#...i have a sneaking feeling i could get hate for this

[mydrink-n-my2step]

YANDERE SLUT FARMER X TWITCH STREAMER READER : Part 2

A/N//: OMG!!! I've been tryin my hardest to write some good ol' smut, but I haven't written any smut since May of last year!!! Oh I hope this is as good as the first fanfic. But I tried, and that's great! Everyone's favorite farm boy is finally gonna get laid!

Shoutout to @sweet-flowering. I genuinely don't know how to tag, but this is for you <3

TW//: Exhibitionism, Tanner's a slut, you slowly fall in love with him, (you catch him in his barn neked ;)), Smut, P in V action, pronebone (SEARCH IT UP), protective sex, foreplay, oral, fem. receiving, misogynistic comments(Tanner needs new friends.)

5.3k Words

Dale wasn’t having any of it. 

Seeing his son exit the guestroom in only a towel, unaware of his disgruntled father watching him while he had piping hot black coffee in his hand. His hand jolted, twitching with disgust, seeing his son behave so erratically, so sinfully. And you, a visitor, are plaguing his mind with lewd thoughts. He’d seen the gazes Tanner bestow on you. You may not know those lewd and romantic stares, but Dale did! And he wasn’t having any of it!

Dale knocked on your door. He knows you’re in there, and he hates it! “Ms. Y/n, I need to have a word with you!” 

“Dale, what is going on, honey?” Amelia questions, entering her house from the garage. 

“You need to talk to your son! He’s acting all weird again.” 

“Dale, he’s an adult now, you need to stop babying him. Now what’s wrong?”

You had opened the door. You were wearing only a nightgown. Dale instantly grew embarrassed, seeing you in your clothes, which were so intimate. He had covered his eyes, and a bright pink blush spread across his cheeks. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Jefferson?” You noticed his red face. “You look a little red?” 

“I-um, Ms. Y/n, please see me in the dining room?” You knew that tone, so he knows. “Yes, sir, give me five minutes.” You said, closing the door on him. 

“Dale, he’s 20 years old, stop treating him like he’s 5!” Amelia hissed, walking side to side with her husband, who tried to ignore her. As a father, it was his responsibility to keep his kids away from harm. Even if it was packaged as a guest or friend. But what if the so-called harm was within the family?

For years, Dale had tried to shape his son into a faithful, upright man. As a devout member of his church, he saw it as his responsibility to instill his beliefs in his children—especially Tanner, who had always resisted authority, even as a boy. There were times, in Tanner’s younger years, when Dale would stumble upon moments that didn’t align with his expectations—sneaking out, secret romances, late-night parties. Tanner, however, has always hidden parts of himself. But when the mask slips, even briefly, the truth of who he is comes into full view.

“Sir?” Your reply carried a submissive tone, reminiscent of a child who had found themselves in a situation of disapproval from a parent. Dale had gestured for you to sit across from him. You could tell by his stern gaze that he knew what was going on. Then you were seated, preparing yourself for a lecture from a parental figure. 

“Y/n, I appreciate your presence; it has brought this family great joy seeing Tanner come out of his shell. However, I know what you’re doing and need you to stop. I’m saying this because I care for you, stay away from Tanner. If he talks to you, that’s fine, but anything else, steer clear of him. He is not what he seems to be.”

Your naive ass decided to ask, “Is there something I should know Mr. Dale?” Something was wrong for your father to talk negatively about you. Before he could open his mouth and talk badly about his son, both of you heard a sneeze from the stairs. You could hear boots step down the stairs, sauntering to you. When the walking halts, you feel a hand ease up your shoulder. 

“Am I interrupting something?” His inquiry did not sound like one, more like a stern statement. His voice was low like he didn’t approve of what was said about him. Tanner pulls a chair out so he can sit next to you. When you looked back at Dale, he was fuming, yes, but at the same time, you could see the fear in his eyes. He was scared? And now it’s scaring you. You didn’t want to look Tanner in the eyes, his soft ebony eyes that he locked your soul in while you were giving him a handjob. Now a stark reminder that you were in the midst of turmoil. 

Dale sighs, rubbing his fingers against his thick mustache. He had adjusted his hat, his messy wavy chestnut hair falling against his forehead. “What was he doing in your room?” He asks you, pinching his nose while looking directly at his son. 

“He was showering, I was just listening to music.” You lied, and when you lie, your voice becomes high-pitched. Luckily, Dale didn’t know that fact.

“Is it true, son?” Tanner nodded, but that wasn’t enough for Dale. “I need words boy!”

“I was only showering in the guest room. Y/n wasn’t aware and tried to kick me out, okay dad!” Tanner lied, rolling his eyes at his father.

“Don’t give me no attitude, boy!” You looked at Tanner, who gave you a strong glance. It cut you like that knife the other night, but deep down, you assumed he wasn’t too mad. You were right. 

“Dale cut it out! Now, whatever our son and Y/n were doing in that room is none of your business! He’s fucking 20 for Christ's sake!” Amelia cursed in the living room. It was rare for her to curse at her husband. 

Now Dale directed his attention to his wife, leaving the room to go banter with her. You felt guilty for having your host yell at you. Scared that you would get kicked out. Now I want to stay? Oh my God! You thought, holding your head in your hands. Then Tanner nudged your arm, bringing you back to reality.

“What’s wrong? You’re really scared of my Dad?” He asked, smirking at you like a sinister little devil. His eyes watching you like Lucifer himself. 

“Um yeah! I don’t want to get in trouble with your family, Tanner!” You scolded, and now he was a little concerned with your outburst. 

“Don’t worry about that old bat, he’ll get angry if you change the football channel. I promise you, he’s not someone to be afraid of.” 

“I should’ve just ignored you the other night.” You muttered, groaning while you pinched your nose. Tanner only laughed, standing up to leave, “Like they always say, it was fate that brought us here.” He said, shaking your shoulders. 

“If you need me, I’ll be milking the cows.” He yelled, opening the front door and leaving. 

———

You were worried. Scared even. You were getting in trouble with Dale and his son doesn’t give a damn. Tanner’s adding fuel to Dale’s explosive fire. But you noticed something, Dale seemed to fear Tanner. Tanner, his flesh and blood that he raised for 20 years. He is afraid of him. There must be something about Tanner that instilled fear into his dad. 

You were disturbed by what was lurking inside Tanner, which could cause his dad to feel powerless over him. It made you want to avoid him, to leave abruptly. Take your things, hitchhike, and never return to the Jeffersons' manor again. But a notification on your phone told you otherwise.

Unknown Number: 

Y/nnnn, get dressed, I want to take you to meet my friends 🙂

“How the hell did he get my number?” You were going to investigate but decided you too needed a bath. You were still only wearing a nightgown. 

_________

When you emerged from the guest room, you wore a sundress that stopped at your knees, ivory, with a little design on the hem, and a pair of steel-toe boots that you ordered from the Boot Barn weeks prior. To assimilate with the rural area you were in. Now you were going to find Tanner. You grabbed your sun visor and exited the house. Apparently, Tanner had also shared his location with you. He was only half a mile away from the house. So you head west, where the blue barn with a rusty roof was. It was a brisk walk, you felt as though you had completed a quarter of your steps for the day. Once you reached the barn, you noticed Tanner had discarded his t-shirt on the dirt pathway. Your eyes trailed to his jeans, he left them on the ground? Then you heard something, Oh Fuck! 

You were standing in the middle of the large barn doors when your eyes wouldn’t leave Tanner’s buttocks. He was flexing in the back of the barn, the light shining on him like he was a nude angel. The cows and goats had ignored him, mooing and baaing as they ate. Tanner was feeling himself, touching his pectoral muscle, rubbing his leg as his hand was dangerously close to his half-erect penis, and posing in front of what seemed to be his phone. Though this wasn’t the first time(or last) that you’ve seen him in all of his glory, you could feel your stomach acid surge up your esophagus. The saliva in your mouth increased its flow as you turned around and gagged. As you were struggling to throw up, Tanner heard, running to you still naked to pat on your back. You were dry-heaving, praying that what was coming up would get out of your system. When it didn’t, you started to cough, choke on saliva even. 

Then, Tanner ran to his father’s fridge by the milk station. Normally, it would house some beers, but Amelia wanted to make sure Tanner or Dale weren’t drinking on the job. So there were water bottles in there. Tanner grabs a hold of two, taking it to you and opening them. You took the opened bottle the best way you could, chugging water down your esophagus. When you were situated, He grabbed his clothes and started dressing himself.

“What…the fuck, Tanner?” You questioned, broken-up words only formed as you tried to talk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Y/n! I didn’t know you would come here.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You asked in a soft tone, trying not to upset your now throbbing head. You saw how embarrassed he truly was. Or was he fronting? You honestly couldn’t tell. Either way, his heart was beating out of his chest, and he was hurrying to put his clothes back on. His phone propped on a block of hay and the barn wall tipped over. Now You are terrified. A sex freak has taken you to his house. You’ve touched him, and he has feelings for you. You’re doomed. 

“Y/n? Y/n, I know you're confused, and I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!” Now he was on the ground, clutching your waist. His pants were nearly halfway down, you could see his erection imprinted on his jeans. Oh my goodness! 

“Tanner, hon it's okay, I'm ok now.” You half lied. If anything, you wanted to run and tell Dale and Amelia. 

“Are you sure? I know you were about to throw up.” He sniffed, snot running down his nose. 

“Yeah,” you console, tilting his chin up. Tanner had calmed his tears. He wiped them away, then rested his face against your belly. 

“Tanner,” 

“Yes, Y/n?”

“Get up.” You sternly said. Tanner stood to his feet. His bare feet crunching the hay on the ground. “Okay, now, how did you get my phone number?” 

“I have an iPhone too. I just pressed the screens together.” 

“So you didn’t go through my phone?”

“I don’t know your password, but, since we’re getting closer,” he responded, pulling you closer into his arms, “we’re allowed to share each other’s passwords.”

“No, we’re not close. I don’t want to be close with you, I just want to go home!” He rolled his eyes, he’s rolling his fucking eyes at me? 

“Okay, well, I’ll take your word for it,” he says, walking out of the barn. Out of the blue, you could hear Benson Boone’s music. Oh God! You noticed he still hasn’t put on his boots, and that his friends are pulling up. What the hell was he doing just sitting on the hay bales? 

You picked up his boots, taking them to him while he was still sitting. He thanked you, sliding them on one at a time. Suddenly, a dirty red Ford pulled up in front of y’all. In there, you estimated that there were seven people in the truck. I suppose these people don’t give a fuck about their lives.

“Tanner! What’s taking you so long! Hop yo’ ass in the back!” The driver yelled, throwing a beer at Tanner’s chest. 

“And bring that piece of ass with ya!” Then there was a series of laughter and screaming. You groaned out loud, Why am I put in this situation?! You thought your scowl spoke for itself. Knowing how Tanner is and now his friends, you felt as though you threw yourself into a pit of disgusting country bumpkins. Speaking of Tanner, you felt Tanner’s callous hand on your back, bringing you back to your tranquility. 

“Ignore them, they're just being dicks.” He consoled you. One of the only times he’s been serious. You were a little regretful of believing he would egg on his friends. 

He hops into the truck’s trunk. When he was in, he opened the trunk’s gate, pulling you onto his lap. For a moment, the two of you exchanged silent stares, and the ruby blush had dusted his cheeks. You had forgotten that twenty minutes ago, he was crying because you caught him naked in a barn. 

It wasn't until, without warning, the guy on the steering wheel had pressed the gas pedal, causing you to accidentally fall on top of Tanner. Your tooth scratched his bottom lip, causing a gash that wasn’t too serious to postpone the event(not like y’all could leave now). Luckily, Tanner had some tissue on him. Of course, he did. 

The girl that was sitting in front of you inside of the truck had opened the truck’s back window, showing her face. She had freckles that dusted her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Her brunette hair was tied in a bun by a green ribbon. She had extended her arm out of the window to introduce herself. 

“Hi, there stranger, my name’s Leticia.” You took her hand, shaking it. “Y/n, nice to meet you.” 

“Are you Tanner’s girlfriend?” She asks, causing the boy right next to her to turn and look at you. 

“Um, it’s complicated,” you said. And honestly, it was complicated. First, you were jerking him off, now you’re saying you will never get close to him. How complicated can you get?

“Ah, I see, well, have fun back there, don’t go too crazy.” She says, closing the window.

“Tanner, are you okay, hon?” You noticed he was still dabbing the napkin against his lip. You took it out of his hand, pressing hard on his lip. 

“Honey, you’re gonna have to press down on it to give it some pressure. It’ll stop the bleeding.” 

“Y/n, what do you mean by it’s complicated?” His voice has softened, yet he sounds confused. 

“I just…I don’t know. Do I like this thing we’re doing, or not?”  

“Well, I like you. And I want you to know what you want, 'cause I already know.” He says, holding onto your waist, not to touch you, but to keep you secure when his friend hits a bump on the road.

“Are you patient?” You asked.

“No, not really.” He replies with no thought. 

“Just give me a few days, when I see you again, I’ll let you know.”

——————-

The guy on the steering wheel stops by a local restaurant. And good for you, because your appetite has come back. You were hoping the establishment would have tap pay because you left your wallet in your room. When you entered, and asked the waiter, they told you no. 

Tanner heard(of course) and offered to pay for your food. You thanked him, offering to pay him back when you got home, but he refused. Saying you were okay and that he was okay with you. Okay? You would come to find out that, out of everyone in Tanner’s entourage, including you, you were the only one legally allowed to drink. You and another guy, who was allergic to alcohol. Bummer. So you were bombarded all night by his bitch of friends to buy drinks. If you declined, you weren't gonna go to jail tonight, tomorrow, or ever! 

You suppose this was going to be your dinner. A medium rare burger with steak fries and a Modelo. Something you weren’t expecting or proud of but didn’t care. You were still disgusted by Tanner’s friends. How could someone hang out with such vile, detestable people? The girl who looked like Wendy's mascot agreed with your resentment.

“Sure, Tanner seems like an independent guy,” she continued, drinking her mocktail, “but in reality, he’s kind of a pushover.“

“Oh?” That was all you said; you sat there and allowed her to talk. Talk about how dependent and docile he could be. You weren’t aware of how shy-natured he was, being that he normally bothers you a lot. The girl, whose name was Dana, would tell you about how much of a loner your Tanner was. Often ditched his friends to go play with his animals at the FFA club (Future Farmers of America). 

He was kind of a mama’s boy before being introduced to you and your streams. No wonder why Amelia never scolded him. He had her wrapped around his fingers. He knew how kindhearted she was so whenever Dale would lecture him, she would be at his rescue. This was something that was said by Dana, 

a girl who, besides you, was the only girl Tanner had invited to his house. The result of conservative parenting and losing interest in other girls.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, and he doesn’t “have time” for girlfriend stuff. He would be too busy talking about some Twitch Streamer or whatever.” You. He would talk about you to his friends? Though you were a little weirded out, even cringing, you were also flattered. You so enamored him that he rejected the idea of spending time with his friends and having relationships. It reminded you of what Elizabeth said the first night you came over. 

“He’s too shy around people.” Or does he purposefully push people away because he thinks you would show up in his life (which you did) unannounced and offer to be his girlfriend? Yeah, sure. Any possibilities could be right, and it intrigued you. What would a boy from the country want with a city girl, so badly, that he pushes people away for your attention? And if you hadn’t met him on the side of the road, would you still be brought to his life, or would he come to you? Like a hungry, lonesome tiger traveling thousands of miles for his tigress? You wouldn’t know for long.

After the get-together ended, it was time for y’all to head back. The guy who drove you and Tanner back home thanked you for having Tanner quote one quote, “come out of his shell again.” You didn’t care about what else he was talking about. He claimed that Tanner would lock you down one day, or he would put a ring on your finger before the year ends. Just utter bullshit from someone who called you a “piece of ass” hours ago. You wouldn’t let that go, and honestly, why would you?

Tanner unlocks his house door, allowing you in first. “Hey, we’re back!” Tanner called, “Hey!” He called some more. Something had caught your eye. It was a note on the foyer table. You picked it up, “Hey y’all, we’ll be out for a few hours. Our church is having a food drive. Dinner’s on the stove. Be back at 8! Love, Mom.” You recite. 

“So, I guess we’re alone for a few hours,” Tanner says, walking in front of you. Removing his hat, ran his fingers through his wavy hair, and he then turned to look at you, only you were gone. You had entered your room while he was feeling himself. It was late, and you just wanted to turn in, still full from dinner. Though he was somewhat content to have time with his friends, he wanted to spend the rest of the night with you. 

Meanwhile, you heard a knock on the door. You opened it. Tanner wraps his arms around you. You could feel his warmth, the sweat that he worked up from roughhousing with his friends. It took you a second to notice that you were being pushed away from your door. Hands-on your ass, you were lifted into the air. Taken to your bed, gently laying you down. He got on top of you, removing his t-shirt to wipe his sweat off his face with said shirt. 

“I miss you,” he whispered.

“Tanner, what’s up with you? You’ve seen me all day.” You asked, a teasing tone in your voice. This has become pretty common for Tanner to hold you as if you were his but never has he picked you up and placed you on the bed. You wanted to believe he was teasing you again, but you knew good and well what was up, especially when he allowed his fingers to caress your cheeks. Or when his thigh pushed your dress up, remaining against your clothed vagina. 

“I want you, I can’t wait any longer, I need you, Y/n.” he groaned, his thumb caressing your cheek, rubbing it oh-so gently.  

“Tanner, what if your family comes back?” you asked, genuinely concerned. You didn't want his loving family to walk in on y’all having sex, or whatever y’all were inching to do. Tanner got up from the bed. He walked to the door, locking the door knob so no one would open it. 

    “It’s fine, no one will know, this is between us and the four walls only.” He came back to his spot on the bed, taking your arms and hovering them above your head. He had unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants before getting up to pull them off. 

When he was only in his boxers, the ones that hugged his ass and dick so pleasingly, he noticed you sitting up to look at his goods. “You have a nice body, have you noticed that?” you ask.

He chuckled, and you knew how shy he was getting. His little celebrity crush told him he looked good. He was eating it up. Just like he will be eating you up. You volunteered to pull your panties down for him, yet he was quick to take them off, almost like a hungry, horny vampire. “Be patient, honey,” you spoke with a sweet saccharine tone. So he would pull them down with patience. Then he would start devouring. 

When his lips made contact with your clit, you nearly jolted from the touch. Closing your legs as a response. Tanner pried them open with his man hands to continue. Something in you made you feel embarrassed for your reaction, and he would remind you of that later. 

As his lips found your swollen bean, kissing it with aching tenderness before sucking it into the heat of his mouth, a shudder rippled through you. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate circles, each flick sending sparks down your spine. You couldn’t help but grind against his face, chasing the pleasure he coaxed from you with every hungry pull of his mouth, every teasing swirl of his tongue. Your fingers tangled in his messy hair, anchoring yourself as your hips moved in rhythm with his touch, desperate and raw, needing more. 

Every touch felt like heaven. You felt hot and steamy from this man’s foreplay. And it had you thinking, maybe you should soften up to him. Not because he’s so good at oral, but because he’s the only guy that cares. Of course, he could be love bombing you at this moment to keep you close, but who knows? All that mattered was the thick pink fingers he was shoving inside of you. One at a time, he prodded his index and middle fingers into your vagina. Slowly teasing you. 

Look at how he watches you, in the midst of severe feral arousal, he had a caring visage. Like he knows that he should go slow with his girlfriend. You knew that look. Your former boyfriend had that look on the first night, your first night. You belonged to Tanner now, somewhat. And you felt that he would take care of you. Accept it, leaving will cause a stab in your heart and pussy. 

Tanner could feel you coming near to your orgasm, he could hear it in your voice as well. So he picked up the pace, both with his tongue flicking your pearl and his now slimy fingers going faster and faster on your poor girl. He licked the sensitive part of your pearl, then you orgasmed. Your face had contorted from his pleasure, mouth wide open as you screamed. Your jaw is throbbing from keeping it open too long. When you were finishing moaning, he was about to leave your mouth when you forced him back, making him lick once more as you rode out your high. Now, you were done. And now you can let go of him. 

As he got up from the floor, he laughed. Oh, so everything is a joke now? “What’s so funny?” You asked, sitting up from your position. He didn’t respond, only climbing into bed gently to not cause himself to cum. From the looks of it, he looks like he was close to cumming his damn self. He sat on your hips, still rubbing himself. You stayed silent so you could hear his whimpers. He was killing you, JUST PUT IT IN NOW! Your horny side cried. 

“Don’t move,” You spoke, rummaging through your purse to find a nearly old condom. You noticed he had scowled at the packaged rubber before fixing his face to let you know he was ready. “I’ll put it on,” you said, tearing it open with your manicured nails. You shoved it on his thick, pink shaft, and already, he was leaking precum. He had covered his mouth as he moaned. Oh hell no. 

“You were laughing b’fore, what’s wrong now?” You teased, smacking your hand against his cock, causing him to gasp(and nearly cum in his draws.) He had pushed you back against the covers, resting his hand in yours, interlocking them. “Now, why would you do that, baby? Playing with me like that?” Without you knowing, he had perfectly lined his cock. Slowly allowing his cock to kiss your lips. He gently held your jaw, moving your face so you could look him straight in the eyes as he fucked you. When he slid his cock deep insdie of you, you groaned. Groaned from the abrupt feeling of cock entering you for the first time in forever. And so it begins. 

You grind against the rhythm of his cock inside of you. Your legs wrap around his waist, one hand still interlocked with his, while the other finds solace against his neck. Your eyes cast a spell on him, causing him to feel queasy and nervous. You felt his stare becoming intimidating, and you told him to stop. “But who can I lay my eyes on? Who, when that minxy face of yours that makes me want to cum. You are so beautiful, baby.” He sighed, licking your jawline. You would’ve puked on his face from his freakish behavior, but at that moment, you could sense your endorphins rushing. 

Tanner rests his head against your forehead, he allows his fingers to intertwine with yours again. Touching you gave him some solace, knowing it was genuine, and it was you with whom he was making love. “You’re so beautiful, you make me happy, baby.” He whimpered, like a virgin who was making love to the girl of his dreams. Oh wait.

“You sound like a virgin, but keep it up, I love this from you.” You teased, running your nails against his back. Tanner would lean towards your ear, “It’s because I am,” he laughs, turning you around and picking up the pace. Everything was fast-paced. You were hoping he would get the memo and calm his ass down. 

“I love how smart you are, my Y/n. It’s like you read me like a book-ah.” He was pounding roughly into your pussy. You were out of breath from him yanking your arms and pussy pounding you. He had to stop. 

“Ta-TANNER, baby, I need you to slow down. This doesn’t feel right.” You stammered, and he slowed down. Lying on your back in the process. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he sounded so artificial right now. Suddenly, you could feel his bear hands grasp your breasts, your swollen nipples being pinched between his index and middle fingers. “I will go slow, for you.” You could feel his hip pressed against your ass. His cock penetrating your vagina as you cried. You could’ve cum right away, the way he was manhandling you still but with a gentle force, your wanted to right now.

“Tanner, Tanner…Ah~” You cried, he moved your head to the side, making you try to look at him. “I’ve always wanted to have you as mine, Y/n. The things I have done and will continue to do for your love.” Now you were scared, but your speeding orgasm was taking over your fear. 

“I love how determined you are to have me…fuck.” You groaned, he continued. Your breath fanning your face. His starving behavior forces the orgasm out of you. He felt your pussy tighten up, fluttering around his cock. He loved the way your spongy cervix kissed his red tip. He adored it, prodding back and forth into you just to feel you. Lying on your soft back, he rested his hot head against your face. You were obsessed with hearing his cock pound you, the plopping sound from your wet juices permeating his clothed cock. Your fingers clawed the comforter that you would sleep on later (Not at all). His breathy moans hit your face, causing you to sweat. And before long, you could feel yourself come undone to his pleasure. He moaned low in his chest, his back aching from leaning on you for too long. 

“I love you, my Y/n.” He cried. You thought he was teasing you; however, you also fell victim to the orgasmic thoughts. “I-I love you too, honey. You and your gorgeous ass. Please get off of me?” You moaned, feeling the extra 230 pounds leave your back. You sigh in relief, getting up from the bed finally breathe naturally. And of course, Tanner wraps his arms around you. Pulling you into his embrace. He kissed your cheek before taking your jaw and kissing your lips. You moaned into his mouth, accidentally allowing his tongue to enter your mouth. His hand cups your right breast, the other spreading your legs open so he could tease your vagina again. His fingers played with your wetness, allowing you to leak on the bed. 

You were so close, so close to having another orgasm, until you heard the front door open. “Fuck!”

“KIDS! WE’RE HOME!” Amelia called, “Mama, they’re probably asleep.” You heard Elizabeth, then some more hushed conversations before the door was slammed shut. You assumed it was from Dale. 

“Let’s stop,” You whisper, removing his hands from your body. “We have to go to bed.” 

“Well, you can’t sleep in with this comforter. There’s one in the linen closet, but we should bathe.” Tanner responds in a whisper. He took his fingers and sucked on them, suckling and licking on each digit as you watched him in disgust. Though you could feel your clitorus twitching from his slutty behavior. 

Now you must take a bath. 

Meanwhile:

Tanner when his longtime crush gives him some pum pum :

[georgeclarkeys]

blue eyed bet pt 2 - george clarkey x reader

summary: you deal with the aftermath of finding out your boyfriend asked you out on a bet - 2.3k words

pt 1

i was struggling with this a bit, but the lovely @pretendyoucantseeme helped me brainstorm! so if you were fighting for your life waiting for this, go tell her thank you lololol. anyways this is the longest fic i have ever posted and i was mad when i wrote it so good luck!

hope y'all don't hate it!

-

Your head was pounding. After leaving George standing in the doorway of his flat, you called your best friend. She picked you up, and took you home, before letting you cry on her shoulder all night. That was four days ago.

You had been sulking in bed for four whole days. The curtains were drawn, there was an empty tub of ice cream on the nightstand, and you were under a weighted blanket. The lights were off, but the room was being illuminated by the dull light of the television. The scene in your bedroom looked like a cliche painting, depicting heartbreak in its most basic form. George had texted you. Chris had texted you. Both Arthurs had texted you. You could not bring yourself to reply to any of them, especially George, while you could still feel the ache in your chest.

A knock on your door pulled your attention away from the raunchy reality show on the TV. You made no effort to get up. Let them think I’m not home. The knock sounded again, a bit louder this time. Fuck me, you thought, rubbing your puffy eyes. You hauled yourself out of bed and threw on the nearest sweatshirt, not bothering to deal with the birds-nest situation on top of your head. The person at the door knocked again. 

“Fucking shit, I’m coming! Damn!” You yelled out, growing irritated. As your hand touched the door knob, you had a realization and paused.

“If your name is George Clarke, go away,” you spoke to the person through the door.

“My name is not George Clarke,” the unmistakable, muffled voice of Chris Dixon replied.

Cracking the door open in shock, your eyes landed on Chris. He looked tired, you could see it in his eyes and slightly disheveled hair.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, trying to scrub the crusted tears off your cheeks with your hand. 

“(Y/N), no one has heard from you in four days. You are my friend. I needed to make sure you were at least alive, and I want to talk to you.”

You eyed him warily. He looked sincere, and there was a hint of desperation in his expression.

“Can I come in?” He asked you, gesturing slightly with his hand. 

You didn’t respond, but opened the door wider, allowing him to enter. You followed Chris to the couch, opting to sit in the chair across from him. You folded your hands in your lap and avoided looking directly into his eyes. 

“George doesn’t know I’m here,” he started, before pausing and taking a few minutes to gather his thoughts. “I wanted to explain myself, because you deserve to know what happened that night.”

You peered out the window, and focused on your breathing, “go on.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and interlocking his hands. His eyes were trained on the ground in shame, “I was not aware that you did not know about the bet. Obviously. I would like to start out by saying that you should have known a long time ago.”

He paused. You couldn’t move if you tried.

“George had noticed you early on, that night,” he continued. “He mentioned something offhand about the beautiful girl across the room, but no one really took him seriously. Arthur noticed when you started staring at George from the bar. Then, you started to leave. George was too shy to chase you down, so I offered him twenty pounds if he could get your number and ask you on a date. (Y/N) I swear on my life it was nothing malicious. We were not making fun of you, and I was not trying to be a dickhead. I was just trying to get my friend to make a move on the woman he had been sneaking glances at all night. I’m not trying to make excuses, what we did was wrong, but we all truly love and care about you. You deserved to know the truth.”

You curled into your chair, tucking your feet under you and placing your fist under your chin. You could feel Chris’s eyes on you but you kept your gaze firmly on the window. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest and your mind was racing with thoughts. 

One thought in particular emerged ahead of the others. Your lips were moving before you had a chance to consider your words.

“How is George?” You blurted out, the first words you had spoken since you sat down with Chris. 

He looked startled for a moment, but composed himself quickly. “He’s, uh, he’s not handling this very well. He misses you… wants to make things right.”

You cut your eyes back to Chris, making eye contact with him. He had given you some things to think about. “Thanks for stopping by, Chris.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile and rose out of his chair. You stayed put as he walked to the door, your eyes back on the window. The door squeaked as Chris opened it.

“(Y/N)?” He called, causing you to turn your head towards him, “I hope you know how sorry I am. Truly.”

You nodded as he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in your thoughts once again.

Eventually, you lumbered back into your room. You were still trying to work through the information that Chris had given you, and pondering if it made a difference at all. Your phone lit up with a notification, grabbing your attention. It was just an email, but it reminded you of all your unread texts.

Picking up your phone, you took a deep breath and willed yourself to open the messages from George.

georgie <3 

Four days ago: 

(Y/N) I am so sorry please let me explain

I am the biggest idiot on the planet

Let me know you’re safe please

Three days ago:

(Y/N) please just tell me you made it home safe

I know you don’t want to talk to me, text Chris or Arthur or someone please I just want to know you’re safe

Two days ago:

I wouldn’t talk to me right now either. I will give you all the space you need. If you want to talk, please text me

You sighed, loudly, and brought your hand up to your mouth to chew on a fingernail. You love George, but was this something you could forgive? He had betrayed your trust in so many ways, and lied to you several times over the course of your relationship. Your mind began to wander, imagining the worst case scenarios. You needed answers: real answers. Answers that you could only get from George. Your fingers were dancing across the screen before you could talk yourself out of it.

send to georgie <3 ?

I want to talk to you. In person. Come to mine?

You pressed send and immediately set your phone face down, trying to control your nerves. He replied less than a minute later.

georgie <3 

I’ll be there in 20

Twenty minutes flew by, mainly due to your panicked cleaning and fretting over your appearance. For the second time that day, a knock sounded at your door. You took a deep breath before opening the door, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw. 

George’s gorgeous blue eyes were dull, seemingly held up by the dark circles under them. The usually pristine, curly mullet was flat and lifeless. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept since the last time you saw him. In one of his hands he held a bouquet of pink stargazer lilies, your favorite flower. 

George ran his other hand through his hair, ruffling it, “These are for you. They're your favorite, right?” He lifted his arm, offering the bouquet of flowers to you. You blinked at him. He had brought you flowers a million times before, but this felt different, like it was more intentional. 

Your mouth twitched, not a smile but the ghost of one. “Thank you, George,” you spoke softly as you took the flowers out of his hand, “come, sit while I put these in a vase.” He nodded and made his way to the couch, ironically sitting in the exact same spot that Chris had chosen. His eyes lingered on you as you filled a vase with water and delicately placed the lilies inside. No one said a word.

You sat across from him, in the same chair that you did earlier. You were glad he brought you flowers, it gave you a minute to gather your thoughts.

“(Y/N), I-” he started, but you cut him off.

“No. I’m going first,” his eyes widened slightly but you continued. “George, I have never been as angry in my entire life than I am at you right now. I feel like you played me. You lied to me. You betrayed my trust. I’ve spent four days wondering if any of it was real at all.”

His face crumbled at the last sentence, but he did not interrupt you.

“George, I love you. I love you so deeply that there has been a real ache in my chest for four days. That is why I am willing to hear you out. So please, say what you came to say.”

His eyes found yours; melancholic yearning was written on his face. The eyes you loved to get lost in suddenly brought about a simple wariness in your mind.

“The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you,” he choked out, voice cracking with emotion. You longed to reach out and comfort him, but the walls you had built up kept you from moving.

“I am so sorry for not telling you about the bet, (Y/N). I should have told you on our first date, but I didn’t. I chickened out. You were so amazing, and we were having such a good time. I didn’t want to ruin it. Fuck, I should have told you that day.” He ran his fingers through his hair again; he was nervous.

“I don’t know how I can make this up to you, but I will do anything. I will get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness (Y/N).”

Your heart lurched, and a few tears trickled down your cheek, “George, how can I trust you? How can I trust anything you’ve ever said to me?”

He straightens his back, locking his gorgeous blue eyes on your teary ones. “Everything was real, (Y/N). I know you. I know you and I love everything about you. I know that you take your coffee with cream and just a touch of sugar. You write in your journal every morning while you drink it. I know that you love Indian food, but you’ll only buy it from that place down the street because you found out the owners are working to pay for their daughters' schooling.” 

Your tears were flowing freely now.

“I know you love animals,” he continued, “and I would never take you to a zoo unless conservation and rehabilitation were clearly part of their mission, because I know how passionate you are about it. I know that you scrunch your nose when you concentrate, and cry when you’re nervous. Your favorite flowers are pink stargazer lilies, and you only eat tomatoes if they’re in pasta sauce. You love it when I kiss your forehead, and hold your hand in crowded places. Every time you watch a new movie you end up crying because you get attached to the characters. You have so much love in your heart for everyone around you, even people who don’t deserve it, and strangers.”

You were sobbing at this point, feeling the intense emotion in his words. He moved off the couch, falling to his knees at your feet. “May I?” He asked, gesturing at your hands. You said nothing, but nodded your head, giving him permission to grab your hands. He held them softly, like he was scared of breaking you, and resumed his monologue. 

“(Y/N), I know you and I love you. I should have told you about the bet from the start. All I know is that it played no part in the real love I have for you. It stopped being a bet for me as soon as I started talking to you. There is nothing more real than my love for you. Please, give me another chance. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

You squeezed his hands before releasing them. He looked defeated, but only for a moment as you grabbed his face and pressed your lips against his. There was no hesitation, he kissed you back immediately. The kiss was full of desperation and longing, like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally been brought back together. As your lips moved against his, you could feel the hot tears begin to slide down his face. 

You pulled back, breaking the kiss. Taking in the tear stained face of the man in front of you, still on his knees at your feet, you knew he meant every word he said. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered, cracking a half-hearted smile, “but I’ll give you another chance, George Clarke. Please don’t break my heart again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he said back with a sincere smile. For the first time in four days, the stars were shining in his gorgeous blue eyes once again.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Wingman For Life

bradley bradshaw x fem!mitchell!reader

Call Sign: Ghost

The door to the hangar slammed shut behind her with a sharp clack, but Ghost didn’t even flinch. She was too busy walking like she didn’t just spend the last twelve minutes kissing Rooster behind the fuel rig.

“Where were you?” Phoenix asked, not even looking up from the maintenance checklist in her hand.

“Bathroom.”

“With your hair messed up like that?” Payback snorted. “C’mon, Ghost. You might be stealth in the sky, but you ain’t stealth in love.”

Ghost glanced down at her flyaway strands and bit back a grin. Rooster always did that — buried his fingers in her hair like he wanted to memorize it. She smoothed it down quickly.

“Bathroom,” she repeated flatly.

Phoenix finally looked up. “You know your dad’s gonna find out eventually, right?”

Ghost just rolled her eyes. “Not if we don’t tell him.”

“Not if you don’t tell him,” Hangman corrected as he walked by. “The rest of us are just counting down to the explosion.”

⸻

Ten Hours Earlier

It was nearly midnight when she slipped out the back door of Maverick’s little beach house. The porch light flickered twice — the secret signal. Rooster had gotten lazy about it lately. She told him he was going to get them caught.

“I don’t care anymore,” he’d whispered last week, cupping her face in his hands like she was some precious thing. “I hate pretending you’re not mine.”

But pretending was easier than facing Maverick’s silence. Easier than disappointing the only parent who ever mattered.

So she’d kept sneaking out — into his Bronco, into his bed, into his heart, again and again.

Tonight, they didn’t drive. He was already leaning against the porch rail when she came out, hair a mess, hoodie zipped halfway, the sleeves pushed up to show his tanned forearms.

Her weakness.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, pulling her into his arms.

“My dad’s still up.”

“I heard. He almost caught me walking up.”

“Bradley!”

He just laughed, holding her tighter. “Relax, Ghost. He’s not gonna kill me.”

“He will if he finds out I’ve been climbing out the back door like I’m sixteen.”

“You kinda act like it,” he smirked.

She smacked his chest, but he caught her hand before she could pull away. “Hey,” he said softly, “I’m serious. We’ve been doing this for almost a year. He’s gotta know by now.”

She looked down, heart thudding. “But knowing and seeing are two different things.”

Rooster leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “He’s not gonna hate me forever.”

“I don’t think he hates you,” she whispered. “I think he’s just scared.”

“Of what?”

She didn’t answer.

He already knew.

⸻

Back to Present Day

Ghost was running post-flight diagnostics when she felt him — like always. She didn’t have to turn around to know Rooster was watching her from across the hangar. She could feel his gaze, hot and steady, like the sun through a cockpit window.

He walked up behind her under the pretense of checking the flight logs.

“Nice landing,” he said quietly.

“You almost clipped the tarmac,” she muttered.

He grinned. “You noticed.”

“I always notice when you’re being cocky.”

“I’m always cocky.”

She bit back a smile. “Exactly.”

He leaned in a little closer. “You coming over tonight?”

“My dad’s off tomorrow,” she said. “He’ll be home late.”

Rooster’s eyes sparkled. “So you’re saying… back door at 2300?”

“I’m saying—” she started, but then a voice barked from behind them.

“Ghost.”

They both straightened like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Maverick.

She turned slowly. “Yeah?”

Maverick stood ten feet away, arms crossed, aviators on even though they were inside. Classic.

“Debrief in ten,” he said. Then, without looking at Rooster: “Alone.”

Rooster cleared his throat. “Copy that, sir.”

Maverick didn’t even acknowledge him. Just turned and walked away.

Ghost sighed. “That’s new.”

Rooster shoved his hands in his pockets. “He’s not even trying to pretend he doesn’t hate me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

Rooster gave her a look.

“He doesn’t,” she insisted. “He just… has to protect me.”

“From what?” he asked. “From being happy?”

“From losing me,” she whispered.

Rooster softened instantly.

“I’m not your dad,” she added. “I’m not going to leave someone I love because the sky is calling.”

He stepped closer. “You love me?”

She blinked.

He grinned. “You said you love me.”

“I said it hypothetically—”

“Nope. I heard it. Loud and clear. Ghost loves me.”

She shoved him away, blushing. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She did — behind the wing of her jet, hands in his hair, mouth against his like the whole world was quiet.

⸻

Later That Night

Maverick stood in the hallway outside her room. He watched the porch light flicker once, then twice.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t say anything.

Just watched her go.

And whispered, so quietly even the walls wouldn’t remember:

“You better be worth it, Bradshaw.”

———

(2 days later)

She should’ve known it was too quiet.

She stepped into the kitchen in a hoodie and shorts, hair still damp from her morning shower, expecting an empty room and maybe half a leftover donut if Rooster hadn’t raided the box last night.

Instead, her father was standing at the counter. Coffee mug in hand. Reading glasses on. Waiting.

She froze like a kid who’d snuck in past curfew.

Maverick didn’t look up. “Sleep okay?”

“Fine.”

“You?”

“Fine.”

He finally raised his eyes to meet hers. “You were out late.”

She didn’t flinch. “So were you.”

Touché.

He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. The air between them stretched thin.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked softly.

Her stomach dropped. Her hands went cold.

She tried to buy time. “About what?”

“About where you’ve been. Who you’ve been with.”

Beat.

His voice lowered, dangerous now:

“Who’s been sneaking into my house after midnight.”

Her heart thudded. He knew. He knew.

“I—” she started.

“Save it,” Maverick said sharply. “I’m not stupid. You think I haven’t noticed the lights flickering? The quiet footsteps past my door? The Bronco that disappears before sunrise?”

She looked down, ashamed. “I was going to tell you.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I wasn’t afraid you’d blow it all up.”

Maverick’s jaw clenched. “You’re my daughter.”

“I’m also an adult.”

“You’re my kid. My only family. And you’re sneaking around with—”

“Don’t,” she said, voice trembling. “Don’t say it like he’s just some guy.”

“He’s not just some guy,” Maverick snapped. “He’s an aviator. He’s exactlythe kind of man I never wanted for you.”

“But you raised me in this world. You taught me to fly. You made me love the sky—”

“Because I didn’t want you to love someone who would leave you for it.”

Silence.

Dead, aching silence.

She stared at him, chest heaving. “So what, Dad? You’d rather I be alone forever than risk being happy?”

“I’d rather you live.”

“I am living.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m in love.”

The words hung in the air like gunpowder.

Maverick blinked, and for the first time, he looked unsure. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve been serious,” she whispered.

He exhaled, pacing now. “You could have anyone. A doctor, an engineer, hell, even a barista—”

“I don’t want a barista.”

“You want him?”

“I want Rooster.”

Maverick rubbed his face like he was exhausted. “Do you even know what this life costs?”

She looked at him steadily. “You do. And you still chose it.”

“I lost everything for it.”

“And now you’d make me lose him too?”

He didn’t answer.

——

(Later That Day)

Rooster could feel it before she even opened her mouth — something had happened.

She walked up to him slowly after training, helmet under her arm, eyes glassy.

“You okay?”

She nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He knew better.

“Ghost…”

She exhaled and looked up at him. “He knows.”

Rooster froze.

“What’d he say?”

“That I’m playing with fire.”

Rooster swallowed. “Do you believe that?”

“No,” she said instantly. “Do you?”

He looked at her like she was gravity and he was the sky. “I believe you’re the only thing that’s ever made me want to land somewhere.”

She let out a shaky breath and touched his chest. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

———

Maverick’s house… Rooster knocks

It was stupid, probably. But he couldn’t keep walking around like a ghost in her life. Not when he knew what she meant to him. Not when she’d stood up to her father for him.

Maverick opened the door slowly.

“I didn’t come to fight,” Rooster said.

Maverick stared.

“I love her,” Rooster said. “I’ve loved her for a long time.”

Nothing.

“I didn’t want to sneak around. I wanted to tell you from the start. But she was scared.”

“She had every right to be,” Maverick said quietly.

Rooster nodded. “I know.”

Long pause.

Then:

“She’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” Rooster said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt her. I want to build with her. I want her in every part of my life.”

Maverick didn’t answer.

Rooster turned to leave, heart in his throat.

But then, softly:

“If you break her heart,” Maverick said, “you better pray the Navy finds you before I do.”

Rooster turned back slowly.

Maverick wasn’t smiling.

“But if you love her the way you say you do… then I’ll try.”

Rooster blinked. “You will?”

Maverick nodded once. “I’ll try.”

———

( 4 Months Later)

Rooster and Maverick taxi down the runway after a two-plane training run. The sky is impossibly blue. The silence in the post-flight hangar is thick.

Rooster knows he has to do this now or he never will.

They step out of the jets, flight suits half-unzipped, dust clinging to everything. Maverick pulls off his gloves, waiting for Rooster to speak. He can feel it — the tension, the unspoken question. And Rooster’s been different all day. Nervous. Too careful.

Maverick finally breaks the silence. “You gonna say what you dragged me out here to say?”

Rooster exhales.

“I want to marry her.”

Maverick looks at him like he’s just heard enemy radar lock.

“I figured,” he mutters.

“She’s everything to me,” Rooster says. “You know that.”

“I know what this life can do to people who get left behind.”

Rooster steps forward. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I’ll fight every goddamn day not to.”

Maverick stares at him. There’s no yelling. No threats. Just the quiet pain of a man who knows what it means to lose.

“You know what you’re asking me to do?” Maverick says. “You’re asking me to let her go.”

“I’m not asking you to lose her. I’m asking you to share her.”

Maverick’s jaw tightens. “I’ve been the only man in her life since she was born. I held her when she couldn’t sleep. I patched her up after every scraped knee. She calls me when she’s scared.”

“I know,” Rooster says quietly. “And when she says yes to me… she’s not replacing you. She’s building something new with me. But you’ll always be home.”

Silence.

Maverick stares off into the desert, the sun catching the silver at his temples. Then he reaches into his flight suit and pulls out something small — a dog tag.

“Her mom gave this to me when she was born. Said one day, I’d pass it to the man who’d take care of her.”

He drops it in Rooster’s palm.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Rooster’s voice breaks. “I won’t.”

Maverick finally, finally smiles — small and sad and proud all at once.

“You have my permission.”

———

(WEDDING DAYYYYY)

Phoenix helps zip up her dress. Ghost stares at herself in the mirror, overwhelmed. Not because of the gown, or the flowers, or the hundreds of tiny details. But because this day should’ve never worked.

Bradley waiting at the end of the aisle? That shouldn’t have been possible. Maverick giving his blessing? Even less likely.

Yet here she was.

Phoenix squeezes her hand.

“He’s gonna lose it when he sees you.”

Ghost snorts. “He cried at a detergent commercial last week. He’s a goner.”

They both laugh. But Ghost still pauses before leaving the room.

“I just wish Mom was here.”

Phoenix cups her face gently. “She is. In every step, every breath, every beat of your heart.”

And Ghost whispers:

“Then I hope she sees how happy I am.”

The sun paints the ocean gold. The Dagger Squad stands in dress whites, with Jake surprisingly looking respectable as best man. Maverick waits at the back of the aisle, his arm locked with Ghost’s. The second he sees her in that dress, something in him breaks wide open.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

He nods, blinking fast. “You look just like your mother did.”

When they reach the altar, Maverick kisses her cheek, holds Rooster’s eyes with a long, silent stare, and nods.

“Take care of her, kid.”

Rooster’s already crying.

Ghost speaks first.

“There’s no part of me that doesn’t love you. Even the broken parts. Especially the broken parts. You see every side of me and never flinch. You’ve flown beside me through storms I didn’t think I’d survive. I’ve never trusted someone with my life the way I trust you with my heart.”

Rooster wipes his face with a trembling hand.

“I didn’t believe in fate until you. You’re the call sign I never earned but somehow deserved. I want every deployment, every flight, every sunrise to be with you waiting for me to land. You are my forever wingman.”

The officiant barely makes it through the pronouncement before they’re kissing.

————

Everyone’s had a few drinks. Maverick’s smiling for the first time in weeks. Ghost is sitting in Rooster’s lap, glowing, champagne in hand. Hangman stands to toast.

It starts okay. Respectable. Touching, even.

“When Rooster told me he was dating Mav’s daughter, I said, ‘You’ve got bigger balls than brains.’”

Everyone laughs.

Then he keeps going.

“But hey, turns out, he just couldn’t resist the cockpit privileges, am I right?”

Silence.

Dead. Silence.

Ghost chokes on her drink.

Rooster’s eyes go wide.

Maverick stands.

“Oh hell no.”

Jake: “Wait, wait, Mav—bro—I was kidding!”

Maverick starts storming toward him like he’s gonna reenact a dogfight with fists.

Bob, Payback, and Fanboy IMMEDIATELY leap up to intercept.

Bob: “Captain! Sir! Let’s breathe!”

Fanboy: “He’s an idiot, but unarmed!”

Payback: “You wanna go back to prison or cut the cake?!”

Jake’s hiding behind the cake table now. “IT WAS A COMPLIMENT!”

Ghost just leans into Rooster, wheezing from laughter. “God, I love our dysfunctional little squad.”

Rooster kisses her forehead. “You married into it, sweetheart.”

————

The plane lands in Naples mid-morning. Rooster’s hand hasn’t left hers since they boarded in San Diego. The second they step off the jet, the Italian summer air wraps around them like a warm blessing.

Their driver winds them through coastal cliffs toward Positano — where pastel villas cling to the mountainside and the ocean stretches out like sapphire glass.

Ghost is practically hanging out the window, wide-eyed. “Bradley,” she whispers, “are we in a postcard?”

He squeezes her hand. “You said you wanted magic.”

Their villa is secluded, hidden behind olive trees and stone walls. It has a private terrace, infinity pool, and a view of the Tyrrhenian Sea that looks painted.

As the sun sets that first night, she steps out onto the balcony in a white linen dress and no shoes. Rooster’s waiting, two glasses of wine in hand. His eyes trail over her slowly.

“Mrs. Bradshaw,” he murmurs, “you’re gonna make me forget we have dinner reservations.”

She grins. “Who said we’re leaving this balcony?”

Day 2: They rent a Vespa. She makes him stop every five minutes so she can take pictures of flower-covered balconies and little cats sunning themselves on warm bricks. He teases her until she threatens to drive.

Day 4: They take a private boat out to Capri. She jumps in first, shrieking from the cold. He follows, holding her close as they float together, the sun turning the water gold.

Day 6: They get lost wandering through lemon groves. They kiss under the trees. He picks one, tries to bite into it like an apple, immediately regrets it. She laughs so hard she falls over.

Day 8: Rain. Gentle, steady, all day. They stay in. She reads aloud from a battered poetry book in bed while he sketches little doodles on her arm with his fingers.

Day 10: Dinner in Ravello. A string quartet. Candles flickering. She’s in a silky dress, and he can’t take his eyes off her. At one point he leans in and says, voice barely above a breath:

“You know I’d marry you a thousand times, right?”

She smiles slowly, tears in her eyes.

“I’d say yes a thousand more.”

Their last night is quiet. The sea murmurs against the cliffs below. They’re on the rooftop, wrapped in a blanket, watching the stars.

Rooster brushes her hair from her face. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

She shifts against him. “We can’t. But we get forever anywhere we are.”

There’s a pause. Then he asks:

“What do you see when you think of forever?”

Ghost turns to face him. She hesitates.

“A house. Dogs. Maybe a little pilot running around in a flight suit three sizes too big.”

He grins. “That sounds like chaos.”

“That sounds like us.”

————

The tan lines are fading, but the memories haven’t. Their wedding bouquet, now dried and hanging in a glass case Maverick helped them mount, still carries the scent of Amalfi lemon and salt air. Italy lives in little pieces around their home — a magnet on the fridge, a hand-painted dish they keep their keys in, photos thumbtacked to her vanity mirror.

The days are warm and soft, a slow rhythm of post-deployment domestic bliss.

Rooster makes her coffee every morning before her desk shift.

Ghost laughs too hard at his half-burned pasta experiments.

And Maverick — begrudgingly — is adjusting. He even gave Rooster his own key to the house last week. (“Don’t lose it. And don’t wake her up before 0600 ever again.”)

It’s perfect. Unshaken. Peaceful.

Until one morning, about eight weeks after the honeymoon…

Ghost is brushing her teeth when she suddenly doubles over the sink, gagging.

Rooster rushes in, worried. She waves him off. “I’m fine. Probably that gas station sushi you swore was ‘authentic.’”

But something shifts. Over the next few days, she gets tired faster. Her flight suit’s just a little tighter. She starts turning her nose up at coffee — coffee.

And then one morning, while Rooster’s on base early, she sits alone in the bathroom…

Staring down at two pink lines.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

She just sits there, heart pounding, hand trembling as it rests over her stomach.

And when she finally tells Maverick?

We’ll cut it right there.

Because nothing’s ever going to be the same.

———

Ghost paces the bathroom floor. The box lies open on the counter. The pregnancy test sits in her hand. Positive. Two solid pink lines. Two. She’s read the instructions three times, even Googled a few things just to be sure — but she knows.

She’s pregnant.

And she’s never been so scared and so calm in her life.

——

Rooster comes home around 1800. Still in his flight suit, hair windblown from a long day of drills. His grin fades slightly when he sees her waiting for him in the living room, not moving, just sitting still with both hands folded tightly in her lap.

“Everything okay?”

Ghost swallows. Nods. Then quietly, she stands. Walks up to him. Presses the test into his hand.

Rooster looks down. Then back up at her.

Then back down again.

“…Are you serious?”

She nods again, blinking fast. “I’m sorry if this is—”

He kisses her before she can finish. Hard. Desperate. Like he’s trying to anchor himself to this moment. His hand finds her belly — not even showing yet, not even close — but he rests his palm there like he’s already protecting someone.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” he breathes.

She laughs, breath catching. “Yeah.”

And that’s when he actually does tear up.

———

The Next Morning — Maverick’s House

They sit across from Maverick at the kitchen table. Ghost is unusually quiet, and Rooster keeps rubbing her thigh under the table like he’s the one who needs comforting.

Maverick narrows his eyes. “Alright. Either you’re being deployed to Mars or someone wrecked my motorcycle.”

Ghost straightens her shoulders. “We’re pregnant.”

Silence. Just for a second.

Then Maverick leans back, eyes wide.

“You’re serious.”

Rooster nods slowly. “Yeah, Mav. We’re serious.”

Maverick doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at his daughter. Something flickers in his expression — not fear, not anger — just a kind of stunned wonder.

And then:

“Holy shit. I’m gonna be a grandfather.”

He laughs. Actually laughs. Stands up. Walks around the table just to hug her tight, hand pressed gently between her shoulder blades like he’s afraid she’ll break. When he pulls back, he looks at Rooster.

“You better be ready.”

Rooster nods. “I will be.”

Maverick claps him on the back. Then turns to the both of them with a grin that makes him look twenty years younger.

“I’m gonna make the kid an aviator.”

[p1tterp4tter]

“Think about it.”

Playlist & Sneak Peek!

READ CHAPTER ONE HERE!

Pairing: QZ!Joel x Reader, Jackson!Joel x Reader

Summary: You loved Joel. Then he abandoned you. He came back after you had already moved on. But… had you? Actually moved on? Or is that just what you told yourself to survive in the years without him?

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Infidelity, marriage of convenience/loveless marriages, explicit sexual content, angst, previously established relationship, age gap (20s/50s), abandonment, slow burn, female reader, no use of y/n, Joel doesn’t know how to express his feelings until it’s too late, brief mentions of physical violence, non-canon timeline, some canon characters have been written out of this story, I’m so nervous posting this please be nice to me

A/N: This story will contain a ridiculously inaccurate timeline! We are honestly deviating from canon in a lot of ways. Also, HEY, haven’t written anything in like almost a decade? What the fuck? Fanfics are written so differently now than they were the last time I wrote something. Please be nice to me. Also, there will be themes of infidelity, loveless marriages, and more, so if anything like that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read! Some parts of this story are inspired by personal experiences and relationships I have been in, so be gentle please. Also no one has proofread this besides me so bear with me.

Dividers by @saradika

Images featured and characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me!

“Think about it.” — Playlist:

It didn’t take long for you to settle in nicely to the Jackson settlement.

Taking quickly to a job in the stables, you cared for the horses and made sure they stayed fed and healthy, training them to be able to handle long patrols through the harsh terrain and hazardous weather. Making sure they wouldn’t spook at the sound of gunshots or clickers.

Years passed. You made a life for yourself, wedging yourself comfortably into the community. You had a routine— friends, even. A life that made survival worth it.

You had almost forgotten about Joel, about the QZ.

Almost.

You lived in a nice enough cabin, alongside a man named Mitchell. The two of you made it a home. He fixed leaking pipes and squeaky hinges; the kitchen smelled like homemade bread on the weekends from your baking.

He treated you well. He made sure you were both warm and fed. In some ways, he reminded you of Joel. Only… less. Smaller; physically and metaphorically. Less of a man, in a stereotypical, selfish way that you hated to admit thinking about. That, and the fact that you didn’t love him.

You were comfortable. Happy, even, most of the time. It wasn’t love. It was complacency. You felt guilty, but reminded yourself that this was just what life was in the apocalypse— find someone when and where you can. Lean on each other’s backs and stave off your inevitable death for as long as possible.

You shared a bed. Shared rations and conversations. It was more of a relationship than it wasn’t— so that’s what the two of you called it. You wore a ring on her left hand for him, and he for you. Husband and wife, or as close as you could get to it in the end of the world.

Life was good, all things considered. Until the day two new figures approached the gates of Jackson. You had been working the stables when you heard the commotion outside. Tommy, one of the leaders you had gotten to know here in the settlement, was shouting at something or someone.

You made quick work of tacking up your favorite horse. A tall, chestnut quarter horse mix named Gus. You made your way to the gates from the stables, heavy canvas coat keeping you warm, jeans hugging your once hunger-pang legs and hips, flannel tucked in loosely. Your boots tapped Gus’ sides softly, upping his pace as the two of you made your way towards the commotion. Silently praying it wasn’t anything serious, that no one was hurt or worse, nothing could have prepared you for the real cause behind the sudden draw of attention.

Despite the layers of fabric covering your body and the thick socks inside your boots, or the wool cowboy hat resting your head, you felt your entire body go cold when you saw who the sudden fanfare was for.

Tommy was locked into an embrace not too many paces from the gates… with Joel.

Joel Joel.

Joel-who-should-be-dead Joel.

Joel-who-left-you-without-a-word Joel.

And with him, a little girl.

Your heart began beating rapidly, ears ringing from the revelation that he was even alive, head foggy as it tried to wrap around the fact that he was here in Jackson. All you could hear was the panting of your own breaths and the sound of Gus’ heavy hoof beats crunching in the snow, slowing and eventually coming to a stop under the steady guidance of your hands on the reins. Your ears were ringing, vision blurring at the edges.

Tommy and the once familiar figure were still just silhouettes in the distance, but there was no mistaking the man.

It was him. Joel.

[brotherwtf]

listen. college drummer senior year bucky urging freshman buck to sit on his lap as he plays. buck agrees but is also biting his lips and blushing from shyness while their friends record this interaction. bucky finds it absolutely adorable

OBSESSED I love this idea poor Gale is just absolutely floored

John who plays the drums in a stupid little garage band, plays in basements and house parties and frat parties to make a little bit of money, an alt rock type of band so every girl loses their mind whenever the band plays on campus and it's the talk of the town of whoever gets to have this band in their basement for the evening

and Gale doesn't know much about this stuff, he's associated bcs Marge is in a sorority and Rosie is in the brother fraternity so when they come to him excitedly saying that Johns band is going to be playing in one of their houses basements Gale goes along with it, doesn't quite understand the hype but goes just to have fun

the basement is hot, crowded, and loud and Gale pretty much hates it until Marge drags him near the front where the makeshift stage is and Gale sees the most beautiful man alive on the drums

he's not wearing a shirt and he has a backwards cap on, muscles tensing as he plays, sweat across his brow that causes the curls sticking out of his hat to stick to his forehead and okay maybe now Gale is starting to understand the hype behind this band

at some point the drummers eyes wander through the crowd lazily until they land on Gale, and that's when his eyes turn curious, and then hungry, and Gale could melt right under that gaze and to make matters even worse the man points at him with a drumstick and beckons for him to come closer, Gale can't fucking believe it until Marge pushes Gale to the stage herself

but the man is not pleased with Gale just at the edge of the stage and beckons him further, an absolutely devastating grin splayed across his face and Gale finds he can't deny that grin so he awkwardly climbs up onto the stage and walks towards the drummer, feeling everyone's eyes on him

"what's your name, beautiful?" the man asks and Gale immediately flushed

"Gale," Gale mutters and the man grins again

"Pretty name with a pretty face, come on Gale, join me for a set, the name's Bucky," the man, Bucky, says

Gale moves to sit behind him but Bucky just shakes his head with a sly smile

"nah not right there, come on, saved you the best seat in the house," John says, motioning for his lap, and Gale REALLY feels like he could melt right there

he should be embarrassed, should be a little ashamed, but Bucky is so fucking hot and he's waiting for Gale to sit in his lap and frankly, Gale doesn't quite remember the crowd of people watching them, so he easily straddles John's lap and smiles nervously down at him

that's when the whole crowd behind them cheers, cheering Bucky on and Gale can feel his whole body flush in embarrassment but Bucky just shakes his head, maybe even tilts Gale's head with a finger so he's only looking at John, and oh my God Gale might not survive the night

Bucky does the entire set looking up longingly at Gale, biting his lip and sneaking in a grin every now and then to which Gale shyly smiles in return

once the band finishes and the raucous applause ends, John still doesn't invite Gale to get off his lap, instead asks for Gale's number and invites him back to his room, which Gale really should say no to but he finds he's enraptured by the man and nods far too quickly

yeah Bucky being smitten from moment zero what else is new

[cybsoo2]

cold comfort

╰┈➤ synopsis — Your captor is cold, cruel, and everything else you hate. So why do you feel so sad seeing him cry?

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!suga x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 1.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, crying, angst

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; yoooongiiii!! oh lorddd i miss him so bad i can't wait till the 21st :((

There’s a light at the end of the hall. The morning sun ascends in the sky, bringing light to everything it touches. It sneaks in through the windows and walks through the house; waking up everyone with its presence. It’s what caused you to fall from your slumber. That, and the empty space in your bed.

It’s so unusual for Yoongi to let the sheets grow cold. Always one to sleep through the day and linger in the heat.

Eyes shut tight and soft breath hitting the back of your neck. His hand always rests upon your hip, fingertips touching your skin. He keeps a distance, not one for affection, but his hand holds on to you. Making sure you won’t leave once the day loses its light and he’s drowsy with sleep. His touch is barely there, but it feels like the weight of the world against your skin.

Waking up alone was a pleasant surprise, one that you savoured. Finally being able to sink into isolation and away from the man who is your shadow. Never once being left alone without his watchful eyes or looming presence. But despite the joy of being left alone for once, Yoongi’s absence sends a wave of unease rolling in your stomach. It’s a sick sense of disquiet that fills your head with questions and concerns. You can’t ignore the feeling no matter how hard you try. It’s the sensation of a stone in your shoe or a pea placed under the mattress. Rolling around in the soft sheets and under the blanket of sunshine, you still can’t quite get comfortable.

You sit up slowly, leaning back on your elbows. You can see the door from where you lie, cracked open just a bit and letting you peer into the hallway. Curiosity drags you in and you rise without a second thought. Your feet kiss the cold floorboards, walking through the quiet house without a sound. You pass through the hallway, led by slivers of sunlight until you reach the very end. You’re standing on the first step of the staircase and looking down into the shadowed room… there he is. 

He’s sitting halfway down the steps, spine curled inward like he’s trying to fold into himself, arms braced on his knees. Head bowed, a black curtain of hair hides his face. You can’t see his eyes, can’t read the emotions on his face, but you can hear it– The hitched breath. The quiet tremble of someone trying to cry without making a noise.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to have heard you. Your footsteps soft on the floorboards, careful to avoid the ones that creak. Your breath barely a whisper and all the words have washed away. You could walk away right now. Turn back around and he’d have never known that you saw something you weren’t supposed to. 

It’s tempting to leave like you were never there. To go back to bed and sleep in alongside the summer heat. To bask in an empty bed with blankets for two. There’s even a small voice in your head that says it’d be nice to savour his sadness. To watch him cry and laugh at his tears, because for once– he’s the one who’s hurting. 

But what should be sweet revenge tastes sour on your tongue. You spit the words out before they take shape and it stills into silence. All that’s heard is soft sobbing and the creak of the floorboards as you step forward. 

Yoongi now knows that he isn’t alone anymore. There’s a hitch in his breath and he holds back his tears. He sits still, rigid and teetering on the edge of what you’ll do next.

You don’t disrupt the silence, you don’t say anything– just lower yourself down onto the stair beside him, your shoulder barely brushing his sleeve. You’re not touching, you’re not even talking, just sitting in the sadness alongside him. 

Yoongi’s breathing stutters. Then he shifts slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of you. His eyes peek out behind his black hair, but you still see what was hiding once before– His eyes rimmed red. Cheeks damp. Tear tracks shining like silver rivers down his skin.

Yoongi turns away once your eyes meet, embarrassed as red runs to his cheeks. 

“Don’t say anything,” he mutters, voice thick and too low. He can’t look at you. “Don’t… make a thing out of this.”

He rubs at his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, dragging it over his eyes like he could erase the proof of his pain. He shifts more to the side, his back turnt to you and eyes gazing at the ground, as if hiding would undo the way you’re seeing him now—somber and stripped down to the bone. Emotions exposed in a way that leaves him feeling raw. 

You swallow, then speak softly. “I wasn’t going to.” There’s a pause. The air feels fragile and you’re almost afraid to break it again… but you do anyway. You say the words without thinking. Not even trying to hurt him, but just telling the truth. “Not like I have anyone to tell anyway.”

That gets him, just slightly. You feel the way his breath catches, the way something unspoken drops between you both. 

You two don’t talk about what happened. The words you really want to say are drowned out in between the distance. Cold shoulders and shy eyes makeup the silence. And after months of keeping your mouth shut, the weight of your words hangs heavy on his heart. 

“Then don’t keep it all to yourself. Tell me.” Then, almost desperate and barely above a whisper he adds, “Just talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” You ask. “I don’t think I could talk without saying something that’ll hurt to hear.” The words ‘I hate you’ threaten to trail down your lips. Words that wound– cutting deep into his cold heart. But you swallow them back before they have a chance to do any damage.

Yoongi shifts closer, voice soft but steady, breaking apart at the edges. “Then say it. Say whatever you want– just, don’t shut me out.” ​​He gives a small smile, sad but sincere. “I’d rather hear something that’ll hurt than nothing at all.”

The silence has swallowed you up again and you avert your eyes down to the ground. Yoongi’s words took you off guard, they unsettled the stillness between you. 

Yoongi looks away too. His tears still haven’t stopped. They just fall slower and softer now– quiet, like everything else about him.

It makes your chest ache to see him like this. And it makes you wonder how someone so cold, so cruel, could cry like a child.

You wait amid the silence, watching the tremble in his shoulders, the way his breath stutters through the silence. Then, oh so slowly, you reach out your hand. It settles on his shoulder, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. And then you lean in, careful and quiet, until your forehead rests against the space between his shoulder blades.

Yoongi doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak, but you can feel his heartbeat through his back—quick and unsteady. His chest rises and falls, uneven beneath your touch. You stay there, breathing in sync. 

Then he shifts. Yoongi’s hands reach behind him, slow and searching until they find you. Arms curl around your waist, pulling you in with a kind of urgency that borders on desperation. He turns just enough to bury his face in the curve of your neck, breath warm against your skin. His grip trembles. His tears are hot as they fall and still they never stop. But this time, they fall on you.

Wrapped in his cold comfort, you hug him back. No words are spoken, not even an attempt at forgiveness. Because while you may never be able to truly forgive him, at least you can try to understand him.

© cybsoo2 2025, all rights reserved

[fantasticfourthwingimagines]

When It First Took Hold Pairing - Dain Aetos x RiorsonSister!Reader Summary - You're so worried about challenges starting next week that you can't sleep. So instead you decide to sneak out and try and get some practice in the gym. Unfortunately, your wingleader catches you out after curfew. Word Count - 1.4k Warnings - None!

It was one of the nights where the world refused to be quiet. You tossed and turned for hours in the barracks, every single sound, from the wind rattling the windows, soft laughter, moans echoing from the far end of the barracks, kept you from the sleep you were longing for. When the moon was high in the sky, you realized you couldn’t take it any longer. You glanced over beside you, but Sloane didn’t seem to have the same problem, since she was sound asleep. You slipped your cloak around your shoulders and crept out, quiet as a shadow, not even sure where your feet were taking you until you ended up at the gym. 

Challenges started next week, and you knew all the eyes that mattered would be on you. Your squad, the other marked ones who were already looking for a reason to crucify you since you had gotten to live such a “extravagant” life with no relic compared to themselves . . . Everyone was waiting for you to fall on your face, and you couldn’t let it happen. You couldn’t disappoint Xaden who was already pissed off you were here in the first place, and you didn’t want to disappoint Violet who you were sure was reporting back to him with how you were doing. That meant you had to be better, and that meant you needed more practice. 

The problem was, it was hard to practice sparring when there was no one to spar with. You resigned yourself to using the punching bag to practice your hits and kicks, but didn’t feel like you were getting anything out of it. In fact you felt more frustrated than when you started. 

“You’re out after curfew, cadet.” 

Shit. You turned, pushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes and meeting your wingleader’s gaze. Once again, you questioned why the man you were supposed to hate had to look like that. Dain Aetos’s eyes were dark in the dim lighting of the gym, but his gaze dipped for the briefest second, down your form and back up again, and you couldn’t tell if it was judgment or something else that made the tips of your ears burn. Something about his presence always seemed to rob the breath from your lungs, but it had to be the exercise you were doing, right? “Well . . . So are you. Doesn’t that cancel me out or something?” 

He was not amused. “Get your ass to bed Riorson.” 

“No! I - I can’t.” You said, panic creeping into your tone against your will. 

Dain’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. He waited, like he knew you weren’t done yet. 

Before you realized what you were doing or why, you were blurting out your fears. “Challenges start on Monday, and I don’t want to let the squad down. I suck Aetos. Aaric is a natural, Sloane . . . doesn’t want to try. I only got a few weeks of combat training, and no one is helping me. I can’t - fuck, I can’t give people more reasons to hate me by being bad at this.” 

Something flickered across Dain’s face, quick and unreadable, but it didn’t look like scorn. He stepped closer to you, “All the marked ones were trained-”

You tugged the neckline of your shirt down, exposing smooth, unmarked skin. “Don’t have a mark. My mother smuggled me out to Poromiel when things started turning ugly. Easy to do since she was a Poromish citizen. Not much Navarre could do.” You caught the faint flush on his cheeks, but said nothing. Instead, you turned back to the punching bag. “Marked ones know who I am, and I’ve spent the majority of my life thinking I’d be accepted by them when I got here only to learn they all can’t stand me because they think I got off easy.” You threw a punch that hurt more than it should. “Do you know how it feels when the people you thought were your family, the people you spent a lot of your childhood with, fucking hate you?” 

He was so quiet, if you hadn’t been able to feel his gaze on your back, you would have thought he left. Then he was right behind you, taking up way too much space. “You’re going to break your wrist if you keep throwing punches like that.” 

“I - what?” You blinked at him, the shift from emotional spiral to sparring advice short-circuiting your brain. 

“And you’re aiming your hits in the wrong spot. The straighter the punch the better. You’re going to do a lot better aiming for the jugular-” His fingers brushed the surface just inches from yours, and your breath caught, not from nerves, but from the warmth of his proximity. “- than the face.” 

Okay, that made sense, but your head was clouded in confusion. Was Dain Aetos, your brother’s number one hater, trying to help you? “What are you doing?” 

He took a deep breath. “You said no one was helping you. It’s my responsibility as your wingleader -” 

“Bullshit.” You interrupted. “I’m nothing to your wing until I make it through threshing and manifest a signet. What. Are. You. Doing?” Gods this better not be pity. That wasn’t what you wanted. In fact you didn’t think you’d be able to stand it from him. 

Dain stared at you, an expression in his eyes that you could almost describe as . . . Understanding. “I do.” His voice was quieter now. “I know how it feels when people you thought you knew look at you like you’re something they don’t even recognize.” 

Suddenly, you knew. The way he and Violet were with each other. You had heard whispers about the two of them, and then the way Violet spoke to him on the parapet . . . Her words about not letting him touch you swam back in your mind. “Aetos-”

You saw the exact second the door slammed shut behind his eyes. Whatever softness had cracked through was now gone. “Let’s go. A few rounds, then kicks. You want to survive next week, right?” 

As much as you hated to admit it, you knew Dain was a good fighter, and you’d be stupid not to accept his help. So you did. Of course, his definition of “a few rounds” was a damn lie. By the time you moved on to kicks, sweat was pouring off you like rain. 

“Spread your legs.” 

You couldn’t help it. It had to be the lack of brain function due to the stress of exercise. It was the only logical explanation to why your thoughts immediately went to Dain saying those words to you in another situation, shirtless, that intense gaze locked on you once more. Shocked that the thought had even dared cross your mind, you shook it off like a physical thing, hoping it hadn’t somehow broadcast itself. “I - what?” You said, thankful for how much you were exercising because you were sure it was helping hide the flush in your cheeks. 

Thankfully, Dain took no notice of your weirdness, moving from behind the punching bag to behind you, his boots kicking your legs further apart. 

Great. Another mental image to shake out of your head. 

“It’ll help with your balance. Just make sure you’re centered-” You saw his hands start to rise toward your waist, then pause mid-air, fingers flexing like he was caught between instinct and caution. A moment later, they dropped back to his sides. “-between both of them.” He carried on like nothing had happened. 

But you’d never been good at letting things go. “Aetos,” you didn’t mean for your voice to sound that soft.. “Why did Violet tell me not to let you touch me?” 

Looking at him over your shoulder, you could see the conflict in his eyes, the pain that was too much for him to hide, and for a moment you . . . felt sorry for him. Then it was gone, replaced with the sternness you had seen when he first walked in. “It’s getting late. You need to get to bed, cadet.” Without another word, Dain Aetos started walking to the door. 

You stood frozen, already kicking yourself for asking. Why the hell did you have to ruin it? He was helping. He was helping. Of course you had finally gotten help, and then fucked it up. You pulled your shirt up, wiping some of the sweat from your face. 

“If you want some more help . . .” 

Your head snapped up. He was still at the door, facing you, cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. 

Maybe you weren’t the only one flustered tonight. 

“I’ll be here tomorrow night at around the same time.” 

Swallowing, you nodded at him. “Thank you.” You whispered, but he seemed to hear you fine, nodding back at you and walking out the door. 

You really needed to figure out why everyone hated him - 

Because so far, all he’d done was help you. 

And leave you a little breathless.

[happypopcornprincess]

Can you write for Joaquin Torres being the readers bodyguard or smth pls

of course I got you Anon

Sneak Peek || Two Hands [WIP title]

Pairing : Bodyguard!Joaquin Torres x Princess!Reader AU [vague description of reader being shorter than Joaquin)

A/N: thank you so much for this request anon and I wanted to write only one scene but then I got possessed by a tween on sugar rush and ended up writing some 8k words AND IT JUST KEEPS INCREASING LMAOO. I kind of imagined the princess to be from a south-asian kingdom, but I have left the descriptions a bit vague so you can imagine the kingdom how you see fit. So here you go, this is my love letter to all the delulu girls, may you all get the book boyfriends you truly deserve <3

Warnings: DUAL POV. ANGST ANGST ANGST!!!! Reader is a bad girl trying to be good. Inaccurate royal rules ig? [My only references has been the movies i have seen lol], mentions of destructive behaviour, self saboutage, attention seeking people, family arguements, basically reader is a princess trying to follow herr dreams, mentions of forced marriage, Inaccurate F1 rules? [reader is a racing enthusiast], also Joaquin Torres on a bike, you're welcome.

Word Count: 8K [approx.] this is a WIP so this may increase

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆.⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆.⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

She laughed at his deadpanned quick remark, pulling him from his scan for just a second. That was the thing about her; she could find sarcasm even in places armored with protocol and pressure.

She turned her head more now, catching his eye over her shoulder. Her smile crooked, she asked, “Dance with me?”

Joaquin blinked at her boldness, sure he had danced with her during lessons, but infront of everyone? He looked straight ahead, avoiding her glance; this wasn’t protocol, his recruiter’s voice rang in his ears, “you have to stay close to her Torres. And the minute you catch feelings, know that you have failed your duty.”

But before he could respond, a steward approached and gave a polite bow, earning her attention, “Your Highness, may I present His Royal Highness Prince Idris of Meira. He would be honored to have the next dance.”

She held Joaquin’s gaze a moment longer, waiting for his response, but he looked away. She turned and accepted with perfect grace. The tall tan skinned prince whisked her away to the dance floor.

Joaquin stepped back, jaw tight, hands behind his back as he watched her take the foreign prince’s hand and let herself be led into the dance, his gaze locked on how Prince Idris held her on the dance floor, looking into her eyes.

From where he stood, it looked like they were flirting. She tilted her head, hand resting on Idris’ shoulder longer than necessary. She was playing a part maybe, this was diplomacy and strategy and rebellion rolled into one, but Joaquin wasn’t immune to the slow, bitter burning that was silently creeping into his lungs.

Because he knew what it meant to stand too close to fire and not be allowed to touch it.

Joaquin had hated her at first. She was spoiled, entitled, brash, and the physical personification of pure chaotic. She didn’t care about rules or safety or image. She was the poster child of what a kid becomes when they don’t hear no for an answer.

But then, he had seen her talk to the stable horses like they were old friends, he saw her take care of her cars and bikes like they were a part of her, always ending up covered in grease and dirt when she finished, he saw her sneak into the servant’s kitchen to share a cup of tea with her maids. He saw her cry when she thought no one was watching, in her brother’s arms after her grandmother’s funeral.

Somewhere between shoving her out of a racing pit with engine oil on her hands and staying up to argue with her about how to handle PR disasters… he fell.

He fell hard.

Their dance ended, and the hall burst into raging applause. Prince Idris kissed her hand, and she threw her head back when she laughed, something genuine and rare that only he had witnessed all these years.

But the brutal truth stayed unchallenged; bodyguards don’t fall for princesses.

The realization hit him like a truck; that one day, she might belong to someone else.

And he would have to watch it unfold, helpless.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆.⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆.⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Fic coming out soon, stay tuned and take care <3

---/---/---

Check out my Masterlist

[moonyslipstick]

I’ll Marry You Tomorrow

You were curled into the corner of the Gryffindor common room, a book half-open in your lap and Sirius Black tangled into the armchair beside you like he owned it — and you.

Which, according to the gossip circling the school like Nifflers to gold, he did.

Not in the terrible, possessive way. But in that impossibly Sirius way — all wicked grins and lazy arms thrown around your shoulders, like your body was his favorite piece of furniture and he couldn’t be bothered to sit up unless Remus said something especially cutting.

You shifted slightly, your legs tucked up beneath you, brushing his thigh. He smirked without even looking up from the deck of Exploding Snap cards he was flicking through with one hand.

“I felt that,” he murmured, low and lazy in your ear. “Careful, love, or I’ll have to drag you onto my lap again.”

“You make that sound like a punishment,” you replied sweetly, turning a page you weren’t really reading. Your pulse skittered in your neck.

Sirius tilted his head just enough to look at you, that crooked, dangerous smile spreading across his mouth. “You like it when I punish you, then?”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Sirius!”

Across the common room, James nearly dropped his butterbeer. “Oi! We’re right here, mate!”

Remus didn’t even flinch, just turned a page in his book. “I warned you about sitting that close to them.”

Peter muttered, “They’re like Kneazles in heat.”

You tried to look scandalized. Really. But Sirius’s hand had slipped behind you, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your jumper, and your brain had turned to soup.

Sirius leaned into your ear again, voice practically a purr.

“Want to sneak out? Just you and me? I know an empty classroom with a view of the moon.”

“You just want to cop a feel without an audience.”

He looked mock-affronted. “I always want to cop a feel, but the moon view is a bonus.”

You laughed despite yourself. “We’re not sneaking out. You’ll get us both detention.”

“You love it when I get detention.”

“Only because it makes you cranky and snuggly for a week.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed your temple with a casual softness that turned your whole body to butter.

You hated how easy he made it. How easy it was to love him.

Because Merlin help you, Sirius Black loved hard. And loud. And fiercely. The entire castle knew what you meant to him. He’d hexed a Slytherin for calling you a name last week and spent the next hour with your hand in his, fingers tapping your wrist like a drum, refusing to admit how worried he’d been when you cried in the lav.

And then there were the moments like now. Quiet ones. Domestic. Half the common room lounging near the fire, James and Lily bickering about Quidditch stats, Remus reading, Peter asleep with a chocolate frog half-melted on his lap.

And Sirius? Wrapped around you like ivy. Warm and smug and impossibly handsome, like sin wrapped in silk.

You closed your book. “Fine. Five minutes. Empty corridor. That’s it.”

He was on his feet before you could blink, pulling you with him and calling over his shoulder, “Don’t wait up, boys!”

“We won’t!” came James’s voice, followed by Lily’s very loud, “USE PROTECTION, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!”

You shoved Sirius as you passed the portrait hole, cheeks flaming.

The corridor outside was quiet, dimly lit by torches. He pulled you into the alcove just past the first suit of armor and pressed you into the wall like he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all bloody day,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you.

Really kissed you.

The kind of kiss that had teeth and tongue and promise. The kind that left your knees weak and your chest aching and your soul clinging to him like a vine in storm.

His hands slid beneath your jumper, fingertips trailing fire across your skin. You gasped into his mouth, and he grinned like the devil himself.

“You’re cold,” he murmured against your neck. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t notice until you touched me.”

“Get used to it, love,” he said, his voice thick. “I plan to keep doing that for a long, long time.”

You kissed him again, because talking felt impossible with his mouth so close, and breathing wasn’t nearly as important as memorizing the taste of him.

“Tell me something real,” you whispered into his lips. “Not just snogging.”

He stilled a little. Eyes dark, serious. “Alright.”

You waited.

He rested his forehead against yours. “I think about marrying you sometimes.”

You blinked.

“What?”

He laughed softly. “I mean, not right now, obviously. We’re seventeen. But… yeah. I do. I think about it when you laugh like that. Or when you fall asleep on my shoulder in the library. Or when you hex James for being an arse and I just—” he shook his head, frustrated. “I can’t picture the rest of my life without you in it.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not joking,” he said, voice thick. “I’m a mess. My family’s a nightmare, I’ll probably die young, and I’ve got a list of issues longer than Filch’s record books, but… I love you. Madly. Stupidly. Completely.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed his face and kissed him again — so hard and so slow that he made a sound low in his throat like he might lose his mind.

When you finally pulled back, you whispered, “I think about it too.”

His hands stilled at your waist. “You do?”

“Only all the time.”

And for once — the mighty Sirius Black, rebel of the Noble House of Black, flirt extraordinaire — went absolutely silent.

“Bloody hell. I’m going to marry you.”

You laughed. “One day.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Sirius.”

“Fine, next week.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, we have to go back before they start placing bets.”

He grinned. “Too late. Remus is the bookkeeper.”

Back in the common room, you both returned red-faced and smug.

Remus looked up from his book, unimpressed. “One galleon says they’re engaged by seventh year.”

“Two galleons they elope,” Lily added.

James raised his butterbeer. “To Sirius and his poor future spouse. May she never get tired of that bloody hair.”

You just leaned back into Sirius’s chest as he wrapped himself around you again, hands resting on your thighs now, more possessive than before.

“They’re not wrong,” he murmured in your ear. “I’ll marry you the second you let me.”

“You’ll wait,” you said, smiling against his collarbone.

“Not forever.”

“No,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “Not forever.”

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

It has been requested (@awfullybigwardrobe44 💛) that I provide an update on How Things Are Going With The Young Man, and there’s so much I could say that it all kind of cancels itself out (I’ve been journaling like a madwoman lately), but yes, I think things are going well. I still can't believe any of this is happening, I am not the kind of person that this kind of stuff is supposed to happen to 😆 We have gone on several more dates, one of them a day-long fishing trip, and it’s been lovely and I just think he's delightful and I really like being with him. I still have a lot of shyness to overcome, but considering how intensely terrified I used to be of him I think I’ve made excellent progress 😆 I’ve seen less of him lately because he’s extremely busy with work and especially school but we text a lot and this weekend we’re planning to go to dinner and then the symphony after that (I bought the tickets and I can tell it's driving him nuts that I finally paid for something myself but ahaha it's too late there's nothing he can do about it now) 😊

[nabaath-areng]

the problem with my n24 is that with the clock going around gradually i have periods of being awake at day and periods of being awake at night, but then because i tend to sleep really badly during night time i spend my daytime days being very tired and sluggish, and my nighttime days are much more productive and energetic. but i cant do just anything i want at night, so i cant get as much done as i have the energy and drive to. and then i also need sunlight to feel sane in the head, and so i hate missing out on daytime wakefulness. but then the sun is also why my sleep quality is much better during daytime. if im gonna stuck with a seemingly incurable sleep disorder since birth cant i at LEAST have the sleep be overall consistent? apparently not lmao

[todayisafridaynight]

Why did Jo want to be thrown in the river is he going senile lol 😂

got too hard trying to cope with the loss of his husband and child 😔

[kay9leo]

"Lumos."

The skies were blue that day. A clear blue sky.

A perfect fall day to play outside.

Now light is what we have to remember you by.

[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Tags -> Angst, fluff :)

Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.

Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)

Late October

It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on it’s axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you. 

It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning. 

“I brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.” The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. “I know you never cared for them, but I didn’t think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.” You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t figured out your epitaph yet. It’s just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so I’m trying to be really selective.” It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway. 

That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldn’t survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway. 

“Zayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasn’t his fault, but I can’t bring myself to agree.” 

The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your mother’s life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.

“I got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.” You let out a sad laugh. “Guess that’s the last time I bring anything with me when I’m walking along the coast.” 

You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?” You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.

“I’m sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. I’m sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I would’ve gotten you would’ve been evil.” You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I should’ve been with you. If I knew—” The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock. 

There were moments when you’d wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind you’d forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and you’re reminded of just how much you’ve lost. Maybe that’s why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.

Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fate’s piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadn’t forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.

Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really should’ve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasn’t just because he was surrounded by graves.

“I didn’t know you were back in the N109 Zone.” The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to it’s position against the rock. 

Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead. 

“I only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished he’d returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered. 

“Sorry that she died or sorry that you weren’t there?” The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped he’d have been there just a little longer. It didn’t help that you didn’t hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospital’s medical board to respond. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls; they’re not even going through anymore. You haven’t blocked me, have you?” Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you might’ve called him out on his diversion. 

“No, my phone broke.” That was an understatement if there ever was one. 

“How long ago?”

“A week.” That much was true and since you couldn’t afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket. 

“And all the times I called before then?” Sylus’s eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You weren’t dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. It’s okay.

“I didn’t feel like picking up.” The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasn’t effectively an orphan would’ve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way she’d want you to.

“Do you have a phone now?” 

You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need you to get me anything.” You quickly retorted.

“You’re going to need a phone from this century if you’re working for me, Y/N.” He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant. 

“Right, about that…” Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.

“No. Resigning is not an option.” Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all. 

“We don’t have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, that’s not what I was going to say. I need more time off.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but it wasn’t like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits. 

Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadn’t.

“I’ve given you a month, Y/N. That’s enough.” His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldn’t understand. 

“It’s only been two weeks since she died. And I’m sure the temp you’ve got is perfectly competent.”

“The temp doesn’t know the company like you do and I haven’t bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If you’re not back soon I can’t promise you’ll have a job to come back to.” 

The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically. 

“You— You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right now—employment is not my priority.” You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.

“People die all the time, sweetheart. It’s no reason to throw your future away.” Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you. 

The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldn’t help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam. 

You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.

“I get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.” The unbridled rage you’d spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you would’ve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you. 

“Some of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because we’re not scared to love and lose. You’re a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.” In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.” The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you. 

You shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t you.

But before you could take it all back, Sylus’s phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it must’ve been her. 

“I lost track of time, I’ll be right there.” He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Just go.” You waved him off and turned back around to face your mother’s grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldn’t be entirely attributed to the grief. 

Early November

You weren’t sure time could heal the gaping wound your mother’s passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didn’t feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow. 

You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. You’d been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.

…Selling to developers…suburban expansion project…

As if losing your childhood home wasn’t bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later you’d forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldn’t lose the house, it wasn’t an option. 

You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadn’t been finalised just yet. If you could match the developer’s offer by the end of the month, he’d gladly sell it to you instead.

Of course the developer’s offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short. 

Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan. 

30 minutes later you had:

Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score. 

Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style. 

“Wow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?” You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadn’t come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Mother’s Day fiasco when you were 11. 

The only option that didn’t end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it. 

Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasn’t like your experience as Onychinus’s accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again. 

You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what you’d heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall. 

Since when was there a—

“Where you headed to, Y/N?” The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.

“What the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?” You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive she’d throw her shoe at you for using the devil’s language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them. 

“Is that any way to welcome your old employer?” Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.

“I need you to come back.” You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?

“Go to hell.” Your vicious response didn’t sway Sylus. 

“I’ve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming I’ve gone bankrupt and I haven’t slept in weeks. Come. Back.” While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldn’t just forget the terrible way he’d treated you in and out of the workplace. 

“You insisted I was especially replaceable and now you’re saying you can’t replace me?” You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didn’t appreciate. 

“If you’re going to dwell on the semantics I’d rather just cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get you back?” Sylus’s tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didn’t know how to take no for an answer. 

“Pigs to fly.” You quipped, opening your door in hopes he’d get the hint and leave. 

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t survive without you.” His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground. 

“Then die.” You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck. 

“Everyone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.” While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house. 

Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home. 

You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. “Fine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guess…” You trailed off, unsure if he would agree. 

“Alright, how much?” He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return. 

“A million dollars.” 

“Done.” 

Dammit, you should’ve asked for more. 

“I want a personal driver too, I’m sick of biking to work.” You would’ve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But you’d be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.

“Anything else, princess?” The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests. 

“I don’t want to share my office with the twins anymore, they’re loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.”

“Okay.”

You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. “One last thing. Since you’ve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, you’re not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.” 

“Elaborate.”

“No more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life — just no more threats in general — and if you’re going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.”

“You’re pushing it, Y/N.” Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request. 

“You just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?” 

Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasn’t sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive. 

“Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.” 

It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. “Let me get my coat.”

______________

You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. “How could you let it get this bad?” Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck. 

“It wasn’t like it happened on purpose. Besides, if you’d never—” Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun. 

“This is going to take forever to fix.” It would actually only take the day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“I need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.” He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.

“Add on a massage chair for my office and I’ll get it done by Wednesday.” You wondered just how far you could push his desperation. 

“Deal.” He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people ‘How to Tame Your Dragon’ was loosely based on your life. 

“You know, Sylus, I’m liking this new dynamic.” Your shit-eating grin couldn’t be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh I can tell. Now, get to work.” Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.  

Mid-November

This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, he’d actually adhered to your conditions. 

The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinus’s executive team, their saviour, if you will. 

But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.

Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no. 

It was more like ‘hell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blah’.

Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinus’s main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and it’s stakeholders.

Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. ‘Miss Hunter’s Birthday in 13 days’.

You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasn’t like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though you’d both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, you’d forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.

They weren’t gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.

You couldn’t dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.

“Come in?” Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.

“We… fucked up.” Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieran’s mouth.

“What have you done?”

“Long story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunter’s birthday. It’s really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldn’t give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didn’t get this gem today he’d have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.” Kieran’s explanation left you astounded. 

The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake. 

“You threatened an old man with a gun…” 

“Yes.” Kieran responded. 

“Over a gem?” You asked in disbelief. 

“A very rare gem!” Luke corrected. 

“Huh. How am I supposed to help?” It was a genuine question, you didn’t really see a way out of this one. 

“Can you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?” Kieran’s request made your eyes widen in protest.

“No way! I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.” And wasn’t that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you ‘if you even knew what you were talking about’ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find. 

“Please, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?” 

Luke’s question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, I’m not going to burst into tears.” You weren’t sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right? 

“Will you help us? Please. We’ll owe you big time.” The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed. 

“Fine, what’s the address?”

_____________

You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress. 

When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.

“Y/M/N?” 

Did he— why did he call you by your mother’s name?

“That was my mother, I’m her daughter, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god, I was beginning to think I’d finally lost it. Come in, come in.” 

Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old man’s home.

“I must say, I’m surprised you’re here. Did your mother send you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She passed away just over a month ago.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.

“Yeah. I’m doing okay. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know her?”

“You don’t know? I figured that was why you were here.” 

Right. The reason you were here, the gem.

“No, I’m actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.”

“Which gem were you after, dear?” He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.

“The Painite one.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. “This wouldn’t happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?”

“Well…” You couldn’t lie to him. He looked like the old man from ‘Up’, it was entirely unfair. 

“I’m afraid I can’t sell to you. I’m concerned you’ve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.” He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone. 

“Look, I know what you’ve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus don’t have a modicum of truth to them.”

“Then why hasn’t your boss cleared them up?” A great question. 

“In this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. You’ve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a… regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.” The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others. 

“I don’t know dear, I’ve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.” You were probably responsible for a few of those rumours…

“The only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.” Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.

“But when it comes to business, he’s fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, he’s merciless. He has a good heart, it’s just encased under a very thick layer of stone.” When he didn’t look convinced, you continued. 

“In fact, he wants this gem for a woman. She’s special to him and its her birthday in a few days. She’s a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you don’t want to sell to Sylus because he’s probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.” The argument was a stretch but you couldn’t help your rambling. 

“You are the spitting image of your mother.” 

The comment caught you off-guard.

“You think so?”

“I knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.” He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.

It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her. 

“Can I keep this?” You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod. 

“Of course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said I’d raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.”

You were confused, this man hadn’t known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your mother’s heart.” 

His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?

“If it’s alright with you Y/N, I’d love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her.” 

You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. “I’d like that. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about her either.”

“As for the gem, I’ll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.” 

“I promise.” You’d promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom. 

You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other. 

___________

You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylus’s voice from inside your office.

“You sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?” You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.

“The owner said he wouldn’t sell to Onychinus—” Kieran’s attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.

“So you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You don’t send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.”

Wait, what?

“No, it’s fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.”

“Miss Hun— why would you assume it’s for her?” The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing. 

“Her birthday’s in a few days.” Luke timidly added. 

“How do you know that?” 

“It’s in the shared calendar.”

“Fuck.” 

With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.

“The gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.” 

Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb. 

“Is it Y/N’s birthday soon too?” Kieran’s question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year. 

“No, that’s in March. It’s to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now I’m wondering if your time here has come to an end.” It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other people’s job security over minor inconveniences too. 

“No! Please, we promise we’ll make it up to you.” 

You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?

Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.

“I um, got that gem for you.” You pretended you weren’t eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you. 

“Thanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the cat’s out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.” He clearly knew you’d heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office. 

“It’s really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.” You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting. 

“I’m not most employers, and you definitely aren’t most employees.” The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile. 

“In that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. I’d pay for it, of course.” You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary. 

“Consider it done, and your money’s no good with me. Save it for something else.” He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. “I see where you get your beauty from.” The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylus’s usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ. 

You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what you’d said to Sylus before he left. 

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.”

The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didn’t mean what you said. Especially not now. 

“Sylus, wait.” He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.

You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didn’t make a sound as you prolonged the silence. 

“If you died, I’d mourn you.” And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity. 

He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly. 

You figured he hadn’t given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylus’s feelings. You weren’t even sure he had feelings. 

But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didn’t know he’d been carrying. What you’d said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour. 

Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person who’s idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours. 

Late-November

“Finish up, we have a reservation at six.” At the sound of your boss’s  voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldn’t reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.

“Was there a meeting I forgot existed?” The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunter’s birthday which should’ve been yesterday. 

“No, it’s just us. I’m taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.” You couldn’t help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive. 

“Taking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?” You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterday…

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.” He regurgitated the words like they were toxic. 

“You stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.” It was titled ‘Ten foolproof ways to make your employees like you’ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylus’s desk. 

“And I’m responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?” 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldn’t miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?

“No, no, I’ll go.” You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them. 

Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head. 

“You know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.” Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go. 

“It’s a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.” Sylus’s deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed. 

“It’s also a little early in my life to die.” You unhelpfully added.

“Relax, will you? I’ve never crashed before.” 

Well, there’s a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life. 

 _______

When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.

The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb. 

When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.

“You’re in a rush. Hungry?” Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didn’t feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response. 

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylus’s favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldn’t it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.

“Thanks, she’ll have a mojito.” Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.

“I’m not drinking.” Your protest fell on deaf ears. “Drinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldn’t do if you value your job.”

“You don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. You’ve done that plenty of times sober.” Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.

Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Artichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.” You could tell Sylus wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway. 

“Order whatever you’d like.” 

“There’s no prices on the menu.” You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.

“Sweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here aren’t too concerned with prices. Don’t worry and order what you wish.”

Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that man’s financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu. 

“Jeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.” Your joke was not well received.

“Can we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?” The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied. 

“We could, but that’s no fun.”

“I find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny. 

Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.

“What’s this?”

“The necklace.”

You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.

Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. “Allow me.” He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.

You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.

When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. “It looks good.” Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.

The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!” You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didn’t feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne. 

You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. “Miss Hunter, always a pleasure.” You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand. 

“I didn’t know you knew Dr Zayne.” The comment slipped out of Sylus’s tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend andmy doctor! I’m very lucky. How do you know him?” Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with. 

“He was Y/N’s mother’s doctor.” Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course. 

Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldn’t ask about your mother’s health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayne’s head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead. 

“He’s definitely something.” You looked right at Zayne, hoping he’d understand the implications of your backhanded compliment.  

“Well, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!” Miss Hunter’s polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night. 

“Thanks.” You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.

“You guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?”

The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasn’t like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?

“Right.” You couldn’t have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.

When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter . 

Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?” Yet another question you didn’t know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.

“It’s um, custom made.” You avoided Sylus’s glare. 

“Well it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours. 

“Sylus knows the guy who made it, I’m sure he could get one for you too.” You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the world’s greatest wingwoman. 

When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down.  “He retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.” 

He was definitely lying. You weren’t sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Hey Zayne, you’ve been awfully quiet. Say something!” Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for satan’s incarnate sitting inches away from you.

“Yeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?” You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry. 

Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural. 

“Work went as well as expected.” Zayne’s clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the women’s bathroom that was positively Zayne-free. 

The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didn’t get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when he’s a doctor. Work emergency wasn’t plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.

You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you must’ve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break. 

When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare. 

“Look, I know you think I’m a terrible person but—”

“Monster is the term I’d use, but go on.” You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment. 

“I rarely get to spend time with MC and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin her birthday dinner because of me.” It didn’t take long for you to realise that MC must’ve been Miss Hunter’s first name. 

Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you. 

“I’m sorry, does the fact that I’m angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?”

“Yes it does, actually.” Zayne responded quickly. He either didn’t understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.

“Then might I suggest you take her someplace else. It’s your fault you couldn’t get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?” You couldn’t think of a time you’d insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war. 

“We are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.” 

You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. “You might be, I’m not that mature.” 

“Y/N. We’re both adults.” He pleaded.

“Bite me.” 

Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.

“Everything all good here?” For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylus’s interruption. 

“No.” You said.

“Yes.” Zayne also said, at the exact same time.

“Zayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.” Zayne didn’t think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.

Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice. 

“Can you let go? You’re hurting me.” He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldn’t recognise as you soothed the part he’d rubbed raw. 

“Why are you acting so childish?” His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.

“I hate his guts.” The response did not help your case, but you weren’t very articulate when you were upset. 

“What did he do to you?” Sylus’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didn’t think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately. 

You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one you’d always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne. 

“Y/N, if he touched you I’ll—” Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.

“No! Nothing like that. It’s just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.” They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.

You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. “I know it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he didn’t even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.” The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.

“God, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.” There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylus’s decision to drag you to somewhere secluded. 

The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back. 

“Y/N, look at me. It’s not your fault.” Sylus’s voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.

He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "It’s not your fault. It’s okay to hate him. It will get easier."

You weren’t sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time you’d returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material. 

You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylus’s lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. “Don’t move. I’ll grab your bag and we’ll get out of here.”

Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Hey, I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.” You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“No it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind. 

_____________

In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.

The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.

“How did you find this place?” The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers.  

“I used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.”

“Did they all die from food poisoning?” Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was. 

“Funny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.” The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didn’t yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what you’d be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left. 

“Do you even have any friends?” You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didn’t.

Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didn’t help that you went to a college you couldn’t afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasn’t exactly a friendly environment.

“Of course I have friends.” Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.

“Really, who?” His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldn’t know them.” 

“Try me.” Of course he wouldn’t drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?

“Well, there’s Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.” In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew. 

“Y/N, that’s the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?” 

“I think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.” Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.

“You’re one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.” You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.

“I don’t need friends, they’re unnecessary burdens.” He took a swig of his beer. You thought he’d burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.

You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.“Then why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?”

“Because I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.” The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zone’s hottest restaurant probably didn’t do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well. 

“I’m not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, I’m only mildly annoyed!” You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasn’t budging.

“You take care of everyone but yourself and all it’s done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People don’t like feeling useless.” He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces. 

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged. 

“That’s sound advice. Guess you’ve been reading more magazines.” You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies. 

“You also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.” 

“Okay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?” There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, that’ll work. 

He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Yeah, the manufacturers didn’t include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.” You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided. 

“Oh, I’m not returning you, sweetheart. They’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.” While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldn’t stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.

You didn’t move when Sylus’s car stopped outside your house. 

“Thanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.” You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.

“It’s fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.” His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast. 

“Me too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if she’s supposed to dress like she’s going to the met gala.” Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl he’d take to dinner. 

“I usually do, but this particular girl doesn’t need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.” The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips could’ve been on yours.

“Goodnight.” You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before. 

The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your mom’s was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made ‘Operation Sylus: No More’ infinitely harder to achieve. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldn’t even see. 

You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory. 

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.

When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.

The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet. 

“You did this on purpose.” You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldn’t understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.

The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didn’t trust and that he’d be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide. 

Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. “If this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.” Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.

You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.

Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked. 

Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.

“Is my laugh really deadly?” He looked amused. 

Come on sinkhole. Anytime now. 

When you didn’t answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.

“Your deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?” The taunting question made heat rush to your face.

“It was stupid, I wrote it months ago.”

“Then why did you have it open?” 

You couldn’t exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldn’t tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.

“I was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.”

“Delete it? Guess you don’t need it anymore.”

“Nope.” You popped the P on the word for emphasis. “Can I have my phone back now?” He placed the device into your outstretched hand. 

“So how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?”

You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. “Mad at your blatant violation of my privacy.”

“Forgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.”

“Mephisto told you I broke the vase, didn’t he?”

“Don’t deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“No, they’re gone. Can we please drop this? It’s embarrassing.” You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through your act.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.” You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasn’t exaggerating.  

“Okay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.” It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret you’d take to the grave. 

“So then which feeling are we discussing?” The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him. 

Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldn’t even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game. 

“Since when do you even care about how I feel?” The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features. 

“You think I don’t care about you?” He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldn’t figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other people’s emotions. 

“You treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eating— I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work I’d assign you just so you would stay longer.” 

Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. “Hey, I took those tasks seriously!” The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasn’t a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important. 

“Your kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didn’t want people to find out that you were my weakness.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasn’t budging. There was so much you didn’t know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.

You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.

“All my threats are empty with you, Y/N. You’re the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I don’t care?” 

All sound came to a stifling halt. 

“Wait, you were the ‘developer’?”

The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that he’d shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus. 

He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some traitor.” His audacious demand made your blood boil.

“You are a traitor! How could you do that to me?” You yelled.

“You were going to leave me like I was nothing!” For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.

“Not seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while I’m being tortured every minute I’m away from you, you needed more time.

“I knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldn’t even look at me, I thought I’d lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I won’t apologise for not playing fair. There isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break for you, Y/N.”  

It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned. 

People couldn’t leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you would’ve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldn’t make that same mistake again. 

You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.

His intelligence was infuriating, you couldn’t get anything past him. If he received the Greeks’ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure he’d have seen right through their ruse. 

His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return. 

But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. He’d hurt you more times than you could count, and even if he’d changed drastically since your mother’s death, you couldn’t quite trust that he wouldn’t hurt you again.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your mother’s constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people who’d take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism. 

“Then why are you fighting this?” His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.

“I told myself it was just how you were, that it wasn’t personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.”

Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasn’t sure you’d even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldn’t fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that you’d lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side. 

“When you didn’t call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.”

It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth. 

“I’ve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like I’d lost them both. I still love you, I’m afraid I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I don’t know if I can be more than your accountant right now.” You couldn’t survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure. 

Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued. 

“I thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didn’t think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.”

He was quick to correct you. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I can’t take with force. It’s why I’ve had to adopt unusual methods. If I’d known it was causing you so much pain I would’ve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I can’t even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.” 

When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. There’s nothing so broken it can’t be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.” He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms. 

For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayne’s phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?

“I want to believe you, I just don’t know that I can.” Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something you’d say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and you’d find out it was all a dream. 

“I won’t stop trying until you do, sweetheart. You’re it for me, there’s no one else.” He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didn’t know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.

In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. “I don’t have regrets — you know that quite well — but I regret the way I treated you. I’ll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time. 

Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. “Okay then, as of today we commence ‘Operation Sylus: The Redemption'.”

His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. “Have you always been this corny?” 

“I watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.” You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success. 

Late December

You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves. 

It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.

Then there was the sticky notes he’d usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.

— That necklace was the best decision I’ve ever made.

— Your hair looks especially nice today.

— Did you switch perfumes? I like it.

— That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about. 

You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk. 

He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, he’d take you to visit your mother’s grave with a new bouquet in his hands. 

You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didn’t even try to touch you. 

While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.

The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinus’s annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.

Every year, Sylus insisted he couldn’t outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldn’t have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.

Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santa’s helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.

“Hey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?” You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.

“Duh. I hate dressing like a butler.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store. 

“What if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?” The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.

“I’m Rudolph!” They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.

“Just flip a coin!” You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.

“I’m heads!” They said in unison, again.

“Kieran you’re heads, Luke you’re tails.” You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.

“Sorry Kieran, Luke’s Rudolph.” Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead. 

They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasn’t really an out from this unconventional friendship. 

_________________

You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.

The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner you’d spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick. 

Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?

Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it. 

As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.

“I see we’ve foregone the uniforms this year.” His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.

“Whimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.”

“It’s cute. Did you get that dress from the children’s section?”

The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No… Why? Does it look childish?” You couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice. 

Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress. 

“Quite the opposite, I’m just wondering why they’d make a dress so short for adult women.” 

“Adult women can dress however they want, Sylus.” You chided.

“I know, but I’ll have my hands full if I’m trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.” He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.

You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.

“There won’t be ‘hoards of men’. This will be the third time I’m working your annual gala and I’ve only ever gotten hit on like four times.” You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldn’t have told him that.

“Four times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didn’t tell me?” He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose. 

“I didn’t think you’d care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!” That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace. 

“If men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think they’ll do when they see you in this get up?” He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.

He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.

“I can change—”

“No. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?” 

“Okay.” You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone. 

“Okay. You ready to go?” He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.

__________________

“Did you see Sylus’s date?”

“Of course, she’s definitely the hottest girl here.”

“I bet she’s had work done.”

“If so, I need the name of her surgeon.”

You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadn’t seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight. 

All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylus’s promise. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. 

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?” Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.

“Hors d’oeuvre?” You offered the plate to him in place of a response. 

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers aren’t quite as easy on the eyes as you.” His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Oh, um thanks.” The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you weren’t used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.

“Y/N.” The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. 

“Sylus, hello. Hors d’oeuvre?” Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his. 

Miss Hunter. You should’ve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.

Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.

But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didn’t want you there. Sylus’s only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane. 

But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.

But he couldn’t idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylus’s newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy. 

“Henry, not distracting my staff, are you?” Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldn’t afford to compromise. 

“I’m just wondering where you found such delectable staff.” Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldn’t inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice. 

“Unfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. I’m sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.” Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henry’s recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasn’t above kicking below the belt.

Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.

“I think I’m needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.” You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date. 

“I should check on the catering, excuse me.” Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.

There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.

“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be working and you’re supposed to be socialising. We can’t do those things from here.” You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. You’d had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.

“Miss Hunter is just here with me on business.” Sylus’s statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind. 

“I don’t care.” In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didn’t care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same. 

“Don’t lie to me, I can tell when you’re upset.” Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away. 

“Okay, fine. I’m upset. Now will you let me leave?” You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him. 

“If you’re upset, talk to me about it. Don’t antagonise me by flirting with other men. It won’t end well for them.” The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You tried to defend yourself but you knew he’d see straight through your ruse. 

“That sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.” There was no way Sylus would’ve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset.  

“Right, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.” The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them. 

“I’m all yours, baby. I promise it’s just business.” He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly. 

“I can help you with business.” You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart. 

“Not this kind, sweetheart. I’m just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.” You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to the question you asked next. 

“Did you sleep with her?” The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of Sylus’s past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunter’s presence was persistent. 

You needed to know just how far they’d gone, even if it might destroy you. 

“Yes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.” The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. “Y/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the fact that they’d slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasn’t attracted to you?

The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. “How am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you won’t even kiss me?!” 

A hint of recognition flashed through Sylus’s eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.

“I haven’t kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried I’d scare you away, because I’m sure if I got a taste of you I wouldn’t know how to stop.” He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back. 

You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish he’d just act on his primal instincts. 

“You’re entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I can’t risk losing you.” 

Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.

It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear. 

His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It might’ve been the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Well? I’m still here.” You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.

Sylus knew you weren’t just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew he’d never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.

“We should get out of here.” Somehow you knew he didn’t just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.

“You can’t leave your own party! What about your date?” As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasn’t right to just leave her alone. 

“She’ll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.” There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

“You’ve lasted this long, what’s one more night?” Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful. 

“Sweetheart, I can't wait another second.” He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you. 

So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.

Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.

Christmas Day

“What’s the surprise?” You asked the same question for the umpteenth time. 

“Just be patient, we’re almost there.” You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Sylus’s voice behind you snapped you back to reality. 

“What is this place?” The awe in your voice could not be concealed.

“It’s yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony it’ll be like you’re right there without actually being there.” He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasn’t a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you. 

“You bought me a house on my mother’s favourite beach?” The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible. 

“Yeah.”

“Sylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!” You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasn’t a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary. 

“You gave me so much more than that.” The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt. 

“This is too much.”

“Y/N, you’re more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you would’ve noticed when I bought it a month ago.” 

“You’ve had this for a month?” The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex. 

“Yes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.”

“But what if we didn’t work out?” A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without Sylus in it.

“I’d find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.” 

You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again. 

“Right, of course. You’re quite good at that I hear.” 

“I’m good at many things, I’ll remind you later.” He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. “For now, there’s one more surprise.” 

You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.

“I bought that plot of land too. I don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.” His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didn’t get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this. 

You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.

Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didn’t even think was possible.

“She would love that.” Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was alive, you would’ve loved her.” They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet. 

“I’m sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop. 

While you wished you didn’t have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that ’Operation Sylus: No More’ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half it’s size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that. 

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[seumyo]

just thoughts of growing old with bakugou.

“Y’alright, old lady?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” You shot back with a huff, but the laughter in your voice softened it. “You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself, Mr. Dynamight.”

“Hah? I could still beat your ass in a race.”

“You could barely bend down to get your keys this morning.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. “Should’ve let you get them. You’re closer to the ground anyway.”

“Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

You two walked a few more steps before he noticed your breathing was just a little heavier. Your hand was tighter on his forearm. You hadn’t said anything, of course. He knew you never liked making a fuss. But Bakugou noticed. He always noticed.

Because if he didn’t notice, then he’d think he’s the shittiest husband on the planet.

Bakugou stopped.

You looked at him, confused. “Katsu?”

“Turn around.”

“What—”

“I’m givin’ you a piggyback ride.”

You blinked. “Katsuki, we’re in our sixties.”

“And? You think that stops me?” He crouched a little, wincing more dramatically than he meant to. Despite retaining lighter exercises to keep his body in tip-top shape, age still creeps in like a barnacle to his back. “C’mon, get up before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to throw your back out.”

“My back’s tougher than yours.”

“That’s not saying much anymore!”

“I’d rather break my back than see you waddle like a fuckin’ penguin with those stuffy shoes.”

“Our daughter gave me these shoes!”

“I know,” he replied. “Get on, woman.”

With a chuckle, you carefully climbed onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck like they did all those years ago when you two were barely adults sneaking out for late-night walks. He held your legs securely under him, your weight familiar even after all this time. You rested your head against the back of his neck.

He lifts you like it’s nothing.

“Still got it,” he mutters, somewhat relieved.

Because Bakugou wants to give you a piggyback ride—or just carry you as many times as he possibly could.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, well. You married me. So there’s nothin’ we could do about that now that we’re five decades in, huh?”

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder, your voice muffled. “Best decision I ever made,” you hum. “Do you ever think about what we were like back then?”

“All the time,” he replies.

“Do you miss it?”

Bakugou exhaled. “Nah. I mean, it was good. Great, even. But this…” He shifts you a little higher on his back. “This is better.”

“You’re carrying your wrinkly wife down the street, and you think this is better?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies without hesitation. “You still make fun of me. Still make me laugh. Still kiss me like we’re teenagers. And even if you walk slower now, you still walk with me.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “That’s so sappy. I hate you.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

You chuckled.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

“I know,” Bakugou says, and then, a little quieter, “I love you too. Always have. Even when you fell asleep during Die Hard.”

“I knew it. You were paying attention.”

He laughs. Full, unguarded, and warm. His chest feels full, like it always does when you’re near. The kind of full that doesn’t need fixing. Doesn’t need anything more.

-

“See?” Katsuki muttered breathlessly, settling you down onto a wooden bench that overlooked the town below. “Didn’t break my back.”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tch. Still mouthy,” he said, but there was nothing but tenderness in his voice. He reached for your hand, calloused fingers lacing with yours. “Old or not, you’ll never stop talkin’, will you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you murmured. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You tickle my toes when I’m about to fall asleep, you psychopath.”

“As I said, keep you on your toes.”

You two sat there in silence, side by side, watching as the last of the day faded into hues of soft purple and gold. The town below lit up slowly—windows glowing, streetlights flickering on one by one. It was the same town where you built a life, where you came after retiring from the city, where you spent quiet afternoons and lazy mornings and stormy nights curled under blankets.

“I was thinking earlier,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Remember that old apartment? The first one?”

“The one with the leaky pipes?”

“And the hole in the wall.”

Bakugou made a noise between a groan and a laugh.

“Don’t remind me. That place was hell.”

“But we were happy. And it was our first.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“You used to stay up late grading case files while I was asleep on the couch.”

“And you’d drool on every pillow,” he said, smirking.

“That’s love,” you quipped, “sharing spit on furniture.”

“Disgusting,” his eyes crinkled as he chuckled, quiet and deep, before falling into a softer stillness.

“Do you think we did okay?” you asked.

Bakugou turned to look at you. Your eyes were searching his face—not out of doubt, but for reassurance.

“We did more than okay,” he said. “We loved hard. Fought harder. Got old. Grew up.”

You smiled faintly. “We grew softer.”

He squeezed your hand. “You did. I stayed badass.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah… you did.”

A breeze blew past, and you shivered slightly. Bakugou was already tugging his jacket off before you could protest. He knows you well enough that it comes second to breathing. Something that he could never forget because he needs to remember it to survive.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up. You’re cold.”

You let him drape it over you, fingers brushing his wrist as he tucked it close. It was nice. This was nice.

“I still remember the first time I saw you,” you said after a while. “You were yelling at someone, I think.”

“That sounds right.”

“I thought, ‘What an ass.’”

“And yet, you married me.”

“Because you were very persuasive,” you told him.

He snorted. “Uh huh.”

Time passed like that—peaceful and unhurried—until the sun was a mere sliver on the edge of the world. Fireflies blinked into view. The quiet of the hilltop wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I’m tired,” you murmured quietly, closing your eyes for a moment against his shoulder.

“Want me to carry you home?”

“No, just…” You paused, then exhaled. “Let’s just stay here a bit.”

Bakugou nodded. “Yeah. We can stay.”

“You’ve always been stubborn.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“But also the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t reply right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. Your hair had silvered, your cheeks had thinned, but your eyes held the same sparkle that made him fall in love with you years ago. You were still [Name]. Undeniably his.

And he was still Bakugou. Your.

“Even if I get reincarnated,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, “even if I forget everything—I hope I find you again.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “You will.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll find you too,” he said. “You’re too damn loud to miss.”

You smiled. Your hand, much more wrinkly now, more fragile than it used to be, reached up to his cheek. Your thumb traced the scar that time left near his jaw.

“I love you,” you said.

He leaned in, pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too. Always.”

And in the stillness, with the cool air surrounding you and the stars beginning to blink into view above, you leaned into each other—together in warmth, in memory, in everything you two ever were.

Your hands stayed intertwined, steady.

And when the wind finally hushed, you drifted off into the quietest, most peaceful sleep.

Together, one last time.

Forever.

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