#and I don’t think that reality setting in ever really leaves her even after she’s gone pirate herself.

[emcads]

every time I talk about historical context with potc I need to put a disclaimer, but there’s something very haunting about the way Elizabeth’s, Will’s, and James’ personal journeys all coincide with the piracy act (which granted colonial governors the authority to hang pirates on site instead of sending them back to England). how many pirates must have made the Atlantic crossing in the opposite direction before them. how it’s not ultimately law and Englishness and Moral Righteousness that destroys the pirates, but commerce.

[sunrizef1]

Girl back home

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x wife!reader

Warnings: cursing (I think)

Authors note: this took forever, but now I can actually work on whiv now that I’ve finished this

Summary: Everyone keeps trying to set Logan up, but no one bothers to ask if he's already got a girl (surprise! he does!)

Word Count: 4.2k (jesus)

“What about her? she’s pretty,” Alex asks as he points at the five hundredth model to walk past the Williams garage that day.

If it hadn’t been his home race, Logan might have walked away an hour ago when Alex’s pointing started but instead, he stayed, choosing to endure Alex’s unrelenting matchmaking.

“No, Alex. I’ve already said no to about 50 other girls you’ve pointed out, what makes you think she’d be different,” Logan groans, his head leaning back to rest against the wall behind them.

Alex purses his lips, a frown on his face, “Why won’t you let me get you a girlfriend?”

Logan pauses to stare at the ceiling of the garage for a second before he turns his head to face the man next to him, “I don’t need a girlfriend.”

“Yeah sure man, I’ve seen you stare quietly at a wall by yourself more times than you’d probably admit. If that doesn’t scream “I need a girlfriend” then I don’t know what does,” Alex shrugs before turning back to face away from his friend, his hand coming back up to point at a pretty-faced blonde girl making her way past the garage, even smiling when she locks eyes with Logan, “Ooh what about her? She seems to like you!”

Logan just hums in response, his eyes closing as he leaves Alex to talk to himself.

In reality, Logan truly didn’t need a girlfriend. He had something even better, a wife. Who also happened to be you. You had met when you were kids and had been in love ever since. You liked to joke that it was love at first sight but every time you said it, Logan would wonder how much of a joke it really was.

You had been there for every step in his career, through the wins and the losses, through karting to Formula racing. So when he proposed after the end of the f3 season in 2020, no one close to you was really surprised.

You got married shortly after, neither one of you wanting a big, flashy wedding. Instead, the wedding was small but still nice, just some close friends and family in attendance. Even Oscar had been there and he made sure to reference the event to everyone who wouldn’t understand when around Logan. He loved to talk about the “party” Logan had in 2020 to the other drivers who, frankly, had no idea what he meant.

When he got his move to Formula One, you were over the moon for him. You didn’t worry about long-distance. You had made it work in the past and you both had total confidence in each other to make it work. You continued your degree in engineering and he continued his career in racing. You tried to make it to races when school would let you, which wasn’t often, and he was more than happy to fly you out when he could.

Logan genuinely loved you more than anything. With that being said, this meant that he did not have the time of day for anyone trying to set him up with the Instagram model of the week who had decided to visit a garage.

But at the same time, he also didn’t feel the pressure to share your marriage with anyone. He didn’t really know any of the other drivers very well and if they wanted to know more about him, they could ask. It’s just that no one ever did.

Except, it seems, when they wanted to set him up.

“Hey, Logan!” A British voice calls out to the American, whose head shoots up at the uncommon voice.

“What’s up, mate?” The blonde asks Lando, pocketing the phone where he had just been texting you to ask about your engineering final.

Lando grins and places a hand on the American's shoulder, raising his voice to be heard above the sounds of the paddock, “I was talking to Oscar and he mentioned something about your love life and something about you being lonely, I don’t really remember what he said but anyway, I’m talking to this girl and she has this friend who I think would be perfect for you.”

Logan’s face drops at the brunette's words, a frown replacing his smile, “I’m cool Lando, thanks though.”

Lando furrows his eyebrows, disbelief written on his features, “You sure, mate? She’s sooooo fine.”

Logan just nods his head in response, backing away from the McLaren driver slowly, “Yeah I’m sure Lando, you have fun thinking about your girlfriend’s friend though.”

Lando doesn’t seem to catch the diss as he just glances up and down at Logan before shaking his head and turning on his heel to head back to his garage. Logan sighs before taking his phone back out of his pocket to see another text from you. A grin breaks out on his face as he sees your name.

Logan hadn’t talked to very many of the drivers on the grid, often feeling on the outs of a lot of conversations. So he’s even more surprised to see Charles Leclerc making his way toward him at a club. A club he had only agreed to come to so he coule be Oscar's designated driver, by the way.

“Eyyy, it’s the American!” Charles says, the alcohol clearly present in his voice. The lights are too dimmed but if they were brighter, Logan would be able to see the lipstick smudges around his white collar.

“Hey, Charles,” Logan replies, scepticism laced in his voice. The Monegasque leans closer to him, the drink in his hand sloshing around in the cup.

“I have something to tell you,” Charles slurs a bit, leaning dangerously before a pretty brunette comes up and grabs him, based on her lipstick shade compared to Charles’ shirt, she had already been more than acquaintances with him before this conversation.

Logan glances at the pair before responding dryly, “Oh no.”

Charles grins before pointing back to where he had come from, a dark-haired girl sitting at the table, “That’s Natalie.”

“Navaeh,” the brunette pipes up to correct Charles as he nods in response.

“Yeah, Nivia. Anyway, she’s a friend of mine and she’s been eyeing you all night, thought you’d want her number.”

Logan rolls his eyes at the very clearly drunk couple in front of him, increasing his headache from the pounding EDM, “What an assumption there Charles. I’m actually good though.”

“What?” Charles asks, squinting to see the blonde under the club lights.

“No thanks,” Logan smiles tightly before moving to step around the couple and probably tell Oscar that either they were both leaving or Oscar was getting an Uber, “You guys have a good night though.”

The couple is already too busy sucking face to realize he’s left.

“I just don’t understand why they keep trying to set me up, I’m perfectly happy with you,” Logan complains to you over the phone a few nights later.

You were sat in your dorm, engineering work strewn across your desk and your roommate at a party somewhere. You were trying to get as much work done as possible before Logan came to Austin for the GP so you could spend the weekend with him.

“I mean, have you told them you’re married?” You ask, trying to stifle a yawn as your hand moves to write down the equation for the problem in front of you.

Logan shakes his head, the movement almost imperceptible through the small phone screen, “Nah, but it’s just that no one’s asked you know? I’m just waiting for someone to say “Hey Logan, you got a girl back home?” Before they try and set me up with some Instagram model they know.”

You smile softly as he talks, his hands moving to mess with his blond hair periodically. He eventually looks back to the screen once he’s done ranting and is met with your smiling face filling his phone screen, “What?”

“I love you,” you say warmly, your grin practically splitting your face.

Logan blushes before laughing and shaking his head to hide the redness on his face, “I love you too. I’ll see you next week yeah?”

You look down at the now-completed homework in front of you. Homework that could’ve taken about 2 fewer hours if you weren’t on call.

“Yeah I’m done with this. I’ll turn it into my professor tomorrow and after that I am free. When do you get in?” You ask, shuffling the papers together and sliding them into your bag before moving out of your chair and flopping onto your bunk, sleep clouding your eyes.

“Uhh,” Logan pauses, glancing at his suitcase. In reality, he was supposed to get in twenty two hours and six minutes from when he hung up the call, his flight leaving in three hours and arriving in Austin after a 16 hour flight and a 2 hour layover in DFW followed by an hour long flight to Austin. He would effectively be arriving about a week before any of the other drivers. Besides maybe Daniel. But he couldn’t say any of that. He wanted to surprise you, especially now that you had no work to do. So instead he just hums, “Next week I think.”

“That’s great, babe,” you yawn, a small smile on your lips at the idea of him being back with you again, “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah?” Logan grins.

You hum, your eyes drifting closed slightly, “Yeah.”

Logan notices your less-than-awake state and finally decides to end the call, “Goodnight, I love you.”

You yawn again, your eyes fluttering shut, “Good morning Logan, I love you too.”

The call ends quickly after and Logan glances at the time, grinning when he sees the 8:24 am displayed on his phone screen. You’d both had to deal with the difference in time zones for so long, you probably had all the time zones memorized. Or at least you remembered enough to call out good morning instead of goodnight while he was in Qatar.

His flight touches down twenty-two hours later and the first thing he does is call you.

“Hey what's up?” It's about 10:30 in Austin and the only thing you were doing was picking up barbeque from this place on the edge of campus that your roommate had been raving about.

“Not much, just bored,” Logan replies, his eyes scanning the background of the face time call for where you could possibly be this late.

You glance down at your phone for a second to do the same, eyebrows furrowing, “Where are you? It looks dark.”

Logan glances around slightly before replying, “In a car,” he wasn't lying, he really was in a car. Just one that was ubering to your campus instead of one with his team in Qatar, “Where are you? It's like 10 pm over there.”

“Just picking up some food,” you reply, eyes looking over the moonlit sidewalk that threads through the well-kept grass that surrounds you.

“This late?”

You laugh, “I slept through dinner.”

Logan smiles before sliding forward slightly when the car stops, “Are you just going back to your dorm?”

You look around quickly, “Yeah it's like a quarter mile back though.” You tighten your grip on the bag in your hand, the plastic having started to slip. Maybe your Ugg slides hadn't been the best choice for this walk but you'd manage.

“Oh yeah I know where you are, I remember eating at that place last time I was there,” Logan pulls his suitcase out of the trunk and tips the driver, checking periodically to make sure you hadn't clocked him.

“Yeah yeah, really good stuff and the owner remembered me today, guess I've been there enough times,” You laugh, starting to move back in the direction of your dorm once again.

By the time you had stopped to readjust the bag of food and your shoes, Logan had already started to speedwalk in the direction of your dorm. As he walks he passes enough drunk college kids to fill the football stadium they had all visited so many times.

You're walking pretty slowly, enjoying the moonlight shining brightly on the campus. Your shoes definitely weren't making you any faster to be fair.

“You turn your assignment in?” Logan asks, hoping you don't notice his eyes darting around the campus in search of you.

You nod, reaching a hand up to rub at your sleepy eyes, “Yeah, he even gave me extra credit for turning it in so early.”

Logan nods absentmindedly and you raise an eyebrow as you watch him do it before his eyes lock on something and he abruptly ends the call, “I've got to go, love you!”

You stand staring at your phone with a confused look on your face for a moment, words dying on the tip of your tongue. Weird.

You shake your head before moving to walk again, Logan's weird actions at the forefront of your mind.

Before you can even take a step, someone calls out your name and you turn quickly to see Logan standing there with the biggest grin on his face.

You gasp and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug warmth spreading through you from his arms. You move to spread kisses all across his face and for a few minutes, you both just stand there, not having seen each other in a few months and taking the time to readjust.

“I missed you,” you mumble into his shoulder, unexpected tears starting to spring from your eyes.

He just sets you down before wrapping a hand around the side of your face, “I missed you too.”

You bring a sweater-clad hand up to wipe away a tear before grabbing the food in one hand and grabbing his hand in the other, starting to lead him back to your dorm.

He grabs his suitcase as you start moving, “Is your roommate here?”

“No, you know how she is. She'll be with her new boyfriend for a few weeks so we're fine,” you wave away his question as you walk toward the building a few hundred feet away.

He smiles in response, “Hope you got enough food for two.”

You just laugh joyously.

A week and a half later, you’re stood in the hotel room Logan’s team had provided him, the room much nicer than your cramped dorm room. You had spent the last 12 days exploring Austin with your husband, making up for the time spent away from each other.

You had accidentally slept through Logan’s departure for the morning, waking up to a text explaining that, with your busy class schedule, he wanted you to get as many days of sleeping in as possible but he had gotten you breakfast and it was currently sitting in the kitchen.

You smiled at the text, appreciating Logan’s thoughtfulness. In the kitchen was a coffee from your favourite coffee shop as well as a McGriddle from McDonalds, which, no doubt, hurt Logan to order considering he wasn’t allowed to eat them.

You quickly ate the food, texting Logan to thank him. He texts back surprisingly quickly, considering he was supposed to be in a meeting.

He filled you in on how his morning had gone before asking when you’d get to the paddock for the race. You replied that you’d be there soon, quickly sliding on a light jacket over your tank top and jean shorts, preparing for the Austin heat.

Considering you had never been in the COTA paddock before, you would rather be in any situation other than your current one. There were about three hours until the race and you had no idea where the Williams garage was. You had gotten in just fine but, for some reason, you couldn’t find the blue of the Williams employees anywhere.

Logan wasn’t answering his phone, which you expected considering he had already been reprimanded for being on his phone during a meeting once this morning. Now you were left by yourself, trying to navigate the busy paddock.

You were somehow in a sea of orange, eyebrows furrowed. You turn in a quick circle, eyes setting on a curly-haired man in an orange polo who you take a few quick steps towards, hoping he can help you with directions.

“Excuse me,” you call out to the man who turns around swiftly, eyes pulling across your figure before landing on your face.

“How can I help you, love?” The man replies, a British accent laced through his voice and a sharp grin on his rosy lips.

You glance around slightly, leaning away from the man’s hungry gaze, “Do you know where the Williams garage is?”

He nods his head but keeps his eyes locked on your face, his smirk unfaltering, “Yeah, yeah, it’s just down that way.”

He points to nowhere in particular, moving to lean against the wall you’re standing near, “What’s your name, darling?”

You have to hide the smirk that tries to escape you at the fact that this man clearly has no idea you were married and also clearly thought you’d be an easy girl to flirt with considering his unwavering confidence.

You tell him your name and a grin breaks out on his face, “Pretty name, I’m Lando.”

Ah, so this was Lando. You had only ever seen him with his helmet on and from what you heard from Logan, his current behaviour made perfect sense. Logan hadn’t talked a lot about the Brit but he had mentioned him a few times considering he was Oscars teammate.

You hum, glancing around amusedly around the garage. You and Lando talk for a few more moments before a shorter figure clasps a hand on his shoulder. You lock eyes with the newcomer, grinning when you see a familiar boy standing behind Lando.

"Hey Osc," You smile at the Aussie. Oscar glances sideways at Lando, eyes shifting across his face before they turn to you. You just smile sweetly at the man who reciprocates the grin back at you.

"Hey," Lando glances confusedly between the two of you at Oscar's response. When Lando's confusion goes on a bit too long, Oscar turns and swings an arm around your shoulder, effectively moving the both of you away from the still-confused McLaren driver.

"I assume you're looking for Williams, then?" Oscar asks, running his free hand through his hair which had already begun to stick to his forehead from the Austin heat.

You hum in affirmation, sliding your sunglasses down your nose as the two of you step into the sun to make your way to your husband's garage.

Oscar makes conversation as he pulls you along, talking to you about how his season had gone and also asking a lot of questions about your engineering classes.

“I’d do a video for you, shock all your classmates,” Oscar says when you tell him you had to do a presentation explaining the engineering behind a piece of machinery and you had chosen a Formula 1 car.

You laugh, shaking your head as you do, “Yeah? I'd take you up on that, but I have a driver who'd be much easier to get a video from.”

Oscar snorts, smiling as you reach the Williams garage, “Lando?”

You roll your eyes as the name leaves his lips, hitting the back of his head with the small bag in your hands, “Don't get me started on Lando. You know he tried to set Logan up with one of his friends?”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, “What?”

“Yeah, Lando said you told him Logan’s love life was lonely or something like that,” You reply, glancing around passively in search of your husband.

Oscar somehow manages to furrow his eyebrows even deeper, mouth opening and closing in disbelief, “That’s not what I said at all.”

“Tell him that.”

You both walk into the garage after that, you move to make conversation with Benny who’s sat to the side, surprise crossing his face as he sees you.

Oscar, though, spots Logan and makes his way to him quickly. He clasps a hand on the blonde's back who turns to face him with a grin, “What’s up Osc?”

“Lando was flirting with your wife,” Oscar states flatly, trying to push down the grin on his face.

Logan blinks a few times in an attempt to understand what the Aussie just said, “What- why?”

“Don’t think he knew she was your wife, mate.”

Logan rolls his eyes before turning around slightly to resume his conversation with his engineer. He stops mid-turn and swings back around to Oscar quickly, eyes wide, “My wife’s here?”

Oscar laughs at the American's face, stepping out of his line of sight so he can see you conversing with Benny.

Logan grins, sliding past the other boy to step toward you as quick as he can, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Oscar can’t hear what you two say to each other but he can see the love painting your faces as Logan plants a kiss on the top of your head. Benny smiles at the two of you, walking away to let you two talk.

As Oscar leaves the Williams garage, he briefly debates telling Lando you were married, especially to Logan, but he eventually decides not to. He’d figure it out eventually. Also might help to have him learn the hard way.

You sat in the garage for the entire race. But when Logan ends the race in eight, you’re jumping up happily to follow the Williams employee guiding you to where he’ll be.

The moment he’s done being weighed, he runs over to you, pulling his helmet off and unzipping his suit to his hips.

He grasps the side of your face, pulling you to him as he kisses you softly. He pulls away slightly and rests his forehead against yours, lifting a hand to grab the one you have against the side of his face, fingers brushing over your wedding ring.

“Thank you for being here. I love you.”

You can’t help the lovely laugh that escapes you, throwing your head back a bit to escape the heat rising on your cheeks, “I love you too, dork. I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles before leaning to catch you in another kiss.

Lando had finished the race in 4th. Not bad considering who had finished in front of him. He’d already talked to his team so he was now just roaming around, looking for someone to talk to.

He locks eyes on you and takes a few steps toward you before someone comes running past him. He looks over to see Logan grasping your face in his hands before pulling you down into a kiss.

He can’t help but stand in shock for a few moments although he can sense a couple people walking up next to him. He glances beside him to see Charles and Alex, both also staring at Logan in disbelief.

“What the hell?” Lando asks, to no one in particular. Luckily, or unfortunately, for him, someone has an answer.

“Are you lot staring at Logan and his wife?” Lando doesn’t look over to catch the amused look on Oscar’s face as he asks the question. But Alex does, and he furrows his eyebrows at the younger man.

“Sorry?” Alex asks the Aussie who just smiles and turns back to the couple, still smiling in each other's embrace.

Charles is the first one to notice anything and he smacks the other two on the head when he does, “They’re both wearing wedding rings.”

Alex blinks for a second, caught in the strange reality that he hadn’t noticed his teammate wearing a wedding ring the whole season. He pulls out his phone to go through old photos and low-and-behold, Logan’s wearing a ring in every single one.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando mumbles, running a hand through his damp curls, “I flirted with her.”

“Yeah,” Oscar nods, hands on his hips, “I probably wouldn’t talk to Logan for a while if I were you. Unless you want to find out how they do it in Florida.”

Lando gulps at the boy's words, of course, having no idea how they “do it” in Florida but only assuming he’d end up with a black eye. Oscar has to stifle a laugh, knowing Logan would most likely just laugh it off if Lando genuinely apologized. Not that Lando would.

Oscar's eyes drift across the trio of confused drivers, most likely all going through their memories of the times they had tried to set Logan up.

“You told me he was lonely,” Lando finally whines out, turning back to Oscar who shakes his head.

“I told you he was lonely because his girlfriend couldn’t make it to any of the races. If you would listen, you would’ve heard that part.”

Lando has no defence to that and turns his head back again to watch as Logan laughs at something you said, fingers intertwined together.

When the news spread across the paddock the next day, Logan received a lot of incredulous texts from drivers and employees alike, all shocked that he was in a relationship, let alone married.

Logan didn’t read any of them, he was too busy hanging out with you.

Except, of course, the message from Oscar that included three specific drivers all with their eyes wide as they stared at him and you.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[pucksandpower]

Fairytale

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc has everything he could ask for (off the track, at least) including a fairytale romance … except no one actually believes that his girlfriend is really his girlfriend

Charles sighs as he walks into the drivers’ lounge, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. Ever since he had casually mentioned having a girlfriend, and more specifically who the girlfriend in question is, his friends have been merciless.

“Wow, if it isn’t Prince Charles in the flesh! Back from another romantic getaway with his imaginary princess,” Max laughs as he enters.

“Come on mates, lay off,” Charles pleads half-heartedly. He knows it is useless.

“I just don’t get it,” Lando chimes in. “There’s no shame in admitting that you’re single. We’re racing drivers, we don’t exactly always have time for relationships.”

“Maybe his standards are too high,” Pierre suggests. “He’s actually holding out for real royalty or something.”

The others laugh as Charles feels his face grow warm. If only they believed him.

“You know what you need?” Carlos grins. “A nice Spanish girl to set you up with. My sister’s friend Elena is single, I could give you her number.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I told you, I have a girlfriend. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because we’ve never seen her!” Max exclaims. “You talk about her all the time but she never comes to races or appears in photos. She might as well be a unicorn.”

“Maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen with Charles,” Lando teases.

Charles frowns, stung by Lando’s words. If only they knew the truth. The reality is that his girlfriend is extremely famous in her own right and values the little privacy she has left too much to be seen at races. Her life is already public enough without adding the scrutiny that anyone connected to a Formula 1 driver inevitably receives on top of it. Besides, she has her own royal duties to attend to.

“Come on guys, that’s unfair,” Pierre says gently, noticing Charles’ discomfort. “If Charles says he has a girlfriend, we should believe him.”

“Thank yo—” Charles starts to say with relief. At least someone is on his side.

“Even if she is imaginary,” Pierre adds with a smirk.

Charles groans and puts his head in his hands as the laughter starts up again. He can’t really blame them for not believing him.

You are basically a fairytale princess — beautiful, elegant, and kind. Not to mention an actual member of the royal family. Her Serene Highness Princess Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline of Monaco is the type of girl people write epic poems and songs about. Charles can hardly believe his luck that you had chosen him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daniel interrupts, taking pity on Charles. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“We’re just joking,” Max says defensively. “Charles knows we don’t mean anything by it.”

Charles gives Max a tight smile. “Sure.”

“Tell you what,” Daniel says, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “Bring your mystery girl to a race soon. We’ll all get to meet her and then you can finally prove these jokers wrong.”

Charles sighs. If only it were that simple. You have been tempted to attend races in the past but the scrutiny both of them would come under is just too much. You treasure the privacy your relationship allows. But maybe Daniel is right. Maybe it is time for you to finally meet his friends. After all, you are the love of his life. There is nothing to hide.

“Alright, deal,” Charles says finally. “I’ll ask her.”

The others exchange surprised looks, not expecting him to agree.

“Can’t wait to meet her,” Carlos says with a wink.

Charles rolls his eyes again but smiles. One way or another, he is going to prove to them that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination.

***

Charles is still thinking about you when he is suddenly accosted by Silvia, Ferrari’s Head of Communications, after practice.

“Charles! Just who I was looking for,” she says briskly. “I need to discuss something rather important with you.”

Charles suppresses a groan. Conversations with Silvia are never fun. “What’s up?” He asks with forced cheerfulness.

Silvia lowers her voice. “It’s about your relationship status. We feel it would be beneficial if you were seen dating someone … compatible.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Compatible?”

“Yes. A model. Or perhaps an actress. Someone who would look good on your arm and boost your image.”

Charles folds his arms defensively. “What’s wrong with my girlfriend?”

Silvia waves a hand impatiently. “Yes yes, this alleged princess you keep mentioning. The problem, Charles, is that no one has seen her. No one knows if she is actually connected to you in any way. So, as far as we are concerned, for all intents and purposes, you are single.”

Charles frowns. This again. “I keep telling you that she’s really my girlfriend. Y/N is just very private.”

“Private women don’t date Formula 1 drivers,” Silvia says bluntly. “If she really was in a relationship with you, she would be here. But since that is clearly a figment of your imagination, we need to take steps.”

Charles feels his blood boil. How dare Silvia insult his relationship with Y/N? Question their connection?

“Here are profiles of suitable options,” Silvia continues, shoving a surprisingly heavy folder at him. Charles doesn’t open it.

“No.”

Silvia blinks. “No?”

“My relationship with Y/N is off limits,” Charles says firmly. “My personal life is exactly that — personal. Not to be exploited for PR.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Silvia snaps. “This is bigger than you. Your image reflects on Ferrari. We need to be able to control it.”

“No. What you need to do is back off,” Charles shoots back.

Silvia’s nostrils flare. Clearly she isn’t used to such defiance. “Charles, be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable,” Charles interrupts. “I won’t pretend to date someone just because the team wants me to. I’m with Y/N. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

Silvia shakes her head in disgust. “You’re making a big mistake. Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

She storms off, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Charles takes a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He can’t remember the last time he stood up to Silvia like that. It felt good but also nerve-wracking. He knows she won’t let this go easily.

His phone buzzes and his heart leaps when he sees it’s a text from you.

Heard you had a rough day. Wish I could be there to make it better. I love you 💋

Charles smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing. You always knew just what to say and when to say it.

He quickly types back.

I wish you were here too. No matter what anyone says, they can’t change my feelings for you. I love you so much ❤️

He hits send, imagining your smile as you read his text. It doesn’t matter what his team, the media, or even his fellow drivers think. His relationship with you is real and authentic. Someday he’ll find a way for you to be by his side. But for now, your private moments together are enough.

Charles knows staying with you is the right decision, PR be damned. You are his soulmate — the fairytale princess he never expected to find but thanks God every single day that he did. Your love is worth fighting for. And someday, when the time is right, he’ll finally be able to show the world that what you have together is very real.

***

Charles groans as he notices multiple missed calls from his brothers. He has been avoiding their calls lately, knowing they would just tease him mercilessly about his girlfriend. But he knows he can’t dodge them forever.

Taking a deep breath, he calls Arthur back.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince Charles himself, taking time away from his busy schedule of dating princesses to spare a chat with us commoners,” Arthur says slyly upon answering.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Very funny. What do you want?”

“We just wanted to check in on our brother and see how life with Monegasque royalty is treating you,” Lorenzo chimes in. Charles realizes he must be on speaker.

“Oh yes, Princess Y/N,” Arthur says in an exaggerated swoony voice. “Our brother’s one true love since he was 15 years old and had that giant poster of her plastered on his wall.”

Charles feels his face flush. He knows exactly what poster Arthur is referencing — a stunning photo of you in a ballgown from a high society event years ago. Teenage Charles has ripped it out of a magazine and hung it up reverently in his room, gazing at it longingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputters. “I never had a poster.”

“Oh really?” Lorenzo laughs. “I seem to recall you cutting out every picture you could find of her and keeping a little scrapbook.”

Charles cringes internally. Okay, maybe his teenage obsession had been a bit … enthusiastic. But he can’t help that he had recognized you as his dream girl even then.

“Alright, so maybe I had a tiny crush on her,” Charles admits. “But it is not crazy that we ended up together.”

Arthur cackles. “You used to kiss her photos goodnight before going to bed! You were completely obsessed!”

“Remember how he tried to sneak into that royal gala at Salle des Etoiles to see her?” Lorenzo adds. “He was totally insane.”

Charles grimaces at the memory. Okay, not his finest moment.

“Face it Charles, you’ve been in love with the imaginary idea of Princess Y/N since you were in nappies,” Arthur teases. “No shame in admitting she wouldn't even give you the time of day now.”

Charles feels his frustration rising. Why does no one believe him?

“Because your so-called relationship makes no sense!” Lorenzo says, accurately reading his silence. “She’s a literal princess and you’re … you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Charles grumbles. He knows his brothers are just teasing but it still stings.

“Come on, just admit you made the whole thing up to get everyone off your back,” Arthur prods.

Charles sighs loudly. “For the millionth time, what we have is 100 percent real! Just because it seems unlikely doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I don’t care if none of you believe me, I love her and she loves me.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“You alright there?” Arthur asks, his voice softening.

“Yes, I just wish everyone would stop questioning my relationship all the time,” Charles admits. “It hurts.”

“We’re only joking Charles, we don’t mean any harm,” Lorenzo says gently.

“I know,” Charles replies. “Doesn’t make it any easier to hear constantly though.”

“You’re right, we took the teasing too far,” Arthur says. “We’ll lay off from now on.”

Charles smiles slightly. “Thanks. And someday soon I will prove to you that it is real.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Arthur finally laughs.

Charles groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Clearly nothing he says would convince his stubborn brothers that his relationship with you was real and not merely a childhood fantasy.

“Alright, well, I should get going,” Charles mumbles, eager to get off the phone.

“Chin up, we’re only teasing,” Lorenzo says lightly. “Have fun with your imaginary princess!”

Arthur and Lorenzo explode into more laughter as Charles quickly hangs up, his face burning. Someday, he will prove to them and everyone else that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination. No matter how long it takes.

***

Charles sinks into the familiar couch in his sports psychologist’s office, exhausted after a long day on the simulator and endless teasing from his team.

“Rough day out there?” Dr. Anderson asks kindly, noticing the strain on Charles’ face.

“That’s an understatement,” Charles sighs. “The car is just so slow this year. We keep trying new setups and tweaks but nothing helps. And the strategy is somehow even worse than the pace. It’s like the team wants me to fail.”

Dr. Anderson nods sympathetically. “That must be very frustrating. Tell me more about how it’s impacting you.”

Charles launches into a tirade about the endless issues with the car, the incompetent strategists, and the lack of proper communication from his engineers. Dr. Anderson listens patiently, letting him vent his pent-up anger and disappointment.

After a lengthy rant, Charles finally runs out of steam. “Anyway, it’s just been a terrible season,” he concludes glumly.

“I can certainly understand why you feel that way,” Dr. Anderson says. “It sounds like the team is letting you down in many ways.”

Charles nods, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders after unloading. It helps to talk about it with someone whose job is not to judge.

“Is there anything else bothering you lately?” Dr. Anderson asks gently. “Any other sources of stress?”

Charles hesitates. He and Dr. Anderson have been working together for years, ever since he joined Ferrari. He knows he can open up to her.

“It’s just … well, besides the team stuff, no one believes me about my girlfriend,” he admits.

Dr. Anderson raises her eyebrows. “I see. Tell me more about that.”

Charles explains the endless teasing from his fellow drivers, the manipulation attempts by the PR team, and the doubtful reactions from his own family. How despite his best efforts, no one seems willing to accept that he is really dating Princess Y/N of Monaco.

“It’s so frustrating!" He bursts out at the end. “I don’t know what else I can do to convince them that we are actually together.”

Dr. Anderson purses her lips, jotting down notes. “I can understand why their doubt would upset you. It must be painful to have your relationship questioned.”

“Exactly!" Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You get it. I knew I could talk to you.”

Dr. Anderson gives him a sympathetic smile.

Charles leaves the appointment feeling much better, confident that his psychologist believes him and is on his side.

As he is exiting, Charles notices Dr. Anderson’s notebook left open on her desk. Before he can stop himself, his eyes scan the page and focus on his name.

He feels his heart sink as he reads.

Charles Leclerc: deflecting from pain of difficult season by creating elaborate fantasy relationship. Fixation on celebrity crush indicates deeper self-esteem issues. Recommend to confront delusion directly in next session.

Charles reels, shock and anger swirling through him. Not even his own psychologist believes him! She thinks he is living in some weird fantasy.

Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Charles straightens his shoulders and walks out. He has never felt more alone and frustrated in his conviction. But he refuses to give up. No matter what anyone says, his love for you is real. And one day, somehow, he will prove it to the world.

***

Charles is back at his family home in Monaco during a rare few days off. He is puttering around the kitchen while his mother cooks dinner.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N is coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles mentions casually. “I want you all to finally meet her.”

Pascale laughs lightly without looking up from the stove. “Of course, sweetie.”

Charles frowns. “I’m serious, maman. She’ll be here in an hour.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure she will,” Pascale replies indulgently. Charles huffs in annoyance.

Just then, his brothers come into the kitchen, freshly showered after playing football outside.

“Hey Charles, how’s life with your imaginary girlfriend?” Lorenzo immediately teases.

“She’s actually coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles says tersely.

Arthur lets out a loud laugh. “Yeah right! Good one.” He grabs a piece of bread from the counter, still chuckling.

Charles throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why does no one ever believe me about her?”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Pascale chides gently. “Let your brother dream.”

Charles opens his mouth to retort but just then, the doorbell rings. His eyes widen.

“I’ll get it!" He yells, dashing for the door. He takes a deep breath before swinging it open to reveal you standing there casually in jeans and a sweater, looking effortlessly gorgeous.

“Surprise!" You laugh, pulling him into a tight hug. Charles melts into your embrace, all his stress and frustration fading away.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back to smile at him tenderly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. I want your family to know how much I love you.”

Charles grins and takes your hand, leading your into the kitchen where his stunned family waits.

Pascale’s mouth is hanging open in shock. The piece of bread Arthur is holding falls to the floor with a dull thump.

“Y-your Serene Highness,” Pascale finally manages to stammer out, hastily wiping her hands on a towel. “What an honor, we weren’t expecting you ...”

She shoots an accusatory look at Charles, who throws up his hands defensively. “I told you she was coming!”

Pascale flushes. “Yes, well, I didn’t think … that is … we would have prepared ...”

You step forward gracefully, immediately putting Pascale at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N. I’ve been dying to meet Charles’ family.”

As you effortlessly charm his mother and brothers, Charles stands back watching with a satisfied smile. The shock and sheepishness on his family’s faces is vindicating after so many months of teasing and disbelief.

Charles has never been one to say “I told you so” but … I told you so.

***

The cheers of the crowd are deafening as the chequered flag waves for Charles at the Monaco Grand Prix. He can hardly believe it — finally, a win at his home race!

As he pulls into parc fermé and jumps out of the car, the emotions hit him. Pure elation at ending the long wait for a home victory. Relief at overcoming the team’s doubts. But most of all, excitement for what comes next.

The podium ceremony.

And with the Monegasque royal family presenting the trophies as usual, Charles knows exactly who will be handing him the winner’s trophy.

He can barely stand still through the anthems, eager for his moment with you. The weekend has been agony, so close to you yet having to pretend that there is nothing between the two of you.

But not anymore.

At last, the royal family walks onto the podium led by none other than Princess Y/N. Charles’ heart skips a beat at the sight of you gliding towards him in a figure-hugging red midi dress, sunlight glinting off your carefully styled hair. You somehow manage to become more and more beautiful every time he sees you.

Stopping in front of him, you give him a subtle wink before launching into the customary congratulatory speech. Charles nods along, not hearing a word as he zones out while admiring the stunning woman he gets to call his own.

At last, you turn to pick up the trophy. “It is my honor to present this trophy to our victor, who represents Monaco with pride in everything he does, Charles Leclerc,” you announce, holding it out to him with a brilliant smile.

In that moment, Charles throws all caution to the wind. As he accepts the trophy, he reaches out and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

The crowd below erupts in shocked cheers and screams. You melt into the kiss for a blissful moment before gently pulling back, your eyes sparkling. Charles grins at you breathlessly.

“Worth the wait?” He murmurs.

“Absolutely,” you whisper back, squeezing his hand. “I’m so proud of you, mon amour.”

Turning back to the roaring crowd, Charles wraps an arm around your waist and thrusts your linked hands into the air in triumph.

Looking out at the paddock, Charles sees the priceless dumbfounded looks on his fellow drivers’ faces. The Ferrari PR team looks ready to pass out in horror. Reporters are screaming questions and snapping photos frantically.

But Charles only has eyes for the radiant princess at his side. At long last, he has made your love public for the whole world to see.

Later, after celebrations around the circuit have started winding down in favor of moving to lounges and clubs for the night, Charles and you escape for a private moment together.

“That was quite the reveal,” you say with an amused quirk of your eyebrow.

Charles laughs. “I know, subtlety has never been my strong suit. I hope you don’t mind.”

You caress his face tenderly. “Of course not. I’m happy to finally be by your side. No more hiding.”

Charles kisses you deeply, all the love and longing of the past months pouring into it.

When you finally break apart, foreheads touching, he murmurs, “No more doubts. No more teasing. They all know now that you’re real and all mine.”

“Forever yours,” you whisper back. And seal it with another perfect kiss.

***

“I can’t believe it. I just … actually can’t believe it,” Max mutters, staring at the large screens around the paddock that are showing you and Charles gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes during the post-race interviews.

“Lord Perceval … dating an actual princess,” Carlos muses in disbelief.

“And not just any princess, his teenage celebrity crush!" Lando exclaims.

“I guess we owe him an apology,” Pierre says sheepishly.

“Big time,” Daniel agrees. “We gave him so much crap for making her up.”

“Speak of the devil,” Max mutters as Charles strides into the room, hand-in-hand with you.

An awkward silence descends on the group. Charles clears his throat, enjoying their obvious discomfort.

“I believe you all know my girlfriend, Her Serene Highness Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline, Hereditary Princess of Monaco and Marquise of Baux. But you can just call her Your Serene Highness or Princess Y/N,” he says politely.

The guys mumble greetings, not quite meeting your eyes. You smile graciously. “You can just call me Y/N. Any friend of Charles is a friend of mine and there’s no need for titles around friends.”

Charles narrows his eyes. “Actually I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe they should maintain protocol and address you properly.”

You shoots him a look. “Darling, it’s fine, really. I want your friends to feel comfortable around me.”

But Charles crosses his arms, not budging. “No, it’s not fine. I must insist that they observe the formal mode of address for royalty.”

The drivers shift awkwardly again. You pull Charles aside with a soothing smile.

“What are you doing?” You whisper. “I’m trying to put them at ease.”

“I know but they deserve to squirm for a bit after how much they mocked us,” Charles whispers back petulantly.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t be silly. I know their teasing hurt but let’s move past it. Can you really blame them for thinking it sounds like a made up fairytale? Put yourself in their shoes.”

Charles sighs. “I guess you’re right ... I just want them to respect you.”

“They will, in time,” you say gently. “But forcing them to be overly formal won’t accomplish that. I’m still just me.”

Charles nods reluctantly. “Okay fine, we’ll do it your way.”

You turn back to the drivers who are trying to act natural and pretending that they didn’t just listen in on your conversation with a bright smile. “I’ve heard so much about all of you,” you say. “Charles speaks very highly of his fellow drivers.”

“We’re, uh, happy to finally meet you too,” Max manages to get out.

“Yeah, congrats mate,” Daniel offers weakly.

More awkward silence follows. Charles smirks, deciding to twist the knife a bit more.

“I know you all had your doubts about me landing a catch like Y/N,” he says casually. “But I can’t blame you. Even I can hardly believe someone so incredible would fall for me.”

He gazes at you adoringly as you blush prettily while the drivers fidget uneasily.

“Anyway, as you can now see, she’s real and we are happier than ever!" Charles concludes brightly.

“We’re really sorry for not believing you,” Lando bursts out sincerely. “And all the teasing.”

The others chime in with apologies and congratulations. Charles graciously accepts, reassuring them no hard feelings.

After you have throughly charmed them all and departed, the group surrounds Charles excitedly.

“Alright, you have to give us all the details,” Max demands. “How did you meet? How did you get her to go out with you? When did it get serious?”

Charles just laughs. “It’s a long story. But the important thing is that she’s the only one for me. Despite everyone doubting us, our love was real from the start.”

“Pretty epic to have a real life princess as your soulmate,” Pierre says dreamily.

“Just remember you knew me back when you all thought she was imaginary,” Charles jokes.

“We’ll never live it down,” Carlos groans goodnaturedly.

Charles smiles, feeling lighter and happier than he has in ages. The long struggle to prove himself has been worth it. Now he has everything — the win, the girl, and the utter shock and joy of proving to the world that even his wildest dreams can come true.

And this is only the beginning for him and his beloved princess.

[raainberry]

fire to warmth (compliments to the chef epilogue)

Momo x gn!reader

synopsis - five months after her first compliments, you find yourself chasing them. (read the original here)

wordcount - like 900

A/N - kinda chaebol!momo - chef!reader - mentions of food and smoke - you don’t hate each other anymore - literally just pure fluff - that's all i can think of, tell me if i missed anything

Momo in your shirt, sitting on the counter in her bright kitchen. Her laughter resonating in the open space, contrasting with the quiet and shy compliments you exchanged as you cooked breakfast for her.

A sweet scene, right? Unreal. Not even your imagination had come up with it when you were busy figuring her out through the rifts. Yet it was your reality.

On a random Sunday morning.

“You should cook for me more often.”

You glanced at Momo, and the sight of her in your t-shirt made her question vanish from your mind for a hot second. The way it fell on her shoulders, baggy and reaching slightly too high on her thighs, revealing just enough of the cute shorts underneath to make your heart skip a beat.

“I feel like I do that a decent amount already,” you teased, referring to your place back at the restaurant.

“I literally pay you for that, how dare you complain?”

“I’m not,” you grinned, leaning in for a kiss. She hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in, granting you that small peck you’d grown addicted to as days went by. “I’ll cook breakfast for you any day, you just need to wake up before noon for that.”

Well. She knew she shouldn’t have given in that easily. Her foot found your butt quite fast, delivering a gentle kick as a reminder to watch your mouth.

You looked back at her at the contact, finding her eyes and locking them with yours. “Do it again.”

Her eyes rolled. It was a reflex at this point. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her, as always.

“Only for you,” you said, flipping a pancake.

“That’s exactly the problem,” she pointed out, making you laugh.

You loved these moments—seeing Momo so relaxed and happy, away from the pressures of work. If only you could go back in time, tell yourself everything you’d learn to like about her… Just to see your own face. It’d be worth the round-trip.

That smile she gave you when you handed her the pancakes on a plate was only one of many.

“Thank you, darling,” she said, taking a bite. “These are amazing.”

“Really? Still no ‘chef’?” you replied, leaning against the counter across from her.

Momo paused for a second, confused, before remembering the night you’d decided to give a chance to this chaos-inducing attraction. She chuckled, swallowing her bite as she shook her head no.

“But you really do make the best breakfast.”

“I’ll take the compliment.”

You stood there, a stupid smile on your face as you watched her take another bite. Some of her hair slipped into her mouth, pulling a soft chuckle out of you.

Momo quickly grew obsessed with having you around, she could barely understand why she’d ever wished you’d leave her perimeter. Especially when you took such good care of her, reaching for her hair and pushing the loose strand away from her lips.

That blush on her cheeks was faint, but it was still there. Something she didn’t necessarily like, but you did. It exposed her feelings a little too much in her opinion, something you were oh so glad about.

“Do you want anything on those pancakes or are you just gonna eat them plain?” You smiled, already reaching for the syrup you knew she’d request.

“They’re just as good like this.” She said in between bites. “I don’t know what you put in them, but please never change the recipe.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you set the syrup bottle down next to her. They soon approached her ear, and you lowered your voice, just to be dramatic. “My love for you, that’s what I put in them.”

She just chuckled, shook her head and pushed you away; a normal reaction from her. Just as normal as the way she tapped the empty spot next to her, inviting you to come sit with her.

You hopped up to comply with her wishes, the same ones you used to defy like your life depended on it.

“Let’s eat together.” She smiled. Another request you fully accepted and welcomed with open arms. Much like the bite she offered as soon as your shoulder touched hers.

The rich vanilla flavor melted along with the fluffy texture on your tongue. The combination was light and airy, with a hint of sweetness. The syrup, which she had drizzled on despite her earlier claims, brought a perfect balance to it all.

“I really am good at cooking, huh.”

Momo rolled her eyes once more, “Technically this is baking.”

The comment had you sending her a playful glare that she wasted no time on taming with a soft kiss on your cheek. “I’m just kidding, baby, you’re good,” she assured, leaning in closer to rest her head on your shoulder as she continued to eat. “Just don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.” You sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her even closer. “And you have a lot to do with it.”

You felt her shake lightly as she giggled, her laughter vibrating through you.

“Pretty sure it’s the compliments at work. I think I’m gonna ban them.”

“As long as you keep them coming.”

A small silence followed, filled with nothing but warmth and tranquility. Something in you had to stir it. It was still too hard to resist.

“I kind of want to go smoke,” you said, the subtle sound of your smirk breaking the quiet.

“Don’t,”she replied instantly. There it was, that firm tone. You’d missed it, although it was a little different from your early days. A little more affection softening her edge.

“Are you sure? I might look good doing it.”

You weren’t looking to argue anymore. Only hear her laugh.

And you succeeded.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Avocado & The Turnip (The Surprise, Part 8)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, pregnancy times, fluffy fluff, kind of hurt/comfort (?), mentions of some pretty horrific crimes (duh), gunshot wound, some explicit language Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: A series of hard cases puts a strain on your relationship with Emily. Anxieties run high on both sides, and the reality of Emily's job–and the risks the come with it–feel even more real than usual now that there's going to be a child in the picture.

Week 16: The Avocado

“I just don’t know what to say to him,” Emily exclaimed, resting her chin on your stomach, a worried look on her face.

Your plans for an adorable evening of talking to the baby had backfired. For unknown reasons, Emily had come home in a bad mood, anxious and on edge. Somehow, the news that the baby could likely hear you now had only made her more anxious.

“You can say anything, Em. She’s the size of an avocado. She’s not gonna remember what we say; she’s gonna remember our voices.”

You ran your fingers through Emily’s hair, trying your best to alleviate some of her stress. You’d meant for this to be good news, to be a fun, cute little moment she could have with you and the baby after a brutal day at work.

“Tell her about your day,” you suggested.

Emily glared at you, and you felt yourself shrink. “I can’t tell him about my day!” she yelled, her voice angry. “What am I supposed to say? Hey, little man! I have to leave you tomorrow to go find a guy who’s murdering teenage boys by ripping their throats out with his teeth and then eating them. But don’t worry, I’ve only had to deal with, oh, ten or so cannibals over the years. The chances of you being cannibalized are slim. Never zero though!”

In your head, you knew that Emily’s outburst had nothing to do with you, nothing to do with the baby, and everything to do with the horrendous things she saw at work. She tried very hard not to bring work home with her, not to carry the weight of the horrors she saw every day into your house. But sometimes they stuck to her. Sometimes they dragged her down, and she couldn’t quite shake them. But it wasn’t often that she was mean. She hardly ever raised her voice at you. She knew it scared you.

You sat up and placed a hand protectively over your stomach, trying to keep your face set, impassive, but flinching a little as Emily moved toward you.

She was instantly full of regret. Her face fell as she noticed that your posture had changed from open to defensive, noticed the way your eyes had glazed over–a remnant of trauma.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” she breathed, cupping your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You softened when you saw that she was close to crying–a rarity for Emily–and pulled her head to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she mumbled against you. “It was just a hard day.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her head a bit.

“Tell me,” you insisted. “I can handle it. You’re my wife. You had a bad day. I want to hear about it.”

Emily shook her head, her voice so quiet you almost couldn’t hear. “No, you don’t.”

“Hey,” you said, tilting her chin so she was looking in your eyes. “I can decide what’s too much for me, okay?” You rubbed your thumb back and forth along her cheek. “If I say I can handle it, I need you to believe me.”

Emily sighed, exhaling shakily. “You remember after we started dating?” she explained, her voice low. “And I had a really hard time at work because every victim who was a woman made me think of you?”

“I remember,” you answered. And you did. If there had ever been a time in your relationship when you would’ve broken up with Emily, that would have been it. She’d been angry, on edge, paranoid, and even more obsessive about work than usual. It had eventually gotten so bad that you’d given her an ultimatum–start going to therapy or this isn’t going to work. Nearly six years later, Emily still had a biweekly standing appointment with her therapist–unless, of course, she was in the field.

She played with your fingers, quiet for a moment. “It feels like that all over again, but with kids. Child victims are hard anyway, but… every tiny body I see, I just think of him and–” Her voice broke, and you held her a little tighter. “It scares the shit out of me.”

“Of course it does,” you assured her. “That just means you love her, baby. It means you’re gonna be a great mom. It makes sense that those cases hit closer to home right now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to take it out on you. Or him.”

You exhaled slowly, kissing the top of her head again. “When was your last appointment with Angie?”

Emily sat up, stretching, and shrugged, looking guilty. “Last month, maybe? I just–I’ve been out on cases and…”

“I know, baby,” you said, taking her hands in yours before she could start biting her nails. “It’s okay. But, maybe you should call her and see if she can get you in. Even tonight, you know? Before you leave tomorrow. She does telehealth, doesn’t she?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She still looked guilty and nervous. It broke your heart.

“Come here,” you said, tugging her onto your lap. She wrapped her arms and legs around you and hugged you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. And for your part–you held on like you’d never, ever let her go–and you never, ever would.

Week 17: The Turnip

“She what!?” you yelled into the phone, launching yourself off the couch and scrounging around in the junk drawer for your keys.

“Calm down, mama,” Derek soothed through the phone. “It’s just a surface wound. The bullet grazed her shoulder, that’s all.”

“That’s all!? My wife gets shot, and you’re telling me that’s all!?”

You heard a scuffle on the other end of the phone, a distant, sharp Give me the phone! and then there was Emily’s voice, flooding you with relief.

“Honey, I’m fine, I promise,” she said, and she certainly didn’t sound like she was dying.

“You got shot!”

“Just a little bit…” Her voice was sheepish.

You threw up your hands in frustration. “Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! You have a child coming. You can’t be getting shot!”

“I know, I know.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “What hospital are you at?”

“No, baby, you don’t need to come,” she protested.

“Don’t need to come, my ass,” you grumbled. “Where are you?”

Another scuffle and Derek had the phone back. “Y/N. Hey. We’re just in Baltimore, alright? She’ll probably be discharged here in a few minutes, and I’ll bring her home.”

You were still a little suspicious. “Straight home?”

“You have my word.”

It was the longest hour and a half of your life, sitting on the couch, watching the Find My dot of Emily inch its way home. You frowned when you saw her stop at El Rinconcito. That little shit. She was trying to buy you off with pupusas. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Your stomach rumbled. Well, it might work a little bit.

A half hour later, you heard the door unlock. Derek held it open for a very guilty looking Emily, who walked through the threshold with her arm bandaged and wrapped in a sling.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands fluttering all over her, gingerly touching the bandage and turning her face this way and that to check for more damage.

“I’m fine, honey,” she said, pressing her good hand to your face and kissing you.

“Mmhm,” you mumbled, unconvinced. “Tell that to your unborn child.”

Emily crouched down and pressed a kiss to your stomach. “Mommy’s just fine, little guy, don’t you worry.”

It was so cute, you couldn’t even be that mad.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Derek said, gesturing to the couch. “Get comfortable and let Uncle Derek take care of you.”

You grimaced, thinking of straight people things. “Eew.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Not like that. Sit down and eat your pupusas, woman.”

You and Emily giggled, plopping yourselves on the couch, one on either side.

Derek threw blankets at you, and you got yourselves situated, your legs tangled in the middle. Derek plated the takeout and brought it to you.

“I could get used to this,” Emily said, taking a bite and running her foot up and down your leg.

“You better fucking not,” you mumbled through a bite of pupusa. “I don’t want you getting shot every time you want a lazy day.”

Derek brought you both glasses of water and set a bottle of pain meds on the side table next to Emily.

“Anything else I can do for you, ladies?” he asked. “Foot rub? Serenade? Grocery run?”

You smiled at him. He was so good to you. Both of you. “You’re gonna make some straight woman very happy.”

He bent down to ruffle your hair and to squeeze Emily’s good hand. “I’ll settle for my favorite lesbians for now. You need anything else before I go?”

Emily shook her head. “No, I think we’ll be okay. Thanks, Morgan.”

“Anytime, Prentiss,” he replied, giving her a small salute as he walked out the door. "Call me if you need anything."

The moment he left, you shot a glare at Emily. 

“What?” she said, trying and failing to shrug, thanks to her injured shoulder.

You couldn’t help the worried expression that took over your face.

“Please tell me you’re careful,” you pleaded, brushing a few unexpected tears from under your eyes.

“Y/N.” She sat up, alarmed, and reached for your hand. “I’m careful. I swear.”

“I just… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” she reassured, rubbing her thumb across the back of your hand.

“We need you, Em,” you whispered, placing your other hand over your baby bump.

She winced a little as she moved forward, pulling your face toward her so she could stroke your cheek. “I’m never reckless, honey. I do everything I can to stay safe. I promise. I will always come home to you.”

You were quiet as she pressed her forehead to yours, breathing in the smell of her, the warmth. You both knew it was a promise she couldn't make, not with her job. But you needed Emily to understand that it wasn't just her she was staying safe for anymore. It was you and the little one, who deserved to grow up with both of her moms.

“Sometimes it scares me how much I love you,” you said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear.

Emily kissed your forehead, then pressed her lips to yours, soft and gentle. “Me too.”

She pecked you on the lips again, then brushed her thumb over your bottom lip. “But you don’t need to be scared today, okay?”

She smiled a little, and you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Now, eat your pupusas,” she grinned, pinching your cheek.

[toxicanonymity]

beach walks - prequel.

3.8k surf instructor!Billy x f!reader, night walks AU

WARNINGS: I8+, situationship angst over Joel, infidelity adjacent, forced proximity, smut (mild dubcon?), in public, voyeurism, jealousy. See Billy in action (sex): hot ❤️‍🔥 gif set by @ilovewhiteroses or this video. Skeleton Twins (2014) Feel free to skip this fic if it bothers you.

✨NEXT FIC: Beach Walks

After your late night “swim,” you’re disappointed when Joel doesn’t try to get you into his basement. But he does kiss you goodnight before you walk home. You almost text him and invite him over, but something holds you back. You don't want to mess up the dynamic and scare him away. Maybe he’ll let himself in and get in bed with you. It takes you a while to get to sleep as you realize something has shifted. You're now craving more than his dick and his way with words. You’d be happy to fall asleep in his arms, with or without the morning wood to look forward to.

After this realization, you start overanalyzing things, debating whether and when to text him, reading into how often he texts you and what he says. After a few days of nothing but a dick pic, it feels like it's been weeks. And yet, this was normal before. One night, you break down and send him a pic of a freshly rolled joint with the text, “wanna join?” 

He replies “wish I could, gotta be somewhere early 😫.” 

After that, he seems to text you less and less. He doesn't initiate and barely texts back. You wonder if he’s bored without the chase, so you try to play it cool. You go for walks by yourself, in case he’ll come out and join you, but weeks go by, and he never does. Some nights you hear the weights clanging in his basement, so he must be fine.  

-

One day, you're outside, locking the basement side door, when an unfamiliar Mercedes Benz SUV pulls out of Joel's cul-de-sac. There's a speed bump just before your house, so it has to slow down, and you can  clearly see a woman is driving, and Joel is in the passenger seat. Your stomach drops. He looks more put together, like he spruced himself up for her. She’s pretty. Somewhere between your age and his. 

The keys are shaking in your hand as you unlock the door again. You go back inside with your heart racing. Don't text him again, you tell yourself. Don't do it. But after an hour, you do. You ask what he's up to, and he doesn't answer. He doesn't answer all day, and when he finally answers that evening, he acts totally casual, like nothing is up. Small talk. He doesn’t invite you over. Not so much as a dick pic. You leave your door unlocked and cry yourself to sleep. You judge yourself for caring so much. 

You keep leaving your door unlocked at night, but he doesn't come. Then, one day, he drives by in the same SUV, with the same woman, and you're not sure you've ever seen him so happy. You’re lightheaded. It's a harsh reality check. You’ve never been exclusive, never had a talk. He'd never even taken you on a date. When you think about that, it makes you sick. Is his wife still in the picture? You decide not to text him again. 

You’ve been invited on a beach trip that starts the next day, but you don’t go. You don't have the energy to pack, and part of you is still hoping Joel will just show up at your door one day. But the next few nights, when you walk by his house, all the lights are off. At first, you drive yourself crazy thinking about where he could be, but does it really matter? Your anxiety starts to fade into sadness.

You’ve got to get your mind off it, so you drive solo to catch up with your friends at the beach. 

******

The resort is humble but sprawling. There are kayaks and surf lessons. You're tempted by the kayaks, but on the first day, you just relax on the beach. As soon as you lay out your towel, your friends tell you about the hot surf instructor. Then, later that day, they swear he's checking you out. You catch a glimpse from behind first, and he has a nice back. 

You see the surf instructor at breakfast the next morning, and he smiles at you. It’s a devastating smile that erases all your thoughts for a second. You can’t even look right at him. You look behind yourself, and it couldn't be anyone else he was looking at. He laughs silently, then gets in line next to you. He looks at the eggs on your plate. 

You’re not expecting his Australian accent. “Sunny side up. . .good to know.” It takes you a second, then your chest flutters when it hits you. “Enjoy,” he adds with a wink, then walks away. He moves like he has no worries and nowhere to be.

When you tell your friends, they lose their minds. All day they’re talking about what you could do, and speculating about his dick, and whether he’s that chill in the bedroom, too. They think he’s probably a freak. A few hours later, you realize you’ve barely thought about Joel all day, for the first time in weeks, and it feels good. You begin to think maybe a vacation fling could help you move on. Assuming that’s what you’re supposed to do.

Later that day, you're in the lobby waiting for a friend when the surf instructor comes in from the beach. You play it cool, but he sees you, stops, and takes off his shades. He approaches, and you get your first really good look at him up close. He's tall, tan, and shredded, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He’s got small ear gauges, and a tattoo of something with tentacles winding up his neck. He's chewing gum. 

A mischievous sparkle plays on his eyes as he spreads his feet and crosses his arms. "Saw ya layin’ out, nice ‘n’ dry. . .thought I should let ya know, the real fun’s in the water." 

“Oh yeah?”

He nods. "Love to get ya on a board, if ya don't surf already." 

You laugh. "No, I don't."

He checks you out, then asks, “How ‘bout it?” and waits patiently for your yes. 

"Maybe," you crack a smile. 

"No charge. . .Name's Billy." He extends his hand. As you shake hands, he leans in closer, lowers his voice, and says, "’Lot funner gettin’ wet." As he steps away, he offers, "Come down around five, yeah?" Your tummy is swarming with butterflies as he walks off, and it must be evident. Your friend immediately assumes he asked you out.

—

You go down to the shore at five to meet Billy. Storm clouds are rolling in. Billy is looking at the sky and idly spinning a whistle on a string. He has two boards laid out. As you approach, he looks at his watch. “Punctual, aren't ya?” 

First, he teaches you how to hop up on the board, something you weren’t even sure you could do. Then he demonstrates the right stance, and you can't help but notice the way his thigh muscles swell out from his swim trunks. The teal swim trunks are a little on the shorter side, which is only emphasized by the black, long-sleeve rash guard he’s wearing. Your gaze is dangerously close to his crotch when you pull your eyes back up to his face. 

He looks at your stance, and asks, “Mind if I touch ya?”

“Please,” you answer without thinking.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head playfully. “Knew ya were a bad girl.” 

“I mean,” your face heats up with a smile, and he raises his eyebrows. “I mean I need all the help I can get.”  He indulges you with a contemplative nod. 

“Sure, love.” He comes around to stand next to you. Thunder begins to rumble, and he glances at the sky. 

He crouches down, and one foot at a time, you let him adjust your position on the board. As he begins to stand, he looks up at you and his hand skims up the back of your calf, breaking away at the knee.

He steps a little closer and gently presses on the small of your back. “There ya go.” Then he gets behind you and leans forward, curving his body with yours. He puts his hands on your hips and pulls them back. He’s so close you can feel his body heat. His hands slide up your sides, hitching briefly on the bottom string of your swim top. Then he slots his hands under your arms and adjusts your posture. “Good girl,” he murmurs, then there's a loud boom of thunder. Rain begins to dot the sand before you feel it on your skin. “It’ll blow over,” he reassures you.

-

To wait out the storm, Billy invites you into the surf shack, up past the dunes. He leaves the door open. He doesn’t turn a light on, but there are a few windows. It’s only one room. It's got surfboards, lifeguard stuff, an old TV with a DVD/VCR combo, and a loveseat. In front of the loveseat, there’s a coffee table with a bong on it. Almost as soon as he walks in, he’s taking off his long sleeves. 

“Gets muggy in here quick,” he warns as he plops down on the loveseat. He pats the space next to him, and you sit down. “Suppose we could watch a movie,” he muses and picks up two remote controls from the coffee table. He puts on Jaws at low volume so you can still listen to the storm. He offers the bong, but you decline.

He faces you, resting his head in his hand, with his elbow on the back of the loveseat. You mirror his posture, and he shamelessly checks you out, once again. 

You make small talk about the weather and the resort. With his free hand, he idly strokes his own sternum, slowly dragging his middle finger up and down between his pecs. His nipples are pierced – the bars are so subtle you couldn’t tell through his top.  

After a lull in the conversation, you adjust your position to face the tv. He stretches his arm across the back of the loveseat, and his hand is right behind your head. He begins to lightly caress the nape of your neck with his thumb. You don’t flinch or pull away. You chew your bottom lip, and your heart races. His eyes are glued to your body, and you’re barely pretending to watch the movie. 

“So,” he asks, “Could ya feel me starin’ at your arse yesterday?”

You laugh. “No.” 

“Well, I was,” he nods. “When ya were layin’ out.”

Finally you look at him, and when your eyes meet, he begins to let his fingers slowly dance on your thigh, sending a rush of desire to your loins. 

You’re suddenly nervous. You don't remember how to do this. You half heartedly begin to say, “Maybe I should. . .”

“Come a little closer?”  A loud clap of thunder shakes the whole shack. “Nowhere for us to go now, is there?”

He glances at the window where the sky has darkened and heavy rain is coating the glass. His voice drops.  “Kinda like this storm, if I’m honest,” he admits. 

“Yeah,” you quietly agree. 

His thumb separates from the back of your neck, then your halter string tightens for a moment before completely loosening. 

“Oops,” he whispers, looking at you. 

You gasp and your hand comes to your chest to hold the top up as you turn toward him again, bringing your knee up on the cushion. Your face burns and you laugh his name in mock admonishment. 

 "Got a boyfriend?” He asks. “Girlfriend?" 

"No," you shake your head. 

"Wouldn't stop me, anyway.” His hand curves lightly around your inner thigh, stroking your warm skin. His caress gets higher and higher, further toward your throbbing core. “Not if ya want it, love. What kinda feminist would I be then?” He tilts his head and slides his hand all the way up to the crotch of your swimsuit. “Nah, what she wants, she gets,” he murmurs, staring at his hand between your legs. A knuckle nudges the crotch of your swimsuit, and you’re gushing for him. One corner of his mouth twitches knowingly as he meets your eyes again. “And I think ya want it.” God, he’s hot. He’s so hot, and so right.

The hand behind you cradles your head, and his gaze falls on your lips. His blue eyes are dark with lust. He leans in, pauses with his lips about two inches from yours. You close the gap yourself, accepting the embrace of his smooth lips on yours. Soon he tilts his head, and his tongue slides into your mouth. You drop your hand from your chest, and the un-tied strings still dangling on your back precariously hold your top up. As the kiss becomes hungrier, his hand slides easily into one side of your loosened bikini. His fingers bracket your nipple as he caresses your breast then cups with a soft, “mmm,” into your mouth. You’re absolutely throbbing. 

There's a clattering outside, then an unfamiliar voice. "We've got someone out in the surf, down toward the pier."

Your eyes fly to the door, embarrassed, but the man doesn't even look at you. You quickly re-tie your swimsuit. Billy adjusts himself and replies, “Alright mate, let's hop on the jetski.” 

“It’s ready.” The man steps outside to wait. 

When Billy stands up, you see a massive protrusion in his shorts, resting against his upper thigh, and your breath hitches. You accidentally stare, and he smirks when he notices. “Yeah?” he asks with a downward glance. He holds his hand out and you give him yours as you stand up. He puts your hand on the bulge in his shorts. It’s stiff and warm and makes you ache to be filled. “All for you, love.” He drops your hand but it stays there for a split second. 

He pulls his rashguard on and adjusts his shorts, then gives you a short but heated kiss. “Find ya later.” 

—----

When the storm dies down enough, you run up the beach, arms squeezed together in front of you. You grab a towel from the hut by the pool and enter the lobby. A man has just left the vending area, and you do a double-take when you see a bag of takis in his hand, but he's already walking away.  Your heart jumps when you see he's wearing pj pants. But it couldn't possibly be Joel. Not this far from home. 

You brush it off, but for the rest of the day, you can't get Joel out of your mind, except for when you let your thoughts drift to being in that shack with Billy. It's gotten worse than you thought if you're thinking Joel is there on the island based on a bag of chips and someone dressing comfortably on vacation. 

You let yourself imagine what it would be like to let Billy fuck you. Maybe you need this. 

You're restless and don't have any privacy to get off. After dark, you go out to the pool, and quietly slip into the water, ignoring the sign that says “closed.”.

The water is about nipple-height where you are. You face the pool and rest your arms on the side, letting your legs float in front of you. You close your eyes and squeeze your thighs together thinking about what might have happened in that shack if you weren’t interrupted earlier. And just when you’re picturing what Billy looks and sounds like when he comes, you hear his voice. 

"Pool's closed, rulebreaker."

You look toward his voice, and he puts down a bag near your towel. You ask, "Gonna tell on me?"  

He takes off his rash guard and stretches, jutting his chest and pelvis forward with his hands clasped behind his back, then he walks over and dives in the deep end. He swims underwater and comes up for air a few feet from you. When he surfaces, he tousles his hair.

He slowly approaches, wetting his lips. He looks even sexier in the dark. "Where were we, love," he murmurs. His hands start at your floating feet–he spreads them apart, making room for himself between your legs. Then his hands slide all the way up your legs as he gets closer. He pulls you against him and you loosely wrap your legs around him. 

"There ya go," he murmurs, then dips his head and cradles yours. He kisses you long and hard. He pushes his hips forward, pinning you against the pool wall, and his cock stiffens against you. Then he pulls you off the wall and holds you by the ass so his arousal is firmly pressing against your tingling front. You wrap your arms around his neck as he sinks lower into the water. He kisses and sucks your neck, just above the waterline. He’s probably leaving a mark, and you don’t care. You don’t really care about anything but the mutual throbbing between your legs at the moment.

—

You feel someone watching, and when Billy goes after your neck again, you scan the balconies until you see a dark figure sitting on a second floor balcony. You look for a few seconds and can't make out anything. You scold yourself for thinking about Joel and wrap your legs tighter around Billy. His cock swells harder against your clit, and your thoughts are gone again. You moan softly as he grinds you on himself and kisses you needily, from your lips to your neck, your throat, under your chin, back to your lips. Billy pulls your top down enough to feel your nipples against his chest and lets out a sigh that makes you ache all over with need. 

The man on the balcony stands up, steps forward, and boldly leans on the railing and clasps his hands, watching. He’s still a silhouette, and you try not to look right at him. 

"There's, um. Someone watching," you tell Billy. 

"Bother ya?" Billy asks, keeping his eyes glued to you.

You adjust your swimsuit to cover your nipples, and he says, "Guess so, huh. Drink at my place then?"

"I dunno," you say reflexively. 

He whispers in your ear, “Come home with me,” then gently bites your neck and pulls you tighter against his massive erection. You quietly gasp. 

“I can't, we’re going to sunrise yoga.”

“Yours then,” he offers, undeterred and growing breathless with desire. 

“My friends are there.” 

“Mine’s just a few minutes up the beach. I'll bring ya back,” he offers, “Go to yoga with ya.” He begins to move your body against his again. God, you want that hard cock.  Just a few days ago, the thought of anyone but Joel did nothing for you, and now, here you are. 

You bite your lip and hum, “mm,” in contemplation.

"A drink at the bar," he offers, nodding toward the hotel bar. "Then my place." 

You smile and he presses a gentle, closed-mouth kiss onto your lips. You're smiling against each other’s mouths for a second, until his cock throbs against you, and he seals his lips on yours, and your tongues need each other again. He grinds you against him for a few seconds and moans into your mouth before you pull your head away, and remind him, “Drink at the bar.” 

“Alright,” he breathes. His cock twitches against you "Gimme a minute, love. . . Fuck, I can't walk in like this," he laughs.

Footsteps approach, and you pull away from Billy. The footsteps are from a man with shoulder length hair and a mustache. He's grinning, looking down. He keeps walking, and as he passes by he laughs, "hey, I didn't see nothin', man."

Billy looks up. "Tommyyy. Wanna catch a wave tomorrow?" 

"Nah, we're rollin' out in the morning."

"Alright, mate. Good seein' ya.”

The voice of the stranger has jolted you back from your horny stupor.  "I'm actually really tired," you say, facing the side of the pool. You put your forearms up on the side and rest your cheek on  your hands. 

Billy groans in disappointment, but he gets it. 

"Maybe tomorrow night," you muse. 

"I've got a set at Aqua tomorrow. You should come."

"A set?" 

"I'm a DJ. And as for tonight. . ." He gets close behind you and murmurs near your ear. "I won’t leave ya like this. What kinda gentleman would I be?" Thank God. He snakes his arm around your front. The stiff shape in his swim trunks presses against your crack. 

He cups your whole pussy, and his middle finger prods at the fabric right at your entrance. "Gonna let me in here next time, aren’t ya?" he whispers and begins to rub you over the fabric. Pleasure is building in your core. You begin to lose yourself under his expert touch. "Yeah, there we go." He slides his other hand up under one side of your top and his bare palm covers your nipple. You could cum any second with his hardness grinding against you.

He slips his hand into your swimsuit and rubs your clit as he palms your tit. Your head falls back, he kisses your neck, then you let it happen.  You gasp and try not to be too loud as your final ascent begins, with Billy slowly rutting against your backside, breathing heavily in your ear.

—----------------

Joel doesn’t have a great view, and his eyes are tired from the sun, but he keeps watching. He’s convinced himself it’s not you, that he’s just been driving himself crazy thinking of you.

Even from a distance, it’s really hot to see. It reminds Joel of your last hook-up. Desire stirs in his pants, and he’s going to have to jack off. Maybe he’ll send you a jack-off video—he can do that now. Joel palms himself as he turns to go back inside. Then, you moan loud enough that he freezes with his hand on the sliding door. He’s heard that moan too many times.

. . .Did he just watch you, in the pool with Billy, hours from home? He tries not to look back as he goes inside and closes the door behind him.

He’s not jealous. Not jealous, he tells himself. 

He has no right to be.

You don’t owe him anything, and he knows that.

He’s fine. Not freaking out.

Joel’s a chill guy, even without the weed. But his ears are hot, and his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it. He smacks the wall and yells, “FUCK,” as a picture frame falls. He tries to shake the pain off his hand. 

What are you even doing here? 

“You alright, man?” Tommy asks, muffled through the wall. 

Joel rakes both hands through his hair and takes a few deep breaths. 

“Joel?” Tommy asks and cracks open the door between their rooms. 

“Yeah,” Joel answers as he sits down on the bed. He interlaces his fingers behind his head, elbows pointing forward. “I’m just stupid.” 

------

------

thank you for reading!

[maximumkillshot]

I Can't Lose You- Part 7

Warnings: Descriptions of Grief, PTSD Flashback, Intense Grief, Mentions of Miscarriage, Pissed off Lee Know, Anxiety, Panic, Everyone is hurting but you knew this... right?

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Characters: Stray Kids, Reader, Nurse, Soo?

A/N: Okay her we are with part 7 the song that I linked is what I had on repeat for part 6 &7 for the most part... I am so sorry and as always I'll be around for therapy after. If you really wanna cry, listen to what I listened to while writing this about 98% of the time, Can You Hold Me by NF and Britt Nicole.

I Can't Lose you Masterlist-CLICK HERE

Stray Kids Masterlist-CLICK HERE

ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE. 

ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

BEFORE: His body went into overdrive, the shock melting into panic. He wasn’t going to let Death take you, “Han hurry up, she's slipping!” He screamed at the door. His scream didn’t sound like him. The sound akin to a bystander watching a loved one jump from a bridge. Watching the body disappear all because of one step. He couldn’t wouldn’t let you fall. He screamed as if he dove for your hand, the same hand that fits so perfectly in his, as you threatened to disappear over the ledge of that bridge. Bin got closer to your ear, so you could hear him better, “Please don’t say that. I know it hurts, just stay with me, hold on. I’m here. Stay with me. You can’t leave me here, please.” Changbin tilted your head, so you could hear his heartbeat. Subconsciously thinking, If you go I go. He gently wrapped his arm across your breastbone, trying to provide some soothing pressure to your chest. His hand resting on your opposite arm, rubbing the meat of it in a soothing pattern. His other hand was petting your hair. The hold he had you in gave you someone to hold on to. As soon as his forearm rested you wrapped your hands around it, grabbing his hand as you dangled on the ledge. “Binnie it hurts, pleaseee. Help me, it hurtss.” You sobbed, your voice cracking and breaking, a mirror of your soul. Bin continued to slowly rock you, “I know Angel, I know I want to take it away. Just hold on for me. Hold on to me.” He had no idea how he was able to be calm for you. A part of him knew that he needed to. He was not going to collapse so you could face all of this on your own. He refused. He needed to fight for you, and he would, for eternity if he had to.

NOW:

The boys were trying their hardest to be calm, but some just couldn’t handle it. I.N. and Felix being the two that were physically holding their heads, crouched in the fetal position, trying to cover their ears as they heard your screams in the hallway.

Hyunjin went over to them and picked them up, their forms curling into him as they cried. Hyunjin couldn’t pinpoint why your screams sounded so unhuman, subconsciously trying to find a way to help. Once reality set in he realized, none of them had ever heard the scream of a mother who lost their child… not until today. That made chills go up his spine as goosebumps riddled his skin. That was why it sounded so unhuman. His mother once told him, “Children are supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around.” He found himself repeating those words out loud as tears fell down his face. He never thought he’d understand those words, but now that he does, he was numb, numb with pain.

I.N.’s heart was breaking for you as he heard you calling out to no one, asking for the impossible. He was trying to be strong but hearing you in so much pain was too much. “I want to help her Hyung but I don’t know how.” That broke Hyunjin even more because he couldn’t do anything. No one could. 

Hyunjin rubbed his back saying,“We can only be here for her, Innah. We need to be here, make sure she knows we aren’t going anywhere. That’s all we can do. I wish we could do more, but we can’t.”

Felix was crying because the only thing that could happen was him hearing the screams of a person that he loves, a best friend he considers as his sister, while he can’t do anything at all. The frustration combined with the sadness sliced through him.

Seungmin was the one member whom no one expected to cry yet there he was,  crying. No one in the entire group knew he was one of the most hurt. His reactions to everything were visceral. If he wasn’t using the railing lining the hall, he was certain his legs would give out. He faced the wall sobbing, feeling the cold wall on his forehead. He didn’t care that he was in a hallway in a hospital full of nursing staff and strangers. He had been holding all of it in for weeks now… 

It all started about two months ago. When Seungmin had come over to the 3Racha house, he noticed some things. He was making some lunch while he waited for the others to come back from the gym. The minute he opened the kimchi, you ran to vomit. That coupled with the fact that you looked like you were glowing raised his suspicion. When you came back to the kitchen he said, “When was the last time you took a pregnancy test?”

You cocked your head to the side quizzicaly as he giggled, “I’m 99.9% sure that you’re pregnant. Pee on a stick just to be sure but… Yeah, congrats. I’m going to throw away everything that smells like kimchi while you check.”

He was there for all of it. Everything from staring at the test with you waiting for the verdict. He spun you around congratulating you. He helped hide the evidence. Helped plan, he was even there when you got the ultrasound, filming it for Chan so he didn’t feel like he was left out. In many ways Seungmin had a better tie to that child than anyone else aside from you. He imagined everything with you.

Ever since he saw I.N. storm out to kill Chan… he checked out emotionally. He couldn’t handle the pain. He couldn’t ignore it anymore when he heard your screams. He thought of all the names you’d send him to see if they’d sound good. If it was a boy, you were incessant on Seungmin. You wanted to name the baby after him because he had “noticed first.” But he got you to change it to Chanseung, meaning “lingering victory”. This whole time...Every scream you let loose he heard the baby’s heartbeat as the memories flashed in and out of his mind. 

He remembered the times when he would come over just to clear the kitchen of anything that’d trigger your gag reflex. His Hyungs would get pissed at him because they even labeled the items with "do not touch”, but somehow, mysteriously, Seungmin didn’t see it and ate it all… whoops. He even got up at whatever time you called to pick up whatever you were craving. Another was when you went out for a walk with him and you were telling him about all of the new things you were noticing about your body. 

But his favorites were whenever you and himself would be alone in the kitchen or on the couch while everyone was distracted he’d look down at your belly, he would glance around and go to your ear just to say “They have no clue… That there’s 10 people in this house.” He’d do that just to see you try to suppress the smile on your face. 

 He even had dreams of going to the hospital to meet the baby. The dream always started with the phone call. Changbin would be on the other line as he picked up, “the baby’s coming, they’re already at the hospital, see you there.” Then the dream would jump to Chris walking out, “Congratulations everyone, you have a beautiful and healthy nephew. Once Y/N is cleaned up, you guys can come back to meet Chanseung.” In every single one of those dreams Seungmin would cry happy tears. When he’d be taken back, he was met with the cutest bundle, eyes like yours, a head full of curly hair like Chan’s. Chan would hand the baby to Seungmin and Changbin would say “what about me?” And you’d say, “godparents always hold the baby first.” Seungmin would look around shocked as more tears fell from his eyes, he would look at you and say “really? Me?” You’d look at him nodding with tears of your own, “How could it be anyone else, you took such good care of us, Minnie. You’d do anything for him. Your the one I trust the most with him.” He looked down to the baby and whispered “Hello Chanseung, I’ve been waiting for so long to meet you. My name's Seungmin, I’m your godfather.” He cuddled with the baby as he cried tears of joy, nothing but love and gratitude in his heart. Now that’s all they’ll ever be… Just dreams.

While everyone else was mourning as a friend, a brother, an Uncle, he mourned like a father. He felt like he lost a child. It destroyed him, ripping him apart inside, making him reflexively grab his chest, the air abundant but still suffocating, leaving him no other choice but for his chest to collapse inward as the sobs escaped.

Minho noticed that your screams didn’t sound human, closer to a wounded animal.  Minho looked at Chan’s face as you screamed for your baby. He could see that Chan was sad, but it didn’t seem like he was truly grasping it. It was only when Chan’s phone lit up, that Minho’s patience snapped. He saw the name “Soo BFF Y/N” light up the screen, and before Chan could do anything about it, he snatched the phone. Minho grabbed Chris by the back of his neck, his nails digging into the meat of it. Minho spoke with a lethal air as he spat, “Waiting room… NOW.” 

They ducked into the waiting room down the hall. The rest of the boys followed suit, locking the door to the room as Minho answered the call and said nothing. 

“Hey Baby, you haven’t been picking up, is everything okay? What happened after I left?” Her voice rang through the waiting room. 

Minho looked to Chris, and nodded to the phone, Chris responded, “No. Everything isn’t okay. Y/N was pregnant.”

There was a beat or two and she said, “Was?” Then she said, “As in not currently? I guess that is a good thing right? Considering you were going to divorce her for me anyway. A baby would’ve made it messy, no?”

Everyone’s jaws dropped. Some looking for confirmation, that they indeed heard what they did. 

Chris looked at the phone like it had offended him his jaw slack, “what the fuck did you say to me?!” His face showed more emotion than hearing his wife’s soul being torn to shreds about losing the baby, “My child is dead and your response is ‘at least it’s less messy now?!’ How fucking heartless are you?” he asked.

Minho couldn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing out of Chris. He just heard his wife scream that she wants to die, that she wants to no longer exist because his child is dead. Yet the thing that gets him offended, have any reaction at all was his sidepiece saying something. Taking the first opportunity to skirt over how this all even happened. Minho wasn’t going to let him get away that easily, he spoke up, “You really are a fucking coward, huh, Chris? You won’t even tell her how all of this happened?”

Chris just bowed his head as Minho continued, “She miscarried from the shock and trauma of seeing you and her husband fucking right in front of her on their 3rd anniversary. YOU and Chris killed that child,” Minho seethed into the phone. “You want to hear what is happening to your so-called best friend? What you call, less messy?”

Minho took the phone off of the speaker and stormed down the hall. His heart was hammering in his chest, hearing of what she said playing in his head on repeat. His pain clouded his generous nature. For once, Minho doesn’t want to protect someone. He wanted Soo to feel the pain that you feel. He wants her to hear your screams. To hear your soul fracturing, hear the blood as it falls from the stab wound in your heart. That knife that no one can take out. That permanent piercing is now festering. The piercing that she and Chan personally put into one of the nicest people he’s ever met. He wants her to hurt. Just the thought of hearing Soo cry, made him smile. He wants her to suffer, truly suffer, just like he wants Chan to suffer. A part of him hates that this is what he wants but the rest of him knows, this is justified. A righteous anger. A human reaction. Which Soo cannot be. 

Minho stopped outside of the room and held the phone out for Soo to hear your screams. He could somewhat hear Soo gasping at what was happening. Minho turned on the video to show her what little he could see from the door, which was your form rocking with Bin gently holding you, trying to calm you. “Hold on to me and breathe for me,” He heard Bin talking to you, trying to get you to fight.

“Binnie, please, my baby.” Minho heard your voice trembling, seeing you clutch on to Bin’s forearm. Your voice was worse than haunting, Minho could hear you trying to will your baby back.

“All you need to do is breathe and hold on to me. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I can’t Binnie I can’t I need my baby! Pleassee help me!” Your voice nearly gone from all of the screaming taking place. 

It filled Minho with rage. The person on the phone caused this, along with your husband. Here Bin was, trying to will you to stay, to hold on to him, not anyone else. That made Minho feel better, if anyone could put you back together, make you want to stay, it’s Bin.

 After being there for a minute or two Han barreled by him, all Minho did was flash the phone at him and point to the waiting room and Han nodded. He was telling him that when he was done making sure you were okay, for him to come to the room they were currently occupying with no words. 

The minute Minho went back to the waiting room, he turned the speaker on to hear Soo. There was no response, only fast breathing and sniffling.

Minho tried to be quiet as he said, “Did that sound clean to you, Soo? Did that look less messy? She almost died last night, almost bled out from a hemorrhage that you both caused. She just screamed that she just wanted to die already. So tell me, what part about any of this screams a clean break?!”

Soo was silent for a moment and she said, “I never meant to hurt her, Minho.”

Minho’s blood boiled as he said, “People don’t get into cars with the goal of causing an accident and killing someone, but it happens all the same. I am so happy that you called, actually. I wanted to say this to your face but this’ll have to do. I couldn’t do this last night because I’m a decent person who was worried about one of my best friends... But now that she is being helped I can tell you. You are a sad excuse of a human being, I truly mean that. It takes a certain level of desperation to take your best friend’s sloppy seconds. Even more desperate to actually believe that he’d leave Y/N for your sorry waste of an existence. ” 

Chan prickled at that, cocking his head, “As a matter of fact, the sloppy seconds is glaring at me while I say this and I don’t fucking care, as soon as I am done with you on the phone I’ll deal with him. You both destroyed someone very close to my heart. A person who has done nothing to either of you and yet you do this.”

Han walks in as Minho is grilling Soo, he whispers something to Felix and Felix goes out of the room. Minho continued, “As if what you did wasn’t enough you have the audacity to say that it was a good thing that Y/N miscarried because it would make the divorce less messy.”

Han’s eyes bulged out of his head at hearing that. No wonder why Minho wanted him here. Han felt rage at those words. Calling the death of a child that was wanted, a good thing? Minho’s lip was tight as he calmly finished his say, “I hope you know what you’re wishing for when you say you want him to yourself. If he did this to his own wife, imagine what he’d do to you… A nothing, a speck compared to Y/N. I hope you can live with yourself, but at least you’re breathing, something Y/N’s child never even got to experience because of you and Chris. I hope you rot and I hope it’s painful. Above all else, I hope that you pay in full for what you’ve done.” 

Minho looked around, “Anyone want to talk to IT?” he punctuated “it” as he stared at Chris, daring him to say something. Everyone was silent and he said, “I would say it’s been a pleasure speaking to you, but that would be a lie; the only pleasure I’ll ever have is seeing you suffer.” With that, he hung up and walked to Chan, shoving the phone into his chest.

Minho stared at Chan, “Now it’s your turn… What are you doing here? Were we not clear enough for you?! What part of ‘stay away’ did you not get? Or are you that fucking stupid. She was making progress, she was sleeping and you had to come in, didn’t you.” His eyes burned into Chris.

“I just wanted to see her.” Chris said.

Minho got tunnel vision as he bore into Chan,“I… I … I.. That is all that exists for you, huh? It’s all about you. What you want, when you want, who you want, where you want. YOU wanted to see her, you didn’t even think about her wellbeing did you?! Of course you didn’t! That’s why you came in here and played the husband card over and over again. You are nothing to her. NOTHING! It baffles me how Changbin isn’t even married to her yet he’s a better husband than you will ever be!” Minho’s body betrayed him as he started to shake, “YOU DIDN’T JUST KILL YOUR CHILD… YOU KILLED WHO WE THOUGHT YOU WERE. YOU KILLED EACH ONE OF US! MOST OF ALL YOU KILLED Y/N. THE FUN LOVING, HOPEFUL Y/N  IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! That alone is something I will never forgive you for.” 

“I’m going to give you one chance to walk out of here willingly. If you don’t, I will tell the boys to go back to the room. Then I am going to lock you in here with me, and believe me when I say you won’t like what happens next. When I’m done with you, I’ll go right back to Y/N and act like nothing happened.”

His tone was too calm, too monotone, the sound sending chills down Han’s spine.

The pain that Minho is in is something that he never shows anyone. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable. He couldn’t help but look at Chris’ wedding ring and think that he should’ve done something, anything to stop him from marrying you. He told himself that it wasn’t his relationship. He even asked Changbin if he was actually going to let this happen. Changbin just looked at him and said, “Does it kill me? Yes. Do I want to be the groom instead of the groomsman? Absolutely. But she’s happy. What I want is nothing compared to seeing her happy.” Just that singular memory gave him enough fuel to do what he had to do. He made a promise to himself in that moment, he will never let Chris close enough to be able to hurt you again. 

Chris didn’t make a move, Minho could see that he was shocked. Which only fueled his rage.

Han had to cut in, “Minho… she’s asking for you.” Minho's heart twisted again as he loomed over Chris.

Minho sucked his teeth, “Even after nearly killing her, killing her child, ruining her life… Even now she’s still saving you without even knowing it. You have your chance, if I were you, I’d take it.” Minho stormed out of the room.

With that, Han looked at the rest of the boys, “Make sure he leaves, he’s already banned from the room. You are all welcome to come back up since it was clear who caused her to spiral. She wants you all as well. She’s scared we’re worried or that we’ll leave her.”

Hyunjin looked at Han and said, “We’ll be there. Go to her.”

As soon as Han left the room he saw Minho duck into your room. 

When Minho came in he heard you saying, “Where’s MinMin? I don’t know what happened, m’scared Binnie, where's MinMin and Hannie? Lixie did they leave me?” Minho knew that whenever you were scared, you started using pet names. They felt safe to you. With your MinMin, Binnie, Lixie, and Hannie around, you'd be safe. Your voice is low and quivering, fear and panic clear. It's ripping him apart, reminding him almost of a child. A child trying to not let on how scared they are. You were a lot like a child in that way, you were so hurt you didn’t know who to trust, but the minute you see people you are sure won’t hurt you, you start asking for the others, knowing you can trust them to say the truth. You also reminded Minho of someone trying to cry silently, the quake in your voice giving you away.

From Minho’s view, all that could be seen is Changbin, grabbing his sweatshirt and putting it on, hood up. It was your favorite hoodie that Binnie wears, full of different stitches and felt like a cloud. He made fleeting eye contact with Minho. Just in those few seconds he could see Bin’s eyes trying to focus on not collapsing, yet trying to get Minho to understand. Minho could only imagine that what happened minutes ago was something that he had seen last night. Since Bin knew to call out to Han to get the nurses. It made his heart twist yet again, he knows that Bin isn’t used to caring for people. But you aren’t just people. You are more than that, you always have been more than that. That’s why it’s second nature to him.

“Binnie I’m scared what happened, where are my boys? Did I do something wrong, did I scare them? Will you leave too?” You asked through sniffles. Minho could see the effect those words had on Bin as he pulled the hoodie back, he spared one last gaze and flitted it towards the bed as if to say, watch me. If you can’t do what I’m about to do, don’t come in. Then he changed his face completely before turning to you and walking out of Minho’s field of vision. That killed Minho too. How Bin knew instinctually to change his face, his gaze softening. 

“What happened isn’t something you need to worry about. You didn’t do anything wrong and the boys aren’t scared. I’m not going anywhere, see I was just putting my hoodie on, its your favorite. You don’t need to be afraid. I’m here. So is Lixie.” Bin’s voice was soothing, calm, steady, eventhough Minho identified the cracks in his foundation with only two seconds looking into his eyes.

Felix added as he tried to calm you saying, “We aren’t going anywhere okay? We are just making sure you’re going to be comfortable. MinMin’s coming and so is Hannie, Okay?”

Minho put on a smile, “I’m here”, hiding his pain for now. Your eyes were darting as you looked at him. Tearstains still painting your cheeks, fresh ones about to fall. You looked so dazed and confused as you looked around the room like you haven't been in it before. 

You smiled at Minho, “MinMin…” more tears fell as you gaze fell on Minho’s eyes, “You didn’t leave? Binnie, Lixie, and Hannie said so but… m’scared… I don’t remember what happened,” 

Minho wanted to curl you into a ball and shelter you, make sure no one could sneak up on you, that Chris couldn’t get his hands on you again, spew more poison all over this healing space, your personal space. He wanted to tuck you in and stand watch, everything in him drove him to shield and protect you. He couldn’t show that though. He couldn’t call attention to what just happened. It could upset the balance that you are in. Instead he decided on another approach.

“Binnie was right, Beautiful. What happened isn’t important right now. What matters is that we are here with you, we’re going to keep you safe, okay?” Minho reached out and dried your tears with the sleeve of his shirt. 

The nurse was just finishing giving you medicine, “What’d they give you? Something good?” Minho smiled warmly. He looked to the nurse who said, “Yes, she’ll be able to sleep no doubt. We’re also giving her medicine every six hours for the anxiety,” she smiled. That made Minho smile wide. He couldn’t help but be relieved for you. You are finally getting the medicine you need. 

Minho looked at her and said, “Thank you so much, for taking care of her and coming so quickly.” 

She just nodded and turned the lights off. 

You yawned and started tearing up a little as you reached for Bin, “Don’t leave, Binnie…Lixie.” Felix was right at your hand as he said, “M’right here, it’s going to be okay. MinMin, Bin, all of us are here to make sure you’ll be okay.” Felix could see your shoulders slowly drooping as the medicine hit you. It was clear that the medicine was making you sleepy. That made everyone smile. You have had nothing but panic, havoc, and destruction. You deserved rest.

You looked at Minho and said, “I’m tired but I want my boys. You’ll wake me when they come back MinMin?” 

Minho nodded and said, “Of course, Beautiful.”

You nodded then looked to Bin, “Binnie, I’m tired, if I sleep you’ll stay with me? I don’t want to ask too much, but can I have cuddles while I sleep?” Everyone in the room could tell that you were looking for constant reassurance. You just got out of a bad PTSD flashback, triggered by the man that caused the trauma, all on top of getting no sleep. Han walked in after making sure that Chris couldn’t make it back into the room, only walking in after he was sure Chris was in the elevator and clear of the area.

When Changbin heard you calling out to him, saying you’re scared he just wanted to hold and protect you. He successfully coaxed you out of the flashback. His whole being broke when you came out of it so disoriented. The first things you asked Bin was, “Why did he do that? Why did they do that I don’t know why? What happened?” Then immediately after, “I’m scared.” He didn’t know what to say to that first half. It’s inconceivable how anyone could cheat on anyone, especially someone like you. Trying to answer that question would only prove to be more frustrating for you than anything. Apparently the shock was written on Bin’s face as the nurse explained. 

The nurses gently talked to Bin about what he was seeing, he’s never seen you like this and they explained that when someone comes out of a flashback episode, they are very confused. Sometimes they don’t know where they are or what happened. He learned that it was necessary to be very calm in repeating yourself, and ensuring the person coming out of it that everything is going to be okay and that they are safe. The nurse that was in the room with you was the one who coached Bin through the worse of it. He just had to keep pushing, to make you feel safe. He himself was also on the brink of collapse. The wall he made in his mind, to hold all the emotions inside around you, started failing long ago. More rubble falling by the minute.

Bin was trying to be as strong as he could be as he got into the bed with you, pulling you to him, and petting your hair back, “Of course we can cuddle. I am not going anywhere okay? I wouldn’t dream of it. Just take deep breaths. Let the medicine work, Angel.” He looked at you, so small, sweaty, tired, fragile. Felix immediately started tucking you in. Taking time to ensure sealing all of the edges of your body to stay nice and warm. Then he moved your hand to cuddle Bin, knowing that you’d want it there. He resumed his place at your back, he re-tied your gown that was coming loose, then slowly rubbing circles on your back, trying to soothe you. Bin tried to figure out how Chris could hurt someone so precious to him, to all of them. He couldn’t wrap his brain around it. Like that, more bricks fell from the wall.

“M’safe?” You asked Bin, eyes still brimming with unshed tears as you looked up at him. As soon as they were knocked free he used his thumb to wipe them away.

With me…“Always. No one is going to hurt you.” Not while I’m here. He brushed your cheekbone, you head leaning into his touch reflexively. More of the wall crashed to the ground. He gently guided your head down to his chest.

Even though you were being forcibly calmed by the medicine, he could see it. Your eyebrows were tense, still a quiver in your lip. The worst was the shaking. As he held you he could feel the tremble in your entire body. Your hands shook as you held on to his hoodie, rubbing the pattern to calm yourself. 

After a few minutes passed, the boys went to come back in, but Han stopped them, just to explain to them what happened. He also gave them the rundown of how to talk to you and redirect and reassure you, that way you can rest. 

“She doesn’t look like herself right now, that’s because she is still in a very fragile mental state, she’s going to repeat herself, she’s going to say she’s scared, a lot of things that will make you want to break. You cannot break in front of her. That can make her worse. If you need I can guide you through it. Just stay close to me, okay?”All of the boys nodded and went in. Minho let you know.

“Minnie, you here?” You asked.

“Yes I am, Birdie.” Seungmin said as he walked into your field of vision getting down to your level, “Getting sleepy, Birdie?” You nodded as tears started to spring to your eyes. 

Seungmin’s nickname for you is Birdie. When you started hanging out with him more, he noticed something. Whenever you had a song stuck in your head, you would sing it on repeat. Your voice was always very soft, shy, melodic. It reminded him of the morning birds, so one day he called you Birdie and you smiled ear to ear. No one heard him call you that until now, since Seungmin is more an observer than a talker.

“If I sleep, you won’t go anywhere? I’m scared you’ll leave and I won’t see you again.” your tears fell as you looked directly into Seungmin’s eyes.

Seungmin whispered, “Oh my sweet Birdie,” as he kissed your forehead trying not to cry, drying your tears immediately, “You don’t need to be scared, I’m not going anywhere without you. You will always have me, okay? Right now all you need to do is rest, okay Birdie?” 

You nodded then said, “Jinnie and Innie too? They’re here too?”

“Mhm, everyone’s here, Birdie.” Seungmin is doing his best to see you relax, lightly petting your hair, “So just close your eyes for me, let yourself rest, we’re here.” As if on command you slowly closed your eyes. What he doesn’t know is Innah is trying not to cry. Seeing the interaction cracking him open again. 

Your breathing started calming and as Bin felt your body relax into him, your grip completely loosening. Seungmin didn’t stop petting your hair until he was sure you were out. Only then, did he go to IN’s side, where IN’s tears soaked into his shirt. 

Bin played with your hand for a few seconds, seeing how delicate they are as well as gauging how asleep you are. Seeing no reaction from you he draped his hand over yours as he heard a ghost of mere minutes ago, ‘Please just let me die. Let me go.’ The wall collapsed and he started crying. Trying not to shake you at all as he kissed the crown of your head. 

“No one’s going to hurt you, I promise. I got you. You’re going to be okay. You have to be.” Bin didn’t care who saw him. He felt so helpless, his soul is breaking for you as he cradled you. He can’t help but think that it’s all his fault. How could it not be? He didn’t follow his gut, he didn’t make the move, and now you’re suffering because of it. He kissed your hairline as he did his best to stop the pain in his chest, worried that you’d hear his heart breaking. 

Minho watched as tears fell down his face. Seeing you like this and Bin, the one who gave up his own happiness… Handed his heart over to another man, only to see his heart used and abused. He could feel the pain radiating off of Bin. Minho heard a sniffle and looked to Seungmin. Seungmin always had a placid smile to his face, all Minho found was a quivering lip, tears falling, as he watched Bin. 

Seungmin was seeing how perfect you are together, like he always saw, and seeing how broken you both are, yet you are both so strong together. That made Seungmin cry. Even though both of you are in agony right now, torn to shreds, you still clung to eachother, making a silent pact to make it together.

“You can’t leave me here…” He leaned back to see you. Another specter paid a visit, ‘Binnie it hurts. Help me pleaseee’. He felt his chest caving in at the memory. He willed himself to breathe normally, each pull of air burning his lungs, the muscles wanting to constrict. He cradled your head, trying to keep you as close to his heart as possible, “I need you, My Angel.” Bin felt Felix’s hand wrap around his shoulders, much like Bin would do for Lix when he cried. 

Bin couldn’t imagine a world without you in it. A life without you. He knows the pain alone would kill him, kill all the boys. Your love, friendship, and loyalty is second to none. You are just that way. That beautiful, that kind, that irreplaceable. That is what makes Bin distraught, the thought of no you in the world… even finishing that sentence is unimaginable. 

Han looked up at Bin, trying to will himself not to cry. The both of you are so sweet, so kind. He could see the weight on Bin’s shoulders, crushing him. He could see it in his head, Bin keeping everything bad from crashing on top of you, his arms outstretched, using his whole body as a shield. Han knew that if it meant keeping you safe, Bin would carry the world. That’s what separated Bin from Chris. 

Both may be fond of you. Only one has ever put your safety over everything. Only one ever made you feel heard and seen. Only one ever made you laugh until you cried. Only one would take off work to take care of you when you’re sick. Only one made you understand that there is no priority above you. Only one would calm you with just a touch. Only one truly loves you with their heart and soul. That “only one” was in the bed with you right now. 

Han watched, eventually just letting the tears fall as Bin held you saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, I’m sorry. I love you… I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me.”

That was the first time Changbin had ever let himself say it out loud, “I love you so much it hurts…I Can’t Lose You.”

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[pedgito]

Smut request for Eddie, but I’m worried you might think it’s too close to your single!dad series! But I’m just gonna give it to you anyway because you’re my favorite smut writer. Dad!eddie and babysitter!reader? (Obviously 18+)

author’s note: it’s not at all!! i really wanted to try out something a little different so hopefully this isn’t terrible lol. i hope you enjoy!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), large age gap (21 & 36), dad!eddie, power dynamic (but it’s still pretty balanced, just given the content), virgin!reader, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, all the sex stuff—don’t come into my inbox with bs, if you don’t like, don’t read. but if you do, ily.

word count: 5.6k

Eddie liked to think that with being older came more wiser thoughts, actions—but through experience, he was still fumbling his way through life the same way he had back when in his early twenties, fresh out of high school and making the decent money that he could between shifts at the plant with Wayne, who had to nearly bribe his boss to give him the job, and the small shows he kept up with Corroded Coffin—not that it ever brought in a lot of money.

But, it did bring him to the life he had now; nearing his late thirties, fresh divorcee and a spirited young daughter to prove it. He couldn’t even believe it himself half the time—marriage was never something he planned out, or kids, or searching for babysitters instead of opting to force his child into daycare—spending hours looking through possible prospects, vetting them thoroughly. It felt like he was living a dream most of the time, until reality plopped down on his lap with a giant grin on her face, stray curls cascading down her forehead.

“Do you have to go, daddy?” His daughter asks, “Can’t you play another night?”

Any shows he did now were more for his own enjoyment—monthly shows at a small bar at the edge of town. They gathered a decent crowd and lended to Eddie meeting some very friendly ladies, not that he cared that much.

He had his eyes elsewhere and it was a damn shame nothing would come of it—as horrible as he felt about.

“Sorry, sweetie—I made a promise.” He explains to her, trying his best to lay it out in her terms, “You know I can’t break promises.”

You step through the door only a few moments after, overnight bag snug over your shoulder as you squealed gleefully at his daughter—her previous qualms about Eddie leaving disappearing in an instant.

“You could stay home and play board games with us!” She suggests excitedly, pulling at your hand. You smile knowingly at Eddie, it was typical behavior that didn’t surprise either of you.

“Yeah, Mr. Munson—she’s a pro at connect four, believe me.”

You say his name the way he hates, the way you know he hates. He’s told you time and time again—Eddie. It’s Eddie.

It felt like you were doing it on purpose most of the time.

And so what if you were?

“Oh, I do.” He smiles smugly, crinkling his nose toward the young girl as he fetches his keys from the letting. “Her mom said she might come tonight—maybe in the morning. I can never really predict her, but you’re fine with staying the night just in case, right?”

“I did bring my bag for a reason.” You retort with a playful tease to your tone, swinging the back around as you drop it on the empty loveseat. “You know I don’t have a problem with it.”

“I just—there’s no telling how tonight is going to go.” Eddie admits.

There was no telling how drunk he was going to get—that’s what he means to say. Your eyebrow quirks up in interest and Eddie only shakes his head. There was never any judgment—his life was his life. But, being so young and naive still, it made you wonder how life could really be as you grew older. Eddie seemed to be happy; great friends, nice house, a small but close knit family, he had it all.

Eddie felt the monotony set in the moment he tied himself down to his ex-wife, but being newly single—it had sparked something inside him that wouldn’t die out. Maybe it was an early midlife crisis, a lapse of judgment, but it made him want the things he knew he couldn’t have.

The clues weren’t there initially either. Eddie was as respectful and stern as you expected when you first met, scrutinizing and over-examining every part of your life—you were the secondary protector of his daughter outside of him, it only seemed fair.

But, things took a slow turn as you started to come around more—dinners were occasional, cigarettes out on the porch before you drove home, small talks about what you had to deal with while he was away that soon turned into Eddie being more open with his personal life, and in turn, yours.

There wasn’t a part of his life that was much of a secret anymore—you knew the dirtiest details, the saddest ones. He confided in you a little too easily, but you were just as much at fault for letting it happen.

The first night things shift, you keep telling yourself it’s not actually happening. You had your keys in hand, ready to step out the door until Eddie grasps at your wrist, nodding you back in for a glass of wine, Chardonnay, or whatever the hell he kept around in his cabinet.

“I…don’t drink wine, Eddie.” You say wearily, not complaining about the tug on your wrist as you follow him.

“I forget—you probably like beer, don’t you?” He teases, “At least I did at your age.”

Admittedly, you were twenty one—so it wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong per-say. You had graduated, opted out of college, and made most of your living through odd jobs and nannying—Eddie’s was probably the most stable you’ve been, even if you weren’t a live-in. You saw his daughter nearly everyday, dealt with his chaotic ex-wife as often as he did, and it felt like you had embedded yourself in his life. Eddie couldn’t complain, he liked having you around.

“I—I really shouldn’t.” You say regretfully, twisting the key in your hand. Eddie senses your nervousness, leaning an arm out against his open fridge. “I have to drive home and I—“

“Just one.” Eddie barters, holding up the two frosted bottles, “You don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to.”

You smile slightly, nodding despite your better judgment.

“Fine. One.” You say sternly, “And you still have to pay me for this week, don’t think I forgot.”

“Can you stretch it a week?” He asks, “I promised the little devil I’d get her that guitar she’s been begging for and her birthday is in a couple days.”

“I know.” You tell him obviously, but the smile you return is sweet. “But that’s fine—just, next week for sure. I have to pay rent.”

“Promise.” He grins, a perfect smile that has you clenching your thighs together every time. “Cheers.”

The clink of the bottles is deafening and Eddie moves to the corner of the counter where you take your seat in the barstool, leaning his torso over as he sips at the beer.

Being close wasn’t strange—you’ve sat next to him on the couch, at the dinner table, but the air is so thick you feel it caught in your throat. Your eyes flick up as the bottle tips to your lips, letting out a small giggle as he tips it up with his finger, a small amount of the liquid trickling down the side of your mouth.

You recover with a small cough, shoving at him weakly.

“Hey, that’s not nice.” You say, feigning annoyance. “You’re wasting a perfectly good beer.”

“Sorry,” He lies, taking a long chug of his own before placing it down on the counter. “So, plans for the weekend?”

He asked every week, it wasn’t strange to you. Eddie always seemed genuinely interested, but for some reason, it didn’t feel like that now—and maybe he was just stringing you along to keep you here, but you played into it so well.

You wanted it—maybe not as bad as him, but it was there.

“No,” You say shyly, shaking your head, “Just my bed and a couple movies. Same old thing.”

“No bars? No clubs?”

“Nope.” Your lips pop around the consonant, taking a small slip before shoving the bottle toward the middle. “They don’t interest me.”

“Come on,” He prys playfully, “There’s gotta be something you do for fun, sweetheart?”

And it was the same thing he had called you after a week of taking in the job, a kind endearment that didn’t make you feel any certain way, a sweet way to differentiate from calling you by your name, but it sits on his tongue like sin—begging for you to lick it off, let him defile you the way he desperately wanted to. It wasn’t lost on either of you how tense the air had become—it was Eddie’s web and he had you caught.

And as much as you enjoyed it, tonight just wasn’t the night.

He’d had a bit too much to drink, alcohol dripping from his breath.

“That is fun.” You insist, “Some of us don’t need to go out to the club and relive our younger years to feel good, you know?”

It’s meant with all the care in the world, a playful jab for how insistent he was being in keeping you here tonight, dragging out the conversation instead of getting to the point.

You would’ve been more satisfied if he had just kissed you at the door and let you leave, but then again, this was pretty enjoyable.

“You’ve never seen me play,” Eddie points out, “I think you’d really enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I would,” You agree before shaking your head slightly, “but I wouldn’t be caught dead at that bar.”

Eddie makes a face, a little taken aback at the insult.

“How come?” He asks curiously.

“A bunch of creepy old men who stick around to prey on the younger girls who sit and watch you play—no thank you.”

Eddie laughs through his nose, leaning into your space slightly.

“What about me?” He asks, wide eyes glazed over in a haze.

“Creepy? No.” You assure him. “Old—-eh?”

“I’m thirty six, that hurts.” Eddie pouts slightly.

“So old,” You reinforce, “We should probably put you into a retirement home already.”

“I can promise you, sweetheart.” Eddie says menacingly, bottom lip pulling between his teeth briefly to nip at the skin. “Nothing about me is old.”

Your eyebrows raise in subtle interest, leaning forward slightly.

“I could show you.” He suggests, eyes glancing down at your lips briefly before catching your gaze. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath, see the freckles on his face this close, faint but there. “If you want.”

He can see the gears in your head turning, deciding. But, it quickly fades as you pull back, his lips barely brushing yours.

“I have to go.” You tell him again, insisting more sternly despite how kind your voice sounds. “Eddie, we can’t.”

He looks instantly dejected, pulling back slightly and rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’d forget this in the morning surely, his words had been slurring together most of the night and he wouldn’t have acted so boldly otherwise—would he?

“Let me walk you.” He insists, sliding your bottle toward the trash, his own following until the clink to the bottom.

The walk is slow, palpable, his toes on your heels as he hovers behind you. He grabs the door handle before you can reach for it, pulling it open silently.

“Tell her happy birthday for me?” You ask hopefully, knowing you wouldn’t be around in the day despite how much you wanted to be. “Please?”

Eddie nods quietly, lips pursed together in a tight line.

“Yeah, of course.” He assures you. “Goodnight.”

You lean up on your toes as you turn, caution to the window as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek, stubble rubbing against the sensitive skin of your lip. You can feel the sigh Eddie releases as you make contact, his hand coming to rest against your hip gently, a featherlight touch that if you were to have blinked you would surely miss.

“Goodnight.” You smile, words spoken against his skin.

It’s the same touch Eddie reminds himself of as he tightens his hand around his cock that night, stretched out and writhing on his bed in the loneliness of his empty house—and god did he wish you were there to keep him company.

His ex-wife shows up an hour before midnight, a lot more put together than you’d usually expect, but she fetches her daughter without fuss, leaving you to clean up the mess left behind.

It doesn’t take long, only a little over a half an hour—and your immediate thought is to leave, get the hell out of there, enjoy your weekend like you planned, but you still hadn’t been paid for the week prior, and you’d be damned if Eddie didn’t follow through like he promised.

“Hey—“ His voice is soft as he shakes you away, your figure hunched over the arm of the couch where you napped briefly, peering up at him through bleary eyes. You poured slightly, his face becoming clearer by the second, “did she pick her up?”

He looks surprisingly sober, which is unusual for him.

Admittedly, it was a weird night. His mind had been racing all day, he didn’t play as well as he’d wanted, and he spent the entire night hoping you’d still be there when he got home.

At least one thing has gone right for him.

“What time is it?” You ask, avoiding the question.

“A little after midnight.” He tells you, watching as you leaned up from your reclined position, adjusting your clothes and smoothing out your hair as best you could.

“Uh yeah—yeah, an hour ago.” Your speech is slow and spacey, “Why?”

“Well, I figure you would have left already.” Eddie says admittedly, running a hand through his tousled curls, the hairstyle never changed—and you were kind of grateful for it.

You’d seen pictures of him younger, mid-twenties and dating all the way back to his first day of high school—he didn’t look all that different aside from the slight aging in his face, worry lines buried into the corner of his eyes and that light scruff he wore every now and then when he didn’t shave for a week.

“You still need to pay me.” You retort with a tinge of annoyance, holding your hand out expectantly.

Eddie snorts, reaching for his wallet and slapping the fold of bills into your hand. He hadn’t forgotten at all.

“Did you have a good time?” You ask curiously, stuffing the money in your wallet before burying it back into the back placed on the coffee table, kicking your feet up behind you on the cushion as you stared up expectantly.

You could’ve fled immediately after he handed over the cash, but something was telling you otherwise. Eddie frowned slightly but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“It was alright.” He tells you halfheartedly, “I hope my kid didn’t give you too much of a hard time, she can be a little, uh—“

“She’s never a problem for me.” You assure him.

There’s a long beat of silence as Eddie lingers about, hands shoved in his pocket as he leans against the wall. You hadn’t talked about that night, hadn’t even mentioned it, but it was still heavy on your mind—and hopefully just as heavy on his.

You pat the cushion next to you expectantly, friendly—it wasn’t out of the ordinary or weird, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate as he throws himself down lazily, stretched out at the other corner as he kicks his shoes off and onto the floor, smiling at you like he always did.

“No groupies tonight?” You tease, knowing he’d had a few experiences with them, none of them memorable or positive.

They were always messy and weird and everything he hated.

Eddie mocks a laugh and rolls his eyes slightly, “I shouldn’t have gone out tonight anyways, too much on my mind.”

You give him a skeptical look, turning to him fully with your arms bugged around your legs, chin tucked up by your knees. He tries to ignore how innocent you look, wide eyes and eager, hanging on his every last word.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He excuses, letting out a deep, heavy sigh as he rests his head against the back of the couch, legs spreader unnecessarily wide. Your eyes draw to the stretch in his jeans near his groin, quickly darting up to meet his gaze with a soft smile.

“Try me.” You shrug, tongue poking out slightly between teeth as you bite down gently, “You’d be surprised.”

Eddie huffs again, a mix between a laugh and flippant noise of dismissal, “Come closer.” He suggested, motioning toward the cushion positioned between you two. You crawled forward without question, resuming a similar position. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No—this couch feels amazing, actually.” You tell him honestly.

“Sweetheart.” He says like a prayer, head tilted down slightly despite how his gaze still stays. “That’s not what I mean.”

And he’s not drunk—stone cold fucking sober, actually. That’s what intimidates you the most, his willingness to do whatever he felt he needed to have you. It wasn’t just the influence of fuzzy inhibitions. It was genuine, selfish want. Something he knew he shouldn’t have, couldn’t have—yet here you were.

“Around you?” You ask, he nods slowly. “Never.”

The touch he returns is careful, fingers wrapping around your ankle gently, rubbing soft touches into the skin. You follow his movements, the silence lingering.

“And now?” Eddie asks quietly, eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning back to his slowly moving hand.

A slow drag of his middle finger up your calf, up under the curve of your knee until he can wrap his fingers around it and widen your legs slightly, arms spilling from where they’re snug and tight around you, forcing you to sit up slightly. There’s no resistance when he pushes your legs apart, eyes darting toward the apex of your thighs. Your breath catches slightly, hands falling behind you in an effort to keep you upright. You’ve never been more thankful than to have chosen a dress on a night like this and Eddie can’t even act like he’s able to keep it together, thin lace panties on display before his very eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks when you don’t answer his first question, your chest rising and falling rapidly at his lingering touch, guiding along the inside of your thigh. The leg that isn’t bracketed against the back of the couch falters to the floor, spreading you so wide that Eddie has no other choice but to rub his fingers over the clothed mound of your cunt, pulling a soft gasp from your chest. “Answer me.”

“Nono,” You rush out embarrassingly quickly, “please, don’t.”

It’s exactly what he wants to hear. Needy, desperate—everything he was feeling just as intensely.

“Have you ever been touched like this?” He asks, words careful and precise, his movements as such, dragging a single finger down the seam, pressing into the growing spot of wetness there.

And you can’t take your eyes off of him, same as he does for you, it’s so much more than admiring your body, rather admiring the way you react to his touches, taking it all in. Your mouth hangs slightly, soft breathy gasp escaping.

You shake your head shyly. As much as you would’ve liked to lie and say you had tons of experience, you didn’t. Most of the time you lied, afraid of the ridicule, but you’d been saving yourself for someone special—and if that was Eddie, so be it.

His finger curves around the barrier of your underwear, forcing it to the side until there’s skin against skin and he feels it, if he wasn’t attempting be so coy he’d make a comment about how wet you already were, but the words are lost on him as he drags a finger through the pool of wetness and presses gently against your clit, unmoving as he watches you.

“Is this okay?” He checks in again. There was never a doubt in his mind, but he needed to ask for reassurance, to know that he wasn’t just dreaming again. “Do you like it?”

You bite harshly at your bottom lip, nodding a fervent yes in response. The heat invades your face, your eyes, practically your entire body as it flushes under Eddie’s gaze. The tension had always been there, but it had finally snapped and you couldn’t help but stare at him now, watching as his face contorted into his own version of pleasure, idly running his open palm over the front of his pants, palming his growing cock as it sat heavy in his jeans.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” He encourages, “Don’t go shy on me now.”

You giggle softly—it was completely unlike you, knowing you talked his ear off every chance you had, but there wasn’t a single word or thought in your head that made sense right now.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize meekly, “I don’t know what—what to say.”

Eddie smiles warmly, head resting back against the couch as he slips a finger inside you wordlessly, just the beginning of his first knuckle, not enough of an intrusion to make you feel anything.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” He says softly, “how you feel, maybe?”

“Good,” You chirp quickly, “I’m okay.”

His finger pushes in more, breaching past the tight entrance and you gasp, finally breaking eye contact as your head luls back, gaze caught on the ceiling as he moves slowly, pulling his finger out gently before pushing back in—it’s torture, count throbbing with every movement he made. You could hear the soft ruffle of fabric, metal against metal and a zipper being undone and when you finally have the courage to look up, you’re not sure you’ll ever recover.

It’s not the first dick you’ve seen and you’re not sure it will be the last, but you can’t help staring and taking it all in. They’re never pretty or enticing or enough to make your mouth water—but with Eddie, that’s all out the window.

He’s thick, cut, and everything that intimidates you. He’s confident in the way he holds him, let’s spread wide as his hands come down to cup his balls gently before traveling up his shaft, squeezing over the sensitive head.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He coos, pulling his working fingers out to glide over your clit, rubbing soft and timid circles until you’re moaning out his name—it’s like music to his ears. “You’ve really never done anything?”

“I’ve—I’ve kissed boys.” You admit, “And girls—but never, never—“

“Never let them touch you,” He finishes for you, “have you?”

You nod, affirming his statement.

“Can I have you?” He asks softly, voice sweet and dripping with adoration, “I want you to be sure, don’t lie to me.”

And you can’t even properly describe how badly you’ve wanted him. It felt like crossing a line—like sleeping with your boss, but lust wins you over.

You nod slowly, “Yes. Just—I don’t know what I’m doing, not really. I don’t want to screw anything up.”

“There’s not much to it,” He comforts, removing his hand from your aching cunt and grabbing your own hand, guiding it over his dick, pulling his shirt up slightly where the tip rests against his lower stomach. You always forget how toned he is, how well he takes care of his body, always hiding himself under his work clothes and suits, “I’ll talk you through, okay?”

“Okay.” You answer, letting him squeeze your fingers around the shaft, dragging your hand up slightly before pulling back down, creating a slow rhythm. He grunts softly, eyes half-lidded as he continues the motion until he thinks you’ve got it, resting his hand over your thigh, traveling up until he can squeeze at the curve of your hip, feet tucked under you as you lean over his lap slightly. It’s like soft velvet against your even softer fingertips—Eddie notices the difference immediately, used to his horrible calloused hands all worked and worn out from his jobs, the joints aching with age. It gets the job down, but it’s never as good as this. Ever.

It does grow boring though—not that you didn’t enjoy every soft sound and subtle face that Eddie made when you squeezed him a little too harshly or teased your thumb over the head of his cock, swirling through the oppulescent precome heading at the tip.

“Can I—“ The words catch in your throat when his eyes lick on, peeking out from under his previously closed eyelids.

He sees the way you glance toward his dick, smiling at your bashful awkwardness and nods, “If you ask nicely, that is.”

He’s only teasing, but he loves watching you squirm, trying to find the courage to ask for what you want. You’re always so confident, sure of yourself—it’s one of the reasons Eddie adored you so much, there was never any doubt with you. He never had to worry.

“Please?” You retort playfully, watching as Eddie’s grin grew wider, “Please, Eddie?”

He nods, urging you down between his spread legs, forcing his jeans down further until he can remove them fully, letting you settle until you're comfortable.

You expect it to feel a little awkward, peering up at him as he does down to you, cock still heavy in your hand as he pushes your hair away, gathering it into his hands skillfully—but truthfully, the feeling never approaches.

You’ve talked to your friends about it before, seen small clips in porn, and none of it ever really made sense, and especially not now as you’re sitting between his legs, staring at his dick and hoping that you weren’t about to make a complete full of yourself.

“Don’t laugh.” You tell him, a small pout forming on your face.

“Never, sweetheart.” He comforts you, free hand rubbing the underside of your chin, following as your lips draw forward, closing over the head of cock, swirling your tongue testingly over the tip, through the slit to taste the salty slick of him that had formed there. Eddie groans softly, the first real noise he’s made all night, face scrunching up in concentration as he cradled your head, hair and all, as you moved your way down, taking him sparingly into your mouth until your lips connected with the hand you had around him, covering what you couldn’t reach.

“That’s it.” He compliments, “Fuck, that’s perfect.”

You barely acknowledge him, but given how hard you were trying to concentrate on not fucking up, he understood. His words flowed freely, openly, and once they started they never stopped.

“Look at you, so pretty with my dick in your mouth.” Eddie says softly, pulling your chin forward slightly from where he had a tight grip on your face, forcing you deeper. You gagged slightly, breathing through your nose. “Hold it, sweetheart. I know you can.”

If you weren’t so eager to please, you would’ve pulled away immediately, but you allow him to hold you there, cock heavy on your tongue until you can’t take it anymore, pulling away with a harsh gasp, lips shining obscenely as you stared up at Eddie.

It’s the same look he had the first time he met you, but a sharp edge of something more, something dangerous.

“Stand up,” He instructs, a guiding hand running along your thigh as you go, fingers delving under your dress to pull at your underwear, slipping the fabric down your legs carefully. He flips the fabric of your dress up, dragging the soft surface of his lips along your upper thigh, eyes following you the entire way, “good, sweetheart—can I taste you?”

You nod quickly, hands cautiously running over the top of his head and through his thick curls, whimpering soundly at the way he chuckles, deep and gruff against your cunt, raising your leg over his shoulder carefully, his hands resting at your back to steady you.

It’s like scolding hot fire with the first touch, his tongue delving deep and running up your cunt, ghosting along your clit as he bites playfully at your folds, looking up at you sparingly to gauge your reaction.

You couldn’t even act like you were able to keep it together, moaning unabashedly as the hands in his hair soon traveled down his back, body curling over him slightly as he made it his mission to torture you relentlessly, sucking at your sensitive clit until you’re softly tapping at his back, silently begging for a break while the words are still caught in your throat.

“Tapping out already?” He teases, squeezing the soft globes of your ass. You shake your head defiantly, peaking his interest

“I want you,” You tell him coyly, “I’ve been thinking about it and—“

“Oh, hey—“ He soothes, “That’s special, you don’t have to give that to me, sweetheart. You’ve already given me plenty.”

Another defiant head shake, shoving his hands away as you took a careful seat on his lap, his eyes following you intensely, arms held out at his side as you seated yourself against his cock, the heat of your cunt striking his body with the reality of this situation.

“No, you don’t get to do that.” You tell him, noticing the concerned look on his face, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

Eddie smiles slightly, reaching up to cradle the side of your face tenderly. He can see the subtle pout on your face, bottom lip poking out slightly—and he feels the overwhelming want to kiss you, force it off of your face. So, he does.

And he kisses with a forcefulness you’ve never felt—he’s not timid or unsure. Eddie’s confident, given his experience, he had no reason to doubt himself. You whimpering softly, his teeth pulling your bottom lip in, tongue sneaking its way in and tasting the saltiness of himself on you. He pulls away briefly, nose bumping yours.

“One problem, sweetheart,” Eddie starts regretfully, “I don’t have any condoms—I’m not really used to using them anymore.”

You shake your head fervently, “That’s not a problem.” You assure him, “Trust me.”

You didn’t need to explain and Eddie didn’t feel the need to ask—it wasn’t hard to piece the information together. But god, he’s never been more thankful for modern medicine.

“You sure?” Eddie asks again, lips grazing yours as he speaks, chin resting against his fingers, rubbing delicately at your skin. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Eddie,” You chide softly, “I want you to fuck me.”

He laughs at that, your boldness startling him slightly.

And he doesn’t need to be told more than once, taking control of the situation as he lifts your hips, bracing you over the head of his cock, allowing you to ease down at your own pace. It’s nothing like you were expecting, more of a dull sting if anything—but the filling of fullness, it’s overwhelming.

You rock your hips gently, watching as Eddie’s eyes fell to the place where you were joined with him, dress lifted up slightly as he reached for your clit, rubbing gentle circles to distract your wandering mind—and it works perfectly, gasping when you feel him deep, buried inside you as the back of your thighs hit his lap.

“God, you’re fucking perfect.” He comments idly, eyes falling shut as he leaned back—and it’s infuriating that you can’t see his chest, hidden behind the buttons of his shirt; a ridiculous black button up, making him look well beyond his years. You yank at the buttons with steady hands until the skin peeks through and you can shove the shirt off his shoulders, hands placed firmly against his chest.

You’ve never seen his tattoos this close, not that you could focus much now, but your hand closes over the one of his chest and your blunt fingertips dig into the skin as you lift your hips and seat yourself just as swiftly, punching a ragged groan from the both of you.

“Knew you’d be this good,” Eddie admits, “Thought—thought about it every fucking night.”

“Oh?” You challenge softly, “Tell me?”

Eddie nods, though the struggle to remain cool is evident on his face, losing his focus every time you clench around him, grunting with every little movement you make.

“Just like this,” He admits, “taking me so fucking well, too.”

You nod in agreement, humming as you leaned forward to drag your lips along his jawline, “Like…I was made for you?” You ask teasingly, giggling at his airy groan.

“You’re fucking devious,” Eddie retorts, “not nearly as innocent as I thought you’d be.”

His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you impossibly deeper, closer, and you can’t bother to keep yourself upright, letting him do the work, hips snapping into you with force.

“What—what do you mean?” You stammer through broken gasps, “I’m so innocent, Eddie.”

“Not a chance,” Eddie disagrees, eyes squeezing tight as he buried his face into your neck, sucking a faint bruise into the skin, “be honest with me.”

“I wasn’t—wasn’t lying.” You respond, words dying out on a desperate plea, his hand snaking between you both, rubbing insistent circles over your clit. “I don’t do this stuff—was waiting for the right person, you know?”

Eddie nearly comes then, panting desperately into your skin.

“You think I’m the right person?” Eddie asks redundantly, given your current situation—that was pretty goddamn obvious.

“Your cock is inside me, what do you think?” You ask playfully, eyebrows furrowing in anguish as Eddie makes a quick pass over your swollen bundle of nerves, driving you over the edge unexpectedly, clinging to Eddie out of instinct, letting him rock you through the duration of your orgasms until he’s coming deep inside you, legs shaking as he groans pitifully.

And despite his obvious exhaustion, he retorts a snarky, “I think I’m the perfect person, sweetheart.”

You smile, leaning forward to press a sloppy, passionately filled kiss against his lips, nodding slightly at his response.

“Same time next week?” You ask cheekily and Eddie chuckles in response, biting gently at your shoulder at your obvious playfulness.

Eddie hums thoughtfully, “How about tomorrow?”

And even if you had plans, they diminished into thin air, offering Eddie an affirmative smile.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[ethansluvbot]

hi maylee! could you do something based on this dialogue from euphoria where ethan unmasks and the reader says this and it's just super heart breaky?

love you! <3

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME | E. LANDRY

warnings: gf!ethan, MAJOR SPOILERS!!!, mentions of blood and knives.

an: hey, yes of course i will do this. i actually love this idea and would cry if this was ever in the scream movies. inspired by “right where you left me” because i’ve been listening to it on repeat. this is lowkey shitty so like yeah!

❛YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE,

it was crazy to think that two hours ago you and ethan were hand and hand walking to your dorm. now, you couldn't find him anywhere. you began to worry about him greatly, even with sam, tara and chad reassuring you.

the images that were in your head didn't help one bit. it’s not that you didn’t trust ethan to protect himself, it’s just the ghost face now even more brutal. after what happened to anika you didn’t know what to believe anymore.

now you were standing there watching chad brutally be stabbed. blood gushed out of his mouth as he told you guys to go. you couldn’t believe this was happening to him it might’ve even happened to ethan already.

you felt a hand grab onto your arm as you stared blankly at chads body. hearing sam screaming snapped you back to reality as you smacked the ghost face with your bag. (yes we must keep this bag)

your legs quickly matched the pace of the two girls in front of you. since you were last it was pretty fair to believe that you were next. there’s a sudden stop causing you to collide into sam’s back.

“shit,” you look up to see a detective bailey. tarah was inches away from his chest as she let out a muffled scream.

“you have to help us! there almost here, please!”

to say you were terrified was a understatement. he motioned for you guys to get behind him, raising the gun the way they were running.

you were still worried for chad and ethan. yes, you saw chas had been stabbed multiple times, but he never died. you were only hoping that they both still lived, that you would live to see them again.

bailey stood up in front of the three of you with his gun aimed at their head. he began to lower his gun with a short laughter. he walked closer to then standing in the middle.

“great job both of you,” he chuckles pointing the gun in your face. closing your eyes you felt him still staring at you.

“look at me!”

you automatically flinched as you heard him yell at you. what did he want from you? you sure as hell didn’t want to die tonight, but if it was for your friends at least you would feel good about it.

“who are they?” you heard sam ask. bailey just cocked his head to the side waiting for one of them to unmask. you watched as one of them began to take their mask off.

“no don’t do this to me,” you feel a tear crawl down your face. it was ethan, he was the killer, he might’ve even killed your best friend. reaching up he wiped your tear. even after seeing you cry he was still smiling.

“mindy was right, it was really easy duking the roommate lottery, all i had to do to meet you was room with a conceited condescending alpha literally named chad. fuck, it felt good to kill him!the best part, my name’s not even ethan landry, isn’t that right dad?”

you couldn’t even recognize the “ethan” you were looking at right now. after months of dating this boy you would never expect him to behave like this. you almost felt like the whole thing was a big joke.

you look into his eyes to see nothing, he wasn’t the boy that you truly loved. no matter how much. you cared for him you didn’t want to talk to this monster.

“so that leaves one more…” you hear tara mutter.

“mindy?” sam ask, petrified that one of her best friends would ever do that. mindy was the one always trying to help the group. no one ever believed she could set us up for failure.

“hi roomies, didn’t see that coming did you?”

“yeah because you died,” you didn’t know quinn very well so seeing her there didn’t shock you much. the thing that shocked you was she never talked to ethan before.

“i kind of didn’t, needed to get myself off the suspect list, stabbing gale and mindy was kind of fun,” she giggled to herself jumping forward with the knife.

you flinched back in shock bumping into the two girls. after a while of them yelling at you, you began to zone out. you still couldn’t process that ethan would ever hurt you like this.

you could feel him staring at you almost like he felt bad. you felt a cold metal slide up your arm making you focus again. you knew better than to turn around and look at them.

you stared into ethan’s eyes with a great frown. there was still active tears forming and falling down your face. you feel the sharp object shove inside your stomach. 

screaming out in pain you fall to the floor. quinn pulls it out and shoves it back it, except this time she doesn’t pull it back out.

“quinn!” you hear ethan voice yell at her.

“you ruin all the fun.” she rolls her eyes at ethan, she always believed he was the weakest link. he was always the fool who got his heart broken, the one that didn’t want to hurt anymore, yet his dad still convinced him.

maybe he only did it because his dad forced him into it, but either way it was fucked up. killing people and lying about it was horrible. so why did you feel bad when you heard bailey talking about richie. you could see the tears forming in ethan’s eyes as he realized he wasn’t the priority.

you almost feel like they weren’t even there, most of the sound was drowned out and your eyes were blurry from crying. you watch as quinn, bailey and ethan all stand back together.

“go!” you yell to the two of them, if you died tonight you just wanted them to make it out alive. you watched as tara’s mascara smears around her eyes.

“i love you,” all she wants to think about is the group all surviving tonight, “we’ll come back for you!!”

you feel the knife stolen from your body as quinn runs after them, bailey runs the other way and ethan stands over you.

“i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not,” you couldn’t believe those words after you knew what he was capable of. he was a good liar you would give him that. you felt a year but your face but this time it wasn’t yours.

you felt a ripped piece of his cloth tie around your waist. you groaned in pain as he began to sit you up.

“get away from me you crazy bitch.”

he couldn’t lie and say those words didn’t hurt him. he deserved it and he knew that, but when he saw how terrified you were he couldn’t help but tear up.

“goodbye y/n,” you watch as he almost stands up, but you stop him. you play with the piece of glass in your hands, about to do something that ethan would’ve done.

“hey, ethan?”

he turns back at you, “yeah?”

“fuck you,” you lunge the piece of glass into his mouth. falling to the ground you watch as blood spills out of his mouth.

BUT TO STAY HERE FOREVER ❜



[redisaid]

Strangers - Part 3 of ???

Colors and Photographs

I forgot I love this AU a lot. It's more of the same bullshit I always do, but I don't care. Bon appetite.

5006 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Sylvanas Windrunner—burner of trees, blighter of cities, former Warchief of the Horde, former Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, former Ranger General of Quel’thalas, now wearing the title of repentant prisoner and nothing more—sits upon a ridge, looking down at her camp in the Maw, contemplating. Above it, an arcane flare blazes bright in alternating hues of blue and purple, and it is for this reason that she hesitates to return to it.

Next to her, Dori’thur perches on a spur of rock, silent and staring as ever, though the piercing gold of her eyes feels extra judgemental in this moment. Years of time being stared at by an owl have not prepared Sylvanas for this moment, where it seems to be asking her, “Why don’t you go to her?”

The answer is complex. Too complex for an owl to understand.

That’s what she tells herself, at least. In reality, a drop of water rolls down the exposed skin of her arm, chill on chill, to remind her of the real reason. She’d just taken a bath in Korthia. Her hair is still wet.

“Inconvenient,” she mutters in Thalassian.

Dori’thur, she supposes, must be fluent in it now. In moments where she is more prone to amusement, this makes her grin, thinking about the day she will eventually return, and have the beast somehow hooting in her nasty little Highborne dialect. What then, Tyrande?

She wears the new leathers Vereesa sent for her, and they don’t fit quite right. Not yet, at least. Her old set, worn as they were, were perfectly molded to her unchanging form, but comfortable. These are of a similar, but updated style. The top is too baggy for the fine stitching around the sides and neckline. The leggings are too tight in the calf but not enough in the thigh, and woven with useless ties down the sides that don’t even serve to help her in loosening or cinching where needed. Definitely something Vereesa would choose—style over substance.

Sylvanas prefers her clothing like she does anything—simple, precise, and practical. These leathers offer none of that, but she can fix them, with time.

And time, well, she has plenty of time.

It has been some time since Jaina Proudmoore’s ostentatious arcane flares have lit the monotone skies of the Maw. Keeping count of what might equate to days has been her chore between visits. It has not been a pleasant one. Sylvanas has never enjoyed dwelling on time and its terrifying numeracy.

Still, she knows it has been a while since she’s seen Jaina. She knows she’d prefer to do so with dry hair and properly-fitting clothes. There is still a spark within her demanding she not show her enemy any weakness, she supposes. Her lonesome repentance has not dimmed that yet.

Nor does it change the fact that the living always seem to hold a schedule that conflicts with her own.

She relents, after a time. Minutes, petulantly spent dripping onto twisted stones. Sylvanas has names for all the formations, because what else is she to do but invent geographic classifications. There is only so much of her mind that can be occupied by the endless search for lost souls. This rock she calls Broken Tree, because it has branches or sorts, but all end in blunt ends, their sharp edges perhaps snapped off by a rampaging minion of Zovaal’s long ago, or perhaps not long at all.

What does it matter? It doesn’t. Time is irrelevant. It crawls on, unfeeling, with or without her.

So while Sylvanas doesn’t want to be wet and ill-prepared for company, she doesn't want her company to leave because she’s kept them waiting too long. While Jaina Proudmoore isn’t exactly the most welcome of guests, she still makes for better conversation than an owl.

First, before she descends from the stone branches of Broken Tree, she reaches into the pocket of these unnecessarily embellished leathers. Really, isn’t that just like Vereesa to pick something like this? These damn ties. She never had good taste, and apparently still lacks it. Even the compact that Sylvanas pulls out of her pocket is adorned and impractical, its silver embossed with a hunting motif, a deer leaping over a stream, but the latch sticky and difficult to open.

Sylvanas would rather it remained closed, but she is unfortunately in need of a mirror. She hates looking at herself. It has been a dreaded chore since her first death, her first transformation into something she was not meant to be. Now she is changed again, and the blue eyes that look back at her don’t belong on her face and never have. Her eyes were a soft grey before she died, not blue like her sisters. She misses the distinction, even though this blue is not like theirs either.

But the face that stares back still doesn’t feel like hers. The ashen skin, faded hair, wet and stringy and plastered to her gaunt frame. She only sees the banshee within the body—the long fangs and sunken cheeks, the ghastly hands with too long fingers, reaching out to harm but unable to touch. Embodied now, she is still a ghost. A dead thing lingering and not wholly dead, but never to live again. She is a monster, an abomination, a blemish on her own existence.

But still, she sets the compact on a higher branch of Broken Tree, and uses the mirror to ensure she pulls her damp hair into a respectable and straight ponytail, devoid of imperfections. She might be a monster, but she will be a well-groomed one, even if it kills her for whatever time this death would be.

She catches another set of eyes in the mirror. Dori’thur’s yellow eyes reflect back their own glow. The spectral owl tilts her head, amused by the reflection.

“What are you looking at?” Sylvanas asks of her anyway.

Perhaps she too is vain, for the owl seems to be looking at herself rather than her charge for a change.

“Birds,” Sylvanas mutters to herself as she ties the ponytail tight, and gives one quick glance back toward her own reflection before she closes the compact.

She swears she hears a slight huff of disappointment behind her, but when she looks back, Dori’thur is staring at her as passively as ever. Always watching. Never not. It’s maddening, but Sylvanas thinks she might become concerned to see that damn bird do anything but that, should her attention ever be diverted.

She enjoys a brief respite from those yellow orbs as she begins to move toward her camp, and Dori’thur takes to the grey sky above. There is no color in hell, save for the white and pale teal shades of the owl, the yellow of her eyes, and the odd reflection of blazing blue that meets Sylvanas when she dares to look in Vereesa’s gaudy little mirror now and then.

Well, at least today there’s new colors. Blue and purple arcane light still projects into the sky from her camp, and now that she knows what that means, Sylvanas does not meet it with aggression this time.

She thinks it silly to announce herself. Surely Jaina has sighted Dori’thur circling overhead, and well, there is no one else here. Wandering souls do not count, in Sylvanas’ opinion. They are not even akin to ghosts such as herself, and seem to lack awareness of their surroundings, awareness of her, and the ability to do anything but screech out their confusion and fear.

She finds Jaina Proudmoore an array of new colors in her grey world. She is bent over a crackling orange and red fire she’s conjured for herself, but looks up with eyes of natural and subtle blue through stark white hair, streaked with gold. Today, she wears no armor, no regalia, and dresses casually in a white button up shirt and high-waisted navy leggings that tuck into high brown boots with bright, polished brass buckles. The contrast of her is almost blinding. Sylvanas has to blink away the color so it doesn’t overwhelm her vision all at once.

But Jaina is still there when she opens her eyes again, and she’s offering a kind, polite, and rather diplomatic smile—the kind that humans so famously do where they don’t show any teeth. Sylvanas does not deign to return it, and feels the expression would look too ghoulish on her, teeth or not.

Instead, she nods.

“Before you ask,” is what she greets Jaina with, “I have attempted to keep count. It has been about thirty days since I’ve last seen you.”

A month. There was so much Sylvanas could have done with a month on Azeroth. Troops to be trained, equipment to requisition, artillery to inspect. Even without a military to command, she could visit her sisters. She could travel, go to see someplace exotic and far off—Winterspring or Feralas, maybe even a trip back to enjoy Pandaria instead of battling against the mage standing in front of her within its confines. She could read so many books. She could rest, or whatever equivalent of that was left to her.

Counting the days is worse, but she’s done it because she knew Jaina would ask. She feels the corners of her lips pull up into a grin in spite of her resistance when Jaina’s mouth opens, then closes, meaning to utter a greeting but instead having to contemplate what this means for her.

“It’s been a week for me,” Jaina tells her. “And thank you, for counting.”

Sylvanas nods again. She is nothing if not efficient and proficient in her ability to provide necessary information. A good Ranger knows how to observe and report above all else, after all.

But she is not a Ranger. She is a grinning ghoul, a monster, the last devil left in a monotone hell.

She wills her mouth to stillness again, and feels her ears flatten along with it.

Jaina clears her throat. She turns, and Sylvanas can now see she has taken the liberty of setting her tea kettle over the fire to boil. She seems to look for a moment as if Sylvanas will take offense, but that comfort was for her guest, not her. She does not need to drink, nor does she care to. It is not her concern what Jaina does with something that is for her.

It is her concern when Jaina—seeing she’s unchallenged—is so bold as to pour the contents of the kettle into two mugs, and not just one. Sylvanas’ hard-won neutral expression turns to a frown unbidden.

She makes a point of walking past the steaming mug without acknowledging it as she goes to sit on the opposite rock stool from Jaina. To her credit, Jaina does not press the issue, and simply takes up her own, leaving the offending object to sit steaming on the ground, abandoned and unwanted.

There is a glint of recognition of all of this in her eyes as she looks to Sylvanas, sipping at her own tea. Those eyes are nearly as watchful as Dori’thur's and while they aren’t as severe in their judgment, Sylvanas feels as though there is no escaping what they observe in her. There is no doubt that Jaina is picking her apart, piece by piece. She may never say how, and that would be wise of her, but Sylvanas knows she sees every move she makes, every detail of her appearance and demeanor.

The mirror was a cruel thing for Vereesa to give her, at least she thought at first, though perhaps her sister did not know of her dislike of mirrors in undeath. Now Sylvanas understands the gesture. It was a kindness, an odd one. Vereesa was cognizant of her enough to know that, if she was going to be observed, she would want to do so knowing she was presentable. Much less if she was going to be observed by someone with such keen eyes as Jaina Proudmoore.

“Thirty days is a long time,” Jaina notes, finally, mercifully blinking. “Your sister had to arrange for something, and wanted to wait until it was ready.”

“I don’t see why you need to apologize for her then,” Sylvanas tells her as she settles onto the stool, crossing one leg over the other and again cursing the stupid, useless tiles that bite into the sides of her thighs.

“I suppose I was, wasn’t I?” Jaina says. She smiles again over her mug, clutching the bright copper in both hands as if to warm them, or perhaps just for comfort. If she can observe Sylvanas, then Sylvanas can observe her too, after all.

Jaina then points with a nod toward the ground beside Sylvanas’ stool, where a small package wrapped in brown paper resides. Even dull brown paper and flaxen twine are a welcome change from grey.

Vereesa’s handwriting is present on the corner of it, its black ink easily visible as Sylvanas picks the package up, with her messy, rushed scribbling spelling out “Lady Moon” in Thalassian characters. She would always write like she had something better to be doing, and clearly, still thinks that she does.

But what does Sylvanas know about that, really? Her little sister is almost as much a stranger to her as the woman who delivers her letter these days. She knows Vereesa as a disorganized and immature Ranger Captain with a lot of discipline left to learn—a spoiled little sister whom she was part of spoiling, certainly. She doesn't know her as a leader, a mother, a person thoughtful enough to send her mirrors and little paper packages. All of these things are strange to even imagine describing Vereesa as.

Sylvanas is careful as she opens the package. She can save the paper, use it for maps or notes. She still has plenty left of the stack that Jaina brought last time, but who knows how long it will be before she sees her again? Rationing supplies is part of what keeps Sylvanas sane here, and so she saves the paper rather than tearing it, and the twine too.

And she knows Jaina notices all of this, but she does it anyway.

Inside are three things. A small envelope of a different brown paper, which sits atop a long, flat glass bottle, padded with a mate to the towel Vereesa included in her last package. Sylvanas knows what it is without looking at the label. The shape of it, the floral scent that already fills her with nostalgia, even though the bottle is sealed shut—it’s her favorite shampoo, from Quel’thalas.

She nearly drops the bottle.

Her sister is a mother and leader and a person she no longer knows, but she clearly still remembers Sylvanas being angry with her for swiping her bottles of Camberon’s Lemon and Honeysuckle shampoo. It was expensive, after all. Too expensive for little silly girls, Sylvanas remembers saying.

But Jaina is smiling and watching her, conspiratorially so. She eyes the envelope and not the shampoo, and Sylvanas can’t fathom what means more than Vereesa remembering such a small thing.

Still, she sets aside the shampoo and its towel padding. She laments not having either for her bath today, and resolves another is in order sooner rather than later. Her hair does not dry nicely when it’s up, after all.

She opens the envelope to find it contains a small picture, framed simply in pale, knotty pine. A photograph, an invention of gnomish origin relatively recent in the annals of Azeroth’s history, after her death even. She has been photographed, but such perfect images of her likeness were not possible while she was alive. She only has the memory of her reflections, and portraits that have no doubt been burnt or broken by now, both from spite for her actions and disrepair of the places where they once hung proudly.

But on the plate she finds her sisters, their warm skin and shining hair and blue eyes. A bit of purple swirls in Alleria’s that wasn’t there before but it is so small a change compared to what Sylvanas has undergone. They are still themselves, at least on the outside.

With them are three faces Sylvanas doesn’t know, hasn’t seen, but knows who they belong to. Arator no longer has the pudgy baby cheeks that reminded her of her deceased brother. He is long and thin and elegant in many ways that remind her now of her father, but stocky in others that show the human half of him. He looks worried, blue eyes shining with concern as he glances more toward his mother than the camera.

In front of Vereesa are two identical redheaded, gangly youths. Giramar and Galadin. They wear their hair shorter in human tradition, and it makes them look far more human than their cousin of similar heritage. They look like trouble, is all that Sylvanas can think. They look like Vereesa.

Jaina smiles wider, a few teeth on display now. They are flat and distinctly human, even the half-elven boys in the photos still have little blunted fangs, but Jaina lacks them entirely. Still, she seems pleased. She expects a reaction.

Sylvanas does too, but finds herself more interested in her sisters than her nephews. She’s probably still spent more time with Arator than Alleria has, but he was a baby, and he likely does not remember any of it. But her sisters, why is it they get to remain unchanged by it all? Is that part of her penance too? If she had made the right choices, could she look in the mirror and find herself again? Do they even appreciate it when they do?

“I understand the wait, it must have been a real feat to gather them together for this,” is what she offers Jaina, photograph still in hand, eyes squinting at her sister’s faces, looking for any equivalency of change within them.

“I’m sure it won’t surprise you of all people, but Alleria was the hardest to wrangle, apparently,” Jaina reports.

It does not surprise Sylvanas. She huffs a laugh because of course she was. Alleria looks as though she’d rather not be there, and perhaps that is why her son seems worried. Alleria hasn’t been worried about another person and their feelings a day in her life, so for that reason alone, he seems nothing like her, though his long hair shines the same color gold as hers.

There is a bitterness that clouds her thoughts that reminds Sylvanas she is perhaps where she belongs. No doubt she does not belong in this photograph. Her greys would sour the colors of it. The gold and blue of them, of the Alliance. No, those were not colors for her.

“Vereesa told me you helped her with Arator, when he was still a baby,” Jaina goes on. “I remember him as a child too, so it’s so strange to see him grown now.”

Sylvanas realizes she has no idea how old Jaina Proudmoore is. The white of her hair belies an age that is much younger than such a feature would tell of in humans. But still, she knows of her father, her lineage, and does a quick calculation. Yes, she supposes Jaina knew her nephew as a boy, somewhat.

Strange. It’s all very strange. That is a good word indeed.

This woman knows her family so well, sees her sisters and her nephews regularly, yet Sylvanas has only ever seen her here in her prison, and before on a battlefield. Once during a trial. Only in times of stress and duress. Never before today in casual dress. Jaina cuts a fine figure without all those layers of mage robes and armor, actually.

“He was a good child, easy to manage,” Sylvanas reports. “Easier than Vereesa, certainly.”

Jaina laughs at this. Sylvanas wonders if she has the context for the joke. Does she know how her little sister tormented her? How, when she grew out of that, she moved onto constant whining?

Well, she is Vereesa’s friend, after all. No doubt she knows about the whining.

“Vereesa’s boys carry on the illustrious red hair of their father’s name I see. They’ll do well with it in Quel’thalas, should they be welcome there. It is relatively rare among elves,” Sylvanas goes on.

Not as rare as dark hair, of course, but she can still remember Lady Liadrin back when she was just a priestess, and being both too holy and too oblivious to the amount of attention her red-hued locks brought her, back when she was younger.

But Sylvanas supposes she knows little of the dating scene in Quel’thalas these days, and little of chasing redheads. There is only grey in the Maw, except when Jaina Proudmoore visits and colors it to the point of blinding radiance.

Jaina laughs at this too though. She nods sagely. “I don’t think there was any escaping it for them. But yes, they look a lot like their father.”

Their father, who as Sylvanas remembers, died to save the woman in front of her from Garrosh’s bombing of Theramore.

It’s all so complex and entangled. Jaina’s life has brushed up against her own in so many ways, yet they’d never really spoken until that first letter she’d delivered. Even when Sylvanas turned against the Jailer and offered her assistance in defeating him, Jaina would not speak to her, only listening to her counsel with a daring glare. No doubt she blamed her for what happened to Anduin. It was fair, Sylvanas blamed herself too.

Sylvanas wonders if Jaina feels as protective of her nephews as she does of the Alliance’s own High King, who apparently calls himself her nephew in name only.

And now, she searches Sylvanas’ face for signs of reaction, fondness, and humanity when looking at a picture of her own family.

Sylvanas struggles to find anything but nostalgia for connections long cut and things long made untrue by the relentless march of time. Such numbness rings true for the banshee in her, but it strikes a discordant bell for the soul that’s been restored to her. The same soul that gets lost in that nostalgia in the countless lonely hours of searching. Sylvanas misses her sisters. She always has. She knows she will never fit into their happy little photographs. She will never again shine with them in brilliant blue and gold.

She supposes this is what Jaina Proudmoore looks for when she studies her face. She wonders if she’s been able to find it yet.

“I suppose I have you to thank for orchestrating this,” Sylvanas says as she finally looks to her, and sets the photo down on her tie-bedeviled thigh.

Jaina waves off the responsibility, releasing one gloveless hand from the copper mug. Her fingers are practiced and graceful with every movement, aware. A mage through and through.

“No, no,” she says. “I merely brought it up to Vereesa and she ran with it. She said she wanted some photographs for her home anyway.”

Still, Sylvanas sees through her meddling. Mages always want to fix and change and alter. They cannot leave nature well enough alone. Jaina Proudmoore brings her colors and views of a world she cannot have and cannot help it, just as she surely does not know how her fingers look as though they’re tracing runes even when they do not.

But it is Sylvanas’ nature to haunt and wail and linger on a life long gone. She is a ghost, after all.

She supposes it is fitting she may yet spend centuries here, shepherding the dead.

And Jaina Proudmoore will go home to have more tea with her sisters and her nephews and everyone that will certainly be glad Sylvanas isn’t something they have to worry about anymore. She will put happy photographs on her mantle in Boralus. She will meet so many people and do so many things that this odd chore will be just another appointment on her busy calendar.

And yet, she and the things she brings will be the brightest colors Sylvanas sees until her penance is done.

“Vereesa said she didn’t have time to write another letter and apologizes for that,” Jaina relays. “She still wanted me to bring you the photograph, and whatever that bottle is I suppose.”

“Shampoo,” Sylvanas tells her. The Common word for it is so silly. It sounds like something one would name a fluffy little lap dog.

She watches as Jaina cranes her head a bit to read the label. No doubt she can read the Thalassian. Sylvanas is sure she can speak it too, but chooses to speak the human tongue to her anyway.

“Well that was nice of her,” Jaina notes.

It was, but it’s more than nice. It’s both infuriatingly confusing and overwhelmingly loving. Sylvanas deserves neither. She was ready to be forgotten. She was ready for no one to remember her name, to curse its mention, and to forget anything they knew about her, much less such a small detail as her favorite shampoo.

A part of her wants to keep that detail for herself, but it burns within her. She wants to talk, to vent, but also desperately to keep everything within the fortress of herself. Such nostalgia for her is a part of the pain, the loss of it all.

But Jaina Proudmoore, perhaps, is a person who can understand that.

“It was a favorite of mine,” the words spill out before she can rethink them. “Back…before. Vereesa always used it without my permission. It’s expensive.”

But what does Jaina Proudmoore of all people care about elf shampoo? Of photographs and colors and mugs of tea ignored, left to cool on grey dirt. Why did she come back with no letter to deliver? Why does she smile at these words, this time genuinely, where a dull canine peeks past pink lips, unadorned with makeup or the mask of war. She is just a woman, a friend of the family Sylvanas no longer knows, a stranger. Still, she seems happy to listen, intrigued.

“That sounds dreadful. I’m thankful to only have brothers then. Derek and Tandred would never take any of my toiletries, or at least never admit to it,” Jaina tells her through that smile, giving up her own tiny, innocuous details.

Sylvanas remembers Derek Proudmoore, gasping on the deck of her flagship for breaths he no longer needed. The seawater stink of him, the barnacles that still clung to his tattered coat. She remembers questioning even then why she did the things she did, even as her Dark Rangers peered at her with concern in their red eyes. A part of her knew it was wrong, even though those that return to unlife must make the choice to do so themselves. She and her Valkyr lacked the ability to force them as she was forced. That requires a mournblade, but there will be no more of those ever forged. Never again.

And now his sister jokes with her about how he would never steal her things, or whatever makes her white hair shine so brilliantly even when there is no sun to light it.

Perhaps Sylvans should ask her about her hair care routine. What else is she meant to do?

Instead, she apologizes, “About Derek—”

Jaina doesn’t let her. “He’s told me. You don’t need to explain. It was his choice, you merely offered him the vehicle to take it. Honestly, for all of how it worked out, I should thank you, for being part of what brought my brother back to me.”

“You should not,” Sylvanas assures her.

She cannot possibly offer the explanation as to why. It was never meant to be Derek. Some other Kul Tiran admiral was the target, another sailor sleeping in a watery grave. But the opportunity presented itself and Zovaal had told her that Jaina Proudmoore must die, and this was the best way to do it.

She was always far too hard to kill. And Baine always was too soft. In truth, it had all worked out for the best.

Still, it’s a change of heart from the woman who stared daggers at her for daring to put Anduin in the Jailer’s hold, even though it wasn’t entirely by her own choice. Such forgiveness Sylvanas supposes comes with time, though it has only been a year for Jaina since then.

Longer still for her.

But now the words are spilling out of Jaina, and it seems that the silence of the Maw demands filling from the both of them. “I’ve missed him so much. Derek’s death was incredibly hard on my parents. I was young then myself, maybe a bit too young to really understand, but I think a part of me missed him in the way that his absence affected them more than anything else. Even now, I’m happiest seeing him with my mother again, and how much joy he brings her.”

Sylvanas doesn’t often like to dwell on Derek Proudmoore, but the thought of an undead man being embraced by his living family hits her in a place she didn’t know was so exposed. She’s seen so much rejection of her Forsaken, though they are hardly hers anymore, so much hatred for them. She cannot imagine anything else but that for them.

Does Jaina have happy photographs of him next to those of the Windrunners on her mantle?

It isn’t her right to ask the question.

In fact, she can’t say anything at all.

“Derek drinks tea still,” Jaina tells her. “He says he likes how it makes him feel warm for a time. I thought you might enjoy it.”

She wraps her gracile fingers around her mug again, and tilts her head to the second one on the ground.

Sylvanas picks it up, but does not drink from it. She holds it, and admittedly relishes in the warmth that flows into her hands as she listens to Jaina talk about her brother with a fond grin.

[birdiewriteslit]

wildest dreams

luke hughes x abigail abernathy

masterlist

okay ik i haven’t updated this in a literal month so im finally feeding you my apologies for the wait

“Get up.” Jack said, grabbing the pillow from underneath Luke’s head and throwing it across the room.

Luke groaned, planting his face into the mattress. “What do you want?” he asked curtly, voice muffled by the sheets.

“It’s 1pm, we have practice in an hour, you’re a mess, I’m mad at you,” Jack listed, yanking the comforter off of his body.

Luke shivered and rolled over, shielding his eyes from the sun streaming in through the window. “What have you got to be mad about?”

“I haven’t heard from Abigail since she left, which, by the way, I know was your fault. Plus, you’ve been moody ever since she did, even though you’ve got no right to be.” Jack paused, taking a breath. “And I know what happened on New Year’s.”

Luke sat up on the bed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Then you know I’ve got some right. She’s the one who doesn’t.”

Jack rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Fine, be an idiot. See if I care. Don’t take it out on Abigail when all she did was like you. You’re probably not used to girls liking you though.”

“She doesn’t like me, she’s fucking Rudy,” Luke mumbled.

“You really are an idiot. Seriously, get out of bed or I’m leaving without you.”

Jack left the room and Luke let his head fall into his hands. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, staring at Abigail’s smiling face on his lockscreen, and feeling worse about the whole thing.

He listened to the voicemail, and he felt sick to his stomach. He knew he shouldn’t have yelled at her, but seeing her with Rudy set something off in his mind.

Granted, he had a jealousy problem since they were kids and Abigail would come to Toronto talking about all of her Boston friends, but things were a lot different now.

When Abigail got a job on Shameless, Luke couldn’t be prouder, and when it came out, she was so excited to watch it with him.

It was just her and him that night at the lake, the others having gone to bed. “I can’t watch this with my parents,” Abby had said, clinging to Luke’s arm in excitement.

He figured that meant she was topless in a scene. He’d seen Shameless before, and he couldn’t lie about being a little excited about her debut. He was 17, after all.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was a full on sex scene between her and a costar, who still comments on her Instagram posts.

That was the moment he realized that things were changing in Abigail’s world. He thought about how other guys would be looking at her, thinking about her.

Then Outer Banks came around, and she started dating Rudy. He had to act like he liked the guy, but in reality he hated the way it made him feel seeing Abigail with another guy.

For a whole year he had to watch her with him. She even brought him to the lake once, and then after that trip, he broke up with her over Luke.

So, naturally, he didn’t like it when he saw Abigail was hanging around a guy like that again.

He replayed the voicemail. “Fuck,” he said out loud. “I fucked up.”

abyabynathy

tagged jamie.drysdale, philadelphiaflyers

Liked by jamie.drysdale, _quinnhughes and 1,967,346 others

abyabynathy baby’s first flyers game

View comments

trevorzegras the plot thickens

jamie.drysdale omg that’s me

abyabynathy @/jamie.drysdale sniped

cam.york we have fun

abyabynathy @/cam.york so much fun

philadelphiaflyers Have we converted you to a flyers fan??

abyabynathy @/philadelphiaflyers you gotta win first

jackhughes @/abyabynathy SHOTS FIRED

nhlbruins @/philadelphiaflyers Back off.

_quinnhughes why are you everywhere besides vancouver

abyabynathy @/_quinnhughes some day i might make it there

jackhughes this is interesting

trevorzegras @/jackhughes VERY interesting

abyabynathy @/trevorzegras stop conspiring

user1 what is going on

January 8, 2024

messages 10:36 pm

jack: if you’re trying to make luke mad it’s working

jack: but i can tell he feels guilty for whatever he did

jack: it’s actually a weird combination and i don’t like it

jack: pls fix it

abigail: i tried to fix it but he’s an ass idk what to tell you

abigail: i’m not trying to make him mad but it’s not my fault he freaks out when i breath near anyone else

jack: why the fart are you in philly then

abigail: bc i wanted to see my friend jamie

jack: and you had to do this in the midst of this drama

jack: you and luke need to figure this shit out cuz i’m tired of you hurting each other

jack: shit pisses me off

abigail: okay i admit i knew it would make him mad but he fucking screamed at me and hasn’t spoken to me since his tantrum

jack: he will he just needs time to cool down

read 10:43 pm

—

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle

[jnnul]

the right side of wrong. (part two)

TAGS ▸ uh like mentions of glass breaking, and food eating??, this chapter is pretty tame lol

PLAYLIST ▸ yosemite - travis scott, back - jey, stay - ari abdul, element - pop smoke, dirty laundry - blackbear

WORD COUNT ▸ 6.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ didn't want this part to be too long since i'm trying to stick to my end word count of 40k lol. next chapter is gonna move things along for sure though! this one is just plot + world building. quick note: feedback, comments, etc. GREATLY encourage writers! if you felt any sort of way (in a good or bad way!) about this fic, pls leave feedback!

TAGLIST ▸ @hybeboyenthusisast

[march 19, 20XX, 11:48 a.m.]

[mount justice, happy harbor, rhode island]

“you’ve never watched television before?” soojin asks incredulously, staring at y/n. she shrugs, looking at the remote in her hand with a curious look. 

“i mean, television is harder to warp since it could be live broadcasted. magic takes a lot of energy, and i don’t think anyone cared about me enough to warp television day in and day out. i mostly just read books. fiction.” jay lets out a low whistle as he puts the baking tray into the oven. 

soojin and jay had taken it upon themselves to be ‘den mothers’ for y/n since she didn’t really have anyone else to connect with, and since they were the only ones who lived at mount justice.

“really? well, at least now you’ll never be bored. when i was on mars, watching television from earth is practically the only thing i ever did,” soojin says and smiles when she sees jay make his way to the television set in the other room, picking out dvd’s of old movies to start y/n with.

“yeah. i mean, it was pretty boring since i could only do things that were already vetted by my dad. i could only read the books he wanted me to. i could only eat the foods that he brought me. i could only learn the things in textbooks that he conjured. it was a life that felt like prison,” she explained, her voice trailing off as she reminisced not-so-fondly about her life in the other dimension.

“you know, i hate to say it, but usually people come out of solitary confinement totally mistrustful and don’t reveal anything to the people around them because of their time. i know that your case was a little different but i just - ” soojin is cut off by y/n, who’s eyes have grown hard and full of fire.

“but i don’t seem depressed or psychotic. in fact, i look and speak like a pretty normal girl, don’t i?” y/n says, her voice cold and emotionless. a shiver runs down soojin’s spine. this is what she had expected from someone who had no one but the light to grow up with. someone who was ready to fight at any given moment; a cold and ruthless killer.

“i’m sorry,” soojin says and just as quickly as y/n had slipped into the persona, she slips out of it.

“no, don’t apologize. i understand the confusion. it’s a mix of two things: my father may have been controlling my environment but he never actually tried to control me. he said that my powers and my face was all his, but that my personality and my brain was all of my mother’s. my father loved me very much, and locking me up to ‘protect me’ was his insane way of showing it. so i know what it’s like to be warm, trusting, and affectionate. it’s not as though i never knew the emotion. and as easy as it would be to live my life without ever trusting you guys, i just don’t think i want to live like that again. that’s how i’ve been living ever since i found out the truth about this dimension.” y/n sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging them close to her body, as if to trap the heat into the depths of her skin. “but also - even with all of that love - i’ve lived a better life in the past two days than i have in the past twenty years. people here tell me the difference between reality and fiction. everyone in that dimension just told me whatever i wanted to hear. or whatever i needed to hear to stay in their grasp. i wasn’t really a child to look after to anyone else in the light. i was more like a harmless puppy.”

“that’s why they didn’t train you in combat either?” soojin asks and y/n nods, shrugging.

“it’s hard to keep a puppy under control when she’s been taught to bite.”

jay, who’d come back to the kitchen with a myriad of genres to explore sighs. “you know, that kind of reminds me of my time at cadmus.”

“what’s a cadmus?” y/n asks, and jay is silent for a moment, picking and choosing his words wisely.

“it’s a prison of its own. i was made as superman’s clone and raised in a facility to have the powers of superman but no mind of my own. i was literally created to be a rabid dog just barely on a leash,” jay says, and when he looks up at y/n, he doesn’t see the pity that he usually gets (and hates). instead, he just sees solidarity and for some reason, it feels as though she truly understood what exactly he’d gone through.

“but enough of the sad past talk. we’ve got to get you caught up on cinema and there’s nothing but time, right now! so what do you say, y/n? are you feeling mystery? romance? comedy? romantic-comedy?” soojin says, clapping her hands. y/n peruses her options before picking a movie, unable to tear her eyes away from the cover.

“i don’t think i know what love is but whatever it is, it’s gotta be this right now. who is this fine man?” y/n asks, staring at the man on the cover of the dvd and soojin giggles. 

“that’s henry cavill, and trust me, we all think that way,” she says, winking at jay, who just rolls his eyes with a grin.

“well then, the immortals, it is,” jay says, leading them all to the living area, where the television was.

“oh, i hate to bring up cadmus again but you said something that i thought i should clarify,” y/n says suddenly, her face serious and contemplative. jay and soojin exchange a look.

“what is it, y/n? do you remember something else about the light?” soojin asks worriedly.

“no. no - i just wanted to ask…what the hell is a superman?”

“oh boy.”

[march 19, 20XX, 11:48 a.m.]

[palo alto, california]

yujin checks her phone for the third time in the span of thirty seconds, her knee bouncing as she waited in the courtyard of stanford university for her boyfriend. she stares down at her phone impatiently, waiting for jake when she’s offered a short reprieve from the california sun beating down on her as a shadow casts across her face.

“you know, you really need to start caring more about your boyfriend and less about this new girl you have a crush on,” says the person who deprives yujin of her vitamin d.

“i don’t have a crush on her. but i do really need to check something out in gotham,” yujin says, looking up at jake. “and i need you to come with me.”

jake frowns, checking his watch. “is it serious? we have the pottery painting double date with the colemans at five.”

“no, it’s not serious. it’s just strange. and i don’t know, i just don’t want to investigate alone. figured i would put your forensics degree to use,” yujin replies.

“forensics? are we talking about a dead body here?” jake asks and yujin shakes her head, looking back down at her phone. she turns the phone screen so that jake could see what had her so on edge and gasps, taking the phone from her and examining carefully.

the image on yujin’s phone wasn’t gory or grotesque like jake had expected. instead, the image was (relatively) straightforward: someone had broken into ace chemical factory - literally. everything made of glass in the image was shattered to pieces, and the old stone building was suffering some serious cracks.

“this looks like some sort of sonic weaponry type damage. i see why this is sad and disturbing for gotham city history enthusiasts but i’m still not seeing why a forensics analysis is necessary. does sunghoon know about this?,” jake says, frowning as he examines the picture.

yujin swipes to the next picture, and jake’s frown grows even deeper as he looks at the picture.

“it looks like the same person who broke into ace chemicals also did some serious property damage to the yacht bridge. this has got to be at least twenty to forty million dollars in damage,” jake says, his eyebrows furrowed. “i still don’t see how this is an issue for forensics though.”

“check the timestamps. sunghoon wants us to do a little analysis for the team while he carries out the investigation on the legal side. you know, since superpowers are probably involved,” yujin says and jake swipes back and forth, checking the timestamps of the pictures.

“these pictures indicate that the damage was done at the same exact time. how the hell is that possible? i didn’t know that sonic weaponry was that easy to find,” jake says cynically, swiping back and forth once more.

“yeah. but check this: the damage looks the exact same. as if it were done by the same weapon,” yujin says, pointing out the shape of the glass shards that were scattered across the floors of each of the buildings. jake looks closer until he notices something that rubs him the wrong way, zooming in to show yujin too.

“look at this, though. in the picture of the yacht bridge, there’s clear indications that the weaponry used was barely functional; i mean the glass shattered but the shatter isn’t nearly as finely ground as the glass here, in the ace chemical factory picture. it’s not as identical as we think it is,” jake explains. “and this is just a hunch, but it seems like the motives are different too - i mean, i can’t think of a single reason why anyone would voluntarily go to ace chemical factory at eight in the evening. that place has been shut down for years, and it was never producing anything too valuable in the first place.”

“but the yacht bridge would mean that some rich people are moving some big amounts of money in the next couple of days,” yujin says slowly. “especially with the weather growing warmer, more and more people are getting their boats ready to take out onto the waters.”

“and when did you say icicle sr. was at the bank?” jake asks, mentally committing the picture to memory. 

“not even fifteen minutes later. the bank is pretty close to ace chemicals but it’s on the other side of gotham. unless it was you or the flash, i’m not sure that anyone could make it from the yacht bridge to the bank in time. but from ace chemicals, there’s more than enough time to do so,” yujin says, swiping to the next picture, where she’d circled the three locations.

“well, i’m not sure how much help i’m gonna be but i’ll check out all three of the locations with you if that’s what you need me to do,” jake says, handing yujin back her phone and she pockets it quickly, checking her watch.

“well then, i’m gonna have to borrow the powers of kid flash to complete this recon mission,” she says, a teasing glint in her eyes and jake flashes her a megawatt smile.

“kid flash, at your service, ma’am. now, let’s not keep the colemans waiting for too long.” 

[march 19, 20XX, 11:48 a.m.]

[gotham city, southern tip of new jersey]

“detective park? we have some people inquiring about the simultaneous break-ins at ace chemicals and the yacht bridge from yesterday. is the field team ready to go to the site?” byun euijoo, the station’s pretty boy and correspondent/representative asks, looking haggard from having to respond to entitled rich people all day.

“yeah. we’re ready,” sunghoon says, nodding at the team that he’d assembled to investigate the break-ins. he had a sneaking suspicion that yujin and jake would have better luck in finding the source of the issues but he had a job and appearances to keep up anyway.

“right. i’ll tell them that our team’s on site working on the case and that we’ll find the perpetrators as soon as possible,” euijoo says, typing away on his little ipad, murmuring something under his breath. “even though it’s most likely that the justice league’s gonna handle this anyway. or whoever the hell they send to take care of things secretly.”

“what’d you say?” sunghoon says, unbuttoning the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves to roll them up, hanging the detective badge over his neck.

“nothing. it’s just - does our station ever really do anything? it feels like we just get anonymous intel that solves the entire case for us. not that you’re not a great detective and you’ve definitely been vital to solving cases and putting everything together. but, you know, it just feels pointless when the justice league or whatever team they’ve put together for undercover missions does everything for us anyway,” euijoo huffs, hugging his ipad to his chest.

sunghoon rests his hand on euijoo’s shoulder, slinging his jacket over his own shoulder. “this station is the face of every case that comes to this city. no matter what kind of anonymous tips we get - or however timely or true those tips might be - we deliberate the truth and we have to search and give the people an answer. our job is no less important because whoever is helping us has gotten involved.”

“but you don’t ever get curious about who exactly is helping us?” euijoo asks, somewhat shamefully.

“hm. maybe? but if they want to reveal themselves, they will. no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth, right?”

euijoo doesn’t have much to say to that and sunghoon just smiles, passing him to lead the team to first the yacht bridge, and then ace chemicals. yujin and jake would be checking ace chemicals first so it would be easier for them to examine things in peace if the detective team (and the horde of reporters that would be sure to follow) headed to the yacht bridge first.

plus, rich people were impatient. and pushy.

“alright,” sunghoon begins, clapping his hands. “let’s find these assholes.”

the motorcycle ride to the yacht bridge wasn’t that far. maybe twelve or thirteen minutes at maximum. but those thirteen minutes felt like absolute torture all the way through.

sunghoon preferred motorcycles because he liked feeling the wind whipping his jacket and at his hair when he wasn’t feeling like following rules. he loved the feeling of feeling superhuman in his speed and agility as he raced down the streets of gotham. it also could have been the time that sunghoon had spent with eunwoo rubbing off on him, now that he thought about it. 

but now, with all of these reporters hot on his heels, hounding him with questions that they were screaming over the howling winds, it was absolute torture. sunghoon could barely concentrate on the road in front of him from the sheer multitude of questions that he was being barraged with. 

sunghoon’s thoughts lead him to ardor, as a way to distract himself from the questions that he was pretending he couldn’t hear. 

she was probably spending time with jay and soojin around this time, wasn’t she? maybe catching up on the current events that she’d missed out on in all of her time trapped in that dimension? or possibly eating foods that she didn’t even know existed? knowing soojin, she was definitely showing ardor some sort of show or movie. jay was probably just happy to be around soojin and soojin was always happy to welcome new people into the den, since the only two permanent residents of the den were jay and soojin.

his mind goes back to something that eunwoo had said as sunghoon was on his way out.

eunwoo was a relatively stoic person and wasn’t shaken or moved by much. he didn’t really have intense highs but he also didn’t have intense lows, and while that had annoyed sunghoon when he was looking for affection that eunwoo simply couldn’t provide, it proved to be helpful and necessary every time sunghoon found himself shaking with the intensity of his emotions when he was going through his teenage years.

so for eunwoo to grab sunghoon’s elbow as he’s on his way out of the cha manor, his eyes downcast and contemplative… it was definitely a cause for concern for sunghoon.

“i don’t want to reveal too much because i’m not sure that it’s my place to share anything with the team when it’s a justice league issue but if what y/n is saying is true, the possibility that the justice league has a mole is quite frankly, worryingly high. i can’t tell you how to run the team and i’ll carry out my investigation as discreetly as possible but as someone in this field for longer than you have, i have some requests and some advice. first, i suggest that you keep y/n as close to you as possible. if word of the investigation leaks, the light will not hesitate to hurt her or maybe even kill her, depending on how desperate faust is. i trust the team but i trust you the most, sunghoon. second, this is my request, but you might consider adding her to the team. pyrokinetics are not a joke - and her flame doesn’t kill, which is even better. not to mention that if you take her on missions - ”

“we might discover something that she’s been keeping from us, intentionally or not,” sunghoon finished with a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face.

“you know?” eunwoo asked incredulously.

“not really, to be honest. but miss martian mentioned something about how she’s keeping something important from us. i’m pretty sure that not even she knows though. according to miss martian, it’s something that she knows is important but it’s behind a mental block - can’t tell if it’s a block from a magician or an emotional block. combat is pretty primal though; it unlocks parts of us that we don’t even know exist. so maybe after some training and survival techniques, ardor could be a good addition to the team. or maybe it’ll be a good way to release the stress or whatever mental blocks she has in her mind.”

eunwoo was quiet, watching sunghoon before shaking his head. “you really grew up too fast.”

“you’re still only a couple years older than me,” sunghoon replied but when he looked at eunwoo, he doesn’t see a scolding or discomfort welling up in his eyes - just unadulterated pride and joy in sunghoon’s growth.

“yeah. i know.”

sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, parking the bike in front of the entrance into the yacht bridge, flashing his detective badge at the attendant in the front - although he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to, since there’s only one detective that was always called upon in strange cases like this: him. 

“show me the way,” he says, trying his best to offer a charming smile. the attendant just sneers, pressing a button to open the gates into the yacht bridge with an unimpressed look, distrust swimming in his eyes and sunghoon does it best to keep it from affecting him.

today was going to be a long day.

[march 19, 20XX, 6:59 p.m.]

[mount justice, happy harbor, rhode island]

sunghoon collapses on the sofa in the living area of mount justice, a defeated look on his face, a wet cloth draped over his face to release the heat that he felt was practically coming off of him in waves after getting off of work just prior to using the zeta tubes to reach mount justice.

“gotham city giving you some trouble?” soojin asks, sliding a plate of cookies over to where the heaping lump of sunghoon was.

“not really,” sunghoon sighs before taking the wet cloth off of his face. “never mind. yeah, it seems like one of our cases is a little more complicated than i had anticipated. don’t mind me though. are yujin and jake here yet?”

“they said something about a double date earlier so i doubt that they’ll get back until at least eight.” soojin munches on the cookies, nose crinkling in satisfaction as she analyzes the taste. “wow, y/n’s a good baker. can’t believe she didn’t share how talented she was before.”

“y/n made these?” sunghoon asks, staring at the cookies apprehensively. they’re a perfect golden-brown, with chocolate chips added generously to each one. “they honestly look store bought.”

“nope. i made them from scratch,” says a new voice in the room. y/n looks somewhat shy as she enters the room, carrying two plates of dinner served in each of them. “i’m learning like pyrokinetics are useful for cooking - and easier to use than stoves. i don’t really understand them.”

“you made dinner? with fire power?” sunghoon gawks, his stomach growls betraying him as he takes in the smell of the dinner that y/n had made. his arms reach out instinctively, and y/n hands him the plate gingerly, handing the other plate to soojin.

“i had a lot of help,” she says, hiding her hands behind her back to keep sunghoon from seeing the number of bandages on her hands from her clumsy first trials with using knives. knives = weapons in the dimension she was from, so she didn’t exactly have too much practice with them until now.

“don’t be humble. i didn’t do anything,” jay says, entering with two more plates of food. “i just showed her how refrigerators and garbage disposals worked.”

“you didn’t have refrigerators?” sunghoon says, turning to y/n, mixing the curry into the rice.

“no. i ate on a day to day basis so i never really needed one,” y/n says with a shrug, but sunghoon can see the sadness in her eyes. he takes a bite of the curry, as if to divert her attention and immediately, his eyes grow wide as he stares down at the plate.

how could curry even taste this good? was it even possible for chickpeas to taste like this? were these even chickpeas?

his eyebrows furrow as he analyzes the curry, trying to figure out exactly what she’d had added to make it taste so heavenly.

y/n take his silence in the opposite way that he meant it, however, and her face falls as she watches his reaction. “you don’t like it? i’m so sorry, i’m sure that soojin has some leftovers from lunch!”

sunghoon shakes his vigorously as she starts to move out of the room to heat up leftovers. “no! i mean, i love it. i genuinely was just taken aback by how good it is. i had no clue that you could cook like this, y/n.”

she blushes, the prettiest color rising in her cheeks. “it’s just some stuff that i’d picked up whenever i got bored. cookbooks are surprisingly easy to memorize and fun to read.”

“well whatever you did, you have got to teach me,” soojin says, her face scrunched up in pleasure. “this is so good, i feel like i’m gonna cry.”

“no kidding,” jay agrees, eyebrows furrowed in what looks like anger at just how good the dinner was.

“you guys are too sweet,” y/n says with a shy laugh, falling back into her seat when she’s met vehement protests at her humility, comparing her to some guy (gordon ramsey?) she’s not quite sure of.

“this is incredible,” sunghoon says, and his eyes shine when they meet with hers, causing her to avert her own eyes, his gaze heavy on her face.

“oh, i really hope there’s enough for yujin and jake when they get here. although, i kinda wanna get seconds. or thirds,” soojin says with a sigh of satisfaction.

“yujin’s coming?” y/n asks, perking up at the mention of artemis. “i haven’t seen her all day today.”

“yeah, they’ve been busy for the past couple days but jake’s been complaining that he’s lost his girlfriend to the new girl at mount justice. apparently yujin’s been worried about how you’re holding up, all the way on the other side of the country.” jay’s words cause y/n to descend into another flurry of bashful denial, smiling when she hears that her new friend would be returning to mount justice.

“speaking of those two, has jake talked to you guys about the proposal plans yet?” sunghoon asks, chewing slowly, as if that would make the food’s flavor last longer in his mouth. jay’s eyes dart between him, soojin, and y/n as if to ask silently if it was okay to let y/n in on secrets such as these - even if they weren’t exactly damning evidence for crucial missions.

we can trust her. i’ll explain later but for now, just know that whatever you could say to the team, you can say to her, sunghoon explains through the mindlink.

“oh yeah,” soojin says excitedly, clapping her hands. she turns to y/n with an excited twinkle in her eyes. “jake, yujin’s boyfriend and our resident speedster, is planning on proposing to yujin soon! he recruited our help to help make sure the whole day goes perfectly.”

y/n leans forward, equally enthusiastic as soojin. “really? that’s going to be so wonderful; i can’t even imagine how that would look like! gosh, i’m so excited.”

“has he decided on a date yet?” jay asks, the tension from before having evaporated when sunghoon confirmed that y/n was allowed to be privy to such information.

“he said something about a june date? after they graduate in may, for sure, and on a day when it’s sunny and calm out. he wants that to be the one day that things go according to plan,” sunghoon says with a snort, shaking his head at the antics of his best friend.

“can you blame him? it seems as though having things go according to plan is a luxury we do not experience very often in our field,” says a new voice, and the four of them turn to see heeseung enter the room with a motorcycle helmet in hand. “your helmet was about to become a chew toy for wolf, so i figured that i’d bring it to safety.”

y/n checks the entryway, perhaps as if to see if wolf, jay’s wolf friend and resident snuggle buddy, would follow his recently confiscated chew toy but it seemed that wolf had found satisfaction in other toys.

she’d seen him bite straight through concrete with unbridled enthusiasm the other day, so all she could hope was that his toy for the day wasn’t going to be her door. which was bulletproof metal, but she wasn’t exactly sure what that wolf was capable of.

“thanks heeseung. wanna grab dinner? y/n made it and it’s absolute heaven,” sunghoon says, pointing at the plate that he’d practically licked clean. heeseung nods, and the two of them head out of the living area to the kitchen to serve themselves.

“here, let me come with you. i can get dessert started too,” y/n says, standing up. “i got excited after learning how an oven worked - though i kinda ended up, uh, getting creative with my fire because that was faster - so i ended up making brownies too. anyone up for brownie ice cream?”

soojin and jay’s hands shoot up almost unbelievably quickly.

“wow, those speeds would put kid flash to shame,” sunghoon quips and soojin and jay just ignore him, scrambling to their feet as all of them make their way into the kitchen.

“just wait. you think this dinner and these cookies were good? those brownies put them all to shame,” jay says, pacing back and forth in the kitchen, not looking too unlike his canine companion.

“it seems that you have won the hearts of many, y/n,” heeseung says, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

y/n just looks at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. heeseung was the person that she was the least close to - bar sunghoon, but she was warming up pretty quickly to the ‘pretty boy detective’ as jay called him. heeseung, however, wasn’t around mount justice over the past few days that she’d been there for too long and it seemed like he always knew something that no one else did.

he probably did know, though. there was just some aura around him that made him seem incredibly all-knowing and wise.

“uh, y/n? are the brownies in the oven or in the fridge?” sunghoon asks, and y/n is successfully distracted, rushing over to the fridge to pull out the brownies she’d made earlier, flitting from the counter and the fridge to assemble the brownie ice cream.

once everyone had been served their portion (jay was a special exception to the only one brownie rule; super strength required special food sizes was his explanation), the five of them headed back to the couch area, soojin excitedly recounting jake’s proposal plan as well as she could through a mouthful of brownie and ice cream.

“she’s charged up,” sunghoon comments, leaning over to whisper in y/n’s ear. “she’s been pretty excited about this whole proposal thing.”

“i’m not sure if i’m right but it seems to be a hint to jay; i think she’s waiting for him to propose too,” y/n whispers back and sunghoon looks at her with wide eyes.

“really? does jay know that?” he asks and y/n shrugs, spooning ice cream into her mouth.

“i doubt it. i doubt that even soojin knows that how she’s coming across to others. or just me, i guess. it must be a ‘woman’s intuition’ type thing,” she explains, nodding along to whatever soojin was saying so as to appease her excitement.

“speaking of intuition, i have to ask you something, but i’ll ask you later, when there’s no one else here. i don’t want you to feel obligated or pressured into giving an answer because of people being around you,” sunghoon says under his breath, just loud enough for y/n to hear. he looks out of the corner of his eye to see her reaction but she’s surprisingly stoic, nodding just the slightest before jumping back into the conversation.

the little exchange goes unnoticed by jay and soojin but heeseung makes eye contact with sunghoon and tilts his head, almost imperceptive to the untrained eye. sunghoon just blinks and heeseung is appeased. nothing serious. just want to ask her something.

sunghoon was pretty sure that as the most quiet members of the team, heeseung and sunghoon could conduct entire conversations without a single word.

sunghoon had picked that up from eunwoo and heeseung was just…heeseung.

the conversation is interrupted when the zeta tubes announce the presence of the missing team members, jake and yujin.

they hear jake and yujin conversing in low tones before joining the group, setting down their duffel bags (team gear) and backpacks (school gear) before taking a seat on the loveseat opposite sunghoon and y/n.

heeseung looks around the room, with all of the loveseats fully occupied before looking down at his armchair, a soft laugh escaping his lips. and so he was in the armchair. alone. while the loveseats were occupied with duos and couples. huh.

“how is everyone doing today?” yujin asks, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group.

“good! oh, you guys need to try y/n’s cooking - she made dinner and it’s absolutely heavenly,” soojin says, ushering jake and yujin into the kitchen. jake and jay follow her (the latter most definitely going for another helping) but yujin stops when she reaches where y/n is sitting, extending her hand to clasp y/n’s gently.

“hope you’re adjusting well?” she asks and y/n nods, honey practically dripping from her eyes.

“yeah. jay and soojin have been really welcoming. and sunghoon! and heeseung, of course,” y/n adds the last two names hurriedly, bowing her head at the two men. “everyone has been really kind.”

“that’s good to hear,” yujin says with a soft grin before her gaze shifts to sunghoon. “captain? i think that we’ve got a few things that we need to discuss.”

she looks down at where y/n is still holding her hand and reluctantly lets go. “and i think that y/n should be there too. classification omega.”

sunghoon is taken aback. the events of the yacht bridge and chemical factory were strange, most definitely, but he’d expected something along the lines of arkham asylum’s inmates staging some level of a robbery. something more novel. classification IV, at most.

classification omega? that really only meant sunghoon, yujin, and heeseung could be in attendance. not that they couldn’t trust the rest of the team but classification levels were more based on just how much members were willing to give for the team. classification levels were more for the safety of the members, rather than anything else.

so information at that classification level made sunghoon worry but yujin’s expression seems more puzzled than grim so sunghoon just nods, offering y/n an appeasing smile when she looks between the three of them, searching for answers.

“i’ll explain when we get a chance to talk,” yujin says, her gaze fixed on y/n and it’s obvious that the words are meant to put y/n at ease, rather than offer any hints to either of them about what she could’ve possibly discovered in gotham. it seems to work when y/n’s shoulder descend from their tensed state just the slightest.

the other three return, with jake holding an extra plate of dinner for yujin as well and the air in the room turns lighthearted once more. both yujin and y/n seem to turn off the serious mindset they were simmering in as if it were a light switch. but sunghoon is unable to take his mind off of yujin’s words.

his questions are answered even without an explanation when he hears y/n scream just twenty-six minutes later.

[march 19, 20XX, 8:26 p.m.]

[belle rêve prison]

“you heard what?” one of the inmates asks incredulously. icicle sr. shivers, almost as if a chill had run down his spine, and shakes his head, suppressing any sign of fear as he restates what he’d heard that night.

belle rêve prison wasn’t exactly known for its hospitality but there were very few conditions when it came to cold weather that startled icicle sr. - but the reason why it felt as though there was a cold air in the room had nothing to do with temperature.

“i heard the canary scream. cry. whatever those justice freaks call it. but when we got to ace chemical factory, there was nothing there. no canary, nothing. not a single feather on the ground,” icicle sr. grinds out, and to the other inmates, it seems as though he’s angry that he had to repeat himself. but to icicle jr., his son and the newest addition to belle rêve’s top gang, he can see that the grit in his teeth is from pure, unadulterated fear.

which made icicle jr. want to piss his fucking pants.

there was very little that scared his father. so if it scared his father, it sure as hell scared him.

“you heard the cry but you didn’t see the bird?” another inmates says with a cocky expression. his words don’t carry the pomp he tries to convey them with since his voice trembles a bit too much to take him seriously.

“she’s not usually in gotham unless there’s a fight to pick with someone,” another inmate points out. icicle sr. is silent as the prison cafeteria breaks out into a cacophony of different people trying to give their input on what exactly had happened for black canary to appear in gotham all of a sudden.

“dad? you’re kinda quiet,” icicle jr. says and his father side-eyes for a long moment before shaking his head.

“it’s not her. it can’t be her.”

“why?”

“because…it wasn’t her voice. not that voice means anything when that goddamn scream is so loud. but it’s just not her. i know that.”

which meant that there was someone else in gotham who could utilize the canary cry.

[march 19, 20XX, 8:26 p.m.]

[mount justice, happy harbor, rhode island]

sunghoon and yujin burst into a sprint the moment they can. that is, the moment that y/n stops screaming. sunghoon’s thoughts are all over the place as he tries to recon what had just happened.

the team had dispersed into different locations after dinner. jay and soojin had decided to leave mount justice to catch a late night movie while jake had with them when yujin broke the news that some of their findings were classification omega. he’d sulked at first (mostly about having to part from yujin again) but jay had enticed him into coming with them with promises of buying popcorn at the movie theater - as though they hadn’t just had three servings of dinner.

it was just yujin and sunghoon standing in the kitchen while heeseung went to make a call to a friend from atlantis (sunghoon had no clue that atlantis had cellphone reception). the two of them were silent, even though there were many words that had to be shared. it was as though neither of them knew how to share them and they were stuck in a standstill as they waited for y/n to return from the restroom for a quick shower and heeseung from his phone call.

sunghoon had just turned to yujin to ask her what she had found when an ear-piercing scream erupts from where the restroom across y/n’s room was. sunghoon and yujin both stumbled backwards, trying to regain their balance before setting off into a sprint, too many questions in their minds to think straight.

which brought sunghoon to the current moment, where y/n was standing next to her bed, clutching something shiny in her hands, wolf beside her, curled up into a ball of guilt and shame, his ears drooping as he looked up at the grief-stricken y/n.

her lips were still shaped as an ‘o’ as though she wanted to scream but she couldn’t find it within her to do so.

it takes less than three seconds for sunghoon to understand the situation: a) wolf had broken into her room while y/n was showering and had unknowingly destroyed something valuable to her. b) she possessed something valuable to her; something from the other dimension. c) she also had the canary cry - something that sunghoon had never heard of anyone else having besides black canary. d) the glass filled with water on her nightstand had shattered to pieces.

e) y/n faust was in gotham the night of the yacht bridge and ace chemical factory break ins. 

what the hell were they going to do now?

[lenacosse]

hi! could you maybe write a oneshot that’s amy santiago x fem reader, fluffy/romantic/friends to lovers? i just got into this show and i really wanna read a good and short fic about her but i can’t find many.

Ordinary things

pairing: amy santiago x fem reader

cw: none

word count: 1,560

‘there's never gonna be an ordinary thing

no ordinary things with you

it's funny, but it's true

there's never gonna be an ordinary thing

as long as I'm with you’

════════════════

You set down your pen after finalising your last report of the night, eagerly you start to gather your stuff up at your desk to head home. You all had been moved to the night shift after rescuing Holt and Jake from Florida. It was causing a real strain on everyone’s mood, everyone was miserable and lacking all sources of happiness, you had undoubtedly learned your lesson. Once your bag was packed you stand up stretching your legs and scanning the floor. You eyes dart over to Amy’s desk to find her hunched over paperwork. You make your way over to her and place a gentle hand on her back.

“Hey, Ames. Shift is over.”

“I know,” she sighs. “Just got so much to do I can barely register anything.” She looks up at you with dark, tired eyes.

“How about you leave it for tomorrow? Come on I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t know… if I leave it I’ll have double the work tomorrow night,”

“I’ll help,”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that,” Amy insists, turning her focus back to the paperwork.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Now come on let’s go. Everyone else is gone, you need to rest.”

Amy takes a minute, looking between you and her paperwork as if deciding which is more important. Eventually she drops her pen and makes a move to start clearing up her desk. The two of you make your way out of the precinct and down to the carpark. You sit in a comfortable silence as you drive, it was always simple when you were with Amy. You didn’t have to force conversation or fabricate reality, she understood you perfectly and you appreciated that more than words could describe. There was something about her that made you feel warm, protected and appreciated. Maybe it was the way she looked at you, maybe it was the way she listened to you rant, maybe it was the way her intelligence inspired you. But it was something, a connection maybe, you’ve never believed in soulmates, but when you met Amy that changed. She was your soulmate, no matter your circumstance with her. There was nothing she could do to make you feel indifferent.

“Can we stop to get coffee?” Amy asked, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Yes, God knows we need it.” You smile.

You pull into the nearest coffee shop, Amy runs in to get it and you wait in the spot. From the window you can see her, even exhausted and overworked she radiates kindness. Even watching her interact with the barista has you smiling, you’ve always tried to push down your feelings, marking it as a childish crush. Besides even if you did tell her how you felt it would be pointless, Amy was strictly into men. You were almost certain there was something brewing between her and Jake, maybe that was far fetched but everyone else seemed to think so, as did you even if that made you want to curl into a pit blackness.

“You keep drifting off, everything okay?” Amy said as she got into the car handing you your coffee.

“Oh, yeah no I’m fine. Just tired.”

Amy just smiles, taking a sip from her coffee as you continue your drive.

“Hey, thanks for this, I need to talk to someone other than a criminal.” Amy laughed softly.

“Honestly same, everyone is so clearly done with this. I hope we’re put back onto days soon, I haven’t seen daylight in weeks.”

“Me too. But really thank you, I really appreciate you.”

“Of course, what are friends for?” You smiled, she gave you a short nod, turning her attention out the window.

She sighs then turns back to you, “I want to ask you something, but you have to hear me out. I may be way off, but I can’t keep this in anymore.”

“Okay, is everything alright?”

“Yeah fine.” She bites her lip then looks at you, “I like you I’ve liked you for a long time now, but I’ve been too scared to tell you. I don’t want to lose our friendship and you mean so much to me and I really really want to try this- oh my god I mean do you even like girls? I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything-”

“Amy.” You cut her off, just as you pull up to her apartment complex. You take her hand. “Breathe.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. I’m glad you did,” you run your thumb gently over her hand, “I feel the same, I really really like you.” You smile at her, your eyes bearing into hers. “But I thought you had something with Jake..”

Amy furrows her eyebrows, shooting you a baffled expression. “Jake?!”

“Well- actually I can’t justify it.”

“You’re really bad at reading signals, huh?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, your cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“How about on Saturday, when we’re off you come around? I can make dinner?” Amy suggests.

“Yeah, I’d really like that.” You smile, a little too obnoxiously.

“Okay, cool cool cool. See you there.”

You both share an awkward hug which leads to you both furiously blushing like teenagers, you watched Amy get out of the car and of course laughed at her embarrassed wave goodbye. The whole way home you were smiling like an idiot, the events replaying in your mind.

════════════════

You ran your hand through your hair again before knocking on Amy’s door, you stand with your hand at your side, the other holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Amy answers the door, looking rather distressed. She doesn’t wait around and rushes back into the kitchen. You follow her, extremely concerned.

“Ames? Is everything okay?” You set the flowers down and look around the kitchen, there were pots everywhere things clearly went wrong.

“No. I ruined dinner, God I’m so sorry. I wanted this to be perfect and now it’s unsolvable.” She sighs, eyes prickling with tears.

“It can’t be that bad? Maybe we can salvage what’s not ruined?” You say, trying to seem optimistic.

“Oh it’s definitely not salvageable.” Amy picks up a wooden spoon inside a pot, except out can the spoon and a block of what you assumed to previously have been sauce.

“…oh, well that’s only sauce?”

Amy opens the oven which fills the entire room with black smoke, you immediately open the window and she gets a towel to blow the smoke away. You bite your lip to stifle your laugh but making eye contact with Amy makes the both of you burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, this is truly not how I excepted things to pan out.” Amy sighs, before you could reply she was crying.

Immediately you rushed to her side and pulled her into a tight hug, gently you run a hand up and down her back to sooth her. You felt sorry for her, it was clear she put a lot of effort into this just for it to not work out.

“This doesn’t have to mean our entire night is ruined. Why don’t you go get ready, I’ll clean up in here. Take your time we’re in no rush.”

Amy pulled back to look at you, you wiped the tears from her eyes and she softly smiled. “Are you sure? We don’t have to, we can reschedule or something.”

“No come on, I’m already here.”

“Okay, but really you don’t have to clean up. I’ll do that, it’s not your mess.”

“Ames. I don’t care about cleaning the mess. Just get ready, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

Amy went to get ready and you cleaned the kitchen, as you were putting away the final dish she walked into the kitchen. She was wearing a sheer blue and black flowered blouse with a pencil skirt. You knew you were staring but you couldn’t help it, she looked so beautiful, so effortlessly radiant.

“Ames,” you exhaled. “You look gorgeous.”

She blushed as she walked over to you and wrapped her arms around your neck, your hands naturally rested at her waist. Your foreheads pressed together until she moved her lips onto yours, you pulled her closer and the kiss intensified. When you pulled away you both were blushing.

“Wait, I got lipstick on you.” Amy giggle and wiped her lipstick from your upper lip.

You swear you could have melted under her touch right there, but you knew you needed to collect yourself. You cleared your throat and Amy laughed. The two of you headed to the restaurant and got seated in a booth.

“Again I’m sorry, I had planned for a really nice meal and something more fun than a boring very ordinary restaurant.”

“No, it’s fine. This is still nice, besides it doesn’t matter what we do, we’re together that’s plenty fun.”

“Look at you being all sappy and motivational. I didn’t take you for the type.” Amy teased.

“I’m not usually, guess you bring it out in me.” You winked.

Amy just playfully rolled her eyes in response. The whole date may have started chaotically and completely gone to shit, but in the end you had a better time than you’d ever have dreamed of. Being with Amy truly was a thrill, the addition of knowing she liked you only emphasised that.

[odinsblog]

So I was at an after work business function this evening (because networking, free food and free alcohol), when this happened:

These functions are blindingly white, but hey, I paid my fees for membership + attendance, so I always try to put in some face time. And ordinarily, these monthly meetings are wonderfully apolitical, but today a white woman and man were having a very loud conversation in the middle of the great hall and unfortunately you couldn’t help but hear everything they were saying.

Her: I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. HOW COULD THAT HAPPEN? A 20 year old kid with a gun was able to just walk through Secret Service security and set up on a rooftop unnoticed? How the hell did that happen?

Him: I don’t know , but I’ll tell you this - somewhere out there, there’s an angel with a bullet hole on his wings

Her: I knowww!! Just one inch closer and he would be dead. We really avoided a real tragedy

Him: I still can’t wrap my head around how some young kid was able to get past the Secret Service. With a gun!! It doesn’t make any sense

And the two of them went on and on like this for what felt like decades, but in reality it probably wasn’t much longer than 3 or 4 minutes

Anyway, I’m focusing on my free liquor and trying to ignore this white foolishness. And just then, I spot another Black person there. A woman. From halfway across the room, our eyes locked and we both were rolling our eyes and shaking our heads ever so slightly. She knew what was up and it was disgusting her too

And as chance would have it, the two people had meandered closer to me, and the woman goes, “Can you believe it? How the hell did he get so close without anyone stopping him?”

Now I’m not a bomb thrower. Not at work where my livelihood and my ability to get new clients depends heavily on being able to play well with others, right? So I somehow managed to deflect the question without really saying anything. But then she asks me again, and maybe it was all the free alcohol talking, so for whatever reason, I answered her question very directly: “I wonder, do you think that an openly armed 20yr old Black man would have gone completely unnoticed by the Secret Service?”

It felt like everyone in the room stopped talking

But by now I was well lubricated, and I was in my (political) element, and I was ready to do this conversation if the two of them persisted. But surprisingly, she didn’t say a word and just walked away. The guy lingered for a few moments before walking off in the other direction, but not before I heard him muttering something about “always bringing race into everything” … but I let it go. They both had finally stfu and they were leaving, so as far as I’m concerned, I was winning

Look, unless something is seriously going off the rails, there’s a lot that I won’t discuss in professional business settings. It’s just not smart for most Black professionals, and it exposes you to unnecessary risks (either you know or you don’t know: no cussing, no yelling, lest you get charged with being an “angry” Black man. Always gotta control yourself and be constantly aware of optics)

But it’s never surprising but always disappointing when supposedly educated white people don’t ever consider how race in America is almost ALWAYS a factor—the race of the attacker, the race of the victim, etc. and the way that too many white people expect that their experiences and beliefs are universal beliefs and experiences. Talk about insularity and a lack of self awareness

And lol, when she approached and initially addressed me, I instantaneously decided in that moment that I wouldn’t take the bait if she asked me if I thought it was a near “tragedy”

Anyway, wild huh?

[wittlesissyb4by]

Author's Note: If you're wondering where Chapter 4 is, you're not going crazy. Due to the nature and formatting (it uses chatlogs and explicit content) it is not suited enough for this prude-ass site. I'm sorry to say, but if you want to read Chapter 4 (and all the way up to 7), you'll have to subscribe to my SubStar. I'm sorry, I wish there was another way, but I will have it available for even the least expensive option of $3. My sincerest apologies. Still, I think you'll still be able to grasp the story without missing too much context from Ch. 4 (our main character, Alan, performed a task, and was rewarded with pictures of Persephone.) I hope you can still enjoy the story below. Thanks for reading!

The White Rabbit Chapter 5 - Cockslut

I had never jerked off to the same set of pictures so many times in my life. Even when I was younger and found my Dad’s dirty magazines, my prepubescent self didn’t spank it as much as I had to the photos I’d just received from Persephone.  I spent so long staring and fapping to those pictures she sent, every inch of her was embedded into my brain. Burned into my retinas like when a TV is left on for so long that it damages the display. Hell, it probably is burned into my phone screen from being up so many times. 

She’s even more gorgeous than I imagined. It’s rare that something can live up to the hype you’ve been building up for it for so long. I pored over every pixel of her perfect body, examined the contours of her cheeks, the twinkle in her eyes, the crooks of that devious smile, the splotches of colors in her tattoos, specifically the one of the little white rabbit.

“That doesn’t mean that’s what she really looks like. She could be catfishing you” That tiny voice in the back of my head still whispered.  But I shoved that thought aside, even after the post-nut clarity hit.

I still masturbated the way she told me to. Every single time. Fingering the head of my dripping clit through my little panties with a dildo in my mouth or ass. I didn’t last long at all. I imagined her standing over me, smiling that wicked smile, laughing at me while shoving that dildo in my mouth, or pounding me in the ass with it. I finally was able to give a face to the rubber dick I’d been shoving in my holes for so long. What I wouldn’t give to have her right there next to me, doing all the things I imagined, but in reality.

Persephone didn’t talk to me for a few days. I don’t know if she had something going on, or if she was just leaving me to my own devices, to stare longingly at her photos, to imagine scenarios of her in my head. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I think it also makes subs more dependent on their Mistresses. 

Without her guiding presence, I was left with this odd sort of void. No one was telling me what to do anymore. How would I know how to “fuck my slutty little asshole” if she wasn’t there to tease and berate me with her messages?

I’m not proud of what I did in her absence. 

“Sorry, I had some things…come up at work.” She messaged after almost a whole week. 

“It’s fine.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, like I wasn’t checking my phone every 30 seconds in hopes that she would finally respond. 

“Did you do okay while I was gone?”

“Yes Mistress.” I said, hoping to leave it at that.

“My little slut was able to handle herself?”

I guess you could say that.  “Yes Mistress.”

But something was eating at me. I didn’t know how to tell her, I didn’t know if I wanted to tell her. But this relationship—no matter how weird it was—had to be built on trust, right?

“I…i might’ve…” I typed out the next part, deleted it, then typed again. “I may have…found someone else…”

My heart was pounding as I waited for her response, but it didn’t take long. 

“Oh?”

She wanted me to elaborate. 

“Did you find a girl in real life that’ll dress you up like a sissy bitch and fuck your little butt, slut?”

I audibly scoffed at that. Like that would ever happen. 

“No I…found some other people online…”

“People? As in, more than one?”

“I…yea…”

She didn’t say anything for a while. She must have been fuming. 

“Are they girls? Or are they men?”

I felt myself flush, shriveling into myself. I felt so ashamed, not just because of what it was, but because I knew I was disappointing her. I was effectively ‘cheating’ on her. 

“Men…😞”

Nothing happened for a second, minutes, hours— or at least that’s what it felt like. Then, Persephone is typing…

It took a long time too. She must have been writing a novel. Berating me for being such a piece of shit. I finally found a girl to fulfill my dreams, and I went and blew it as soon as she stepped away for a few days. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” She said. “Did you sext with them??”

Again, I wanted to lie, but there was no denying it now. “Yes…”

“This is it. I blew it. A girl any submissive would kill for, and I let it slip away the first chance I got. 

Persephone is typing…

I was sweating, dreading what was to come. Finally, a massive text bubble hit the screen. 

“LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂”

Well…that wasn’t the response I expected. 

“You fucking WHORE!! Hahaha”

I felt a bit of tentative relief, still not quite sure how she was taking it. 

“Did I tell you you had to do that??”

“No ma’am…😥”

“But you did it anyway?”

“Mhmm.. 😣”

“You know, this is the second time you’ve done something without my permission, and it always seems to involve cock…”

She was referring to the time I used the dildos she ‘made’ me buy. She didn’t tell me to use them, she didn’t have to, I just…did it anyway. 

“Because you’re a desperate little cockslut, aren’t you?”

My immediate reaction was to deny it, the same way I’d been doing my whole life. I always told myself ‘as long as a woman was making me be a slut for men, it was fine. It’s not gay.’ But the proof was right there. Even without her around I still went out and did what I always told myself I’d never do on my own. 

“I…i think so…😩”

“I wanna hear you say it.” 

“Say what?”

“Tell me what you are.”

It took a second to register what she meant, but then it hit me like a truck.

“I’m a little cockslut…” I said. Just typing the words made me feel weird, but also weirdly arroused…

“Louder.”

I switched to all caps, “I’M A LITTLE COCKSLUT!!”

“No no.” She replied, “I want you to make a video. Put your little panties on, get on your dildo, and start bouncing.”

I scrambled to obey, perhaps a bit too quickly. My cock was already fully erect by the time I pulled my panties up around it. I stuck the suction cup to the floor, making the rubber dick sway back and forth, squirted a generous amount of lube on the tip, worked some between my crack, pulled my panties aside, hit the video, and started recording. 

I slowly lowered myself down on it, wincing as it pressed inside my unrelaxed sphincter. There were several seconds of awkward fumbling and adjusting and lowering and gasping before it finally worked its way in and the sounds turned to sighing. 

“I’m a little cockslut,” I said softly, working the dildo further into me. 

“I’m a little cockslut.” I repeated, feeling it slide along my prostate. 

“I’m a little cockslut!” My eyes were in the back of my head. 

“I’M A LITTLE COCKSLUT!!” I practically shouted, burying the dildo all the way inside me until I was squatting down on the balls. There was no denying how good it felt to be full like that. I quickly clipped the video and sent it to Persephone. 

“Don’t stop now.” She replied. “I can see you leaking in your panties. You’re loving this!!”

She was right, my panties were soaked with precum. 

I bounced, swirled, grinded my hips back and forth. 

“How many guys did you sext with?”

I wanted to reduce the number, but I was too horny to deny it. 

“Seven” I managed to reply while still keeping rhythm. 

“Seven?! That’s more than I assigned you the other day!”

She was right. What felt like such a chore before quickly became something I craved, like a lot of things she was making me do…

The dildo felt so good. I was fully relaxed now, bouncing and taking that dick like the best of them. 

“How did it make you feel? Being a little whore for men and making them cum?”

“Like a slut, Goddess.”

“You fucking LOVED it, didn’t you?”

I did, and I told her so. 

“Show me how much you love that dick.”

I set the camera up again, putting it in selfie mode so I could see myself bounce on the cock. I needed to shave my legs, I needed to work out more, get in better shape to get a better body so I could attract more—

Oh my GOD! It felt so good. When I leaned back it hit my spot perfectly. I crab-crawled my arms backwards, putting all my weight on my hands so I could focus on gyrating my hips. 

I pulled the front of my panties to the side. I wanted her to see how hard I was. How much it made my dick swell to have something pumping in and out of my asshole. I was gonna be her little buttslut. Her little whore to pimp out like she always told me. My mind was swimming, my body was clenching, waves coursed through my legs and up to my pelvis, an immense rush came from inside my rectum and then—

The first shot caught me off guard. A huge spurt of semen flew straight up in the air. Another one went forward, spraying the floor and pretty much everything else around the room as my bouncing cock spewed like an unmanned firehose. 

It took several seconds for me to register what happened, to come off the high I just experienced. To snap back to reality, to realize this even was reality. I was still gasping for breath when I slowly slid the cock out. I sat there for a second, contemplating what just took place. 

I just had a sissygasm. 

I’d heard of it before, but I never thought it was actually possible other than by extremely practiced sissies. Professionals. Ones that knew what they were doing because they’d done it so much and so heavily enjoyed the feeling of co—

I grabbed my phone, swiping away a glob of cum that must have landed on the screen. I contemplated not sending the video to Persephone, but I had to see what she said. 

Her first several messages were a series of laughing emojiis. She even sent me an audio file of her cackling like an amused hyena. If I could have seen her face, it probably had tears of laughter leaking down the sides. 

“I knew you’d get there one day, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon!!”

I let her have her fun. Berating and humiliating and teasing me for proving what a “cockslut” I am. I don’t think there was anything I could do to deny it at that point. 

“Clean up your mess.” She finally said. 

I spent the next several minutes lapping up the many, many puddles of cum littered around the room. The thick globs refused to come up just from me tonguing it like a dog, so I had to press my lips around them and slurp it up like a dog. 

“You’re not done.” She said after I sent her the video of me gargling and swallowing some. 

I looked around for a puddle I’d missed, how had she seen something that I couldn’t?

“I’m not sure where, Goddess…?”

Was it my panties? They *were* quite wet, did she mean my panties? But she soon clarified:

“The dildo 😈” 

My stomach churned as I looked back at the rubber dick I’d just violated my ass with. “Oh Goddess…please no…”

This wasn’t me faking some sort of trepidation in order for her to have another chance to belittle me, this was genuine disgust. 

“I know it’s gross, honey. But if i’m gonna whore you out you’re going to have to get used to going ass to mouth. There are some very callous men out there…”

“Please…please don’t make me 🥺”

“I’m sorry, sissy, it has to be done. Let this be a lesson for you to keep yourself clean at all times. You need to be doing regular enemas. You never know who’s gonna stop and bend your bimbo ass over! Now get to cleaning. And don’t try to wipe it down first either, I can see the glistens of lube.”

Damn, that was my backup plan. There was no getting out of it. Well…there was. I could just stop talking to her altogether. Draw the line. Quit right here and now. But was I really going to let a dirty dildo ruin what we have? I’d probably never get this opportunity again. (Not to clean my ass juices off a fake dick—but have a powerful woman tell me what to do.)

I leaned in close, turning up my nose, trying to block out the faint, pungent smell. The fake black dick at least hid any damning streaks I may not have had the stomach to see. 

After tapping record on my phone, I tentatively opened my mouth and stuck my tongue to the tip, cringing at the taste that was probably more lube than anything else. I made a mental note to get the flavored stuff if this was going to be a regular occurance. 

A regular occurance? What was happening to me?? I went from wanting to be dominated by a stranger, to wearing panties, dirty talking creepy men, shoving dicks in my holes, and then shoving those dirty dicks back into my mouth. I never imagined wanting to be dominated would lead to me doing such depraved things. But here I was, slurping the lube off of a dick I just used to make myself cum without even touching my own dick. 

“I think you missed a spot…” Persephone said, “go deeper.”

I wonder if she enjoys this. Like genuinely enjoys watching guys in panties gag and sputter on a dirty dildos. Then again, I can think of several females I screwed over in the past that would probably pay good money for this very video. 

“Now the balls…”

If it was able to sparkle, it would have by the time I was done with it. My mouth was full of all sorts of conflicting flavors like cum, lube, and god knows what else. 

“Smack your face with it a few times, just for giggles!”

Oh how far I’d fallen. If only I had known at the time that this was only the very beginning. 

“Did you have fun?” She asked after it was all said and done. 

“Yes Goddess,” I said, even without being horny anymore, I found myself being truthful. 

“You like being my little slut?”

“YES Goddess!”

“Good. Because I have another assignment for you…”

~~To Be Continued~~

[anastasiaskarsgard]

To my only regret

“What if we just ran away? Leave all this behind... you aren’t happy. Not really.” the statuesque beauty pleaded to the only man she ever loved.

Vincent de Gramont turned to her with a look of utter disgust. “You would have me run and hide? Have you no faith in me? No honor?” taking a drag from a cigarette, he proceeded to blow the smoke in her face. “Get out of my sight, before I do something i will regret.”

The beauty coughed and wheezed as she tried to dispel the smoke. fanning her hand in front of her face she looked at him desperately. “Baby, I only need you! We don’t need all this. We just need each other,,…”

“I SAID OUT OF MY FACE BITCH!” The Marquis shouted, before shoving the woman to the floor. “Great. Now I’m the asshole. Perfect. Are you happy?”

The beautiful woman rose to her feet, tears spilling down her face. Raising her nose in the air, she turned and left him alone in the sprawling mansion they’d called home.

That was four years ago.

Vincent stood staring out the window, not seeing anything, but he was remembering. Remembering her tear streaked face, when she had looked up at him from the floor. He should have recognized the finality in her eyes, and chased after her.

He had been too proud at the time.

Despite employing some of the most skilled trackers and bounty hunters that Money could buy, she had been impossible to find. It was as if she had completely disappeared. Every day and every night he was told that they had failed to find her, he became that much more obsessed. She belonged to him, and he hated losing his things.

Pressing the intercom button on his desk, he ordered his assistant to call the last guy you call, if all else fails: Trejo.

Trejo was rumored to have a 100% success rate with locating anyone. In spite of that, you only called him as a last resort. because Trejo didn’t work for money, he only traded in favors. And not any set type of favor either. He could ask for anything, at any time.

Rumors swirled on the things he had demanded from clients, ranging from a night with one clients wife, a heart transplant from another clients child to save one of his own, or to pardon a buddy of his from death row. There'd also been a few more reasonable requests like a rare Hermes bag for some guys wife, and a pet snow leopard. Something like that was easy for him

The Marquis was a very powerful man, with nearly endless resources, but he hated the idea of being in debt to anyone.

He had risen to the top and answered to no one. He was even more powerful than he had been when she ran out of his life. Up until now, he had refused to admit he was so desperate to find her. But the reality of his situation was the memory of her, and not knowing if she was safe, was driving him insane.

“Lilly.” He groaned as he fell back into his chair. “You have been such a bad girl.”

Across the world

“Oh come on, it’s just the fair! No pressure, but I’d like for you to just meet him. He’s such a great guy, and very private.” Lisa begged her friend Lilly, that lived outside of their small town, in a quaint cottage in the woods.

Lisa had always been a warm social person, and three years ago when she heard about the gorgeous French woman that quietly moved in the old cottage, she had made it her personal mission to get to know her.

It hadn’t been easy. Lily had been standoffish and extremely introverted. Lisa had thought she was shy at first, but as time went on she started to think that Lilly was running from something. With how drop dead gorgeous she was, she was sure it was a man.

Every unmarried male, and a lot of the married ones too, would give their right arm to take Lilly on a date. Unfortunately she showed no interest in any males, or the handful of females that had tried either. Lisa started to back her up, by informing g all hopeful suitors that lilly preferred her solitude.

And she had been prepared to accept that her friend was a loner, even if she could not wrap her head around it. But then she'd been at the store the other day, talking to James, and Lilly had waved hello, and James had asked to meet her.

James was Lisas older brother, that every girl in town wanted to marry. She'd had her feelings hurt several times over the years, when she had discovered most of her girl friends were only after her brother. He was too focused on sports and school to even notice any of them, and didn't like the sort of girls that threw themselves at him, so he'd avoided dating anyone all through school.

When he'd moved away for college, everyone thought he'd come back and visit someday. He'd be a successful executive, in a fancy SUV, with a perfect wife and a couple perfectly polished children. He'd always been so focused on his goals, good at everything, and liked by everyone he met, so everyone was convinced he'd never be back.

Lisa had always wondered why nobody wondered if he was gay. There were not any openly gay people in town back then, but he had met a lot of the stereotypical gay checkmarks she saw on TV. He was a pretty boy, that dressed impeccably well, for the area. His room was always spotless and organized, and he had a skin routine. He was very much into self care, and followed a strict diet to maintain his physique. He listened to EDM music, and he turned down all the beautiful women in town. In spite of these signs, not one person questioned his sexuality. She would love him no matter what and that had been that, but she agreed that he'd never move back to their small town.

That was until three months ago when he'd shown up out of the blue to tell her he'd bought a house and was there to stay. He'd bought the Myrtle House on the hill, and was restoring the old Victorian mansion to its former glory. It had seemed odd to her, that a single man would buy a mansion large enough to house 10 families, but it was a very pretty home, and if she had the money, she'd likely have bought it too.

"Well you remember that man I was standing with at the market the other day?" Lisa didn't wait for an answer and just rambled on, "that's my older brother that is restoring that mansion on the hill. He works on that place around the clock, getting it up to standard. Now it was never run down, it was just a bit old fashioned, and a lot of house for most people to keep up with. Just dusting the whole place with all those antiques, is actually one woman's full time job. He has a few house people and grounds people to keep up the maintenance. He's modernizing it functionally, but trying to keep it authentic aesthetically, whatever that means. I never know what he's talking about, but he's actually taking a break and coming to the fair with me and the kids! This never happens, he's like you and prefers his solitude. But oh if I could get my two favorite hermit people, to eat some cotton candy with me, before risking our lives on some rides, that some felon puttogether in 20 minutes, while chain smoking a pack of Newports, I could die happy."

Lilly looked at her friends hopeful expression, and bit back the automatic denial she was about to deliver. It has been three years, and she had taken the necessary steps to disappear. Cut ties with all her friends and family, and kept to herself. If Vince hadn't found her by now, then he probably never even bothered to look, and she'd gone through all that trouble for nothing.

“You know what? Okay. I’ll go to the state fair with you tomorrow. Maybe I'll even make another friend."

Lisa nearly fell out of her chair. Recovering from her shock quickly, she jumped to her feet and hopped up and down clapping. “Oh my god I am so excited. You won’t regret this. I gotta head out, but we’ll be by tomorrow about 5 to pick you up.”

The two women hugged, and Lilly couldn’t help but feel excited over the prospect of doing something so simple as going to a county fair. She had definitely noticed Lisa's brother the other day as well, who had been so shockingly handsome when they met eyes, that she'd lost her ability to speak, and had just waved like an idiot, and kept walking.

Running a brush through her long golden locks, Lilly wondered if all her caution was even necessary. Maybe she was flattering herself thinking Vincent would even come looking for her. He likely had a whole collection of new women to use whenever he saw fit.

She’d watched as the man she loved, became a monster with every bad deed. At first he had been so mysterious and exciting. Everyone knew that he was one of the few surviving families of the French aristocracy, and that he was gorgeous and wealthy, but that was about it. There were pictures of him at various wealthy people events, or the occasional article or magazine dedicated to what he allowed the public to know, but that was vague at best.

She'd been 22 and had thought her love could save him. That if she just loved him hard enough, and was obedient, it would soften his heart. When her friends told her he was controlling and possessive, she'd scoff and say it was protection. That was his love language in her mind. If he took care of you, and cared enough to take time out of his busy day, to keep you safe, than that was flattering. The security detail, location tracking in her jewelry, drivers, and 24 hour surveillance of where they lived were thoughtful precautionary measures. She had to quit working because she made less an hour than one of her security guys cost, and she had three. Plus she needed to be available when he had time to spend with him. He also was very fashionable, and expected her to always look clean and polished.. that in itself, was nearly a full time job..

The first year with him, she'd convinced herself that she just didn't understand how rich people operated, and rationized that he couldn't be a criminal,and famous at the same time. She had learned the art of fooling one self in record time.

The second year she had seen too much to deny the type of people he was involved with. Ever delusional,, she was still convinced they were the bad ones, not her Vincent. He was just a victim of circumstance.

By the third year, she could no longer lie to herself. He wasn't just involved or caught up with the wrong crowd. The Marquis de Gramont was their ring leader; their boss. And the most dangerous man in Paris. She was just another one of his things that he controlled with an iron fist. Everyone had been right.

Back across the world again..

The intercom buzzed and the Marquis took a deep breath before answering. His assistant had been successful in getting Trejo and connected the call.

"Bonsoir. J'ai besoin que tu trouves quelqu'un de très important."

"Shit, I have no idea what you said there, but let me just say it's an honor to finally speak with you Mister Marquis! Can I call you Vinnie?" The man boomed through the telephone.

The Marquis dropped his head into his hands, massaging his temples. Hehated when people were so I formal with him, but he'd just have to let it slide for now. " That is fine. I need you to find someone very important to me. I need your absolute discretion and the target must not know she has been found. Can you accomplish this?"

"Shit yeah. You scratch my back amigo and I'll send you the address of that Lilly girl that ran out on you a few years back. I'll even get you a couple of nice pictures if you like."

The Marquis eyes shot open and he was temporarily stunned into silence. "How? When? Who?" He shook himself literally to get ahold of himself. He was nobility, not some bumbling peasant!

"I have always been pretty good at figuring out what people want, before they even know they want it." Trejo shared. "Now have we got ourselves a deal. I don't have a favor in mind yet, but I'm sure something will come up soon, you can help me with."

The Marquis fists clenched and he took a deep breath. He didn't even care about what this man desired. He'd have it. Nothing was too much for her. He'd go pick her up himself. Show her he'd forgiven her for her little tantrum, and she was never to do it again. She was his and that's all there was to it. She was coming home.

His Lilly