get to you, or have you away from the house and him. His stomach and chest ached at the thought of being alone. Again.

Alpha! Simon who can hear the distress in your voice from where he was pressed to the door crack in the floor. John had been trying to convince you it would be best if you both left for a week, call Johnny and have him stay with Simon. With him being a Beta he could deal with Simon and take care of him without instincts getting in the way. But you refused to leave, telling John he could go to a hotel but that you were staying right here.

"He helped us John, its not fair to leave him like this"

"Dove, he's afraid he'll hurt you"

"He WON'T hurt me. Call Johnny if you want but I'm not leaving"

Simon couldn't help but feel a bit of pride at your insistence. A strong Omega for him. God it made him want to pile drive through that door and get to you, sink his teeth in and fuck you like you deserve.

Alpha! Price who comes to Simon's door again, with a compromise.

"She's refusing to leave Simon so I've come up with a solution" he sighed, leaning against the doorframe, "I'm going back to my residence on base for the week but she's staying here in the guest room downstairs, I'm calling Mctavish over to check up on you and bring you food and water".

"I told you to take her with you" Simon growled, just barely keeping his wits about him now as he slumps against the foot of the bed on the floor, sweating bullets and trying not to pay attention to his aching canines.

"This is the only way, Simon. I'm not forcing her to do something she doesn't want, you know that, that's why Johnny is our best bet".

Simon snarled deep in chest at the thought of another male in the house, even a Beta and someone he can trust like Soap. He finally agreed, not having the patience to argue anymore.

Alpha! Simon who's startled awake from a quick rap of knuckles against his door. He had fallen asleep at the end of his bed while focusing on keep his breathing steady and not to fall into that aggressive headspace yet. Simon knew who it was immediately when he detected no scent.

"Hey LT, I'm here with the Missus now so you don' have to worry" Johnny's bright voice said from the other side, "Price left the muzzle with me too, just in case".

Simon nearly shredded the sheet carefully tucked into the bed just thinking about it. Something restraining him from putting his mouth to your flesh. The irony of him never leaving the house without his mask or balaclava but refusing the muzzle was not lost on him, but this was different. He would rather shred his skin off than have anything touching him at this point, the only thing he could tolerate being the bed sheets, his clothes in a ragged pile somewhere to the side. He listened to Johnny's footsteps as he walked away, something murmured softly, and then descending the stairs.

Alpha! Simon sat up from the bed when he heard softer steps approaching, your feet padded by socks and the carpet as you carefully made your way to his door. The movement of something dark blue being stuffed under the door had him moving to his feet. You squeaked when he caught the tips of your fingers before they disappeared, a soft laugh gracing his ears.

"Simon open the door," You said, a pleading tone to your voice as you felt his warm hand squeeze your fingers.

"No chance, Lovie" He murmured, his voice rough and gravely as your scent clouded his brain from the fabric in his hand. He recognized it as one of his own shirts, freshly washed and heavily scented. So much so that he could feel drool begin to pool behind his tongue, his hand white knuckling the shirt before he brought it up to his nose. The room seemed to spin for moment, your scent the only thing filling his lungs and you on the other side of the door the only thing keeping him from going insane.

Alpha! Simon who stays awake long enough for Johnny to deliver protein bars, dried fruits, and ice cold water bottles. Easy calories that Simon would probably barely eat. His eyes were heavy, like his body was telling him he would need the rest, barely able to keep them open as he laid across the bed with the ceiling fan on high. If he could just keep his wits and try his best to sleep maybe he could get through it this time.

Day 2 was when things started getting rough. He awoke with the sun at dawn, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, his teeth aching for something to bite into. He was a snarling mess as he sunk his teeth into his pillow as deep as they would go until the fabric ripped around his canines, shredding the pillow with a quick flex of his fingers.

Making himself cum wasn't helping, making a mess all over himself and the bed just to get no relief. When he had a small break through the brain fog he pulled the sheet off the bed, gathering the pillow fluff in it too, before unlocking the door quickly to throw it into the hall. It tempted every instinct in his body not to leave his room to go check on you, but he stopped himself with one foot out the door. He could smell your scent through the house, soft and sweet and mind numbing, but it gave him comfort, knowing you were still in the house safe. Locking the door back behind him was a real test of resolve.

"I'll get these cleaned up for you LT, you need anything?" Johnny asked a little while later when he found the sheets.

Simon only growled, knowing better than to open his mouth and ask for what he really wanted.

"Bring you some food later then, don't get in any trouble now"

Simon could hear the smile in his voice

Day 3 he woke up in the middle of the night, clock reading two am, nearly out of his mind. Everything hurt, his muscles, his teeth, the knot at the end of his cock half swelled with the tip leaking pre-cum so profusely that the sheet felt sticky underneath him. He needed some relief, something, anything. Simon flipped onto his stomach and rutted desperately against the mattress, growling and trying not to shred his last pillow. The pressure from his body pressing down onto his erection gave him a small bit of relief, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. He could do this, he could handle this, he could-

"Simon? Are you okay?"

It was as if your scent was super enhanced, flowing from under the door to flood his brain. He growled deep in his chest when you tried the doorknob.

"Go to sleep" he snarled, his words coming out in grunts and short growls. Knowing how late it was, you should be downstairs, safe and asleep and away from him.

"I can't knowing you're up here suffering for no reason" you replied, "is it the muzzle? You don't have to sleep in it".

He almost chuckled. "Go to bed. Now".

He heard you sigh and then the shuffling sound of you walking away.

It was 4 am when Simon caved.

Unlocking his door and stepping out into the hallway. He could smell the coffee you brewed in the kitchen and made his way down the stairs. He could hear Johnny snoring in the guest room, the door hanging open in case Simon called for him, though he doubted the Beta would hear him.

Simon felt his body relax finally when he saw you sitting in the kitchen, fluffy robe around you with your phone in one hand and coffee cup on the other. A deep growling purr rumbled through his chest before he could contain it, the scent of his arousal spiking.

"Lovie," he sounded pathetic in his ears, the crooning borderline whining pleaded of his voice but he couldn't help it. He was completely weak for you. "Please".

You set your cup to the side and stood up, picking up the muzzle that he didn't notice from the table.

"Come on," you said with a soft smile, taking his hand, "let's get upstairs".

Beta! Johnny who's relaxing on the couch watching a movie late in the evening day 4 when John stops by to get more clothes. The scents and sounds of you and Simon were very apparent, making John breathe a small sigh of relief.

"He's got the muzzle right?" Price asks as he tosses his bag to the floor and grabs one of the two unopened cold beers on the coffee table before sitting next to Johnny on the couch.

"I haven't found it, so it's fine," Johnny said waving off the thought, "been goin at it like rabbits all day though, nearly got my throat ripped out just goin to drop off water".

They were quiet for a few minutes, the sound of the movie just barely masking the pornographic sounds coming from upstairs.

"You know, since I'm here you could go home Soap" Price said, hoping this whole situation wasn't making him uncomfortable.

"Seriously? No way! This is great" the Beta grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. The older Alpha laughed, getting comfy in the couch, it was gonna be a long couple of days.

[blueblossomrose]

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, marriage, children, household contents, afab!fem!MC, general hcs.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Resume HCs [4]

He, without shocking anyone, already had part of his adult life planned when he graduated.

Taking over his father's business as a merchant. Money was never the problem.

The absence of financial problems made him propose to MC as quickly as one could blink.

With the wedding imminent, you continued your relationship calmly for some time.

(Even though the Al Asim family was already impatient.)

After a few years together, they had four children: three boys, Hassan, Said, Yosef and a girl: Amina.

As expected, he already had something waiting for him when he graduated.

It wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it was better than before

He still had to serve the Al Asim, but now he had a little more freedom because of Kalim.

It was difficult anyway, but as long as MC was with him, he would get over it.

MC took some of the weight off his shoulders. His family didn't object to the marriage. Najma specifically was jumping for joy.

A few years of marriage produced three children: a girl named Kali, and two boys Khalid and Naim.

© blueblossomrose 2024 , I do not allow copying/plagiarism of any of my fanfics.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 17

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You do your best to make yourself look normal. You think it might help you feel normal. If you ever can again. You haven't since your dad got sick. Now, you're certain that the change can't be undone.

You look at yourself in the mirror. The simple blue dress is one of your favourites. You've tidied your hair enough, washed your face, brushed your teeth, done everything you typically do. You slip into a pair of flats and go to the door.

Walter isn't bad. He's nice. He's only ever been nice. But how this all unfolded, doesn't feel nice.

You open the door and go downstairs. He's waiting by the window, looking out at the farm. A farm he says belongs to you and your family but is signed with his initials.

"Ready?" He asks without looking back.

Your stomach is all wobbly. Walt. The grizzly man who silently tossed around bales and climbed up onto the tractor with that bristled expression. How long had he wanted this? When did it all shift?

"Sure," you answer and grab your purse.

"Glad the storm cleared up," he turns and crosses to the doorframe. He offers his hand. You take it. "Nice day to find a ring."

"Yeah, uh, well, you know... you don't have to buy me a ring."

"I do," he insists as he opens the door and guides you through first, following close. "If we're gonna be married, I'll need to give you everything a husband's supposed to."

You hum and let him bring you down the steps. His hand tightens around yours. You stare off at the horizon.

"That's a nice dress," he says. "You look good."

"Thank you," you make yourself smile. This isn't about you; it's about your family. What's left of it.

"That'll be another thing. The dress. We can have the wedding here. Flowers, food..."

"One thing at a time," you say calmly.

"Mm, good sense," he praises as he opens the truck door for you.

He keeps his hands on yours until you're firmly in the seat. You keep your lips curved. You're practicing for a lifetime of this.

He shuts the door and goes around the hood. He's not that bad, you tell yourself again. What were your options? What did you ever expect? You never went off to school, never troubled with leaving the farm. This is what was promised. Marriage. Your family.

Your blink away the heat in your eyes. You make yourself sit straight. He climbs in the drivers side, the truck shifting. He's such a big man. You watch him clutch the shifter and crank into gear. Thick fingers, thicker arms, big chest...

You think of the night before. That warmth that radiated from him. The way he clung to you. Will there come a day when he doesn't want you? Is this all just novelty to him?

You can't tell. You don't have enough experience to. None, really. Boys, men, you flirted, you kissed a few, but you were always more interested in other things.

You let the farmland blur in your vision and the motion of the truck calms you. You know you can't back out, you can't choose what you really want, especially when you don't even know what that is.

You arrive, happy to break from your spiraling thoughts. The world seems so small, time so short, everything is stunted by the certainty in his movement. He comes around to help you down. You thank him again.

His hand goes to your lower back, fingers curling around your side, a declaration of who you belong to. You feel the gaze of an older pair of women as they pass. The jeweler is the only in the city, sharing their space with Karen, the seamstress. Junior, the man behind the counter of gems and bands, greets Walter by name, then you.

"How's your pa?" He asks.

"He's... still recovering," you answer as you hug yourself.

"His old watch actin' up again?"

"No..." you trail off and stare at the wall.

Walter clears his throat. He moves you closer to the counter. Your body sears as you're certain both the jeweler and the seamstress notice.

"We're here to find a ring."

"A ring?" Junior scoffs. "Walter, you're serious?"

"My, my," Karen whispers.

"Afraid I jumped before I looked," Walt chuckles. "But she'll need one."

"A band too. One for each of ya," Junior goes into selling mode.

"Sure," Walt agrees and finally unsnakes his arm from around you. "What're you thinking, sweetheart? Diamond?"

"That's classic. Got all sorts of cuts and I can always work on them," Junior explains as he reaches under and brings out a board of rings. "We also got some amethyst, sapphire, all sorts of gems. You know, people are heading away from diamonds." He explains.

"Mhmm," Walt nods as he gives a thoughtful look to the collection. "Well..." He nudges you softly.

"I like them all, I can hardly choose," you say.

"What shape you like?" Junior asks, "teardrop?" He points to one, "princess?" He goes through several and you shrug again. You don't know. It all looks so expensive.

"Do you have anything... smaller?" You ask.

"Small?" Junior frowns.

"Well, yeah, I mean..." you glance at Walt, "living on the farm..."

"Ah, right, well, I got this antique the other day. Got a fresh band on it but it wasn't really meant to be an engagement ring," he puts the board back and shuffles around behind him.

He turns back to you with a slender band and a small sparkling stone. The diamond is set into the crook of the subtle crisscross. It's pretty but not too much. 

"Come on, try it," Junior waves you closer.

You put your hand out and let him slip it on your finger. You look at it. It's light as a feather but feels as heavy as a boulder. You gulp and nearly sway. Walt leans in to see it.

"I like it," he growls. "Suits you nice."

"Yeah, it's... it's... beautiful," you eke out.

It's the perfect seal for your fate.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Time changes everything. Interviews used to take place indoors, in studios, or in booked hotel rooms. The questions were serious—focused on economics, politics, or other weighty topics. Back then, only experts or public figures were deemed worthy of being interviewed.

But now, thanks to social media, interviews can happen anywhere. They’re no longer the domain of reporters or TV stations. Instead, anyone with a phone, a camera, and a microphone can conduct an impromptu interview in random places.

These spontaneous interviews often gain far more attention than their polished, scripted counterparts on TV. On the streets, people are asked silly, lighthearted questions, and their candid, often hilarious answers resonate more with viewers. They feel authentic and relatable, unlike the carefully curated responses of experts.

Some people never imagine their offhand comments will make them go viral. Take the girl who became famous overnight for her absurd response to a random question—she jokingly told someone to spit. It was ridiculous, but human nature is unpredictable. The absurdity drew millions of viewers, and just like that, she became an internet sensation.

Today, another viral moment is taking over the internet. The current trend? A simple, loaded question:

“If you were offered 1 million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Many people, interviewed alongside their partners, responded with sweet or heartfelt answers. But one woman gave a response that stopped everyone in their tracks:

“Give me 1 dollar. I’ll leave him this second.”

And the interviewer handed her the one dollar.

Her comment sparked chaos online. Most people laughed, seeing it as a joke and sharing it for its sheer absurdity:

“LMAO, this girl is my spirit animal!”

“She’s not wrong, though. 😂 Relationships are overrated!”

“The audacity! 😂😂😂”

However, not everyone found it funny:

“This is what’s wrong with society—no loyalty anymore.”

“Imagine being her partner and seeing this. Yikes.”

“If this is how people think these days, I’ll stay single forever.”

But there was one man who didn’t find it amusing at all.

He replayed the video, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. The room was silent except for the faint hum of his phone’s speaker. His piercing gaze flicked to the woman sitting across from him as the video looped again.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t paid attention to what was happening online. As the CEO of the Lena Group, a leader in car and chip manufacturing, his schedule left little time for distractions. It wasn’t until his secretary and his mother mentioned the viral uproar that he decided to investigate.

Watching the clip now, he felt a surge of disbelief. Shock. Anger. He had worked tirelessly to build his empire, and yet here she was, casually dismissing him with a joke to a stranger.

“So,” he said, his voice cold as he set the phone down on the table, “you think I’m worth one dollar?”

She didn’t flinch under his icy glare. Instead, she calmly lifted her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as if his words carried no weight.

Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that I think about it,” she said, her tone casual, “70% discount sounds fair.”

His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his voice sharper now.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m tired, Bucky. I’ve had enough.”

The room felt heavier, the unspoken words between them thickening the air.

His jaw clenched as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of humor, anything to suggest you didn’t mean it. But there was none. Only calm resolve.

He looked at you—the woman he had married two years ago. The truth was, this wasn’t an ordinary marriage. It was what people called a contract marriage. But to Bucky, it was just business. Marriages forged to benefit two businesses had existed for ages, after all.

The so-called marriage contract was simply a guideline—a formal agreement to ensure both parties understood the terms, what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Many people chose contract durations of three or six years before going their separate ways. But Bucky had kept it simpler: a one-year contract, renewable if his wife agreed.

The reason he opted for this arrangement was to avoid the casualties of love. He’d seen it firsthand—his parents, who had started with love, had eventually torn each other apart, not literally, but close enough to leave scars on everyone involved. It was enough to make Bucky swear off traditional marriage altogether.

But his grandfather had other plans. “If you don’t marry, you’ll never inherit the company,” his grandfather had declared, determined to ensure his legacy stayed within the family. Having watched his son—a serial adulterer—destroy the family’s reputation, the old man had become obsessed with the idea of keeping his grandson grounded.

Bucky, however, had no interest in marriage. He had no desire for emotional entanglements or the drama that came with them. Yet his grandfather’s ultimatum left him with no choice. If he wanted to lead the company, he had to marry.

That was when he turned to a matchmaker agency, one well-known among his wealthy peers. It wasn’t cheap, but the agency had stellar testimonials, and they assured him they could find the perfect partner.

And they did.

That’s where he met you. You, too, were looking for something unconventional. You weren’t interested in traditional marriage and came from a good family background, which made introducing you to his parents remarkably easy. Despite his parents’ separation, you navigated the introductions with grace, impressing his mother and, surprisingly, his father.

The wedding happened quickly. You were the ideal partner—easygoing, understanding, and undemanding. When the first year of the contract ended, Bucky asked if you wanted to continue. You had simply smiled and said, “Yes.”

To him, that was enough.

Two years had passed since then, and he thought everything was fine. You never complained, never asked for anything more than the life you had agreed upon. He thought you were content. He thought you were okay.

But now, standing before you on the last day of the contract, he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of your quiet satisfaction with your answer in that viral video.

He stared at you, confused and hurt. “Why did you say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Why give that answer? I thought everything was fine.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you glanced at your watch, casually checking the time. “I’m not,” you said, your voice calm, almost detached. “At 12 a.m., our marriage contract will be over. By tomorrow morning, I won’t be here.”

His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. He reached for the black tea you had placed in front of him earlier, taking a sip. It had gone lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, a temperature he despised. It mirrored the hollow, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his chest.

Finally, he set the cup down with a dull clink. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice firmer now, though tinged with weariness.

You said nothing in return, merely turned and walked away.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, when he woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains. His eyes flicked to the clock on his nightstand—10 a.m. He sat up abruptly, his head spinning slightly from the sudden movement.

He rarely ever slept this late. For years, he had trained himself to wake by 5 a.m., no matter how little sleep he’d had the night before. Even on his most exhausting days, he never overslept. At most, he might sleep in until 6 or 7 a.m., but 10? Never.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece it together. What had made him sleep like this? He thought back to the night before, to your calm words, to the tea…

His hands froze mid-motion. The tea.

A surge of realization hit him. You drugged him.

He swung his legs out of bed, his movements sharp and full of urgency. Throwing on a robe, he stormed out of the bedroom, his voice cutting through the quiet house. “Where is she?”

The housemaid appeared, her expression hesitant and unsure. “She left, sir. Early this morning.”

His jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And she didn’t say anything? Not a word?”

The maid paused, then held out a small item. “She left this, sir.”

He grabbed the velvet box from her hand, his chest tightening as he opened it. His breath caught at the sight of your wedding ring nestled inside.

For two years, he had worn his own wedding ring daily, thinking of it as nothing more than a piece of jewelry. But now, staring at your ring, it felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of your departure.

Inside the ring box, you left the same crumpled dollar bill. It sat there like a cruel punchline, mocking everything he thought both of you had built together—a final, silent reminder of just how little she thought he was worth.

He set the box down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on the wardrobe, he froze. It was still full. You hadn’t taken a single thing.

His mind raced. Where could you have gone? How did you vanish so quickly?

He reached for his phone, dialing his security team with shaky fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Where is she?” he barked, his voice tight with frustration, the tension unmistakable.

The security officer on the other end hesitated. “Mrs. told us… madam wanted to meet her.”

His brows furrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in another state.”

That meant only one thing. You had gone to the airport.

“Did she take the private jet or a commercial plane?” he demanded.

“Commercial, sir. It was a last-minute trip, and we hadn’t prepared the jet.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as frustration surged within him. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the sheer incompetence of his team. You fucking idiot. The words pounded in his mind, but he bit them back, forcing himself to stay composed.

“Who bought the ticket?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“It was Mrs. who purchased the ticket herself.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He wanted nothing more than to explode, but he kept his voice steady. “Find out where she went.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed his mother. The line connected after a single ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said briskly. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Did you ask her to meet you?”

“Me? No, I—”

He ended the call before she could finish. That ruled out her involvement.

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. If you had boarded a plane, he could easily track your destination. But the other option loomed: that the airport was a decoy. You had used his mother’s name as an excuse, ensuring your movements would go undetected by his security team, who clearly hadn’t been following you as closely as they did him.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. The confirmation from his team came through, and the news made his blood boil.

“Mrs. bought a plane ticket but didn’t get on the plane,” the head of security reported.

“Did you check the surveillance cameras?” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed the footage. There’s a woman with a similar appearance to madam who rented a car at the airport.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly to keep his temper in check. So, it’s option two. You’re still in the same state.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, pacing the room. He could feel the tension radiating through his body. “At least you didn’t go far.”

Without wasting another second, he barked into the phone, “Chase the car. Check every schedule she might have left behind, and contact her friends. I want updates—fast.”

Ending the call, he threw the phone onto his desk with a sharp clatter. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the desk, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. For someone who always had the upper hand, this was new territory. And he hated it.

Bucky sat in his office chair, staring at the empty ring box on his desk. His mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why had you suddenly left without a word? Both of you had been such a good team—practical, efficient, and untroubled by the complications that plagued most marriages. At least, that’s what he thought.

If he could, he would turn back time and relive the past few months, examining every moment you’d spent together. Had he missed something? Made a mistake? Or had something happened that he was completely unaware of? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“We found her. But…”

“What?!” he barked, standing abruptly.

“It’s not Mrs.,” the security team clarified hesitantly.

A chill ran down his spine. “Then who is it?”

“It’s her friend, sir.”

His stomach tightened, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt a flicker of fear. He thought he was closing in, that you were still within his reach. But now, you were out of his watch, slipping further away with every passing second.

“Secure her. I’m going to meet her,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

“Yes, sir.”

"Prepare the car," Bucky ordered, his voice cold and demanding.

"But, sir, you have a meeting at 2 p.m", his assistant replied, hesitant.

Bucky shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening.

The assistant quicklu nodded. "I'll reschedule it, sir," he muttered avoiding Bucky's piercing gaze.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Minutes later, Bucky arrived at a quiet café where Grace was waiting under the watchful eye of his security team. The moment he saw her, he recognized her immediately—your friend, the one who had attended your wedding. Grace was the only person you had trusted with the details of this marriage contract.

Bucky approached the table, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing inside him.

“Where is she?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t fully mask.

Grace avoided his gaze, staring down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I could raise my voice at you, but I won’t. Grace, please. Tell me where she is.”

Grace finally looked up, her expression guarded. “As far as I know, last night was the last day of your marriage. Today, she’s a free woman.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Bucky’s mask slipped. He stared at her, bewildered, the weight of everything sinking in. What had he done to make you leave? Had he overlooked something so significant? And why did Grace seem to despise him so much?

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again. He stepped aside to take the call, his jaw tightening as he listened.

“Sir, we’ve reviewed additional footage. Mrs. used Grace’s ID to purchase another ticket. She’s already on the plane.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened. His gaze snapped back to Grace, who was now watching him warily.

“Grace,” he began, his voice sharper this time. “I’m asking you again. Where is she?”

Grace shook her head, her tone calm but firm. “I don’t know.”

His frustration boiled over. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table as he stared her down. “Don’t lie to me, Grace.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. You don’t know anything about her.”

Her words struck a nerve, leaving him momentarily speechless. He straightened, trying to collect himself, but his mind was racing. Don’t know anything about her? He hated the implication.

“She trusted you,” he said, his voice low. “You were the only one who knew about the arrangement, the only one she confided in.”

“And that’s why I won’t betray her trust now,” Grace replied evenly.

Author Note: Do you found this interesting? Would you like it to be continued?

[nickfowlerrr]

something good and true - part 3

part one / part two / part four

pairing: mob boss!bucky x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 5.5k

notes: the way almost none of this was in the original draft of what i was planning on posting lol 😂 thank you for your patience as i reworked and added a bunch of stuff to this little mini series of sorts! i hope you like it. feel free to share your thoughts and comments. thank you for reading and as always, reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated. enjoy! 🩵

The dinner was lovely, and the company too.

You don’t think you’ve ever had such a simple dish taste quite that good, or had conversations quite that interesting. Bucky really is as much a charmer as he’s been said to be.

He had a lot of questions about you and answered some of your own. Your rapport was easy, though you already expected from your previous conversations at the restaurant that it would be. You don’t know how you lose yourself so easily when you talk with him, and actually, lose isn’t the best word. There’s a kind of ease when you’re talking to him that has you fully being you. Aside from your usual shyness that shows through now and again, you speak with him without hesitation. Like you’re on the same level, though you know you’re nowhere near Bucky’s status and stature.

Still, you have similar outlooks on life, and seem to communicate and think in similar ways. By the time he was driving you home, you had almost completely forgotten about his social status and were in part failing to realize that you indeed had just had dinner with the city’s notorious mob boss.

There were certain things throughout the dinner that did remind you of that fact now and again, though. Not always what he said, but what he wouldn’t…

It was a quiet moment, a lull in your conversation when you decided to just ask. Your dad refused to tell you, and you had all but let it go, until Bucky said what he did about his guys finding Freddy. You don’t know what morbid curiosity was nipping at you, but some odd little part of you wanted to know.

“Can I ask,” you began slowly, unsure you really did want the mental picture, “where you found him?”

He looked at you, and seemed to have a split second of contemplation before he answered quite simply and calmly.

“No.”

You blinked down from his gaze to your plate, wetting your lip out of habit. You were kind of expecting that, but still. You picked up your fork and returned his stare, about to ask him why, when he continued and stopped you before you could question him.

“You don’t need’a know that, doll. You know, your dad probably didn’t tell you for a reason. Wasn’t exactly a pretty find.”

You swallowed the bite you had taken and watched as he took a sip of his drink. You didn’t push any further, and you had a feeling you wouldn’t have gotten much of anywhere if you had.

There were other questions you had asked, too, that he would only give a vague answer to, or evade completely.

“I won’t ever lie to you, sweetheart,” he had said. “But there’s just some things you’re better off not knowing.”

You couldn’t argue with that, and you knew he meant it when he said he wouldn’t lie.

His reputation precedes him, and he’s known to be a man of his word. Granted, those words are usually cold, callous certainties spoken to anyone who’d be dumb enough to try and cross him or do dirty work behind his back. Everyone’s heard the stories.

You’re fortunate that all his words toward you have been the complete opposite. It’s almost funny how safe you find yourself feeling around the man whose name alone struck fear in you just a few months ago. You can’t imagine feeling that way about or around him now.

He drove you home, a little later than you’d expected to be back but you didn’t really mind, and like he always did, he opened the car door for you, helped you out, and walked you to your front door.

You got the niceties out as you stood before him after unlocking your front door, the twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes momentarily holding you captive.

”Sorry I kept you so late,” he apologized.

“No, don’t be,” you shook your head lightly, “It was…good,” you breathed. “Talking with you was good. And the food was good,” you felt yourself on the verge of a ramble but couldn’t stop yourself, “It was-“

“Good?” he cut you off with a playful smirk. You felt your face heat up as your stomach fluttered.

“Yeah,” you smiled demurely, looking down at your feet for a second.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he said, “so did I.” You looked up to meet his eye again as he continued, “I like spending time with you. Hopefully we can do it again.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly and you took a breath before forcing yourself to swallow and your tongue to move. “I would like that,” you nodded.

“Good,” he simpered. You bit on your small smile in return. “I’ll be seeing you then.” He reached for your free hand, taking it gently in his as he raised it up to his lips, your breath stuttering as you watched him. He placed a delicate kiss on your hand, his blue eyes meeting your gaze as he did. “Sleep easy, sweetheart,” he said as he lowered your hand, squeezing it just a touch before he took a step back. “And happy Valentine’s Day,” he added as you pushed your door in.

“Happy Valentine’s,” you returned. “Have a good rest of your night.”

He gave you a crooked smile as he backed up further and you found yourself smiling again too as you closed the door and locked it behind yourself. You watched from the peephole as he walked to his car and waited until he pulled away to head to your room to start your nighttime routine.

Sleep came easier than it had in a long while.

-

You woke up in the morning to find a text message from an unsaved number. Unlocking your phone to read it, a giddiness came over you as you read the first sentence and realized who it was from.

Morning, doll. I hope you had a good night. I know it’s early, but call me when you can.

You were a little confused as to why he wanted you to call him, your mind wandering with the possibilities as you got out of bed, but of course you would.

He’d sent the message about an hour ago and it was barely half past 7 now. He must’ve been up really early and a bit of guilt for staying at his house so late nips at you. He’s a busy man and here you are taking up his time.

But, he is the one who asked you to dinner for reasons other than just getting the whole story about Freddy. He said himself that he wanted to have dinner with you, it wasn’t an obligation.

And this is him asking you to call him, not you invading on his morning.

A part of you wants to call right now, feeling like you’ve kept him waiting long enough, but another part of you - a stronger part - wants you to brush your teeth and not deviate from your daily getting readies. You can call him in twenty minutes, you’re sure it’ll be fine.

It’s minutes away from being 8 when you’re done with your brushing and skin care and you still wear your pajamas as you make your way down the hall to the kitchen, your phone in hand. You click on the still unsaved number, making a note to store it after the call. You dial and then put it on speaker as you listen to the usual tone and wait for an answer. It’s not long before you get one.

“Barnes,” his gruff voice comes through your cell. You’ve never heard him sound quite like that before, but you’re not entirely taken aback. This must be the Bucky most people are used to. You nibble on your lip as you grab a clean mug from the cabinet, holding your phone close to you as you multitask.

“Bucky?” you say, curious to see if his tone will change.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, causing a smile to break out on your face at the abrupt change. His voice sounds smoother, and you don’t picture him looking so stoic or angry as you did a second ago. ”Sorry, I didn’t check who was calling before I answered. Been a busy morning.”

“It’s okay,” you ease as you put in a pod for your coffee. “I’m sorry I had you out so late. I didn’t realize you had to be up early, I would’ve tried to leave before.”

“No, don’t worry about it. ‘M used to early mornings. And I wouldn't ’ave wanted you to leave any sooner as it was.”

You smile at his words as your coffee starts to sputter, filling your mug three quarters full.

He continues, “Look, doll, I’m not gonna be around for the next couple days. Have some business to take care of outta town, but I wanted to call you before I got too busy to set something up for next week.”

“Oh,” you say, brows raised.

“I don’t wanna rush you here, sweetheart, so feel free to tell me what you’re thinkin’. If next week is too soon, I can wait… I think I’m just used to seeing you at least once a week now,” he chuckles softly. “And I do wanna see you again - even more now than I usually find myself wanting to, after last night.”

“I think I’m used to seeing you weekly, too,” you smile, laughing lightly. “Next week’s not too soon, I - yeah, I wanna see you too.”

“You free Tuesday?”

“I have a feeling you already know that I am,” you answer, earning a short, huffed laugh from Bucky on the other end.

“I was giving you an out if you wanted it.”

“Well I don’t.” The reply leaves your lips faster than you even realize, but it’s true. ”So, Tuesday?”

“How’s 2?”

“2 works.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay,” you reply simply, smiling softly down at the mug you’ve set on the counter, still steaming. Bucky sighs, sounding a bit agitated as you hear a car door open in the background.

“Alright, well, as much as I’d like to stay on a little longer, I gotta go, doll.” Your smile falls just slightly as he goes on, “I’ll see you on Tuesday. And if you need anything in the meantime, anything comes up, you call me.”

“Yeah, okay. I will,” you murmur, wrapping your mind around his words and trying to name the feeling they’ve sent through you. “Talk to you later, then,” you trail off softly. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he bids, ending the call right after.

You readjust your hold on the phone and save Bucky to a new contact before setting it down completely.

Tuesday it is.

You take a drink from your mug. Now, what does one wear to a lunch date?

-

It was a long weekend. You spent Saturday not doing much aside from cleaning and catching up on some TV, while Sunday saw you going over to your parent’s for breakfast and then lounging the rest of the day away in the comfort of your own home. Sunday night, though, you received a text from Bucky that had that warm giddy feeling filling your chest, and that familiar fluttering flying in your tummy. It was simple, but so sweet.

Hope you had a good weekend, sweetheart. Was just thinking about you, wanted to wish you a goodnight.

Monday, you had work that evening but spent the earlier part of your day finalizing your outfit. The restaurant was slow but you still ended the night with a nice amount of tips. When you got home you followed your typical routine as normal and just as you were getting into bed, your phone started to ring. Your brows scrunched as you pulled it from where it was charging and upon seeing Bucky’s name on the screen, answered with your heart ticking a little faster despite yourself.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you answered a bit trepidatiously. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he reassured right away. “I was getting ready for bed and realized I hadn’t confirmed with you for tomorrow. 2 still work for you?”

“Oh,” you breathed a little easier, “yeah, it does… I’m looking forward to it,” you said before biting your lip. Was that silly to say? You wondered briefly before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, and you swore you could hear a hint of a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Sorry I couldn’t call earlier, I got held up with some business.”

“That’s okay, I was at work most of the day, I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer if you had.”

“Right,” he said before you heard what sounded like a water faucet being turned on. “How was your shift?”

You were a little surprised at the question, just not having expected it, but you answered in turn. The conversation lasted a little while as you both talked briefly about your days - all the while you heard what you assumed was Bucky going about his washroom getting ready for bed like he said he had been doing. It was oddly familiar, but not in a bad way. Just, comfortable. The way he spoke to you, like he genuinely cared about what you had to say, about how your day went, it lit something inside you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. It was the feeling that you really, truly were cared for. That someone wanted to know about your day, not just because they wanted to get in your pants, but because they were genuinely interested in you.

You went to bed with a smile as Bucky wished you a good night, his low soothing timber reminding you he’d be seeing you tomorrow before you ended the call.

-

You’re dressed and ready for lunch half an hour early, the buzzing excitement you’re trying hard to not let overwhelm you causing you to move faster than you normally do on your days off.

Instead of sitting impatiently on the couch, checking the time every other minute, you decide to get some air and wait out on the porch.

It’s a nice afternoon, a light easy breeze drifting through the cool, sunny day as you sit. The sun is out but it’s still early spring, so not too warm yet. You wear a sundress that hits just above your knees and your pair of walkable, low heeled sandals.

You sit back with a sigh, close your eyes, and take some breaths. The time passes by faster after your eyes fall shut, a warm tiredness washing over you as the sun shines near. You’re like a cat in a window. You manage to rest your eyes for about fifteen minutes before you wake yourself up. You pull your phone from your purse and decide to spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through your socials.

Your head perks up as you hear a car approaching and you move to see Bucky coming down your way. You stand as he pulls in front of your house and start to make your way to his car as he gets out himself. You meet at the car door as he stands before you.

“Hey, doll,” he greets with a half smile, coming close to kiss your cheek softly, then pulling away and meeting your twinkling eyes as you gaze at him.

“Hi,” you return, sounding a little more affected by the simple gesture than you maybe wanted to.

“You look beautiful as always,” he compliments as he opens the door for you, helping you in.

You respond when he gets back in on his side. “You look really nice,” you admire in turn, earning a charming grin from him as he pulls away from your house.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says as you watch him drive. He wears a nice pair of dark trousers, a white tee, and a white, undone short sleeve button up over it. His beard is short and well kept as usual, his dark hair pushed back and kept there with his sunglasses on his head. You see a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his shirt as he mindlessly wets his lips, making sure he’s clear to turn from the stop you’re at. He glances over at you as he turns and catches your stare, his lips tilting up as you smile shyly at being caught.

This is the most casual you’ve ever seen him, and you really like it. He looks incredible in a suit, but there’s something about him right now that feels a little more free, and maybe a little more him.

When Bucky pulls up to the front of the restaurant, there is a valet waiting. A young man opens your door for you and as you get out, Bucky is there to take your hand. He passes off his key to the man he thanks by name before he leads you to the entrance.

“Mr. Barnes,” a pretty blonde greets at the front, “lovely to see you again. Miss.,” she greets you with a smile. “Your table is right this way.”

You don’t even realize your hand is still in his as he guides you to follow behind the woman, not until you get to the seating area. It’s almost instantaneous, all eyes on you and Bucky the second you enter the area. You try not to look at anyone yourself as your hand squeezes Bucky’s a little tighter without thought. He pulls you almost imperceptibly closer to him as you walk hand in hand to the table reserved for him.

He pulls your seat out and pushes you in once you’re sat before taking his own across from you.

“Here are your menus,” she says as she places them before you both, “your server will be right with you, but can I get your drinks started for you in the meantime?”

“I’ll take a water, please,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I’ll have water, as well,” Bucky says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll get those right away.”

You watch the blonde as she flits away and then feel Bucky’s eyes on you. You turn to him with curious eyes as you grab the menu to pursue. “What?” you say with a light laugh.

He takes a second before he responds, then gives a small shake of his head, “Nothing.” He grabs his own menu and continues as you both look it over, “Have you been here before?”

“Here?” you ask, almost disbelieving the question. “Uh, no,” you answer honestly, “I think it’s just a bit outta my tax bracket,” you joke.

He smiles at you across the table, but really the distance isn’t all that far.

“I have always wanted to eat here, though. I’ve heard good things.”

“Yeah, they have some quality options. And don’t worry about the prices, order whatever you like, please.”

You exchange a glance and an easy smile before you continue browsing the menu.

Not even a minute later do you find yourselves being interrupted.

You’re a little startled at first as a man makes his presence known at the table, you don’t know how you missed him walking up to begin with, but you did. He’s average height, with an athletic build. Medium brown hair, brown eyes, and clean shaven. He wears a suit and tie that speaks to his class and an expensive watch on his wrist. You’ve never seen him before, at least not in person, but he looks oddly familiar. You think he might be that attorney with the commercials that play everywhere all over town. You can’t remember his name. Not that that is your concern at all at the moment. You felt the energy change the instant he got to your table. The man looks a little miffed, but also a little unsure in his actions, as he looks at Bucky. Your eyes are on him as you wait for him to speak.

“Mr. Barnes. David Dunlap,” he introduces himself, “I have been trying to get in contact with you for almost three weeks n-“

Your eyes shoot to Bucky at Dunlap’s abrupt silence and see that he’s raised his hand in pause. There’s a harshness in Bucky’s gaze that cuts through the man before him as he makes him stand in his silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. His face is stone before he speaks, unsettlingly calm, with an edge to it.

“You see the lady sitting right here across from me?”

David nods slowly, changing a glance at you.

“Why don’t you show some respect and start off by apologizing for startling her and interrupting our lunch.”

David’s eyes find you again, a little wider now than they were a second ago. He swallows thickly before he does just that. “Excuse me, miss, for the interruption. I certainly didn't mean to startle you, I’m very sorry.”

You don’t know what to say, you just give a small nod and a tight lipped but polite smile before your eyes find Bucky’s again.

“Great. You do have manners. Now take a second and ask yourself, do I really look like I’m here to do business right now? And even if I were, do you really think it’s a good idea to come approach me the way you just did?” He waits a second for a response he doesn’t get before continuing, “Right. Why don’t you keep using those manners of yours, go back to your table, enjoy your lunch, and continue to wait patiently, like half the other people here, until someone at my organization returns your calls.”

“I understand I’m not the only one trying to reach you, sir,” the man starts again, sounding overly agitated as he turns more toward Bucky, knocking the table on your side a bit as he does. The second you recoil from the bump, just out of surprise at the table moving, Bucky is out of his seat, easily standing taller than Dunlap; his jaw set and his eyes dead on him.

“Step away from the table,” Bucky says. His voice is low and deadly and you can hear his ire as clearly as you can see it in his eyes.

Your gaze is only on Bucky as you find yourself entranced by him.

You sense Dunlap step further away, a fast apology spilling out past his lips.

“Go finish your lunch, tip your server, and stay the hell outta my line of sight while you do it.” His voice remains steady as he speaks clearly, “I’m with company, so I’m bein’ nice, but the next time you forget who you’re talking to when you’re speaking to me, the next time I have to repeat myself,” his warning goes unfinished as Dunlap cuts him off by rushing out another apology - his previous agitation now gone completely in favor of a more submissive, and even scared, tone as he tries to appease the domineering man before him. He leaves quickly, and with an assurance of his understanding as he does.

It’s only then you realize the place had gone silent at the unexpected interaction. There’s not many eyes on you, people know better than to stare right now, but you know they were all fully listening. The silence though is quickly replaced by the return of idle lunch chatter as Bucky sits once more. He fixes his shirt as he does, and meets your enraptured gaze as you watch him. You feel flustered and a little embarrassed by how attractive you actually found that display of dominance and authority.

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” he apologizes.

“Please, don’t be,” you say with quick reassurance, looking into his eyes. “I uhm,” you swallow, hoping he can’t somehow read your thoughts and figure out exactly what it is that you’re thinking, “I thought you shut that down well. But I appreciate the apologies,” you add with a smile. “Yours and his.”

Your waiter approaches with your waters and apologizes themselves for the disturbance you experienced at the hands of another guest. They assure Bucky they’re handling him as well and he won’t be dealing with that again, not that Bucky is worried about it in the slightest. You both place your orders and are thankfully able to continue with your lunch as normal. Or as normal as a lunch date with a mob boss can be. The curious glances and whispers can only be so ignored…

Bucky paid the bill, of course, and you thanked him for lunch as he took your hand and walked you out to his awaiting car.

“I’m sorry again about what happened earlier,” he apologizes when he gets in, your brows furrowing at his words. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen often, but it does happen - now and again.” He begins to drive off but you can tell there’s something more he wants to say, so you wait for him to say it.

“Comes with the job. The life,” he looks at you, a bit pointedly, and you think you know what he’s getting at. “I’m not trying to scare you or make you uncomfortable, I just don’t want you to slip too far into something you don’t really want to be a part of.”

“…Your life?”, you clarify.

He looks at you again and without saying anything, you know his answer is a yes.

“I’m not under any illusions about what it is you do, Bucky; who you are to people, the life you live. If I was uncomfortable, or I didn’t want to be around you, you would know it. And for the record,” you add, “I feel the complete opposite of scared when I’m with you. Like earlier, I… I like that side of you, too.”

He eyes you as he drives and sports a half smirk at your words, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile shyly back.

-

You thought lunch was the only thing on the table today, but when Bucky asked if you wanted to go to the art museum as you came up on it, you were more than happy to say yes. You probably would’ve said yes to anything he suggested, really. You didn’t want to go home and say goodbye so soon.

The museum wasn’t too busy so you really took your time wandering the exhibits, admiring the artwork and sharing your thoughts on certain pieces that really spoke to you.

You knew Bucky was a smart man, but you didn’t know to what extent. He was quite the historian, sharing facts and giving you background on certain artists and historical events you’d never studied before yourself. He seemed a real patron of the humanities and it added another level to him entirely. You thought back to the artwork that adorned the walls of his home and were now more interested than before on why he’d chosen to display the pieces he did. What they meant to him, why he liked them. You wanted to hear his thoughts. Suddenly, you wanted to know his thoughts on everything, really. You could listen to him talk for hours.

Eventually, after walking the whole museum, you made your way back to the entrance and then to the parking garage.

Bucky led you to the car as you walked close to his side. You felt…happy. Genuinely happy. His hand brushed yours as you walked and though the distance to his car was relatively short, he still took your hand in his as he led the rest of the way; helping you in when you reached it.

There was a weird kind of excitement buzzing around you as he drove you home. And along with it, an odd kind of contentment. It all felt so new, and yet so safe.

When Bucky pulled up to your house, around 5:30, he got out to open your door for you, offering you his hand as you moved to stand. You took it with a soft smile and met his ocean blue gaze, “Thank you.” As you began up the way to your front door, you spoke again, “I had a really nice time today, Bucky.”

You were walking awfully slowly, side by side, wanting to spend as much more time with him as you could before you’d call the date officially over with your goodbyes.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he agreed with a simpering smile while he looked at you.

He walked you all the way to your door and as you unlocked it, you had a thought. Turning to face him once again you decided to just ask.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?”

He takes a breath then released it heavily, “Ah, I wish I could,” he says almost wistfully. “I have a business dinner. Next time,” he assures. It’s not a question, it’s a promise. You’re a little disappointed to have to say bye now, but you understand.

“Okay,” you agree with a demure smile.

“Okay,” he echoes with a lopsided smile of his own.

You both stay standing in front of one another for a long moment, neither of you wanting to leave, and after a second, you unthinkingly let your eyes leave his, trailing down and landing on his lips. You realize instantly just how badly you want to kiss him.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, only to find his gaze on your own lips instead. You think for a second that he might kiss you, but then you see the hesitation, the restraint as he mindlessly wets his lips before biting his own lip gently and letting it go.

You know then why he has yet to kiss you. He doesn’t want to rush you into anything and you’re getting the feeling he’s waiting for you to make the first move, to let him know what it is you want.

You take a breath, mustering up your courage and confidence as you slowly inch closer to him. You don’t think you’ve ever made the first move on anyone before. God, this is kinda nerve wracking…

Bucky is still, not moving as he watches you take a step closer, leaving very little distance between you now.

You look in his eyes and it’s like he can read your mind. You’re breathing just a little heavier now as his eyes float down to your lips once again, telling you it’s what he wants, too.

You angle yourself, tilting to kiss him. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact of his lips on your and it’s less than a second before Bucky is kissing you back. It’s soft, and sweet, and at the same time, so charged. Bucky reaches to hold your face with one hand and gently places the other on your waist as you kiss him a little deeper. Your own hands find their way around his neck, your fingers slipping into his hair as the kiss grows more sensual and you seem to pull each other closer still. You wouldn’t mind staying there with him all night but you have to part to take a breath.

With your nose against his, your eyes still shut as you catch a breath, bodies still close, lips not too far apart, you breathe a quiet question.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come in?”, you ask, sounding a little drunk off the kiss already as you press your lips to his again, soft once more. You can feel his smirk at your question as he kisses you back before he breaks it with a groan. Your eyes blink open as you watch him.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he grouses in jest, pressing his forehead to yours as he holds you to him, his hand gently squeezing the soft curve of your waist before his thumb smooths soothingly over the fabric of your dress. “You know I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

You can’t help your own soft smile as you apologize with a titter, “I’m sorry.”

He breathes a soft laugh, pulling away from you ever so slightly, “I don't think you are.”

He lets his thumb rub your cheek, looking in your eyes as if to check in with you before he leans closer once more, kissing you gently. He pulls away fully then, though his hands linger as he does, slipping softly off your cheek first, but keeps his one hand now on your hip, like he doesn’t want to part just yet. You’re not complaining, the feeling is more than mutual, and you like the weight of his hand on you. You’ll take it for as long as you can.

“I do have to go,” he says apologetically. You keep your soft smile as you nod in understanding before he continues, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll answer,” you reply easily.

His hand slips off your hip as he moves instead to take hold of your hand. He brings it up to his lips and places a quick but delicate kiss on your hand, making your tummy flutter once again at the newly familiar gesture.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.”

“You too, Bucky,” you return as he lowers your hand, releasing his hold. “Bye,” you bid as you step to your door, opening it and then waiting at the threshold as you watch him go back to his car. Just before he gets in, he sends a charming, boyish smile your way.

You watch him go before you finally close and lock your door behind you, feeling like you’re floating as your lips still tingle from his kiss and you warm at the phantom feeling of his hands holding you.

[saturnville]

one way | kelvin harrison, jr.

part one

pairing: kelvin harrison jr x black fem oc (nia) summary: nia has kelvin wrapped around his finger. so much so that when he misses her, he goes above and beyond to do something about it. warnings: none wc: 5,341 an: listen to one way by 6lack & tpain. also, I decided to make this a mini series. so, this is some time (an unspecified time) later. remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged! tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax

Work trips usually thrilled Kelvin. The allure to explore the world on his company’s dollar sparked child-like glee. First-class seats with heated eye masks and champagne, king-sized beds with duvets white as freshly fallen snow, and cuisines so rich in flavor they inspired his dinner menu for his evolving dinner menu back home.

But this work trip was different. 

The clatter of silverware in the hotel restaurant felt deafening. The nightlife of the city below grated his nerves like nails on a chalkboard, mocking him. His eyes found a couple, smiling and twirling on the sidewalk. He was green with envy as visuals of their love blinded him. Even cheesy romantic comedies on free streaming felt empty without someone to giggle over the awkward scenes. 

For the first time, Kelvin didn’t bask in the thrill of the escape from his life back home. He was drowning in the stillness of loneliness. And he hated it. 

-

Once a month, Nia took a Friday off. She dedicated it to deep cleaning her home, doing laundry that may have gotten caught in the crossfire of work and other responsibilities, self-care, and anything else that fit on the long list stamped on the front of her refrigerator. The reset day was often intense and busy. It took a toll on her body, but having everything done by early afternoon was an accomplishment—an accomplishment she celebrated with Chinese food and peach-infused wine. 

Nia sat in the corner of her L-shaped couch, laundry scattered to her left and folded piles on her right. The Lion King played softly in the background as she worked through the last of her baskets, humming along to "Be Prepared." Well, humming might be generous. Kelvin would call it her "tone-deaf symphony," but she didn’t care. 

Folding clothes was tedious—her least favorite chore. Four baskets of proof surrounded her. Her mom loved laundry, but Nia avoided it like the plague, only tackling it when she had no choice.

Mid-hum, her ringtone blared, ear-blitzing and obnoxious. 

She stretched over a pile of clothes, her eyes still glued to the screen, and patted around until her hand found her phone. She swiped and accepted the call without looking at the caller's identification. “Hello?” Her voice was soft but curious, still folding.

“What are you doing?” Kelvin. His voice was low and easy, like a Sunday morning. She shifted in her seat at the sound of his tone scratching a part of her brain she didn’t know could feel an itch. She heard the life of the city bustling in the background. She smiled softly as if he could see her. "Laundry," she replied, still focused on the task. 

“Why? She asked cautiously, wondering why a response didn’t come from him for multiple minutes.  Kelvin didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she was met with the pitter-patter of his thumbs against the screen that sounded a lot like her mother’s keyboard when she angrily typed emails to her teachers for not letting her use the bathroom. 

Then, calmly as if it wouldn't change her evening: “Smooth. Pack a bag.” Kelvin had a certain way with words, she noted. Sometimes, he spoke in a way that expected a response to keep a conversation going. But an assertiveness in his voice left no room for response; it was like a four-word monologue that made her stomach clench with equal parts curiosity and the kind of flutter only Kelvin could.

In her shock, she paused. A silence so complete that it hummed through the hair. Then: “What?”

The breath he huffed out told her he didn’t like repeating himself. But, he would have to. He went from sending her cute messages with strings of emojis, declaring he missed her and couldn’t wait to see her, to firmly telling her to pack a bag.

“Pack a bag,” he repeated, his voice unwavering. Her eyebrows raised, and her head jerked back. “Your flight leaves in four hours.”

Nia startled out a laugh, the kind that started in her throat but didn’t quite reach her chest. He had to be kidding. He was quite the jokester, always finding a way to pull her leg. But this was a joke she didn’t want to partake in. “Kelvin, are you—dude, what? Are you serious?”

“I told you I don’t like to lie, Nia,” was his response. She swallowed. “I already booked the ticket. I sent it to your email.”

Silence on the other end stretched again, but he could hear her faint exhale, the sound of a laugh she fought to suppress. “You didn’t even ask me.” How did he know she didn’t have any last-minute plans? Not that she did, but the question would’ve been nice. Her eyes darted to the laundry, trying to determine how many outfits she could make if she decided to go. 

She could hear the smug smile stretching across his lips like a Cheshire cat. Wide and arrogant. “I didn’t have to. But feel free to say no. I can always get a credit. Take a solo trip to Europe, or whatever the hell y'all be doing.” Bastard. 

Nia swallowed thickly. “You’re very sure of yourself,” she managed, but her voice betrayed her without a second thought. 

Kelvin hummed like a preacher in the church.“Yeah,” he replied, the lazy confidence in his voice matched only by the image she conjured of him leaning back, probably smirking like he’d won something big. "I don’t leave room for guessing when it comes to you.” Had God answered her prayers? To have a man be serious about her to where he’d pulled out that heavy-ass credit card and made accommodations for her to be beside him for the weekend. 

Her breath caught. The kind of confidence left her toes curling and her heart sprinting like FloJo. She shifted in her seat again, the sudden heat between her thighs growing warmer by the second. She tried to find her footing and gain a sense of self-control to push back against the storm of him. Nah, he wasn't a storm. He was a hurricane--intense and uncontrollable, with the power to consume her whole. She'd let him. 

"Anyway," he sighed, a soft grunt following as his chair creaked. "The Uber will be there in an hour." 

Nia chuckled breathlessly. Her eyes fell on the half-folded shirt in her lap. He was serious. "You, Kelvin, are impossible." 

Kelvin’s laugh rang through the phone like he knew exactly how she was fighting the urge to drop everything and get to it. "You should probably get to it, Nia. Time's ticking." 

"Yeah, yeah," she said as nonchalantly as she could. She carefully slid off the couch, praying he wouldn't hear her moving at his command. "Now, get off my phone so I can finish what I was doing. Bye, Kelvin." 

"You know, I like how you say my name." Her gasp pulled a chuckle from him. Before he could reply, she pulled her phone away from her ear and pressed the end, her eyes staring blankly at the wall. He played too damn much. 

She dropped her phone on the couch, ignoring its soft click when it collided with the remote, and paced in the living room. Glancing at the clock, she saw forty-five minutes. She could do this. She wasn't a last-minute packer, but Kelvin's urgency made her second-guess every outfit she pulled from her closet. 

"Pack for a weekend getaway," she muttered, grabbing a handful of clothes from the pile. "It's not that hard." Panties, bra, satin pajamas. Would a dress be needed? Of course; what if they went to dinner? Short, long, slit, or no slit? 

Nia dropped her phone, pacing in the living room, pretending this wasn’t the most nerve-wracking thing she’d done all week.

She tossed another shirt onto the bed and squinted at it. Was this cute enough? She didn’t even know what they’d be doing—he could’ve been sending her to the middle of nowhere for all she knew. Still, she folded it carefully, like she wasn’t imagining how his arms would feel around her when she landed.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about how much you want to be with him already.

With one last glance at the time, she grabbed her bag, mentally telling herself that she could pull this off. She didn’t need to panic. But as the seconds ticked away, she realized one thing was for sure—she wasn’t packing fast enough.

-

Kelvin leaned against the sleek, black SUV, arms crossed and a smile tugging on his lips as he waited. He couldn't remember the last time he was this eager to pick someone up--probably never if he was being honest with himself. 

It wasn't just that she was flying in to see him, though that part made his heart leap. It was the fact that she'd be his in a way she had never been before. No distractions, no hiccups, nothing pulling them away from one another. The thought had been driving him mad since he booked her flight. He imagined every detail his brain could come up with--hearing her call his name from the bathroom as she got ready, watching her nose scrunch as she giggled at awkward scenes in corny romantic comedies, feeling her body against his as she slept, tasting the mint on her lips as his tongue caressed hers. He closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't lose his composure in public, but he was teetering on the edge. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of these thoughts. He grabbed it, a text from her awaiting his attention.

  Almost there. Don't make me wait.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. Nia wouldn't let him get away with anything, mainly not a tease. But he had no plan to keep her waiting. No, there was no time to waste. It wasn't a casual meetup between two old flings because he couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to wait to get home. This was the physical manifestation of his heart's desire coming to fruition. 

It was the culmination of restless nights replaying her laugh in his head, wondering if she fell asleep thinking about him, too. It resulted from careful, meticulous planning, cautious restraint, and self-control that worked together to write a story unfolding better than he could have imagined. 

He typed a quick reply. 

Never. I'll be waiting. 

Everything seemed to slow down when he saw her stepping out through the terminal doors. All he saw was her. She in all her angelic glory. The sun shone brightly, and her nose crinkled as she squinted. Her hair, let loose to do its thing, blew across her face. He could hear her giggle as she swiped the unruly strands from her face. Her eyes darted left and right, looking for him in the sea of bodies. But when her eyes met him, the slight smile on her face grew so big that he could hardly see her eyes. 

"Hey, pretty girl," the words slipped out before he could stop them. His voice was lower than usual, a little raspier, the affection undeniable. 

Nia took a final step toward him, almost chest-to-chest with the man who'd turned her life upside down. She visibly softened beneath his gaze, like an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Her shoulders rounded, her complete lips parted, and her eyelashes brushed against the high points of her cheek with every blink she made. God, she was so damn pretty.

"How was the flight?" Kelvin’s words came muffled as he grabbed her carry-on and put it in the backseat, the body of the large truck decreasing the volume of his words. He moved to open the passenger door, which brought 24 white roses, and her favorite candy stopped her in her tracks. Her bottom lip poked out in a slight pout, and she looked at him with gleaming eyes that sparkled like stars.

“Kelvin…” Her voice broke slightly, soft and full of something that tightened his chest. E

“I figured you’d need a proper welcome,” he replied, feigning nonchalance, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him. Her reaction was priceless. If only he could’ve snapped a photo to have it with him forever. “Come on, get in.” Kelvin moved the flowers from her seat, waited for her to adjust, and placed them in her lap. Nia tried to say something, but the words didn’t come. She laughed softly and looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars. Her fingers caressed the delicate petals in awe. 

Kelvin closed the door behind her and slid into the driver’s seat, quickly drifting out of the airport parking lot. A comfortable silence settled between them, wrapped around them like a hug. Nia unwrapped the gummy nag, popping one into her mouth. He glanced at her, the dim streetlights playing across her features like a spotlight. She was a one-woman show, and he, her audience, was captured and enticed by everything she did. 

Her soft voice broke through the silence. “Can I hold your hand?” He saw her looking at him through his peripheral vision. She was curious to hear his response but already knew the answer.

Kelvin blinked one, two, three times. His fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Huh?”

She turned her head toward him, her expression steady but expectant. “Your hand. Can I hold it?”

His breath hitched like he’d been snatched back, and he fought the smirk tugging at his lips. He reached across the center console without a word, letting his hand fall into hers. Her fingers laced with his, petite and warm. It was simple, but how she looked at their joined hands had him swallowing hard. What could be going on in that pretty little head of hers? His thumb brushed her knuckles, a small act that felt wildly intimate. 

“You’re dangerous, girl,” he murmured, his voice low enough to blend with the hum of the car. Nia tilted her head, brows lifted. “Me? Dangerous?”

He momentarily tore his eyes from the road to look into her eyes as his lips brushed against her knuckles. “Yeah. Got me acting all kinds of soft.” 

It was Nia’s turn to smirk. She hummed, off-key, might he add, and said, “Good. You should be.” 

-

“Not bad,” Nia teased as she circled the hotel room, tossing a small smile over her shoulder. She’d been in her fair share of hotels, but this one took the cake. “It’s beautiful.” Her boots kissed the carpet, which looked new, as none of the fibers were out of place and smelled fresh like daisies. Her purse slid off her shoulder with a thump as she let it fall against the couch. Her fingers ran across the top of the pillows, her nails catching slightly in their loose threads. 

Kelvin leaned against the doorframe, his eyes following her every move. He couldn’t help but feel like the smile she tossed over her shoulder was meant for him, and he couldn’t help but smile back, even if she weren’t looking.

Nia turned left and took two steps, her stride slow and deliberate as she approached the window. Her eyes widened like she’d seen Christmas lights for the first time as she drank in the wonder of New York City. With her forehead pressed against the cool glass, she craned her neck back and forth to embrace the beauty of the fast-paced life. The muffled sound of car engines and honking horns hummed harmoniously, with the air conditioning system blending into the background. She was in awe of New York. He was in awe of her.

“This is my first time in New York,” Nia said once she sensed his presence behind her. She sighed softly, her breath creating a small circle of fog on the glass. She drew a smiley face in its wake, then wrapped her arms around herself, massaging her elbows in a twisting motion as if she needed comfort. “I dreamt about it, but it always seemed out of reach.” Kelvin acknowledged her with a nod that she couldn’t see. She felt the warmth radiating from his body and leaned back to experience just a spark of the flame. His chin on her shoulder made her knees buckle, to which she leaned back, letting his firm body carry her weight. 

He knew she’d never been. Though he selfishly wanted to see her, he knew she’d never been to New York. In his mind, killing two birds with one stone seemed feasible. It made sense. He got what he wanted, and she got to experience an environment that seemed a universe away. But she didn’t need to know all of that. So instead, he let his hand trail down her arm and settle hand as he whispered against the shell of her ear, “I know.”

-

The sound of the water shutting off echoed through the hotel suite, and Kevin was there, adjusting his suit jacket in the mirror. Nimble fingers stumbled over each button, trying to force it between each loop. He didn’t hear her step out, but he knew the moment she did—there was no mistaking it. The soft rustle of the towel and the scent of vanilla and cedarwood filled the room like a gentle caress. His pulse quickened. 

Turning his head slightly, he caught sight of her reflection. She stepped out of the bathroom, her towel barely hanging, just low enough to tease. His eyes traced the curve of her silhouette, the way her skin glowed, damp and soft as she had just walked out of his dreams. There was something about the way she didn’t rush to cover herself. She moved confidently as she knew exactly what effect she had on him—and she wasn’t shy about it.

He couldn’t help but watch as she glanced at him through the mirror, her brown eyes locking with his. Her lips twitched into that playful smile he adored, and for a split second, he wondered if she could see how badly he wanted her. He cleared his throat, running a hand over his jacket again, though the tension in the room wasn’t about fabric anymore. It was about the two of them, the space between them shrinking by the second.

She shifted, pulling her towel just a little tighter, though she didn’t seem to be in a rush to move away from him. She knew exactly what she was doing. "You're still here?" she asked, her voice teasing but soft like she was giving him the green light to stay. The soft pitter-patter of her feet against the tile floor made his eyes drop. Her nails were painted red, a rich shade that complimented her skin beautifully. His eyes fluttered closed briefly as he inhaled deeply.

“Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes, his voice low, full of intention. “I’m admiring the view.”

Her gaze flickered over him, and for the first time, he saw her let her guard slip. She didn’t avert her eyes or try to hide how she was taking him in. No, she leaned into it—allowing him to see the hunger in her gaze, the way her lips parted slightly. Any other day, if he caught her gaze lingering longer than usual, she’d stall like a deer in headlights, like a criminal caught for petty theft. She was letting him watch her.

A beat passed, and she caught his eye again in the mirror without warning. And just like that, something shifted. The way Nia held his gaze told him she was just as comfortable with him in the room. The quiet, simmering tension between them cracked, and she said it—soft and unexpectedly as if it had slipped out without thinking. “Help me with my zipper?” 

Kelvin didn’t have the chance to answer. The casual nature of her movements let him know it wasn’t a question but an expectation to be fulfilled. And yet, even with her confidence boiling over like a kettle too whole, he had not expected her to release her towel like she was the only one in the room. Kelvin’s lips parted to release a shuddered breath he prayed only he could hear. 

She was brilliant; she’d already shimmied her way into her panties, presumably in the shower, but everything else was exposed, well, almost. He’d seen more skin than he’d ever had throughout their relationship, which was deliciously overwhelming. Her hips bit the waistband of the thin panties and hardly held everything she had.

Nia held the towel over her breasts and looked around for her moisturizer. She mumbled incoherent words to herself, lost in her world as though the man she shared a space with wasn’t losing his inhibitions with every passing second. “Kel.” He was pulled out of Lalaland. “My dress is on top of my suitcase. Can you grab it for me?” 

Gladly. He needed a moment to collect himself before he went ballistic. Turning on the balls of his feet, Kelvin did as she instructed. The dress was nothing he’d ever expect her to wear, but he was more than ready to see how the sleek, green dress would accentuate her curves and glisten against her skin. 

“This is nice,” he mumbled, carrying it back into the bathroom. Nia turned over her shoulder and smiled. That Colgate-white smile. His right released the hanger from the confines of the dress, tugging softly at the zipper. She took it from his grasp gently, whispering her gratitude, and shimmied into it. Dear God. 

“I think you have a staring problem,” Nia teased, locking eyes with him in the mirror as she adjusted the dress to cover her breasts. Kelvin’s head tilted to the side and his tongue ran over his top row of teeth. He shook his head. “Like I said, admiring the view.” 

“Zip me, please?” She asked to his reflection in the mirror, shamelessly dragging her eyes down his frame. How much tighter could his clothes get in one night? Kelvin’s steps were slow and calculated as he inched closer to her. As the distance between them closed, the tension amplified further than it had thus far. 

Nia shuddered in anticipation as she felt his warm hands against the small of her back. His hands were large, palms covering a quarter of her lower back. His thumb caressed the skin there, pausing over the faded tattoo. “Cute,” he murmured. Lover, written in a cursive script. His left hand found her waist, holding and cupping in an almost possessive manner, while his right slowly, almost agonizingly slow, pulled her zipper up. His fingertips lingered at the back of her neck, enjoying how the skin raised and how her pulse quickened beneath them. 

His lips parted, but the words were lost. Here she was, back pressed against him, chest heaving, eyes fluttering as she anticipated what would happen next. Hell, he didn’t know either, but what he was sure of was the way she tasted had to be glorious. “You look beautiful.” His sentiment came out in a hushed whisper against the shell of her ear, to which she whimpered. “So beautiful.” 

Kelvin’s lips hovered over her neck, just hardly grazing her hot skin. Once by her side, her hands gripped the countertop to steady her weak knees. Kelvin saw them in the mirror, and a devil-may-care smile threatened to curl on his lips. He could take her right here. Take off her dress—better yet, have it bunched around her hips as he took her from behind, forcing her to watch how pretty she looked when she was begging for more. But it was too early for that. He’d turn her every way but loose, but the time wasn’t right, no matter how badly he wanted to yank the clock off the wall and force its hands forward. 

“I thought you had manners, Nia, what happened?” He teased, nibbling on the shell of her ear. His hand slithered around her back and toward her stomach until it settled at her pubic bone, dangerously close to where the slit of her dress was. One deliberate move, and she’d be his for the taking. “I said, you look beautiful. So pretty.” 

Nia inhaled deeply, and her voice broke slightly. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and her tongue darted out to dampen her dry lips. “Thank you, baby.” Baby? That was new.  He smirked against her skin. He had her where he wanted her, yearning for him, but not to where a line would be crossed. A happy (temporary) medium. Before he got too deep and said screw the reservation, Kelvin announced: “Reservation’s in 30. I’ll let you finish.” With one last peck on her neck, he peeled his body away from hers and walked out of the bathroom, but not before digesting the low moan she released once she thought he was far enough. Ravishing. 

She determined Kelvin would be the death of her. He was too much for her to handle, too hot for her to handle. She’d done well thus far, but as the night progressed and the fiery tension between them loomed like precipitous clouds, ready to rain down upon them, she didn’t know how long she could hold out. 

She had a rule, and he knew it. But goodness gracious, she was ready to renege on everything she said when she stepped out of the bathroom and saw him posted against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, neck dropped, to better access what was on his phone. 

Blue was his color. And it happened to be her favorite. Part of her assumed his sneaky ass wore the rich shade of blue to get her bent out of shape…or bent over. But this was Kelvin—cool, calm, and way too aware of the effect he had on her. The tailored suit he wore accentuated broad shoulders and a trim waist. 

Her throat went dry as she traced his slim form. The low light from the chandelier shone on him like a spotlight, his waves catching the rays. He had an alluring presence that she was desperate to be wrapped in. 

Kelvin glanced up, sensing her presence before she could speak. He smiled small, acknowledging her presence. His eyes swept over her frame, nodding in appreciation of the art before him. Somehow, she managed to look even more stunning than she did before. Her dress pooled at her ankles, but the slit on her left thigh allowed the gold accents on her shoes to shine. Her curly hair was in a slick bun, showing her neck and gorgeous collarbones. “You good?”

Good? Was she good? Hell no, she wasn’t good. Her body was buzzing like an electric wire. She was losing self-control and hardly wanted to go to dinner. She’d much instead release everything she’d been attempting to suppress. But he’d already seen her crumble. She couldn’t fully unravel yet. His head was already big; Lord forbid she gas it further. 

“I’m good,” Nia lied, tucking her clutch under her arm. “You clean up nice. I like the blue.” Kelvin’s head dropped to examine his suit. It was as if he had dressed in the dark and hoped all the pieces matched. “This old thing? Thank you. But you, Niani…look like trouble.”

Her eyes closed briefly. No one said her full name. She didn’t like how anyone else said it—too much emphasis on the second A or insufficient focus on the first I. She liked how Kelvin said it, like a subtle praise she desired to hear on repeat. 

Kelvin tilted his head, pushing off the wall to invade her space. She opened her eyes when his cologne wafted her nose. He noticed it. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, and her chest rose slightly higher on her next breath. One by one, the walls began to fall. Her reaction wasn’t lost on him. The first time she admitted Nia wasn’t her first name but rather a nickname derived from Niani, he tested it like an unusual food, rolling it around, tasting it until he felt right. He remembered how her pupils dilated, and her eyes darkened when it rolled off his lips. 

She liked it when he said her name. And only he could say her name. 

His hand grazed hers, intertwining their fingers. She flinched. He smiled knowingly, but her request took him aback: “Say it again.” Her breath was caught in her throat, and her voice trembled. 

Kelvin leaned in just a little, his breath warm against her ear. The way he said it, low and possessive, made her shiver. Nia swallowed. Her knees were weak, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there, teetering on the edge, waiting for the right time to fall into him entirely. 

He smiled again, pulling back just enough to give her a glimpse of what was coming. "Dinner’s wait—“

“—take me to bed.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a request. It was a demand as if she knew exactly what would happen next, and yet... part of her still wanted to hold on just a little longer.

Her words were not hesitant, but he could hear how her voice trembled. She’d permitted him to take things further. He wouldn’t go too far but far enough to leave her satisfied. 

-

Nia hummed lowly as her heavy eyelids opened and closed slowly, and she struggled to regain her vision. The chandelier grew tired, leaving the room dimly lit with the city lights. The low buzz of the air conditioning system regulated her overwhelmed body. 

She sat up with a soft grunt, bracing her body with one arm while her other kept the angelic white duvet over her bare chest. Her head craned to the right, seeing the bed bare, and frowned. Her eyes followed their clothes trail, leading to him standing in the corner of the room, back to her, and the hotel phone up to his ear. Like her, his evening attire was long gone, and sweatpants became his uniform. Nia bit her lip as she watched his back flex with each subtle movement. 

She swung her legs over the bed, bending down to fish for an article of clothing to put on. He may have had a show, but with the windows wide open, the last thing she needed was her bare body on display for everyone to see. What she had was for his eyes only. 

Nimble fingers curled around his white dress shirt, sliding it over her long arms. She buttoned it enough to keep her chest covered, then tip-toed to where he stood, eager to feel him against her again. 

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his bare waist, taking note of how he shuddered when the tips of her nails glided across his abdomen. Nia’s lips brushed against his shoulder, and then she pressed her cheek against his back, appreciating how the low rumble of his voice lulled her back to sleep. “That’s fine. Appreciate it, thank you.” 

Kelvin dropped the phone back on the receiver and peered over his shoulder. “Hello to you, too.” Kelvin turned one foot over the other in her arms, taking in how relaxed she looked. Her makeup was smudged, and her lipstick stained the pillow, leaving her lips bare and waiting to be kissed. “Food’s on its way up.” 

Nia nodded and made a noise, something between a content sigh and a low moan. He couldn’t decipher, but she sounded pleased, and that’s what mattered. “Come back to bed in the meantime?” She looked at him with those pretty brown eyes that had gotten him into trouble lately. 

Kelvin nodded, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. “Lead the way.”

-

kelvharrjr, nikkidawn, angierose, and 319 others liked this post

nianijanice wine, broadway, and tailored suits. nyc, I love you

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angierose girl who tf is that man?

- nianijanice my secret admirer

kelvharrjr nyc looks good on you, shawty

- nianijanice thank you, handsome

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nikkidawn girl…is it who I think it is?

- nianijanice 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

- nikkidawn CALL ME NOW! 🌝

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[vervainandspritz]

TASTE OF SHAME

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Part one Part two

Summary: You can't escape, and the line between his manipulation and your own thoughts begins to disappear.

Warnings: Dark!Thomas Shelby, manipulation, abuse, non-con/dub-con, gaslighting, violence

A/N: COMMENT AND REBLOG PLEASE!

After the events of that one particularly dark evening, Y/N shut off. She didn't come out to see Ada when the young woman would visit, not for a while. Spending most days in her room, sometimes even not reacting when one of the maids would come to remind her of Mr. Shelby's wish to see her at five PM.

Sometimes she didn't show up, and he let her.

”She's a teenager, Ada. What am I supposed to tell you, eh?” He spoke one day, finally answering the questions she had for him ever since Y/N's behaviour changed. His eyes remaining at the contract in his hands, agreement from Churchill himself. A small grin danced on his lips, tugging on one of the corners of his mouth. ”Don't you remember how it is as a young girl, eh? Always a bloody handful,” He snorted, lightly, letting go of the piece of paper as his eyes finally met his sister's. Cold and calculating, playing chess with every word, just the way he always did since their lives changed.

Ever since he unapologetically took the whole of Birmingham, and greedily reached out for the rest of Britain.

Unapologetic, that's the word she'd use to describe him.

Letting out a sigh, Ada shook her head lightly, crossing her arms across her chest as she stared through the big window.

”You didn't hurt her, did you?” Her voice came out almost tired, knowing the person Thomas Shelby became, Ada was... Almost expecting it. Dealing with the effects of his violence and decisions day to day.

Thomas' blue eyes slowly raised to her own, but she didn't look at him, still peacefully looking out the window.

With parted lips, he breathed out a quiet snarl.

”Am I a monster, Ada?” The voice so full of mockery, she should have felt disrespected, but worry for the girl was stronger.

”You want to be, Tommy”

~~

Jabbing at dinner with a fork, Y/N wrestled with her thoughts back and forth. She knew she couldn't escape, her absence would bring an inevitable danger onto her family, and despite the hatred she felt towards them ever since... Her father sold her, she couldn't bring herself to not care.

After all, where would she go? Y/N had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

His horrible, mocking chuckle rang in her ears loudly, making her wince as she heard steps behind. His expensive leather shoes clicked against the floor, and Y/N recognized his heavy steps.

The silence in the room was suddenly heavy, suffocating. She didn't dare to move, almost freezing under his gaze.

Her fear was palpable, and Thomas could easily sense it in the air. Her flowery scent came to his nostrils immediately when he stood behind the counter. Making coffee, as a cigarette hung from his lips. His blue eyes glanced towards her frame, a quiet chuckle leaving his mouth at her posture. Admittedly, he didn't know why her fear was so... Joyful to him. So attractive and addicting, like a sweet treat. His presence alone was enough to make her shiver, and he'd always take on every occasion to torment her.

Y/N expected it, almost like she got used to it. Holding her breath when he moved, steps growing closer before the cold air hit the skin on her neck. She waited, for something, anything. Pain, shame or whatever he would give her. That's what he always did.

So when he wordlessly passed by, all Y/N felt was a confusion.

The expected relief didn't come, and the cold temperature of the room suddenly seemed to swallow her whole as she let out a breath.

He ignored her, simply, walking through the doorway and disappearing into the corridor.

Leaving her breathing slowly, as a little smile appeared on her lips.

Maybe that was it.

The rest of the day passed calmly, without any events and Y/N spent some time entertaining little Charlie, doodling away in her notebook and drawing all the animals she could think of to make the little boy happy. Only when he fell asleep, drained from being awake that long, she sighed, letting one of the maids take him to bed as she walked back to her own room.

Glancing up, she noticed the beautiful view from her window. Something so obvious, yet not important enough to ever catch her gaze before. Now she felt a little peaceful, while he wasn't home.

Pulling out her drawing supplies, she set her notebook on the windowsill, taking her time to draw the sight, the beautiful trees bending under heavy wind. Rays of the sun penetrate between branches and hitting the window, accompanying the silence in her room well enough that the environment seemed peaceful. Calm. Safe.

Unknowingly, Y/N began softly humming under her breath, feeling a glimmer of hope for a better future still smoldering somewhere between her ribs.

He came back late, later than usual. Tommy's steps echo throughout the almost empty house, getting the attention of staff but nobody else.

”Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” One of the maids said, quietly, getting a quick nod out of him as he climbed the stairs, stopping midway.

”Where is she?” His voice held the usual complete seriousness, not holding the amount of mockery he seemed to have only for her. The middle-aged maid, shifted her weight from one leg to the other before answering.

”Miss Y/L/N informed Frances she'd go visit her horse in the stables.” Her voice was quiet, unsure.

Nodding again, Thomas moved forward before clearing his throat and stopping, just for a second.

”It's my horse. Everything here is mine.” His sharp tone cut through the air while maintaining the huskiness and not disturbing the silence of the house for too long. ”When she comes back, she is going to come to my office.” He liked it. The intimidation in the air, present wherever he goes.

”Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

That day felt more special than most, much longer as if it held more than twenty four hours in it. After leaving the house and making her way to the stables, Y/N stopped checking her watch, letting the activity engulf her completely once she saw the precious creature she missed so dearly. Normally, Y/N would be too scared to come here without asking for permission first, and she didn't seek any reasons to come to Mr. Shelby. Not really.

Walking through the wooden building, she carefully eyed each of the horses there, eyes widening as she saw the biggest one. A massive, black horse with eyes that had the look to them, which made her back off. The madness in this horse's eyes reminded her of the blue ones she feared so badly.

Yet all the worries seemed to disappear as her gaze met the calm, brown eyes of her horse...

Before she knew it, Y/N walked back through the field, rushing towards Arrow house, sun barely up in the sky still. Time passed between her fingers so fast when she was having fun, but it's been so long she almost forgot how it feels. The beautiful black mane on a completely white Stallion took at least an hour to braid, but Y/N loved the process. She was taking care of him ever since he was a foal.

Taking him out on the free field and getting to ride him again, despite having to do it bareback felt wonderful. Felt like the freedom Y/N so desperately yearned for.

As the canter turned into a full on gallop, a bright smile appeared on her face, as her hair blew on the wind. The scent of nature, wilderness and sharp wind which turned her cheeks bright red made the experience almost magical, so she lost track of time. There was no reason to rush home either, since Mr. Shelby was away.

Letting out a tired sigh, Y/N's smile remained plastered onto her face until she noticed the long, black coat on the rack.

Which was a sign that he was home

Swallowing the lump which suddenly appeared in her throat, Y/N calmed herself down mentally before slowly turning towards the stairs and step by step climbing them, extending the whole process just to make as little noise as possible.

Her feet felt a little numb from horse riding, so when she reached the top of the stairs, one wooden plank bent under her weight, creaking slightly.

When no sound followed, Y/N let out a sigh, walking through the corridor and heading to her room when suddenly Frances opened her bedroom door on the other end of the hall.

”Miss Y/L/N” She spoke up, wearing her modest bathrobe and nightgown, ”Mr. Shelby asked me to tell you to come to his office when you get back.” She instructed quietly, as not to disturb the rest of the staff which was probably sleeping. The night came around, and the sky was almost completely pitch black. An old, wooden clock on the wall struck eleven PM.

Y/N's breath hitched, realizing she didn't manage to get out of coming eye to eye with him. Not today. Seeing the questions in her eyes, Frances, let out a quiet breath as well.

”He came back around three hours ago” The older woman added, replying to the silent question which never got asked. Not out loud.

”Thank you, Frances” She smiled lightly, before disappearing behind her bedroom door again, leaving Y/N standing on the corridor completely on her own.

She stood there, frozen for a hot minute. Contemplating what to do, whether she should go and change her dirty clothes first, or maybe go see him as soon as possible. After all Mr. Shelby's anger was the last thing Y/N wanted upon herself, knowing how cruel he could be if he felt like it.

Weighing her options shivers ran down her spine at the risk, and so her shoulders slumped slightly when she made up her mind. Turning around and slowly making her way further through the corridor, the dark, wooden door growing closer with each small step.

Moving closer, Y/N narrowed her eyes noticing a small beam of light on the floor coming from his office. Small enough to not be noticeable if she didn't pay enough attention. Another step, and Y/N's breath hitched in her throat as barely audible sounds came to her ears. High pitched, muffled almost.

Another couple feet, and she stood right there, by the door with her eyes widening at the realisation of what was happening. The door to Mr. Shelby's office was unusually creaked open, through the crack she could see the interior of the room. Dim light making it all more difficult, as she heard feminine moans and whimpers coming from the inside, accompanied by shuffling of the heavy desk.

Her hand rested on the door knob as she moved closer, covering her mouth with one hand as she noticed the dark haired woman splayed on the mahogany desk, face down. One of Tommy's hands was gripping tightly onto her shoulder, pulling back with each move as the other covered the woman's mouth, keeping her as quiet as possible. Muffled sounds kept coming out of her mouth as he kept thrusting inside her from behind, not caring about whether someone heard. Her breasts were almost spilling from her blouse, and Mr. Shelby didn't even care to get her undressed first, cigarette hanging from his lips as he fucked into her hard and fast, chasing his own high. Y/N's face twisted in disgust as the other woman began moaning crude words, calling out his name like it was the only thing she knew.

Still covering her mouth, Y/N took a step back, letting go of the door knob as she let out a shaky breath.

She shouldn't have come home so late, Y/N thought. Better go before he finds out.

Turning around, she moved swiftly through the corridor, before quietly closing the door behind her back.

She panted like someone was chasing her, and only after several moments she moved away from the entrance, sitting on her bed and taking off the jacket she wore.

Taking deep breaths, Y/N tried to calm herself down.

Half an hour later, Y/N was still laying awake, her lamp turned on as she read a book, not knowing what else to do this late at night. She wouldn't dare go out, and risk stumbling upon him or his mistress.

The last thing she expected was to hear a knock on the door, this late at night. Furrowing her brows, Y/N put the book down on the covers, and before she could answer, the door opened.

Thomas walked into the room, slowly shutting it behind him. An unlit cigarette in his hand, and she took in his appearance. The four undone buttons on his shirt, messy hair and dark, unreadable gaze in his eyes.

Shivers appeared on the back of her neck, and she froze seeing him.

”Not sleeping, eh?” He asked, glancing quickly around her room as he lit his cigarette, before letting his gaze fall back on her. He noticed the way she pulled the covers higher, covering every inch of herself besides her face and shoulders.

”N–Not yet” She stuttered out, feeling even more intimidated after what she saw just an hour earlier.

Thomas nodded his head, looking out the window as he inhaled the smoke, taking his time before letting it out again.

After a minute of silence, Y/N licked her lips nervously as she saw him move forward, lazily stepping closer to the bed before sitting on the edge of it.

”You were out late” He pointed out without looking at her, his posture firm and strong despite his clearly relaxed state. Y/N glanced nervously, looking at his side profile.

”I was in the stables” She explained, hoping that she wouldn't get in trouble for that. Y/N didn't bother explaining on why she went only when he wasn't supposedly around. ”Time passed so quickly I didn't realise–” She continued until he cut her off while blowing out a cloud of smoke, causing her to wrinkle her nose at the intense scent.

”Tomorrow is a special day” He spoke up, raising his eyebrows as he shifted to the side, leaning on his hand by her leg over the covers. His eyes scanned her emotionlessly, taking in the soft lines of her face, her lively blushed cheeks. ”I was wrong at the beginning.” He admitted, tilting his head to the side. ”I thought there would be troubles with you. That you'd try to run away, be a handful, yeah? All that teenage nonsense.” He gestured with the hand in which he held the lit cigarette, drawing a little circle in the air. His voice held a bit of humour, despite his completely numb facial expression.

Y/N looked at him nervously, looking everywhere but in his eyes.

”One of the maids overheard your conversation with Ada.” Her heart sank for a second, which he saw clearly, making him chuckle. ”Told me how much you respect the dear, old Mr. Shelby, yeah?” He chuckled again, reaching out and suddenly grasping her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. The approval in his gaze made her a little more relaxed, just like the warmth of her touch. So much softer than the usual, bruising grip. ”Good girl” Tommy added, the corner of his mouth lightly turning up.

Y/N didn't know what to say, so she just nodded along to make him happy.

He tilted his chin up, eyes narrowing as he watched her expression while his hand moved to the side of her face, slowly pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

”Don't go alone when you're planning to be gone for that long. Next time you're going to tell me, eh?” He offered, almost gently with a hardened expression, earning another nod from her.

Thomas sighed, deeply, letting his hand drop to his side before raising from the bed. He came up, close, too close for comfort as he looked down.

”Tomorrow at eight in the morning Ada and Polly will take you shopping. You'll get new clothes and horse riding gear.” Tommy informed, finishing his cigarette before putting it out it is in a glass of water which stood on her nightstand. Y/N's expression turned into disgust as she saw that, and Thomas made her look at him again. ”Understood?”

”Yes, Mr. Shelby” She said, blinking quickly as she held his heavy gaze. His blue eyes remained motionlessly locked into her own before she corrected herself. ”Thank you, Mr. Shelby”

...and only then, he smiled lightly, nodding in approval before taking a step back.

”You're welcome”

He said, before turning around and heading to the door. When his hand made contact with the doorknob and the door opened slightly, he stopped, glancing down on his hands with a grin she couldn't possibly see.

”And next time, close the door once you're done watching me.”

Hearing his words, Y/N's mouth opened as she realized what he implied, eyes widening at the sense of seemingly innocent sentence. Her cheeks turned crimson red, as she blushed fiercely. Tommy stood in the doorway for a moment longer, knowing the upper hand he had on her. Knowing that the younger girl was too naïve and shy to speak up against him, to dare to correct him on a topic so sensitive. When he was sure she wouldn't respond, Thomas walked out of her room, closing the door behind him.

Once again, he won, and in that moment, Y/N realized he purposely asked the maid to get her, and left the door open. He wanted her to see.

~~

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