#standby for the full story...

[cloudynyims]

What snippet are you talking about ?👀

Okayyyyy there's been 3 asks about this now but I wanted it to be a surprise 😭 I'm probably going to finish it tn or tomorrow bc writing is my escape and I need an escape today haha

but i'll give the tentative title and maybe you can guess which snippet it is :) it was floating around a little bit ago i don't exactly remember when but yeah... it's going to be between 2k/3k words unless i go insane and write more than that for some reason. but it's coming sooooon! Very very soon!

tentative working title (i'm not married to this title but this is what it is for now): First interaction, first responder

okay now that I'm writing that title out i'm probably going to change it but that's my hint

[norrisradio]

SOMETHING TO LOSE

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "Watch the world from the sidelines / Had nothing to prove / 'Til you came into my life / Gave me something to lose" - Phoebe Bridgers, Sidelines

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x f!reader | ᝰ WC: 1.5K ᝰ GENRE: established (secret) relationship, reader is an F1 Academy driver ᝰ WARNINGS: car crash, mentions of injuries (i swear everyone is okay) ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: this has been dying in my wips for close to three weeks now. i'm still not entirely happy with it bc i fear i may have lost the plot but! when lando wins in monaco, you finish writing the fic (disclaimer: this was locked and loaded pre-race) ꨄ requested by @piastriprincess ! MWAH lily I hope you like this and I'm sorry it took so long <333

Lando Norris has never been one to sit still – especially not when something, or someone, starts to matter.

He’s always been motion. Quick hands. Quicker mouth. Jokes on standby, pace in reserve. He thrives in the blur of it all: the champagne spray, the scent of hot tires and hotter pressure. But not that day. Not the day he first saw you. 

You were plastered to the back wall of a McLaren media mixer, looking like you’d rather be at the dentist’s office than under the buzz of fluorescent lights and clinking glasses. Rookie year in F1 Academy, fresh out of British F4, a rising star in a room full of planets. You still walked like your racing boots didn’t quite belong on marble floors. You hadn’t said much – until you did. 

And once you did, Lando couldn’t stop listening. 

He’d wandered over to Andrea mid-joke, only to do a cartoonish double take when you said something dry and sharp that made even the famously stone-face team principal snort into his drink. 

You caught him looking. He smiled, eyes bright. You didn’t smile back. Not right away. 

But then you did.

And that was that. 

The first time he showed up at one of your races, no one questioned it. The golden boy of McLaren at a junior formula race? No brainer. “Just supporting the sport,” he’d said, offering a shrug and a picture-perfect grin. But his hands fidgeted with the corner of his pass as you climbed into the car. 

He;d planned to stay for a few laps. Maybe post a story. Instead, he stood trackside until the final lap, heart in his throat, as you surged from midfield like a firestorm and snatche P1 with a bold dive on the inside. 

When he saw you later – sweaty, grinning, champagne-soaked – he caught your wrist just before you disappeared into a sea of orange. 

“Congrats,” he said, then leaned in and whispered, “Don’t make me look bad in front of Oscar again.” 

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers stayed tangled with his. 

No one really knew. 

There were whispers, of course. A blurry photo snapped through a fence in Jeddah: two figures walking side by side behind the hospitality units, her head tipped back in laughter, his hand brushing hers for a heartbeat too long. A clip from a fan vlog in Zandvoort: you ducking into the McLaren motorhome during lunch and emerging fifteen minutes later with your race suit half peeled and your hair different – mussed, somehow, like someone had run their fingers through it. 

Twitter and Reddit and TikTok all had their theories, but that’s all it really was. Speculation, mostly. Nothing confirmed. Nothing with teeth. 

Oscar knew, obviously. 

He gave you a slow, pointed once-over every race morning you turned up yawning and pink-lipped, Lando not far behind, hoodie half zipped and smirking. 

“Sleep well?” he’d ask, deadpan. “Like a rock,” you’d shoot back, not even looking up from your phone. 

The grin Lando tried to bite back would always give you both away. 

Oscar would sigh, sip his tea, and mutter something about undignified behavior before 9AM before disappearing into the garage. 

In Singapore, Lando showed up to the garage with a blooming mark just under his ear, shaped like a bite. 

The PR team nearly passed out. 

He didn’t blink. 

You’d warned him in the back hallway. Low voice. Sharp nails pressing into the thin cotton of his race tee. 

“I will call your mother,” you hissed, eyes narrowed. “Please do,” he said, with that stupid, crooked grin he reserved only for you. “She’s been meaning to catch up with you.” 

You shoved him against the wall. He kissed you stupid anyway. 

The secrecy was half the thrill. The glances across garages, the messages that vanished like smoke, the way he’d text you a single orange heart after a podium. 

The secrecy wasn’t about shame, or hiding. It was about keeping, holding. You weren’t his for the internet. You were his in the quiet. His in the stolen hours. 

And then– Miami. 

You’re on the back half of the grid, a downside of an epic qualifying. “You’ll carve through them,” Lando had murmured into your shoulder that morning, the sheets still tangled around your legs. 

“You better watch,” you warned, grinning into his neck. “I always do,” he replied, voice low, hands gentle. 

He should’ve been preparing for his own qualifying. Instead, he’s trackside again, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, chewing his lip raw as your formation lap begins. 

Lap 5. 

Chambers doesn’t brake. You don’t have time. 

It happens in the blink of an eye – a flash of carbon fiber, the ugly crunch of contact, your car spun out into the gravel like a paper plane. The garage goes silent. Lando stops breathing. 

The screen doesn’t switch angles. The marshalls run. A puff of smoke billows upwards. Your car stays quiet. Still. 

Landos’s fingers curl tight around the fabric of his hoodie, strangling the MCL logo. 

And then–

Your voice. Faint, garbled. But yours. 

“I’m okay. That-uh. That hurt like a bitch. But I’m okay.” 

He chokes on air, clutching the table to make sure his legs don’t give out. 

Will glances over at him, reads everything in Lando’s pale face, and throws him a subtle thumbs up. It’s enough to keep him upright. Barely. 

He almost doesn’t make it to Q3. 

Will’s screaming something in his ear, – “Head down Lando, PUSH!” – but all Lando can think about is the moment your head hit the headrest. The static in your voice. The way your car didn’t move for four whole seconds. 

You’re already in the hotel room by the time he gets there. He doesn’t bother knocking – the door opens before his knuckles can touch the smooth wood. 

You’re standing on the other side of the threshold like you’ve been waiting. One hand on the knob, the other at your side. Like you know, somehow, that he needs this. That he’ll come apart if you make him wait one more second. 

There’s a bruise blooming across your elbow, faint enough to miss from a distance. Your hair is damp. You’re wearing one of his shirts. It hangs off your frame, soft and lived-in and safe. 

And your eyes – tired. But gentle. 

“I’m okay,” you say, and your voice is soft. Honest. 

You are okay. But he’s not. 

He steps into you before the door even finishes swinging shut. Arms wrap around your waist too tightly, his hands clinging like he doesn’t trust you to stay upright. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and breaths, really breathes, like its the first clean inhale since you went spinning across that track. 

A sound claws up his throat: half-sob, half-breath, raw and wrecked. “I thought-” his voice breaks. “God, I thought-” 

The rest won’t come out. The image is too fresh, too sharp: your car turned sideways, gravel flying, comms gone silent. 

You don’t tell him it’s alright. You don’t tell him he’s being dramatic. You just hold him, gently carding your fingers through his curls. 

He kisses you like it’s the only thing he remembers how to do –  lips brushing your temple, your jaw, the line of your throat, your wrist. Each one is a question he doesn’t dare ask aloud: Are you still here? Are you real? Are you mine? 

“Be more careful,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, voice hoarse. 

His eyes are red. His lashes are wet. 

“I know,” you murmur, thumb brushing his cheek. “I know.” 

That night, he curls around you like a question he’s too afraid to answer – one arm locked around your waist, the other wound beneath you, clutching at the fabric of your shirt. His face presses against your back. He counts every breath you take. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily. Not for him. 

But he says like that til morning anyway, holding you until his arms fall asleep. Because now, he knows what it feels like to imagine a world without you in it. 

And he won’t let himself forget. Not so he can worry – but so he can make damn sure he never takes you for granted again. 

When the morning light begins to slip through the curtains, you roll over slowly, still aching but alive. You blink at him through sleep-hazy eyes. 

“Hi,” you whisper, voice rough from sleep. “Happy race day.” 

Lando smiles for the first time in what feels like years – a real one, lazy and boyish. Relief softens him, round sout the sharp edges of his fear. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“I’m starving,” you mumble. 

He huffs a laugh, presses a kiss to your forehead. “Waffles and cartoons before I head out?”

You nod against the pillow, blow him a kiss as he stumbles out of bed for the room service menu. 

And just like that, the weight begins to lift. Not all at once. Not completely. But enough. 

Enough to believe that the world is still turning. 

Enough to believe you’re still his, still within reach. 

[gabstriessomethingnew]

I see you all with your immortal Leon’s, old grumpy grandpa Leon or well adjusted Leon. I see the vision and I appreciate you. But I am here to raise you Girl Dad Leon.

Merlin takes in magical wards throughout the years and when the gang (all of the round table not just Arthur pls give it to me) comes back, it just happens to be right after Merlin had taken in 3 little girls.

And Leon, Leon goes full girl dad. Yes he supports all their interests (Adeline is very into bugs, Lena loves comics, and Heather adores space and dinosaurs) but his favorite are the over top girly stuff. We’re talking wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe, glitter somehow always in his beard, tea cups on standby in pockets just in case of impromptu tea parties.

The gang is utterly puzzled by this turn of the first knight.

Arthur standing in the kitchen staring, just staring at this man: soooooo. You’re happy like this?

Leon who just received a full ‘makeover’ purple eyeshadow and pink lipstick smeared across his face, cheeks red with blush, taking a sip of coffee since all this happened before breakfast, knowing he will not be washing a spec of it off until dinner: Yep!

Gwen walking into a dress up party remembering just how much complaining Leon did when she forced him to wear a dress for all of two hours to get him out of Morganas custody: erm?

Leon holding out a wand with a star at the tip and sparkly strands flowing down the sides, wearing a huge tutu: wanna play fairies?

Gwaine walking into the living room only to find all three girls screaming and dancing to who runs the world (girls): ***eyebrow raise***

Leon singing into a ladle: who runs this mother trucker!

(He joins them after a minute of just processing the fact that the first knight used to yell at him for so much as humming during training)

Lancelot just trying to make it to the backyard to practice with his sword cause he’s feeling a bit rusty being handed a Barbie instead: ????

Leon forcing him into their little circle: gives full detailed back story the girls had created about the evil king torturing the poor girls

Lancelot: alright then. ***start playing with them***

Merlin sees nothing wrong with this. The only confusion coming from the others being confused.

I need it!!!

[redvexillum]

Chapter 1 - Crackling Silence

A/N: So, you guys voted for bittersweet/cucking Vox in my polls. I will say, I didn't get in as much cuckolding as I would like (wow, not a sentence I thought I would ever write) but, the story sort of took off without my consent. So...🤷‍♀️

SUMMARY: In a world of static and sin, who’s really tuning in? You cuck Vox, your husband, with Alastor.

TAGS/WARNING: f!reader, married to vox, vox does love reader, infidelity, non-sex repulsed alastor, alastor is in hell for a reason, soft alastor, jerk alastor, possessive, no use of y/n, vox tries, reader tries, alastor being alastor

Cold.

Not the kind that bites at your skin or makes you shiver beneath the covers, but the kind that creeps inward, quiet and invisible, until you're numb. Until you can't feel anything but the aching absence of warmth.

You didn’t let it in. You couldn’t. Because the moment you acknowledged that hollowness, you were certain it would swallow you whole. And you wouldn’t survive that. 

Not again.

“Vox…” you whispered, curling closer to him in bed, craving connection. Your hand slipped over his chest and drifted up, fingertips brushing the sharp edges of his collar. Slowly, they hovered near the top button, aching to undo it. 

But his attention was elsewhere.

Vox lay beside you, propped slightly against the pillows, the glow from his screen-face painting shifting colours across the sheets. His expression wasn’t really there—just a still image of static and a loading icon in the corner. His eyes flicked rapidly as he scrolled, absorbed in whatever latest disaster needed cleaning up.

He didn’t even look at you.

A hand came up lazily to still your fingers. Not harsh, not cold, but detached. 

Programmed.

“Not tonight, doll,” he muttered, voice glitching faintly at the edges from exhaustion. With a groan, the screen dimmed slightly as he flicked through the final updates. “Fucking Val turned the club scene into a bloodbath again. PR’s eating me alive.”

He tossed the phone toward the nightstand without care. The screen on his face shifted into a dimmer setting, now displaying the VoxTek logo with a sleep-cycle timer ticking in the corner.

You looked at him, watching the flickering pixels shift in gentle pulses across his face. Occasionally, he gave you that vintage smile—the one he wore when you first met, all charm and 1930s swagger—but not tonight.

Not in years.

It had been fifty years since you reunited here in Hell. A full lifetime, and then some. You’d stood beside him through fire and fame. You had been his before he was this.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked quietly, leaning in, desperate for purpose, for acknowledgment. For a role beyond ornamental.

He didn't respond right away. Just static. Then his screen blinked to a grainy old test card—the kind you used to see when the broadcast ended.

Finally, his voice came soft and practiced: “You just sit pretty, baby.” A chuckle—recorded, reused, hollow. “You’re already doing more than enough.”

Then he powered into standby.

No goodnight kiss. No shared moment. Just the gentle flicker of the logo bouncing across the wall like a ghost.

You lay there stiffly, your hands close to his chest but not quite touching. The synthetic hum from his body filled the silence.

He had work tomorrow. Meetings. Branding. Control.

You had… silence.

Loneliness wasn’t loud. It was this: a life of luxury with no meaning.

He’d given you everything money could touch. But not himself. Not really. And now, lying in bed next to a man with a screen for a face and a heart somewhere buried under circuits and ambition, you realized—

You had never truly left the mortal world.

You had just found a prettier kind of purgatory.

Still, you smiled, mechanically. 

You closed your eyes.

You were lucky. You were loved.

You were fine.

After everything, he loved you. He cared for you. That should have been enough. What more could you possibly want than a love like his, steady and unshaken through decades of sin and silence? The chrome wedding ring on your finger glinted under the warm lights of your home, a promise etched in silver. Proof of his devotion. Proof that you belonged to each other.

Your days bled into one another like paint smudged on canvas, soft and indistinguishable, a blur of sameness stretched out across eternity. 

And you told yourself it was alright. 

You told yourself this peace, this routine, was happiness. 

You told yourself you were content.

Until he arrived.

Until your calm was disturbed, your still waters rippled by a crimson figure whose grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. The moment he entered your home, your world turned on its axis, and you didn’t even realize what had shifted until it was too late. Until you found your heart slipping, quietly and traitorously, into someone else’s hands. Not your husband’s.

It all began like any other quiet afternoon. You sat perched on the velvet chaise, a tabloid in hand filled with celebrity gossip you barely skimmed. The headlines screamed scandals and drama from Hell’s elite, but you only half-read, half-cared. The TV murmured in the background as the latest anchors recited tragic news and manufactured outrage. You had your nails buffed to a shine, your hair pinned and curled, your outfit carefully chosen. Everything about you was polished, pristine, perfect. Just the way Vox liked it.

You were doing what he always asked of you. 

Sitting pretty.

Then came the sound of the front door unlocking. You stiffened in surprise. He was early. He never came home early. Your heart fluttered, the weight in your chest lifting with unexpected joy. Quickly, you stood, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from your dress and fixing strands of hair that were already in place. You felt a rush of warmth bloom in your chest.

“Honey?” you called, your voice lilting with anticipation, lips pulling into a bright, genuine smile.

Vox smiled in return, arms open in invitation. You stepped forward, eager, quickening your pace. But you stopped short.

There was someone else with him.

You straightened instinctively, composure settling over your frame like a mask. Just as you had been taught. You folded your hands neatly and lowered your lashes with practiced elegance.

“Hello,” you greeted softly, your tone carefully polite.

The stranger behind Vox stood tall in a striking outfit composed of deep reds and faded blacks. His coat had frayed edges, worn with time and travel, and in his gloved hands he held a microphone staff. His hair was a sharp bob, red as dried blood with black-tipped ends, and two small tufts rose from his crown, shaped almost like ears. Black bones curled slightly above his head like little antlers. His grin stretched wide, showing off yellowed teeth, and the single red lens of his monocle glimmered under the chandelier light.

“Why, hello there!” he greeted with a voice unlike anything you’d ever heard. It crackled and echoed, layered with static, like the old radio sets from the living world. His tone was cheerful, but there was something beneath it…something off, something familiar.

“Doll, this is Alastor,” Vox said, resting a hand gently on your shoulder before placing a formal kiss against your cheek. “He’s going to be my new business partner. You’ll be seeing him around more often.”

You nodded, lips curving politely. “I see.”

It didn’t really matter. You were never part of his business world anyway. Partners came and went, most of them names you only learned after they’d made themselves too familiar with your liquor cabinet or your living room furniture. Still, you had asked Vox once to introduce you, just so you wouldn't keep being startled by unannounced guests like Velvette or Valentino dropping in unexpectedly.

Better to know the devil at your door than mistake him for a stranger.

“Now, why don’t you rest up, doll, while I have a word with him,” Vox said with a practiced grin, his hand trailing lightly down your arm, the gesture as gentle as it was distant.

You would rather not rest. That’s all you ever did.

Rest. Wait. Watch.

You longed to stay just a little longer—to be near him, to catch whatever scrap of warmth he still offered. But before you could even open your mouth to protest, another voice interrupted.

“Oh, come now, old pal,” Alastor chimed in cheerfully, his tone dancing on the edge of mockery. “It’s not every day I get to see the Canary in the flesh, haha!”

You blinked—and somehow, he was standing right beside you, his grin wide and sharp. His eyes, red as dried blood, narrowed as the black slit of his pupils thinned and dilated like a predator sighting prey. He stared into you, and something cold and feral coiled deep in your stomach.

The name struck you like a slap.

Canary.

You hadn’t heard that name in decades. Not since…

“Y-you know my stage name?” you asked, your voice barely more than breath, cracking with surprise and disbelief.

“Why, but of course!” Alastor laughed, spinning his cane in a slow flourish. The smooth movement clashed against the creeping unease in the room. “You rose to fame quicker than a bullet in a speakeasy back in our day, didn’t you? A little starlet with lungs made of gold.” He turned to Vox, eyes gleaming. “Right, old chum?”

You saw it then. The flicker. The slight tightening of Vox’s smile, the ghost of irritation flashing behind the glass of his screen.

“Right,” Vox echoed, the word stiff and brittle as ice cracking underfoot.

Alastor tilted his head just slightly, his expression curious, taunting. “I must say, I’m surprised, Vox. I would’ve thought your lovely wife,” his voice purred on the word lovely, while his hand slid along the small of your back—subtle and hidden from your husband’s view, “would be part of your little entertainment empire by now.”

Vox laughed, short and sharp, a sound too pointed to be sincere. “No,” he snapped, his screen dimming for a moment, the glitch almost imperceptible. “She’s… frail.”

The word struck you in the gut.

“Oh?” Alastor cocked his head further, and you winced at the crack of vertebrae echoing like a gunshot. His hand, unnervingly steady, remained on your back. His grip wasn’t firm, yet it lingered—a reminder. A question. A threat.

You should have moved. Should have stepped away. But your legs refused to obey. The air felt too thick, as if you were sinking into tar. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore, only that something in the room had shifted.

The tension curled around you like smoke, choking and invisible.

“The Canary is dead,” Vox hissed, his tone venomous, as if even the name tasted sour on his tongue. He turned his head slowly toward you. “Right, doll?”

Your hands twisted together in your lap, knuckles paling. His meaning was all too clear.

You nodded, quickly, too quickly. “Th-that’s right.” The lie stung as it passed your lips. “I—I retired a long time ago. I wasn’t really that talented to begin with.”

Your smile cracked. It felt glued on. Plastic.

Because if you had been talented—truly talented—you wouldn’t have been an embarrassment. Vox wouldn’t have needed to shield you from the industry, from the spotlight. You wouldn’t have vanished from the headlines as quickly as you appeared.

If you had been more than a novelty… maybe Vox would still want you. Need you. See you.

But you weren’t.

You weren’t enough.

“What a shame,” Alastor murmured, and for a moment, his voice lost its playful lilt. There was something soft beneath it. Almost mournful.

Your shoulders tensed as you dared glance up at him. His red eyes were glowing faintly, pulsing like coals in low firelight.

“I still listen to your debut,” he said, almost in reverence. “The one where you blended jazz with that uptown swing. Haunting, really.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

No one had spoken of your music in years. No one remembered. Not even Vox.

But Alastor had.

There was a beat of silence… then warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading slowly like light through cracks in cold stone. You hadn’t felt it in so long. Not this flutter of being acknowledged. And that feeling? It mortified you.

Your cheeks flushed hot, and you quickly ducked your head, letting your hair fall forward in a curtain to hide your reaction. This wasn’t right. That warmth came from the wrong man’s words, spoken while your husband stood only steps away.

Vox snorted, the glow on his screen face flickering with humour. “Please,” he scoffed, “the future is now. Everyone knows EDM and trap music dominate the scene.”

Alastor tilted his head, unconcerned, and replied in a tone as light as air. “You do enjoy your little mechanical contraptions, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Vox said, puffing up with his usual showmanship. His voice grew louder, filled with that signature Vox-brand flair. “It’s the future! And now that you’re on my team, we’ll take over all of Hell, mark my words!”

You drifted out of the conversation like a balloon loosed from its string. You no longer felt present. That lingering hand on your back—Alastor’s—felt too intimate, too foreign. Quietly, you shifted away, the movement small, barely perceptible.

Your fingers wrung together as you searched for something, anything to say. “C-could I get you both something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”

“Coffee would be lovely, dear,” Alastor responded immediately, his tone syrupy and polite.

“Coffee for me too, baby,” Vox added, his screen flashing with a soft pink hue. “And those cookies you baked the other day? They were delicious.”

Your heart leapt. “Y-you tried them?” you asked, voice lifting with pure delight.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “Anything you make is the most delicious.”

A smile burst across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ll get them right away!”

You hurried to the kitchen, joy bubbling inside you. You were never a natural in the kitchen—Vox knew that—but you had worked so hard to learn. For him. You’d married him when you were alive, yet fate had robbed you of the chance to live as his perfect wife. So now, in this eternal second chance, you wanted to give him the life he deserved. To be his soft place to land. To make his burdens easier.

You poured the water into the kettle, the soft sound of it filling the silence. The scent of roasted beans hung in the air as you reached for the coffee grounds, heart still dancing with joy… until a soft crackle stopped you.

The unmistakable sound of static.

You turned around, instinctively clutching the edge of the counter. Alastor stood in the doorway, one foot already inside the kitchen.

A shiver crawled along your spine.

Still, you smiled—pleasant, practiced. “Hello… may I help you?”

Alastor strode inside like he owned the room. His fingers trailed lazily across the counter, collecting invisible dust. He glanced at his fingertip, then turned toward you, closing the space between you both until barely an inch remained.

“I thought I could lend a hand,” he said, his voice a murmur of mock innocence. “Old Voxy sounds a little… busy, doesn’t he?”

Even from the kitchen, you could hear Vox’s voice carrying from the other room, sharp and strained with frustration. Probably another call with Valentino. He always left Vox in a sour mood.

“There’s no need,” you said gently, your smile holding despite the unease growing in your stomach. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m more than comfortable right here,” he said brightly. His tone was cheerful, but there was something off about it, like laughter hiding a snarl.

He stepped just a hair closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle static in the air that followed him like smoke.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “It’s not every day I get to see the Canary in the flesh.”

His grin stretched wide. Wider than it should. The edges of his lips pulled far, slicing through his cheeks with that too-sharp smile.

Your breath hitched. Somewhere deep in your chest, something began to unravel.

“W-were you a fan?” you asked, voice hesitant and low, like a bird afraid to sing in the presence of something much larger. You hadn’t spoken to anyone new in what felt like an eternity. It was always just you and Vox. Always just the two of you, in this delicate little world he made.

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter. “Something like that.”

That was all he offered.

No elaboration. No smile lines around his eyes. Just that vague, open-ended nothing. The kind of answer that left too much space for your thoughts to wander. You turned away quickly, grateful for the small whistle of the kettle signalling it was done. You reached for the mugs, ready to distract yourself with the familiar motions of service.

But before your fingers could even brush the handle, there was a sharp snap.

In a blink, a full tray—coffee, cream, sugar, and your painstakingly baked cookies—appeared on the counter beside you as if it had been there the entire time.

“Oh,” you breathed, taken aback. “Thank you…”

You reached out instinctively, but your hand froze midair as Alastor smoothly took the tray for himself. His movement was graceful, almost too effortless, like this moment had been rehearsed a hundred times before.

Your hand lingered awkwardly in the air before you folded it tightly into the other and tucked them both in your lap, suddenly very aware of how small you felt.

Alastor looked at you with a strange, amused softness. “Now that I’m your husband’s business partner, it seems we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

His voice had changed—lighter, yet still somehow heavy, as though each word carried something hidden beneath its lilt. He tilted his head, red eyes gleaming.

“I look forward to getting to know you more…” he paused, the grin never fading, “intimately.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You opened your mouth, but no words came. You weren’t sure if you were being teased, threatened, or merely played with like a cat flicking its paw over a dying insect.

“Oh—yes, likewise,” you managed to say, unsure if it even made sense.

Alastor’s gaze lingered on you, stretching the moment until the silence itself started to feel sharp.

“I do hope,” he said slowly, “that this time, our time together won’t be cut too short.”

Then he turned and walked away, tray in hand, whistling a haunting tune you couldn’t quite place.

The sound of it wrapped around you like smoke.

And just before he reached the doorway, he stopped.

His back still to you, he said with eerie calm, “You remember, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He just left you standing in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of coffee and a memory you had once long tucked away.

NEXT ->

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[schlatt-love-bot]

Classroom Dad - Schlatt x Teacher!Reader Headcanon

I got the idea of Schlatt being a “classroom dad” in my head and couldn’t get it out omg, so enjoy my ramblings! For this, Teacher!Reader is at the elementary level :) 

When you met, Schlatt was both in awe of your profession and confused 

“So…listen, I get loving kids and loving learning and all that mushy gushy feel good shit…but you mean to tell me you only get paid that much for dealing with those little shits? …why do it?” 

After dating for a while, though, he began to love the crew of kids in your classroom just as much as you did, maybe even a little bit more 

“Tell me, did the kids give you any more gossip during indoor recess? Is Johnny really into Samantha??” 

He would get a kick out of the stories you’d be bringing home each and every day

On the flipside, though, he would know exactly when you walked through the door on a tough day, were behaviors were out of whack or a lesson didn’t go as planned 

“Awwwh, baby, come ‘ere, talk to me. I’m brewin’ you a cup of tea, and then you can tell me everything that went wrong today.” 

He had a blanket on standby for when the days got so tough you just came home and needed to cry it out 

After being together for so long, he had a strong understanding of just how emotionally taxing the job was, and how much came with it

Would HAPPILY play student for you when you needed to practice a lesson or activity you’ve never done with a class before 

“Babe this worked out perfectly! I forget that you have the IQ of a 4th grader sometimes…”

“Hey! Not nice! I could walk away right now and leave you to figure out why my animal cell and my plant cell look exactly the same!”

Heard you complain once about your district not providing you with a class set of materials you needed, and he IMMEDIATELY bought in on the spot

“Babe, why did a case full of number 2 pencils just show up at our door…?”

“You said the kids needed them…” 

It’s gotten to the point where if he sees something he thinks you need in your classroom or something your students would like, he buys it and presents it to you 

“Schlatt! A guinea pig??” 

“What! I figured you could use a classroom pet!! I wanted to get a classroom cat, but figured those shitheads wouldn't be able to handle it....plus allergies, y'know?” 

Constant supplier of fun trinkets and toys for your classroom prize bin

“Schlatt, the kids are complaining about the ratio of squishies to stickers…” 

“On it, boss. More squishies will be at our door by the end of the week.” 

Your students BEGGED you to finally meet their infamous “classroom dad”

“Guys…Mr. Schlatt works a lot, I don’t know if I could get him to come by and visit…” 

You mentioned it in passing during dinner one night, and Schlatt’s eyes lit up 

“You mean to tell me…they want me there? To meet me? What can I do?” 

And suddenly you’re having a “secret reader” come in at the end of the day to read the next chapter of the book you’re reading as a class 

The kids were excited, thinking it was one of their parents, like they were used to from 1st and 2nd grade 

But when Schlatt walked through the door??

You were chopped liver, these kids were treating him like he was a damn king in the classroom! 

“Mr. Schlatt, how is it living with Miss (Y/N)?” 

“Well, how is she in here?” 

“She’s kind and cares about us, but she can be annoying with the amount of work she makes us do…”

“Yeah..that sounds about right, kiddo.” 

You were making a mental note to never do this, ever, again

Until you noticed just how engaged the kids were in listening to Schlatt read 

Schlatt was doing his best performance, making up voices and giving the kids a show

They were listening to every word coming from his mouth, hook, line, and sinker 

…until he left them on a cliffhanger

“WHATTT???”

“MISS (Y/N)!!!! HOW COULD YOU?!?” 

“MR. SCHLATT PLEASSEEEEE, KEEP GOING!!” 

He looked at you with his best puppy eyes 

“Yeah, Miss (Y/N), can we keep going?” 

You chuckled, shaking your head as the entire class plus your boyfriend were begging to continue reading the book

“Guys, I wish I could let Mr. Schlatt continue, but your buses are about to be loaded in 5 minutes, we need to get ourselves packed up and ready to go!” 

The kids, and Schlatt, let out a collective groan before shuffling to get their belongings together

Schlatt lingered, waiting until every last kid left, helping you with closing down your classroom for the day 

“Yknow, toots, that was actually a lot of fun.”

“Good! I’m glad you thought so…we could definitely use a secret reader again for when we start Frindle…”

“You know I’m your man, baby. All you need to do is ask.” 

You told Schlatt to leave without you, needing to do a couple more things before leaving for the day

Reluctant, he left without you, greeting you at the door with your favorite slippers, a glass of wine, and dinner already made 

“I get why you come home so exhausted, now, I was only with those kids for what, 30 minutes? I’m absolutely exhausted!” 

You let out a laugh, glad he understood your daily exhaustion on a personal level now 

“Seeing you with those kids, though…it’s got me thinking…” 

You raised your eyebrow, signalling him to continue

“What if…what if we start workin’ on our own little gremlin…” 

You nearly choked on your wine, cheeks beginning to get hot with blush 

“Think about it, doll, and then get back to-” 

“Yes. We should. In fact…we should get started right now..” 

Not much dinner was eaten that night, but both you and Schlatt certainly had your fill of dessert…

[pink-apollo]

IM REALLY IN LOVE TO YOUR BLOG😭😭😭 I was gonna req a cuddling headcanons w husband Alejandro when he comes from work💖

Thank you!😭💕💕

Cuddling with Alejandro headcanons

🖤When I say this man loves cuddles? He LOVES them. Alejandro is down for a snuggle anytime with his s/o. But my god he is a radiator

🖤His most favorite position is when he’s laying down on top of you between your legs, with his head laying against your chest and your fingers gently scratching his scalp as you hum quietly to him

🖤Hums along with you if he knows the song. But for the most part just likes to listen to you and suck in all the attention

🖤He doesn’t mean to but with how comfortable you are he can’t help but falling asleep. Has woken himself up laughing a few times. Never knows why but he does this often when snuggling like that

🖤As much as he likes being the big spoon, he has no problem of being the little one and even just as romantic about it. Gives kisses where he can reach which means around your neck and collar bone and he will be damned if he can’t kiss your lips while little spoon!

🖤At times when he’s frustrated from work he doesn’t speak, sometimes doesn’t eat and just walks straight your arms embrace for comfort. Knowing the toll the job takes on him, understanding and the need to feel safe and secure sometimes becomes a first priority when coming home

🖤Has even let you hand feed him because he knows he needs to eat something but is just too exhausted and frustrated to do so. Snack drawer on standby for moments like this

🖤Not for his own sanity but for your own sake as well. To know that when you’re with him you’re safe and very much alive. That you weren’t harmed

🖤Finds cuddling and laying in bed together to be a very intimate thing. Loves to lay there with you by his side and even though he can be very flirty, he prefers to just be there with you. Sometimes he’ll read a book as you lay snuggled up to his chest and if you want to hear the story he’ll be more than glad to read it to you

🖤Even has to get his reading glasses and a cup of his favorite hot tea with honey before doing so. The man means business when it comes to reading

🖤Always showers when he comes home. Sure he knows that you don’t mind it but he would rather smell fresh and clean and ready to fall asleep once he joins you in bed

🖤Will let you pamper him if you so desire to. Out of 141, Alejandro is the most open to self care and loves the quality bonding time of it too. Please brush his hair, apply whatever product you think will make it the most shiny and scratch his back as well

🖤Can’t help but to squeeze you from time to time and whisper how much he loves you with a kiss in between

🖤Rubs your knuckles without thinking about it. Does it so much to the point he subconsciously does it every time

🖤Will answer your “if I was a worm questions” with a full on essay about what he would do….

[writeonwhiskey]

summer in seoul: ch 7 (18+)

a/n: lets throw caution to the wind, yeah? word count: 6,465 [ fic master list ]

You tell yourself you’re not jaded in the slightest when you check your phone for the fifth time since waking up and still haven’t received a text from Chris. It’s a blatant lie. You keep yourself busy—laying out clothes for the author meeting this afternoon and straightening up the hotel room a bit.

Later, you meet with the author as scheduled. You share a meal and discuss contract terms. She’s adamant about not having her story altered, save for necessary line edits. She wants to ensure she has a say in the final book cover, etc., etc. Her demands aren’t outrageous by any means. You think you can get this sorted out for her.

It’s not until you’re lying in bed after having dinner at a nearby restaurant, reading over a potential manuscript that you realize you still haven’t heard from Chris at all today.

 You grab your phone and check his ‘last seen’ status on WhatsApp. He hasn’t even read the message you sent saying you made it back to your room and that was sent before he came up and fucked you. 

You’re tempted to send him a message first but talk yourself out of it. He’s either extremely busy or really has no interest in hearing from you again.

You pretend the latter doesn’t sting.

It winds up being another full day before you hear from him, just when you had started to accept that it was going to be a one-time thing.

You’re exhausted, even though most of the day has been spent sitting in front of your computer. Jet lag is still kicking your ass. And you can’t sleep yet as you have two virtual meetings to attend starting at 10:00am EST, which means it will be 9:00pm KST.

When your phone vibrates and you see Hwarang on the lock screen, your pulse quickens. 

Hwarang [6:30pm] Jack of all trades, master of none but often times better than master of one

The message instantly brings a smile to your face as he references your conversation from the other night. It’s one of those bare minimum things, but it makes you happy that he took the time to look up the quote.

You contemplate your reply. Should you ask about his lack of communication yesterday? In a serious situation the answer would be a definitive yes. But this isn’t serious. This is temporary.

You [6:33pm] Did a bit of reading, I see. 

Hwarang [6:37pm] I’m a top student at google university

You [6:39pm] Oh? What are some google recommended places to check out near where I’m staying, then? I’ve got a free day tomorrow.

You’ve already looked up a few things on google yourself. However, it’s always better to get recommendations from locals, in your experience. You also figure it couldn’t hurt to slip in your availability. 

Hwarang [6:45pm] Hmmm give me a minute Standby

You [6:46pm] Copy

You give him a minute, but eventually several pass without a response. Sometimes you’re too literal for your own good.

You order from a food delivery service and shower—still nothing. You eat and attend the Zoom meetings—nothing. It’s nearly 11:00pm by the time he texts again. And, oh, is it worth the wait.

Hwarang [10:48pm] Summer in Seoul—Itinerary Have an early breakfast in bed 10:00AM - Songwol-dong Fairytale Village  12:30PM - Gyeongbokgung Palace 1:00PM - Bukchon Hanok Village 1:30PM – Light lunch in the village 3:00PM - Myeongdong Shopping District 5:00PM - Jamwon Hangang Park  (have some snacks, no full meals!) 7:00PM - Board sunset Han River cruise 9:00PM - Return to dock, head back to hotel

You are quite literally flabbergasted at his message. Your mouth hangs open while reading it—a fully planned itinerary? You felt pretty confident that your sexual encounter had been enjoyable…but was it enough to warrant all of this? Also, a small (maybe not too small) part of you was hoping that he would just offer to come over.

You [10:53pm] Wow. Thank you for putting that together. I may have some trouble finding each place, but I’ll give it my best shot.

Hwarang [10:55pm] I am nothing, if not prepared A car will pick you up at 8:00 tomorrow morning 

If your mouth had been agape before, it is surely touching the floor now. You tilt your head to the side as you stare at the message. You’re excited at the idea of having a well-planned day exploring Seoul but also confused. It’s a deeply thoughtful and kind gesture but what reason does he have for doing it? You would have preferred to see him again.

You [10:14pm] I hope I didn’t come off as helpless. I’m sure I can find my way around, there’s no need for the car. The itinerary is enough, really. 

Hwarang [10:17pm] No worries Enjoy the day I hope you land that deal  you’re working on

You stare at your phone in unnecessary turmoil. You don’t know what to think of this entire situation. Is this how kind people are in South Korea? You wouldn’t know. Maybe it is customary to welcome strangers you’ve slept with and want them to have a good time in your country. But…no—this is above and beyond that, right?

Hwarang [10:23pm] Don’t overthink it Seriously, just enjoy yourself Get some rest and let me know how it goes

You [10:26pm] I’m a chronic over thinker. I’ll sleep on it. Thank you, Chris.  Goodnight.

You want nothing more than to fall asleep when your head hits the pillow, however for the second time this week, you can’t seem to get thoughts of this man out of your mind.

The following morning, you drag yourself out of bed when your alarm goes off. You order room service, eat breakfast in your pajamas as instructed and then get dressed for the day—a pair of comfortable leggings and a cropped, t-shirt with a hood. When you make it down to the front of the hotel at 8:00am on the dot, a black sedan is waiting there. The driver stands near the rear passenger door. 

“y/n?” he asks, to which you nod. 

He opens the door, and you climb inside, thanking him. There are some alarm bells going off…what if you are wrong about this Chris character? What if the driver is picking you up to take you to some abandoned warehouse to be tortured or murdered?

Perhaps you shouldn’t have fallen asleep to true crime documentaries. Just to be safe, though, as the driver is walking around the car, you quickly make sure you’re able to open the back door. 

“First stop—Songwol-dong Fairytale Village.” The driver says as he gets in the car and starts the engine. 

You nod, thankful that he speaks English well—a fact you can only assume Chris made sure was in place.

The ride there is quite long, about an hour and a half. You pass the time looking out the window or scrolling through your phone. The driver offers some insight on notable buildings you pass, providing a comfortable atmosphere in the car. When you finally arrive, he advises that he will meet you in this same spot at 11:30am.

“Drop a pin to make your way back,” he says as you exit the vehicle. 

“Good idea. Thank you.” You reply before shutting the door. 

The first thing you notice is the brightly colored buildings—a stark contrast to everything you have seen thus far. After stopping at the ticket booth to get a pass, you head inside. It feels like stepping into another world, walking along the teal-colored cobblestone. Each building is painted and depicts some version of a fairytale.

You encounter Snow White, Belle and the Beast, Pinocchio, and many other characters—some you know, and others you’re not too familiar with. You can only assume they are from Korean fairytales. You take a few photos and send them to your mom and Chris. 

You get caught up in the day but mostly stick to the schedule. The itinerary was built to go to the furthest stop first and every place after is back in the direction of the hotel. 

The driver is always right where he says he will be, and you get from one place to the next seamlessly. He even helps you practice some conversational Korean as he drives. By the time you leave the shopping district, and you’ve swiped your card more times than you can remember, you start to feel burnt out. You can’t believe everything you’ve seen and done in one day. But your aching feet are a constant reminder of just how active you have been. 

You must have dozed off at some point during the drive because you wake to the driver calling your name when you’ve arrived at Jamwon Park. 

“Sorry,” you mutter as you sit up and stretch. 

“I will pick you up at 9:00 at the dock to take you back, okay?”

“Ye. Should I take my bags?”

“Aniyo, just leave them,” he says. 

You exit the car and look at the itinerary for exactly what you’re supposed to be doing here. No matter how tired you feel, you want to push through. Chris clearly went through so much to make this day happen, it’s the least you can do. You buy a water bottle and take a seat on the bench, content to just people watch for a while until the cruise departs. 

When you finally board the boat around 6:45pm, they advise you a ticket has already been paid for. You’re escorted inside and taken to your section. You go up to the third floor, walk through the interior of the boat, and stop at a glass door. The employee slides it open, bows slightly and gestures for you to go inside. 

It’s a private balcony. With a soft breeze and a table set for two. You stop in your tracks when you realize you’re not alone. One seat is already occupied by none other than Chris. 

The balcony room is closed off on both sides so the only thing you can see is the river. And each other. 

The employee takes their leave, and Chris removes his face mask, grinning at your surprised reaction. Those gorgeous dimples appear as the setting sun casts a warm glow on his face, and you resist the urge to melt. He gestures for you to take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, taking a seat, smiling—possibly red in the face as all the heat in your body seems to have rushed there.

Him being here caught you so off guard, but you can’t deny that you’re fucking ecstatic. The feeling of being tired has all but vanished from your body. 

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says. “How was everything?” 

“Honestly?” You finally look away from him and out towards the river. The sun glistens on the water in a way that makes it sparkle. “It was amazing. Thank you for planning it.”

“Good,” he replies. “You hungry?”

You let out a soft sigh. While you’re content to let this be whatever this is, you have a lot of questions. Even if you’re just hanging out and having fun, even if what he’s done is by some chance a common courtesy in South Korea…you just want to make sure you are both on the same page. 

“Is this normal?” you blurt out, ignoring his question as you turn back to face him. 

He places both elbows on the table and leans forward with his head on his hands. 

“A dinner cruise?” He arches an eyebrow, but a small smile rests on his lips. “Yeah, they’re pretty standard.”

“You know what I mean…planning out an itinerary for a random girl you hooked up with? Hiring a driver? Surprising them on a dinner cruise?” you clarify. “I’ll admit I was feeling embarrassed after not hearing from you and now all of this is just…a little much? I don’t know…”

He leans back in his seat, watching you for a moment.

“Maybe it’s not normal.” He removes his hat, revealing his dark, wavy curls. “I don’t really know either, to be honest. But I do know that I like being around you, y/n. It’s refreshing. Plus, I felt like shit for taking so long to get back to you. This was my way of making it up.”

You’re relieved that the feeling of comfort is mutual. Whatever time you share will be temporary and short lived…but it could still be fun. At the very least, you can enjoy being with him again tonight without second guessing everything.

“I like being around you too,” you admit. 

He smiles again and places a hand over his chest, “I’m known to have that effect on people.” 

You roll your eyes, and he laughs.

You take in the items on the table and spot bottles of soju in a bucket of ice. Chris stops you and grabs it himself.

He grabs two shot glasses, pours one and slides it to you, then pours another for himself. He stands, motioning toward the balcony rail and you follow. You cheers and drink.

Suddenly the boat jerks into motion and you stumble backwards. Chris grabs you by the waist, pulling you to him. You place a hand on his chest and look up. He’s smiling down at you, dimples on full display again.

“I’ve only had one shot, so I can’t blame the alcohol on this declaration. But I need you to know…you have really nice lips.”

“Oh?“ He playfully puckers them up and you swat at his arm, stepping away from him.

“Did you get my pictures?” you ask. 

“I did. They seemed to come just when I needed a break at work.”

 “Glad to hear it.” You smile. “Speaking of work…you gonna tell me what you do?”

He leans against the railing, eyebrow arched. 

“You gonna tell me what you do for work?”

“Touché,” you reply. “I’m a literary agent. I’m here to sign an author.”

“Really?” He asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “So, you must enjoy reading?”

“I love it.” 

“Do you write too?”

“Not as much as I used to…no time these days,” you shrug. 

“I understand that more than I would like to,” he replies softly.

“And you?”

“I work in music,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’m a producer.”

You try to picture him in a music studio, and it actually isn’t all that hard to envision. You can imagine him in his dark clothing in front of a mixing board, navigating the controls with ease.

“And what does that consist of?”

“Writing lyrics, making beats, mixing, mastering…a little bit of everything really.”

“Jack of all trades,” you say, nodding. “Will you play me something of yours?”

“Maybe one day,” he smirks.

You don’t know if he’s playing coy, but you won’t pry.

You turn to the table to start pouring another shot, but he places his hand on top of yours.

“We’ve barely left the dock, y/n.” He offers a small laugh. “You trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me or something?”

“And what if I am?” you counter. 

His arm slowly moves from your hand, up your arm and to your neck. He cups it firmly and brings his face closer to yours. You half expect him to kiss you right then and there. Your heart starts to race, but you soon feel his breath near your ear instead. 

“I’d have to advise you against it,” he whispers. 

You move your hand up to grip his elbow, leaning into his touch. You should probably heed his warning, but you want to see how far you can take this. You place both hands on his chest and push him until his back is against the rail. You stand on your tiptoes, so your faces are close together. 

“And if I don’t take your advice?” You continue to challenge him, playfully. 

He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. His hand drops from your neck to your waist. Faster than you can register he spins you both around and brings you in front of him. Your chest is now against the rail and you’re facing the river. He presses his hips into you while gripping your waist. 

“Don’t test me, y/n,” his voice is a soft and low warning. “Unless you’re okay with public indecency.”

Your eyes open wide. You want to indulge in the moment but being naked on the balcony of a cruise boat isn’t exactly what you had in mind. Perhaps you shouldn’t try to call his bluff.

You slowly nod in understanding, and he releases your waist. He steps back, and you turn around as he takes his seat at the table again. You frown, still wanting his hands on you.

In your line of work, patience is required. In your personal life, however, you have a hard time waiting for the things you want. And after the day he presented you with and his overall presence here, you really fucking want him. But you can wait…for a while. 

You sit back down.  

“Anyways…” You say casually. “What were we even talking about?”

He laughs heartily and you do too. 

There’s a knock at the door and Chris suddenly stiffens, grabbing his mask to put over his face. The door to your private slice of paradise opens and a waiter with a cart full of food enters. Their back is to you as Chris puts himself together.

You find his behavior peculiar, but you don’t say anything about it. You don’t know what to say about it, truthfully.

“Sillyehabnida,” the waiter says, leaving the cart near the door as they bring several dishes to the table one by one. There are different trays of meat, sides, soup, and dessert. 

When the waiter leaves, Chris removes his mask again. 

“Sorry,” he says with a sigh. 

The apology feels heavier than necessary, but you again choose not to acknowledge it. If he is a music producer, perhaps he doesn’t want any unnecessary attention. You turn your attention to the food in front of you instead. Since his instructions forbade you from having a big lunch, you’re beyond hungry. 

He grabs the plates and places one in front of you and another in front of himself, followed by the bowls. You take care of the cutlery—chopsticks and spoons for both of you.

You remain quiet as you eat, just taking in the view and enjoying the meal. The only sounds are those of you appreciating the delicious meal provided. You eventually talk about a few random topics—he apparently doesn’t watch much television and really does spend most of his time in a studio. You provide him an abridged version of what’s happening with the author you’re trying to sign, and he talks about some of the artists that have inspired him. 

At a certain point he asks about your family—you tell him you’re an only child and that it’s just you and your mother now. He’s interested in the fact that you’re from New York but don’t carry much of an accent. He has a younger sister and brother who live in Australia with his mom and dad that he talks about adoringly.

It must be hard to be separated from them. Perhaps he’s lonely here too and that’s why he took a liking to you.

When you’re done eating and have finished almost a bottle of soju, you feel satisfied—right on the brink of being stuffed. You pour another round of shots—you clink your glasses together and drink. He stands and motions for you to join him at the railing again.

The sun has sunk completely below the horizon, and the stars are twinkling above you. The boat has already turned around and is headed back toward the dock. You know your time with him is coming to an end for the night and the thought makes you sad.

Will you see him again?

Your elbow rests on the rail, your head in your hand. You’re more captivated by him than the sights around you. It takes him a few seconds to realize you’re staring. 

“Are you real?” you ask.

He pokes at his chest before responding, “I think so.”

“Well then,” you begin, “I should let strangers break my phone in the airport more often.”

“There’s no guarantee they’d be even half as cool as me,” he says with a shrug. But he can’t keep a straight face for long and chuckles. 

You want to commit the way he looks right now to memory. His dark hair is disheveled from being under his hat and you still have the urge to run your hands through it. His russet brown eyes have a twinkle to them when he smiles—you want to make him smile more just so you can see them light up. Soju aside, you feel like…

“Hang on a second,” you say, reaching for your phone on the table. You type what you’re looking for into google, turn the volume down low and let the sound play in your ear. 

He looks utterly perplexed, and you can’t blame him. You listen to the recording a few times before building up the confidence to repeat it aloud. You’re aware you’re only here for a short amount of time, but with the help of your good friend soju, you feel encouraged to make the most of whatever time you have with him.

There’s no harm in being open and direct—so long as you keep yourself in check. 

“Joahaeyo,” you say, sheepishly. 

He laughs and places his hand over his face. It’s not a laugh that makes you feel self-conscious, though, so you don’t regret your words. 

“Jinjja?” He asks with a soft smile. You scramble to look up what he said but he uses his hand to stop you. “Really? Jinjja?”

You understand what he means then and think about answering him back. He already knows the answer. Before you can contemplate your actions any further, you step closer to him and put your hands around his neck. You only have two days left in Seoul and want to spend tonight beneath or on top of him. Either way is fine. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head, waiting for your lips to finally meet again. 

They never do.

Instead, you feel his lips press against your forehead. Your eyes snap back open and you feel several emotions at once with embarrassment and rejection at a tie for the top spot. You bite your lip and look away towards the river.

You’re completely out of your element here. You must have read every single signal wrong because what the fuck? 

He hooks a finger under your chin, turning your head back to him. 

“Joahaeyo,” he says reassuringly. His eyes bore deeply into yours and there’s not a single trace of insincerity which only further adds to your confusion. “I have to be careful with you.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but the sound of the boat horn lets you know you’ve reached the dock and provides a much-needed distraction. You take a small step back from him and he must sense your apprehension, judging by the look that overtakes his features. 

“Thanks again, Chris, for today—for tonight.” You speak up before he can say anything.

A part of you doesn’t want him to address what happened. Perhaps you should have been more patient. You feel like an idiot. Maybe it’s better to leave some things unsaid. Maybe it’s better to just accept and be thankful for what today was—an amazing experience exploring a beautiful country. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“It was my pleasure,” he replies after a moment.

There’s a hint of sadness in his tone.

An announcement plays overhead in Korean. You assume it’s advising passengers to disembark. You walk around the table and grab your bag, checking the surface to make sure you’re not leaving anything behind. In all honesty, you’re looking for any distraction to avoid meeting his gaze. You can feel him watching you. 

“The driver will meet you in the same spot,” he informs you. “I’ll see you later.”

You finally bring your eyes up to meet his and take one last, long look at him before simultaneously nodding and shrugging your shoulders.

He shot you down but still plans to see you again?

As you exit the balcony room, though, you doubt you’ll have the nerve to see him after this.

It’s loud on the inside of the boat, and you immediately miss the quiet of your secluded area. However, you’re able to let out a breath of relief as you walk towards the exit and put some distance between you. 

You pull out your phone as you walk back to meet the driver, taking it off ‘Do Not Disturb’. You see a missed text and call from the author you’ve been working with. You mentally kick yourself for missing her and play the voicemail as you reach the car. The driver opens the door, and you slide into the backseat.

“y/n—it’s Moira,” her familiar voice says on the playback. “I’ve been thinking about this whole process and, given your commitment to me and my book, I want you here in person when my lawyer comes out. Talk to Mr. Reeds, or I will, if necessary, but I won’t trust anyone else but you with this. Call me when you can, whatever time.”

You can’t help the smile that takes over your face—the level of trust she has put in you is not something you take lightly. You are a little concerned with what Mr. Reeds will say as this is not a common request, though.

But, given the millions the company stands to make from signing her, you think you can convince him. Plus, you’ll still be available to work on other tasks remotely. 

You check the time and realize it’s only 5:00 AM where he is, but you’re sure he’ll answer. He’s usually up around 4:00 AM. You give him a call and he picks up on the third ring.

“Mr. Reeds? Sorry to call so early,” you say.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“Yes, fine—great, actually. Moria has asked me to stay in Korea until her lawyer comes out in a few weeks. She’d like to continue ironing out the details to have the contract fully ready for review when he’s here.”

“Hmmm,” he’s silent for a moment, probably running numbers in his head or something. He has to consider the costs of flying you back home for a few weeks then sending you back here, then back home again. Versus just continuing to pay for your room throughout that time. “See if you can negotiate in the rights for any future movies or TV series that the book generates. There’s some leeway for creative control of the scripts for her but keep it tight, okay?”

You’re grinning from ear to ear again. 

“Yes, Mr. Reeds,” you reply. 

“How are the accommodations? Do you need something more comfortable for the extended stay?” he asks. 

“No, sir. The hotel is fine—” you pause and tense up as the car door opens. You then see Chris poke his head inside to check that you’re there before he gets in. A look of confusion remains plastered to your face. “—I’ll confirm dates with Moira and send you an email.”

“Sounds good. Take your time with this—we might just have the next J.K. Rowling on our hands if this is done right.”

 Chris nods to the driver and the car takes off. He once again removes his mask, rubbing behind his ears as they’re freed from the constraints. 

“I will, Mr. Reed. Thank you for trusting me with this—I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Talk soon.”

He ends the call, and you bring the phone down to your lap and just stare at it for a minute. You’re feeling a mix of emotions—excitement with a new challenge at work and confusion as to why Chris is now sitting next to you.

You hear a whirring sound and look up to see the partition slowly moving up. You didn’t even know that was an option the entire day. Not that you would have used it.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

You take a deep breath and nod, turning your head to look at him. The embarrassment of your prior conversation has momentarily taken a seat on the back burner. You need to unload the news to someone.

“More than okay,” you say before launching into an explanation of everything that just transpired. 

“That’s amazing, y/n—I’m happy for you,” he replies genuinely. 

“Thanks.” You lean back into the seat and close your eyes, still smiling. You’ve worked your ass off under your higher ups—this is your first solo endeavor and it’s going better than you could have imagined. You let out a small sigh and bring yourself back to the present—this car ride with the man you left on the boat after expecting him to kiss you. 

You open your eyes and turn to look at him.

“About earlier—”

“I want to—”

You both start speaking at the same time, then stop. 

“You go first,” you say, wanting to hear him out. 

He contemplates his words for a moment. Then speaks. 

“I’m usually a pretty reasonable and responsible person—in all aspects,” he begins, “but I kinda feel like throwing caution to the wind when I’m with you. It feels reckless…or maybe impulsive is a better word. I work crazy hours and travel often, so I’m not really built for anything more than a one-night stand.”

It’s dark in the back of the car, but each time you pass under a streetlight, his face is illuminated for a moment. He looks concerned, and you don’t know if that should comfort or worry you.

“When I want something, I give my undying attention and devotion to it,” he continues, “I’m passionate about it, protective over it…so I don’t let myself get to that point about anything that’s not work related, you know? But with you? Seeing you again today is already outside of the norm, and I pushed for this, I made it happen. I wanted to see you. I feel like I need to have you again and that scares the shit outta me.”

His words come out in a bit of a rush, but you can tell this is something he’s thought hard about. Still, you’re glad to hear some of your own thoughts reflected in his words. 

“I mean this as no shade or disregard to you or your feelings, but I can’t let anything or anyone, jeopardize the work I’m doing.” His tone is low and firm. 

A silence falls over you for a moment as you process everything he said. You feel butterflies in your stomach about some of it, but your brain quickly pulls you back to reality.

He’s clearly saying he has some kind of feelings for you. But, the more important thing is that he doesn’t want whatever these feelings are to get in the way of his goals. 

“I completely understand,” you finally say. “I’ve thought about you more than I care to admit these past couple days, but I’m here for work—it’s my top priority too.”

“What do we do about it?” He asks. 

The silence engulfs you once more as you weigh out the options.

“I’m here for another couple of weeks…we can enjoy time with each other and still be aware and responsible enough to not let our feelings get in the way of our respective careers. If either of us start to feel anything too deeply, we can stop?” You say, though it comes out more like a question because you’re unsure if it’s a terrible idea or not. “I’m a big girl, Chris. I can resist falling for your charms.”

You add the last bit for good measure, but it could be a lie.

Your last relationship had ended so terribly that you hadn’t considered taking anyone seriously in years. The thought had never crossed your mind with Tinder matches nor with Chris.

You can’t imagine being in a long-term committed relationship and really putting yourself out there again. Anytime a guy even mentioned becoming official you’d freak out and get the fuck out of dodge.

That being said, you feel confident you will be able to keep yourself in check with Chris, as you always have in the past. 

“I’m not worried about that,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Responsible fun with no strings attached?” you say, extending your hand. 

He laughs even louder this time, and it makes you smile. 

“Respectful and responsible fun,” he repeats, shaking your hand.

You expect him to pull away after a moment, but he doesn’t. He pulls you closer, and his lips are on yours before you even realize what’s happening. You feel the adrenaline course through you at the sudden, intimate contact. 

Your body doesn’t tense up—it has the opposite reaction. You soften against him and embrace the feel of his lips against yours again, finally.

Caution be gone. 

If you’re doing this, you are going to do it to the fullest. You are going to indulge. 

You break the kiss, unbuckle your seat belt and swing your leg over his so that you’re straddling him. His hands immediately go to your waist and squeeze. You grind slowly against him with a teasing glance before flicking your hand up and knocking his hat off his head. 

He tilts his head back in laughter and you take the opportunity to put your mouth on his exposed neck, licking and kissing it. You slide your hands into his hair and curl your fingers into fists, giving the strands a tug to keep his head tilted back. You move your mouth to his, exhilarated by his soft moan that escapes into your mouth. 

He grips your waist tighter, and you respond by rolling your hips into his. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and when his lips part, you slide your tongue inside. Your tongues clash together as he moves his hands up your side and to your breasts. He pushes up the cropped shirt you’re wearing, his hands cool against your warm skin.

He yanks down the cup of your bra, and you lean back, using your hands in his hair to guide his mouth to your breast. As you did with his lips, he lightly bites your nipple, eliciting a moan from you. You tilt your head back as he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and biting intermittently. 

You grab his other hand and guide it to the waistband of your leggings. For a moment you regret the tight bottoms as they’ll only make this more challenging. You pull at the waistband, stretching it out so there’s room for his hand to enter. He directs his attention to the other breast as he slides his hand down until his fingers are touching your pussy. 

“Fuck,” he groans, feeling how wet he has made you. “You’re so fucking wet, y/n.”

His fingers slide back and forth against your clit and your hips are now moving of their own accord in response to him. He slouches down in the seat to allow his hand better access and slips his fingers inside you. You moan at the feeling and place your hands on his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours. 

Your lips are reunited only for a second when something switches in his head and he stops the kiss. He takes his hand from inside your pants and runs his fingers, wet with your own slick, across your lips before kissing you again, lightly sucking the juices off. 

You nearly lose it. 

He turns you around and you realize what he wants. You lean back against him and pull your bottoms down below your knees as he unbuttons his own and slides them down. He positions you above him and pauses for a moment. You look back, exasperated and slightly annoyed at the delay. 

He reaches over to the door and presses a button several times that makes the volume of the music higher. When his hand is back on you, he squeezes your hips and slams you down on to him. You let out a gasp, feeling his cock inside you again. 

You move your hands to the tinted partition window and use it to help bounce yourself back against him. His hands let go of your waist as you take on more of the work. They slide up and down your back, caressing you as you fuck him.

The car slows to a stop, but it isn’t until the light above you flickers on and off three times that you both freeze. Your eyes widen, and you turn around to look at him—his expression mirrors yours. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

“I thought we were,” you respond coyly.

He gives you a lazy smile, pulls you down on him slowly one last time before lifting you up and off him. You regretfully pull your underwear and leggings back up and sit on the seat as you adjust your bra. He fixes his pants and has to readjust himself, so his stiff cock is not noticeable. 

It feels as if the driver knows what’s happening because he’s taking his sweet time opening the door and you’re so thankful for it. You grab your bag, and Chris puts his mask and hat back on. When the door opens the cool night air enters the back of the car and you lock eyes with the driver before immediately averting your gaze. He knows. He has to know.

As you step out of the car, you see a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He’s holding your shopping bags from earlier in his hand and you reach for them but, once again, Chris stops you and grabs them himself. 

“I gotta make sure your merchandise makes it inside safely. Can’t be too careful out here.”

You squint at him, knowing he’s got a wide grin beneath his mask from the way his eyes are wrinkled at the corners. He says something to the driver in Korean and the driver closes the door. He bows towards both of you before getting back in the car. 

“Plus,” Chris says as you walk towards the hotel entrance. “I never leave anything unfinished.”

a/n: i really think chan would be that thoughtful and provide a full itinerary 😂 and love the theory that there's a code between drivers and passengers with the music and lights haha because this has gotta happen IRL, right??? Oh and the kids are gonna have their real introduction soon! [ read chapter eight here ] (coming 6/7)

[momhwa-agenda]

Drive me crazy | Octoberfest Day 3

Pairing - boyfriend!Eric x fem!reader

Drink - Martini with a side of whiskey (aka Established relationship & Bondage)

Summary - Eric has always been the kind of boyfriend who loves to spoil you, indulging your desires without hesitation. Tonight, he proves once again that he knew exactly how to keep things exciting.

Word Count - 2.7K

Warnings - SMUT (Minors 18+ DNI!!!), use of restraints, orgasm denial, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, fingering, unprotected sex, backshots, daddy kink, creampie, cockwarming, petnames (baby and darling)

Author’s note - Proofread this once help. My first entry for OctoberFest with friends! I had the pic of the bracelets on standby for 2 years and I finally get to use them for a fic hahasdks.

Taglist - @daisyvisions @midnightfantasiez @snowflakewhispers @kitschun @nyu-topia

⇀ OctoberFest Masterlist

Eric’s thoughts were anything but formal.

His gaze drifted more often than it should, not to the grand chandeliers or the sea of glamorous people—but to you. Specifically, the bracelets adorning your wrists. They seemed innocent enough to anyone else, but all that was missing was the chain linking them together.

He remembered the story behind them, the reason you’d been drawn to those delicate chains from Bijoux Indiscrets the first time you saw them. He could practically hear your teasing voice telling him: “They’re more than just accessories, babe.”

You moved closer to him, your arm brushing his. The sultry cut of your dress revealed just enough to send his mind racing, but it was those bracelets, softly jingling with your movements, that truly got under his skin tonight.

You felt his eyes on you, knowing full well you were the cause of his distraction. A coy smile tugged at your lips as you continued to mingle, pretending not to notice the way his fingers twitched, as if he were already imagining slipping them under the satin fabric of your gown.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his voice a low rumble. “We need to go.” The words were edged with desire, making your heart skip a beat.

You looked up at him, feigning innocence. “It’s too early to leave...” But the knowing glint in your eyes was pretty clear to Eric what game you were playing.

He didn’t answer. He simply took your hand and guided you toward the elevator. As the doors closed behind you both, the air between you became thick with tension. The moment you were alone, his restraint crumbled. Eric pressed you against the mirrored wall, his hands finding their way to your waist, your bracelets jingling as your arms circled his neck.

“Naughty girl, you did this on purpose,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough with want. “You know what those bracelets do to me.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you nipped playfully at his bottom lip. “I had no idea,” you teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “They matched the dress.”

He growled softly, gripping your neck in a way that was rough yet with a hint of gentleness. His teeth grazed your skin before he peppered hungry kisses along your sensitive flesh.

When the elevator dinged at your floor, he reluctantly pulled away, his breath ragged. But then he flashed that charming, devilish smile you adored. “I've got something to show you.”

He laced his fingers with yours, leading you down the hallway, until he stopped in front of your hotel suite. With a flourish, he unlocks the door, revealing your hotel suite, except the sight of which left you speechless. The room was now bathed in soft candlelight, rose petals scattered across the plush bed, and a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.

You turned to him, stunned. “Eric…”

He grinned, pulling you into his arms. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

Your heart swelled as you looked around the room, then back at him. “This is…” you break off, overwhelmed with emotion.

“You didn’t think I would forget did you?” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “How could I forget the best day of my life?”

Your eyes shimmered as you smiled up at him. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours.

“Now I feel bad, my outfit is nothing compared to this” you murmured against his lips.

He laughed softly, you nervously fiddled with the collar of his silk shirt. “The outfit was amazing, sweetheart. But you’ll be needing something stronger than these,” he holds your wrists up touching the cool gold accessories.

Before you can say anything further, your boyfriend leads you towards the bed. A box sits waiting for you.

“Go on. Open it” Eric whispers in your ear.

As you unwrap the bow, you uncover a familiar choker that you came across online.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you run your fingers over the cool metal. You take the choker out of the box, the chains that droop elegantly around the hoops send a ripple of arousal through you.

“You didn’t. This can’t be…” Your voice falters, filled with disbelief and excitement.

“There are bracelets to match” Eric just says behind you.

The words barely have time to settle before you turn, heart racing, and capture his lips in a kiss that is as desperate as it is tender. Your fingers cling to him, pulling him closer, the weight of the choker in your hand forgotten for a moment. His lips respond eagerly, meeting yours with the kind of hunger that says he's been waiting for this.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. Your chest rises and falls, but it's his eyes that hold you in place, dark and intense, filled with something possessive and unrelenting.

Eric’s hand rises slowly, cradling your face with such tenderness that it sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you lean into the warmth of his touch. The weight of the choker, the symbolic gesture of ownership, and the thought of him using it on you makes your knees feel weak.

“Tell me….how do you want to start?”

“I want…” You know he was going to give you anything you desired yet there you were, pleading with your eyes “I want to wear them tonight.”

You remove your dress and the bracelets, leaving you bare, save for the lacy thong. Tugging on his shirt collar, you pull him down gently until he’s lying on top of you. His weight is warm and grounding against your body. Your hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, matching your own racing pulse.

“Claim every part of me, Eric…Until I can’t think of anything else. I trust you.” You spread your arms on either side of the bed, inviting him to cuff your hands with the restraints attached to the bedpost.

His lips curved into a slow smile, but his eyes never left yours, searching, reading every emotion that flickered across your face. “Just tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “I’ll stop the moment you want me to.”

You nodded, heart thudding in your chest, as he took the cuffs from the box. His fingers brush your wrist as he takes your hand, lifting it gently, his touch reverent as if he’s handling something fragile.

The soft clink of metal fills the quiet room as he fastens the first cuff around your wrist, the leather smooth and snug against your skin. The sensation is strange, unfamiliar, but it doesn’t frighten you. Instead, it makes your pulse quicken with a heady mix of trust and desire. You watch him as he moves with deliberate slowness, ensuring that the leather isn’t too tight, that you’re still comfortable.

With the first cuff in place, he stretches your arm carefully toward the bedpost, securing it there. You feel the tension in your body, not from discomfort, but from the raw vulnerability of it. Your breath hitches as he moves to the other wrist, repeating the process, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that contrasts with the tension in the room.

You then sit up a little as Eric gently lifts the choker, bringing it up to your throat. His hands are steady as he clasps it behind your neck, but you feel the tremor of his breath, betraying the desire simmering beneath his calm exterior.

The chains brush your skin, and you gasp softly, your body reacting to the subtle sensation. His fingers linger at your neck, tracing the line of the chain with a deliberate slowness that sends a wave of heat rolling through you, before he twirls the material around his finger.

“Does baby want to be choked?”

“Yes, please” you gasp. Eager to test the choker, Eric tugs on the chain, causing it to tighten around your neck. The sudden pressure catches you off guard, momentarily stealing your breath. Yet, a moan escapes your lips, surprising even you. Your reaction—both the sound and the look on your face—sends Eric's pulse racing. A wicked grin spreads across his face; he was going to relish having you at his mercy.

“Do you think you deserve my cock?” he gets off the bed momentarily to strip down the rest of his clothes, without taking his eyes off of you. Once he pulls his briefs down, the delicious monster cock you love so much slaps against his abs. You gulp at how turned on he was.

He hasn’t even touched you but it was also the way his eyes roamed over the sight of you lying ready for him. God you looked beautiful and perfect to him.

“I want…very much, daddy. I need your cock in my mouth, please” You beg.

Eric crawls over you, until he was straddling you enough that he slowly rubbed his member over your stomach. He kisses your lips, fueled by the hunger that’s been building between you all night, as his hands roam down to grope your breast.

He breaks the kiss, cradling your face once more. You roll out your tongue, licking his palm mischievously. That was it for him to push himself into your mouth. Satisfied groans leave your mouth and his. With Eric, it was the feeling of being inside your warm mouth, while for you it was the need to taste every inch of him like a quiet ache that would never go away. You pride yourself in making Eric feel desired, you love every aspect of his body. You loved his dick so much, and you would give him everything regardless of what position he had you in.

Eric then began to thrust in you, testing your limits by pushing a little further. You didn’t let him down as you lifted your head, trying to take all of him, alternating from sucking him slow, to hard and fast. Eric’s head started to feel heavy, he gripped the headboard rails as he continued to push himself in and out of your mouth. The effect you had on him was slowly pushing him to the edge, but he didn’t want this to end so soon. He pulls out from your mouth and you whine.

“Sorry darling but it’s my turn. I want to taste you now” he leaves a quick kiss on your chest before flipping you over, so you were in an all fours position, with your ass up.

You didn’t realize how wet you’ve gotten the whole time, because once Eric rips your lace panties off of you and presses a soft kiss on your folds, you cry upon hearing the sounds of your soaked core mixed with Eric’s groans. From finally feeling touched from where you needed him most.

“Fuck, sucking me off turned you on this much, huh?” Eric mutters, and all you can do is moan as he goes back to licking and ravishing your sweet pussy. As if it wasn’t enough, Eric slaps your ass, the sting makes you arch your back. You were dripping with so much need that your knees threatened to buckle, but it felt so good that you just pushed your butt into the air. 

“More, daddy please” you whimper, gripping a fistful of the bedsheet.

He slaps your ass once more, it’s harder this time, earning another cry from you. Eric returns to licking your clit while shoving two fingers in your cunt incessantly, the squelching noises turning him on so hard. He needed you like this, he could make you come apart multiple times, but there was something he enjoyed about playing with your pussy so much before entering you.

Once he felt you tighten around his two digits, he knew you were close. He pulls his fingers out of you completely, sucking them as you whine again from the loss of contact.

“You think you’re ready for my cock now?” He asks.

“Y-yes!” you attempt in the daze he put you in. “I’m daddy’s good girl. I’m ready for anything daddy wants!”

With that he smirks, aligning his cock teasingly on your folds and he groans with how wet you are, it’s so much to coat him. Just as he wanted. You whine from the teasing and Eric spanks you to behave.

“Be patient, darling,” he warns.

He enters you with ease, you were soaking so much, honestly both of you could come here and now. Instead Eric holds his breath, pushing in and out of you slowly. He holds you by the waist, pulling you closer to him that your back is against his chest. His breath warm against your neck sends shivers all over you. Your eyes lock, and you can’t help but smile at the expression in his gaze, as he loosens the chain of the choker; adjusting its position so the string of chains is resting on the back of your neck.

“This just like what you imagined, yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and rough. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you of the strength he holds.

You nod at him “Everything and more.”

Eric presses a soft kiss on your forehead, before he presses one hand on your back for you to bend down for him again. He smooths his hand over your back before spanking you once more, all while snapping his cock back in, you could swear his balls slapped against your pussy.

His thrusts start to grow rough and animalistic. You’re practically burying your face into the soft mattress, which muffles your cries. If only you could see how you both looked right now, your mind would go haywire.

“Don’t muffle your sounds now, baby,” he leans, reaching down, sweeping your hair over your shoulder, exposing the nape of your neck. “I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

He pulls on the chain, causing you to arch your back. You felt your heart race, the intensity of the moment leaving you lightheaded with desire. Eric swears he’s heard your cries of pleasure so many times, it’s music to his ears. But the moan you let out just now was something else. It’s beautiful and sexy. All this from the choker clasping tight on your neck, mixed with the feeling of his steady thrusts in your pussy.

All this for him. It drove him so mad with desire his eyes rolled back as he continued rolling his hips, while holding on to the chain.

“Is this too much for my girl?” he grunted.

“No! It's perfect! P-please…don’t stop! Not until I’ve cum hard on your cock” you manage through strained breaths, the choker was squeezing your throat but it was just the right amount that added to your arousal.

Eric fucks his cock relentlessly into you until you’re screaming when your climax shatters you hard. You drop yourself on the mattress, gripping the sheets as Eric continues fucking you through it; your soaked cunt helping him chase his own release. You were so dazed from your climax yet the way he roughly pounded himself into you, your eyes widened as you began to feel a second climax threatening to snap.

You come a second time, and your cries meld with his in an erotic symphony, filling the room.

“Fuck…” his breath ragged, as he leans down pulling you to his embrace. Eric held you close, peppering soft kisses from your neck to your shoulder. His cock still inside you. You could feel the mix of your juices with his spilling a little on the bed, but it didn’t matter. You were high on cloud nine to even care.

“Baby, are you still with me?” he whispers in your ear, while caressing your stomach.

“Fuck me like that again, okay,” you whimpered. Eric chuckles in response. Of course you wanted more, you always did. Even though you were clearly out of strength and needed a break, you’d always ask for more.

“As long as you want, baby, as long as you want” he reassures you.

[cevansbrat0007]

Cross-Country Christmas

Summary: When Ari is left stranded at the airport on Christmas Eve, you find yourself in need of a little holiday miracle...

Warnings: Light Angst, Mature Themes, Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Holiday Themes, Smut, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec), Spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI

A/N: Full story! Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

2:00pm, Christmas Eve – Bell’s Creek, Texas

You couldn’t believe this was happening. After spending the last several days out of town with his family, Ari had been due to fly back to Bell’s Creek tonight so that the two of you could spend the holiday together. 

Your first Christmas as a couple. 

But that was before the surprise arrival of the severe winter storm that was currently sweeping through the Midwest, resulting in numerous canceled flights that had left thousands stranded across the country – including your handsome Bounty Hunter.

“Are they at least trying to get you on another flight, or are you just shit out of luck?” Putting the phone on speaker, you set it on the counter so that you can go back to rolling out more dough for your next pie.

“Well, the airline is being a little evasive.” Ari admits, blowing out a heavy breath. You can practically hear him raking an agitated hand through his chestnut locks. “But with this storm comin’ in, I’m gettin’ the sense that I’m most likely fucked until tomorrow. Maybe a little longer.” 

“This is exactly why you should’ve just stayed at your sister’s place.” You sniffle, blinking away tears as you wield your rolling pin with a touch more force than necessary. 

“Bird.” You can tell he’s doing his best to keep hold of his patience. 

“Oh, don’t “Bird” me.”  

“Bird.” This time your name is spoken with a slightly more authoritative note. It’s one that your body recognizes almost immediately. “Please don’t start with me, okay? I’m not in the mood.”

Too bad you weren’t neccessarily in the mood to obey today. 

“I’m just saying.” You continue, feeling more pissed at mother nature than anything else. “If you would’ve stayed with Evelyn and the kids at least you would’ve been able to be with your family on Christmas.” You toss the pin in the sink, wincing at the loud clatter it makes. “Now you’ll probably be stuck all alone, sleeping with a bunch of grumpy strangers at the flippin’ airport!”    

“That’s enough of the sass, baby.” Ari grunts. 

“It’s not sass if it’s the truth, Ari.” You hum, peering over at the apples you’ve got soaking in a bowl filled with 7-Up. 

“Sweetheart.” The soft rebuke rolls easily off his tongue. “I made a promise to spend Christmas Day with you – all wrapped up in you – and it’s one I intend to keep. Somehow.” He tacks on the last bit, which unknowingly brings a smile to your lips. 

“At this rate, you’re gonna be spending at least part of the holiday sleeping at your gate.” 

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath. 

“Want me to call the airline, sugar?” You ask as you go to rest your elbows on the counter so you can attempt to stretch the muscles in your lower back. “See if I can fight with ‘em enough so they at least put you up in a nice hotel so that you can get a good night’s rest?”  

“Nah, baby. They got me on standby and all that. I’m trying to get away from this shithole as soon as possible.” While you appreciated his determination, not even your big, bad Bounty Hunter could beat a snowstorm. 

“Hey! Omaha is not a shithole.” You chuckle, feeling a little defensive on behalf of a city you’d never visited. “I looked ‘em up. They’ve got some amazing museums.” You fish an apple slice out of the bowl and pop it into your mouth, chewing slowly. “I could have a good time in a place like that.” 

“Then get your pretty ass down here already and we’ll take every goddamned tour they’ve got.”

“Would if I could, Beast.” You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. “I’d give anything to have you back in Bell’s Creek with me. I miss you taking up all the space in my tiny kitchen while you help yourself to my treats.” 

“I know. I promise I’ll get there. Just do me a favor and don’t start looking for my replacement just yet, okay?”

Your stomach dips when you realize he’s about to say goodbye. Which is fine because you also still had a ton of baking to do. And while you still weren’t quite sure if you were going to follow through with your original Christmas Day dinner plans, the last thing you wanted was for Ari to hear you crying at the unfairness of it all over the phone. 

It would only make him feel worse than he already did. 

“I’m not sure if anyone could ever replace you, not that I would ever try.” You tell him honestly. “I love you too much.”

“Damn right you do.” Comes your man’s rich, self-assured reply. “No better feeling in the world than being loved by my Duchess.” The warmth in his tone has butterflies stirring in your belly. 

They were the good kind of butterflies – the ones only Ari could cause.

“Go get some food and then call me in a bit.” You glance at the clock to check the time. At 2:06pm, there was no way that all hope was lost just yet. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll be an update.”

“Sure thing, baby. But the same goes for you. And don’t just snack – eat something real for me.” His bossy tone has your pulse kicking up. 

“You didn’t say please.” Your hand goes to cover your mouth as you tamp down a playful giggle.

“Mmm.” Ari groans as he moves to stretch out the kinks in his back. At least that was what you imagined he was doing. “Could you please do me a kindness and keep feeding those curves? I reckon I’m gonna need a little taste of something sweet when I walk through that front door. You with me?”

“I–I’m with you.” You stammer slightly, your mouth suddenly dry. Another effect that man seemed to have on you. “And I promise I’ll eat. Now hang up with me and go make some friends or something.”

“Thank you, sweet girl. But we’ve been over this, and I’m pretty sure you’re the only friend I need.” He quips rather smugly, his voice deepening ever so slightly. 

“Ari…” This had the makings of one of the older, more ridiculous arguments you’d had written all over it. 

“Because the way I see it, we’re best friends.” He continues almost as if you hadn’t spoken. “What with all of the sleepovers, and the hair braiding, and don’t get me started on how many times you’ve kept me up late so you could make sure I’ve had my fill of all that sweetness you’ve got between –”

“Okay, okay, okay!” You cut him off with a hiss, not missing the way he laughs. “Fine, we can be best friends as long as you work on getting your cute butt home to me before Christmas, alright?” 

“Yes, Duchess.” He finally replies after taking some time to collect himself. “You have my word I’ll keep working on that too. Just hold tight and I’ll be in touch with an update as soon as I have one.”

“Thank you, Beast. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

“You can count on it.” Is all he says before the line goes dead, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. 

If Ari couldn’t make it back for Christmas, you would be devastated. Here you were, finally feeling safe in a secure and loving relationship, and now there was a strong possibility that you both might be forced to celebrate the holiday hundreds of miles apart from each other. 

“God, I can feel a headache coming on.” You mumble as your fingers go to massage your temples. 

8:30am, Christmas Day - Bell’s Creek, Texas

“I promise I’ll be fine, Beast.” Drying your tears, you crumble up your tissues in your fist before discarding them in favor of taking a sip of your coffee. “Like you just said, there’ll be other holidays. And certainly other Christmases.”

Ari was still stuck in Omaha. And while you had suspected this call was coming, you hadn’t been prepared for how much the disappointment would affect you.

By all accounts, your Bounty Hunter appeared to be in good spirits, albeit a little tired. He was still on standby, even though all flights were still grounded indefinitely. But you’d at least been happy to hear that he’d somehow managed to catch a few hours of sleep. 

Not only that, but he’d also made a new friend in some guy named Clint. They apparently had a number of things in common, with the most important being that they’d both served overseas. Ari had also alluded to his new buddy being in law enforcement as well. 

But if you were being honest, you’d been so focused on trying to sound positive that you hadn’t quite been able to focus on his words as much as you would’ve liked. Thankfully, Ari seemed keen on having a conversation – even if it came across a bit one-sided.

“The airline keeps offering to put us up for the night. Anyone who accepts will be guaranteed a spot on one of the first flights out.” Ari coughs softly before continuing. “However, if you’re willing to wait a little bit there’s talk about them sweetening the deal with some sort of voucher or somethin’, plus miles and all that shit.” 

“Oh?” Is all you can manage, forcing yourself to take another pull of your now lukewarm coffee.

“Yeah. So, Clint and I were thinking…” He trails off, briefly leaning away from the receiver to comment on something you couldn’t see.

“You two were thinking…what?” Your next sip of coffee tastes surprisingly bitter on your tongue. Maybe you should dump out the pot and brew a fresh one. 

“That we should take ‘em up on their offer and just ride this storm out. We take the points, get the voucher, and then maybe in a month or two, we go on a vacation together somewhere nice.” 

“You and Clint?!” You screech, accidentally knocking over your mug in the process. “Shit!” You scramble out of your chair to grab a dish towel and hurriedly mop up the mess. 

“Hate to break it to ya, baby, but Clint’s not really my type.” The Bounty Hunter chuckles into the phone. “I was talking about me and you, Bird. We can pick a destination and have ourselves a holiday do-over.”

A beat goes by before you respond the only way that makes any real, logical sense. Even though it seems to take every last bit of your resolve.  

“Okay.” Your voice comes out small and resigned. 

“Aw now, don’t fret. I’ll be home soon.” Ari does his best to reassure you. “And once I’m back, we will spend every waking minute making up for lost time. You have my word.”

Well, when he put it like that…

“I guess we can hold off for a little while longer.” You sniff, wishing you could just go back to bed and sleep until tomorrow. “But you had better keep your promise, Beast. Otherwise I’m gonna have to track down Santa and ask him for a new man.” 

Your half-hearted attempt at humor elicits a short bark of laughter from Ari which, in turn, makes you smile as well. Sometimes pushing his buttons a little managed to bring joy to your life. 

“Try it, sweet Bird, and I’m telling you right now that I’ll have you in my truck and over my knee before you make it outta the next county.” Comes his gruff response, clearly not enjoying the image of you hanging off another fella’s arm. 

You know without asking that he’s probably not kidding – so you decide to leave it alone. If he wanted to thump his chest a little, then you’d let him. 

“It was a joke.” You amend when the line falls silent. Standing, you pad towards the fridge on bare feet, stopping once you reach the doors. Yanking one open, you survey the contents, silently wondering if you could even be bothered enough to cook today. 

Granted, the spiral cut ham you’d purchased from the butcher wouldn’t take very long in the oven. All you had to do now was throw together the glaze and it would be ready to do its thing. Plus, you’d already baked the pies yesterday, which meant that all that was left for the day was the cake.   

“Joking about my replacement isn’t funny.” Ari growls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Especially when I can’t be there in person to plead my case.” 

You blow out a frustrated breath at the same time as you roll your eyes. Couldn’t he understand that you needed to make yourself laugh now and then in order to keep from crying? What was so wrong about that?

“I just said I was kidding. But if you wanna plead your case to someone, plead it to your new friend, Clint. See what he says.” The words tumble out faster than you can stop them. 

Now you could feel your sadness slowly giving way to anger. Not at Ari or his newfound airport buddy, but at the situation as a whole. Which meant it was time to get off the phone before you said something you would later regret.

“And just what’s that supposed to mean, Duchess?”

“It’s – nothing.” You clamp your mouth shut and close the fridge, all the while trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Because if I had my way, I’d be there with you right now so we could have this stupid argument in person. You gotta know that.”

“I know.”  

“Do you, sweetness?”

“Yes, I do.” You respond a touch more firmly, scrubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. “I just hate this. I hate that it’s Christmas, and that you’re stuck all alone in Omaha and I’m here. But I don’t wanna fight with you, Beast. Not really. I just miss you.”

“So then let’s not fight.” His soft plea makes you sniffle. “I’m gonna go figure out how all this hotel bullshit works and get myself settled in. In the meantime, I want you to go take yourself a nice hot shower and just relax. I’ll call you later, okay?” 

For a moment, you allow the gentle warmth of his voice to wash over you. If you closed your eyes it was almost like you could pretend he was with you now. As if he was only seconds away from wrapping his brawny arms your waist and hauling you close. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as you imagine him burying his face in the crook of your neck, planting tiny kisses along your sensitive flesh until he had you giggling and squirming in his grasp. 

“Bird?”

The sound of your nickname jolts you from your reverie, reminding you that it was time to say goodbye. At least for a little while. Good Lord, when had you become so needy for this man? It must’ve happened when you weren’t paying attention. 

“Goodbye, Ari.” You whisper before using your thumb to end the call.

Setting your phone on the counte do a quick spin, silently taking stock of everything you still had to do. If you started cooking relatively soon, you’d be able to occupy yourself until mid-afternoon. And then you would take a shower, and while you were busy doing that you would figure out your next move.

You’re sitting in a chair that isn’t yours with your arms propped up on a desk that doesn’t belong to you while your chin rests on your palm. Instead of spending the afternoon moping, you’d decided to bring a little holiday cheer to your local boys in blue in the form of a home cooked Christmas dinner.  

“Glad you like everything.” You say for what feels like the umpteenth time as you watch Bell’s Creek’s newest Deputy, Milton Foster, happily devour his second helping of macaroni and cheese. 

A few days ago, you would never have imagined that this would be how you would spend your Christmas Day. But, as they say, beggars couldn’t be choosers. So, it was either enjoy a front row seat to watch Milton wolf down his food at an almost alarming speed, or you could go home and maybe watch a Christmas special on TV. 

Alone. By yourself. Yeah, no thanks.  

“Yep.” Milton grunts once he finally comes up for air. He manages a sip of his drink before diving back in for a slice of glazed ham, stabbing it with his fork and shoveling it into his mouth. “Looks like Levinson’s loss is my gain. Sorry buddy.” 

The words are spoken through a mouthful of food, but you understand them just fine. But just because Milton was arguably your favorite member of the town’s police force didn’t mean he was above pricking your temper every now and again. 

And today you were feeling mighty prickly. 

“Another crack like that and no pie for you.” That stops him cold, his sharp gray eyes immediately zeroing-in on the whole cherry pie you’d decided to bring along as dessert. 

“My apologies.” He beats a hasty retreat, using his fist to muffle a burp. “You know I was only kiddin’. I’m just happy I don’t have to subject myself to another year of Ma’s Christmas Tuna Casserole.” He shudders playfully. “I don’t think I coulda’ handled that one.”

“Yikes.” You mutter before pushing away from the desk to stretch your legs.     

“Yeah, it’s a hard-knock life.” He offers you a smile before wiping at his face with a napkin. “You sure you’re not hungry? I know the man’s not here, but I doubt he’d like the idea of me sittin’ here stuffin’ my face while you nurse a Diet Coke.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “He knows how I am. After tasting and smelling everything for hours on end, I’m not typically all that hungry.”

Which was one of the reasons your Beast liked to take it upon himself to help you work up an appetite – usually by stripping down and fucking you senseless. But Deputy Milton didn’t need to know all of that. 

“Hm. More for me I guess.” He hums, snagging another freshly buttered dinner roll.

“Yep.” The word is spoken like an airy sigh. “More for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go find the ladies room.” You rise to your feet and polish off your beverage before tossing it in the trash. “Be back in a jiff.” 

Forty Minutes Later…

The drive from the station back to your place feels surprisingly short. Loneliness weighs on you like a heavy blanket as you pull into the driveway and kill the engine. Groaning, you let your head collide against the steering wheel with a dull thunk.

As much as you didn’t want to go inside, you knew you couldn’t linger out here in your car forever. It was much too cold for an extended outdoor moping session. You’d probably catch frostbite halfway through. 

You briefly debate giving Ari a call. Other than exchanging a few text messages here and there, you hadn’t heard from him since this morning. The thought of him being upset with you on Christmas just didn’t sit right.

Maybe you’d call him later, after you’d put the food away and gotten ready for bed. Perhaps you’d even convince him to FaceTime with you so that you could enjoy teasing him while nibbling on a slice of the red velvet cake you’d baked especially for him. 

Yes, that was the new plan. But first, you had to get out of the car. Grabbing your purse, you duck out the driver’s side door and make a mad dash up your walkway. It’s so cold that your teeth are already chattering by the time you finally fish your keys out of your bag to let yourself in.

First, you had work to do. And then you would check-in with your man just to make sure that all was right with your world. 

8:30pm, Christmas Day – Bell’s Creek, Texas

Glass of wine in hand, you plop down on your living room couch with a defeated huff. You’d just tried Ari a few minutes ago while standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but your new lacy, red chemise and matching thong you’d purchased just for tonight.

Because you’d known how much Ari would like it. 

Except your Bounty Hunter hadn’t answered. Instead, it had gone straight to voicemail both times. Even if he was still pissed at you, you were confident that he would’ve answered. The only reason he would’ve ignored you was if–

Just then your phone dings, alerting you of a new text message. Reaching into the pocket of your robe, you’re elated when you see Ari’s name flash across the screen. But your hopes are soon dashed the moment you read the words written on the screen.

“Hey. Out with Clint. We’ll talk in a bit.” 

For a second you’re almost too stunned to speak. Were you really playing second fiddle to a man he’d just met? And all because you’d been a little snippy with him this morning? No. That couldn’t be right. 

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as you hastily type out the words: “I miss you.” And it only gets worse when he responds with a simple thumbs up emoji. That fucking bastard!

“Oh fuck you, Ari Levinson. And you too, Clint!” You snarl, snagging your wine and angrily gulping it down. “I’m sure you both will be very happy in Omaha. Where you can fucking stay. Forever!”

Now thoroughly pissed, you stomp your way back into the kitchen to fetch the bottle you’d left behind before returning determined to find something on television. So you could ignore the fact that your heart was breaking. 

On fucking Christmas Day.

After a few minutes, you settle on the live action version of A Muppet Christmas Carol. And then you grab a blanket and snuggle up. You’d deal with all of this later. Preferably after your second glass of wine. 

Hell, you might even need a third to convince yourself that murder was not the acceptable way to handle these kinds of problems in a relationship. Perhaps you’d simply pour a little sugar in the tank of his truck and see how that made you feel. 

Sure, you were probably being petty. But seeing as you’d been on an emotional roller coaster for the better part of two days, you were more than ready to hop the hell off this ride. Ari could stay put for all you cared. 

Anger aside, there was no denying the fact that you were absolutely crushed. With that in mind, you decide that you’re not answering whenever Ari finally found the time and inclination to call you back. If he was busy, then you would be too.

You finish off your vino before snuggling even deeper under your blanket. It was officially time for you to go to bed. And when you woke up tomorrow, hopefully all of this would be nothing more than a bad dream.  

And if it wasn’t, then you might find yourself asking the Lord for forgiveness after you let the air out of one of your man’s precious tires.

10:45pm, Christmas Day – Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Wake up, little Bird.” 

A faint brush of lips along your cheek has your eyes slowly fluttering open as your body fights through the last vestiges of sleep. You weren’t sure what had woken you up. Hell, you didn’t even know what time it was. 

You take a moment to stretch before sitting up to reach for your phone. Squinting, you scroll through the handful of last minute messages you’d received from a couple of friends during your nap. But unfortunately there’s still nothing from the one person you’d been hoping to hear from the most. 

Ari.

Your eyes stray to the TV and you’re confused when you see the black screen staring back at you. Now that was strange. Maybe you drank a little more wine than you thought. 

You curiously examine the still half-full bottle sitting on your coffee table with so much focus that you almost miss the notes of Nat King Cole’s The Christmas Song filtering into your living room.

It was your favorite song, but the last time you checked, it had not been set to autoplay. Which meant someone was in your house.

“Hello?” You call as you rise to your feet, stepping over your blanket as it falls to the floor. Your hands come up to rub your arms in an effort to ward off the slight chill in the air. 

The warm scent of spiced cinnamon apples fills your nostrils and delights your senses as you round the corner and scurry into the kitchen. Your legs don’t stop moving until you’re standing mere feet away from the one man who seemed to rent space in your mind from sunup to sundown. 

Ari Levinson. 

He’s standing there in your kitchen wearing a pair of dark blue denim jeans and a slate gray thermal, eagerly helping himself to an impressive slice of red velvet cake. He smiles at you through a mouthful of dessert, and it’s impossible to miss the way his sparkling blue eyes darken once he gets a good look at the red silk robe that matched your holiday lingerie. 

“I don’t believe it. Y–you’re home.” You breathe as one of your hands flies to your chest, seeking to calm your increasingly erratic heartbeat. “But–but how?” Clearly, forming coherent sentences wasn’t your strong suit right now.

“I made my woman a promise.” Ari shrugs, setting his now empty plate aside. “And like I told you, I aimed to see it through. That cake is fucking fantastic by the way.”

“You managed to catch a flight?” You’re so convinced that he might disappear again that you’re almost afraid to drink. 

“Nah. Clint and I decided to rent a truck and brave the elements in favor of a little cross-country road trip.” He leans back against the counter, as if bracing himself for your response. And you sure as shit aren’t the type to disappoint. 

“Through a flippin’ blizzard?!” You squeal, gripping your face in your hands. “Jesus H. Christ, Beast! Are you insane?!” 

“Clearly.” His grin quickly fades into a grimace when you let out another scream as you flail your arms wide. 

“I can’t believe you did this!” You tell him as you feel hot tears wet your cheeks. “I can’t believe you–you…you’re here on Christmas.” The words come tumbling out as the dam breaks. 

“Bird…” 

Ari reaches for you then, although you’re quick to bat his hands away in favor of throwing your arms around his neck and hauling him close. At a loss for what else to do, one of his heavy palms comes to rest on your lower back, rubbing in small, soothing circles while you busy yourself with sobbing into his broad chest.

“Breathe, baby. There we go.” He coos softly, waiting patiently for you to pull away long enough for him to get a good look at your tear stained face. 

“I’m so happy you’re home.” You hiccup, using his thermal to dry your eyes. “But I’m also really mad at you for putting yourself in danger like that. You and Clint.” You quickly amend, offering him a watery smile. “You could’ve died, and then I would’ve had to kill you.”

You weren’t joking. You’d been experiencing a variety of violent thoughts lately. 

“Is that right?” Ari wraps your arms around his neck again as you two begin to sway to the beat of the music playing in the background. “Well, I’ll make sure to pass that on.” 

“Please do.” You murmur as you rest your ear on his chest, content to listen to the sound of his heartbeat. “Was it a long drive?” You allow your eyes to fall closed as you wait for him to respond. Regardless of his answer, you’re determined to keep your calm. 

“Eh, about ten hours or so.” He hums, dipping your bodies in time with the song. “Give or take. But the weather got much better around the middle of Kansas. We took our time. We were careful. In fact, Clint’s still out there.”

“Oh God, why?”

“He’s headed to Louisiana. Something about needing to track down an old friend named Nat.” He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before pushing you away so that he can twirl you around. “But enough about him. I missed you, Bird.” He briefly pauses your dance before bringing your knuckles to his mouth, making you melt.

“Yeah?” You purr, rising on your toes to nip at his jaw. “I missed you too. That’s why I’m wearing one of your Christmas presents. I was gonna show it to you on FaceTime, but you didn’t answer.”

Apparently because he’d been too busy driving across the country at the time. Who would’ve thought?

“This all for me?” His hands go to the belt of your robe, deftly undoing the knot. Once free, you give a little shimmy, content to let the robe pool on the floor at your bare feet. “Oh, yes the fuck it is.” The silky timbre of his voice has you soaking your panties.

As if they weren’t already ruined. 

“Merry Christmas.” Planting your hands on either side of his bearded jaw, you draw him down until your lips meet his. Groaning, your Bounty Hunter wastes almost no time deepening the kiss, his expert tongue sweeping past your defenses to duel with your own. 

God, he tasted so good. Like spearmint and coffee on a cold winter’s night. You honestly had no idea just how much you'd truly needed this man.

“Next time your sexy ass is comin’ with me.” Ari snarls, breaking the kiss to lightly tug at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Was gonna lose my mind if I had to go another day without this.”

“Okay, Beast.” You whimper when he sharply smacks your ass. “Whatever you say.” Right now, this man had no idea just how close you were to giving him whatever he wanted. All he had to do was ask. “Oooh!” You jolt when he delivers another blow. “Yes, baby. More!”

You’re rewarded with yet another delicious spank, which goes straight to your already aching clit. It was taking everything in you not to reach between your thighs and touch your dripping pussy.

But you refuse to give in, knowing that your man would want that privilege all for himself. 

“Mine.” He rasps, his tone taking on an almost feral quality as his calloused palms go to cup your heavy breasts through the thin fabric of your teddy. “Missed these perfect fuckin’ tits.” That’s your only warning before he grips the front of your garment and tearing it in two like it was nothing.

“Ari!” You gasp, arching your back when your man leans down to capture a pouting nipple into his warm, wet mouth. He sucks hard, using his tongue to tease the sensitive flesh. “Ungh!” You squirm in his grasp as long fingers dig into your hips to hold you in place for his sensual assault. 

Eventually, he releases you with a slight pop, just as his hands fall away from your hips. “Hope you’re ready, baby. Cuz’ I ain’t lettin’ you outta bed until New Year’s.” His roguish grin has a fresh tendril of heat unfurling in your belly. “Maybe later.”

“You’re all talk.” You giggle, slowly backing away as Ari continues to stalk towards you, using his muscular body to his advantage. 

“Nah.” He shrugs, his grin growing impossibly wider when your ass connects with your dining room table. “I can’t wait to lose myself between those thick thighs. Want you to fuckin’ suffocate me, baby.” 

Your Bounty Hunter drops to his knees in front you before burying his nose in your panty covered pussy and inhaling deeply. You feel your legs begin to quiver when he does it again, a soft cry escapes your lips when you feel his sharp teeth graze over the outline of your swollen clit.

“Need you to fuckin’ drown me while eat this pretty cunt.” Ari growls, delicately nipping at your inner thigh. “Swear I fuckin' see God every time I get you to sit on my face. That's how divine you taste.” 

“Oh!” You whine as he nuzzles his nose against the swollen bundle of nerves, making your core spasm. 

“But first, I’m gonna fuck you.” He places one last open-mouthed kiss on your mound before standing up and spinning you around in one blended motion. You cry out when your hands slap against the cool wooden surface. “Teach you a lesson for all the sass you fed me earlier today.”

On a growl, Ari makes quick work of his jeans, shoving them down his hair covered thighs along with his boxers almost faster than you can blink. 

“I’m so sorry, Beast…” You moan, offering up your stinging rump for another smack. Thankfully, Ari is more than happy to oblige. “Please…please...” Next thing you know, your thong has joined the rest of your ruined lingerie, putting your weeping cunt on display.

You let out a harsh gasp when you feel his hard, fat cock enter you in one swift thrust. Not wanting to wake the entire neighborhood with your screams, you find yourself biting down on your fist to keep yourself quiet. 

Ari takes a moment to readjust his position, spreading his legs so that he can go deeper, get a  better angle. He loves the way you sob for him, the needy little sounds you make while he fucks the shit out of your greedy little pussy. 

His hips snap in time with the music as your sweat-slick flesh connects again and again – driving you both closer to the brink. Your passion-filled cries fill the room as Ari somehow finds a way to go even deeper, giving it to you so good you know you’re gonna feel him inside you for days. 

Just the way you liked it. 

“Best Christmas ever, Duchess.” Your man grips the front of your throat, holding you in place while he uses you the way he needs to. God, he made you feel so good. Even when he had you ready to pull your hair out, he still had this way about him that made almost everything feel infinitely better.

“Best-oh God! More!” You cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when he spanks your pussy with a measured flick of his wrist. This man wanted you to see stars, and he was more than up to the challenge. “Oh Jesus - f–fuck yeah!”

“There we go, sweetheart.” Ari purrs as his thrusts become a little more erratic. “Now how ‘bout we see how many times I can fill you up before the clock strikes midnight?”

“I–ooh!” You open your mouth to respond, only to let out a small shriek when he administers another wet smack.

“Huh.” He chuckles, leaving a trail of kisses along the curve of your throat. “Guess I’ll just have to take that as a yes.”

END

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[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 10

Source for pic

Firestarter 10

Word Count: 6335

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: This chapter was a rollercoaster of emotions! But now we're only missing the epilogue with our happy ending 😊 I will be posting the new poll (for voting on the next story of the meet-cute series) this week! Also, if you want to check out my 100 followers event, feel free to do it! Full disclosure, answers to requests may take a while! Thank you for reading this! ❤️

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

|Previous Chapter| | |Final Chapter|

Ace sets his phone down but keeps staring at it. He has a silly little grin on his lips though his eyes are furrowed with apprehension. They're enjoying a tiny break at the fire station, after helping clear the gutters that were blocking the water from flowing freely. 

All the firemen are on standby, waiting for the storm to pass and hoping for a calmer evening. 

Luffy pats Ace on the shoulder with a small smile curling his lips. “What's with the face?”

Ace sighs as he whispers your name, his fingers tousling his hair. “She managed to get a call through and though I barely heard her, she said she was coming over. And that she loves me.”

Ace can't stop a grin from pulling the ends of his lips and Luffy is smiling with him. “But that's good, right? Why do you look worried?”

“I really didn't want her driving in this weather.”

Luffy hums and nods, his eyes darting to the large windows where fat drops of rain pound incessantly. “She'll be fine, Ace! Don't worry!” He pats Ace on the back again while getting up. “Want the last slice of pizza?

And suddenly they're both fighting for the slice, Ace trying to forget that you're driving along dangerous roads and Luffy helping him do it.

-*-

The ring from the station’s phone is shrill and piercing. Ace jumps before picking it up. He's been watching the time and you were supposed to have arrived already. He can't stop the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

“Hello, go for Ace.” Even his normal greeting seems strained. 

“Ace, hi! It's Marco.” The older man has an urgency in his tone and Ace snaps in his seat, nudging Luffy as he sets the call on speaker. The connection still feels broken and with a lot of static, but he can make out the words. “There's been an accident at the intersection before the turn to the road that leads to the fire station. I don't know how long, but the car seems to have rolled over at least once. There's a girl inside and she's unresponsive. I didn't touch her but there's a lot of blood-...”

Ace scrapes his chair against the floor as he gets up, not even letting Marco finish the call. His heart is pounding against his chest relentlessly. In his head an unending litany set on repeat: no, no, no, please God, no! 

He feels cold and numb and he doesn't wait for his fellow fireman nor for the truck. He grabs his jeep keys and slides down the pole, running, not answering Luffy’s calls, not hearing anything else but the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

No, no, no, please God, no! 

-*-

When you entered Shanks’ house, a smile on your lips, calling for daddy, he felt a pang in his heart. You had grown up into a fine, beautiful woman. The burn of desire tingled and Ace knew he wanted you. 

He wanted you badly. 

But you were Shanks’ daughter, Luffy’s friend. Off-limits for his little one-night stands. It was okay, he could admire you from afar. 

It got a little harder when you stopped on the stairs and his nose rubbed against your ass. It got even harder once he found your vibrator. God, not even ten minutes had passed since you had entered your home and already he knew you would be the death of him. 

Learning that you were cheated on was like a punch to the gut. After what had happened to you and, as soon as you heard of his reputation, you would never trust him enough to let him get close to you. 

But it was fine. He just wanted to be friends. You were off-limits. 

-*- 

Ace closes the jeep door with a bang and turns the ignition, the windshield wipers swiping into action instantly as the rain keeps its downpour. It's not supposed to be dark yet, but the storm makes everything bleak and grey. 

And he's so afraid. 

It can't be you. It's not you. He's going to help whoever this person is and then he's going to find out that you never left home because your car didn't start. And you just couldn't contact him because of the lines. 

That is it. It isn't you. It can't be you. 

No, no, no, please God, no!

-*-

When you called Shanks because your car wouldn't start, Ace immediately offered to pick you up. Shanks looked at him with a sidelong glance, especially after the battery remark he made to you. As if an older man wasn't aware of toys. 

“Freaking kids think they know everything.” 

But then he agreed, simply because he had a lot of work to do on the property and picking you up would interfere with his plans. 

And the sight of you bending over the hood of your car in that little dress, leaving the lowest part of your butt cheeks exposed, almost gave him a heart attack. Damn, how could you be so cute without even trying? That was what made you even more alluring to him. He couldn't stop the flirty remarks from slipping out of his mouth and seeing you flustered was just the icing on the cake. 

That car almost hitting you had made his heart jump into his throat. What a freaking reckless driver. He barely noticed that he had pulled you into a tight hug, gripping you as if he were about to lose you. 

Except Ace, true to his nature, couldn't help but flirt with the girls who called for his attention. He thrived on attention, he knew that it was a terrible fault. 

One of many. 

And if at first he didn't realise why you had suddenly become so pissed at him and his behaviour, as soon as you snapped it hit him. And you were right. He gave those nicknames to girls because it was easier. He wouldn't get attached this way. He never meant to get attached. 

But you… 

Damn you were built differently. And he had to stop thinking about you like that. Because you deserved much better than a good-for-nothing man like him. 

-*-

He knows he can't go over the limit. He's a firefighter. He knows the risks and the roads are like butter. 

Yet he can't stop his foot from pressing on the accelerator. Even though he knows it can't be you. It really can't. 

You said you loved him. He needs to let you know he feels the same. 

It can't be you.

“Fuck!” He growls as his hand hits the steering wheel and his foot presses down further. 

As soon as his eyes spot the crashed car, his heart sinks and his breath catches in his throat. 

It's your car. 

-*-

The first time you exchanged messages he had the silliest grin pulling at his lips. You were actually responding to his flirts and, for some otherworldly reason, you apologised to him. 

He didn't really think you needed to apologise, but if you were being nice to him, he wasn't going to deny you anything. 

He craved to see you, to hear you, to touch you. 

You wouldn't believe how happily surprised he was when he saw you on your morning run. Obviously he had to tease you, taunt you into a little bet. 

Winning a kiss was a long shot. He made the pitch but didn't expect you to accept at all. When you did, he almost wanted to sprint so he could win right away. But he managed to keep his cool. 

Barely. 

When you tripped and Ace grabbed you, he felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was the way you smelled. Like some sort of flowers - from your shampoo, probably - and the natural tanginess of your sweat. It beckoned to him, leaving him breathless and dazed. 

It also didn't help that you were flush against him, your breasts heaving as your chest pressed against his. It filled his head with lewd thoughts and suddenly all he wanted was to have you squirming beneath him, panting for a whole different reason, sweating from ecstasy and not effort. 

It was a good thing you were distracted and didn't notice the hunger in his eyes, because he would have devoured you right there. 

When the time for the kiss neared and he had you pinned against the fence, his eyes darkened at the sight of your parted lips and the way you gasped slightly as he lifted your chin with two fingers. It took all the self-control he possessed to turn his face at the last possible second so that his kiss landed mostly on your cheek. 

His heart thumped like a drum against his chest and, for once, he was glad he listened to his brain instead of his urges. Otherwise it would have been very hard to stop at just a kiss. 

And he had to keep reminding himself that you were off-limits. That he couldn't treat you as a one-night stand. 

Even though he was starting to realise that you might be more than just a one-night stand. 

-*-

Ace has enough judgement to park the car on the side of the road with the blinkers on to prevent further accidents, yet he sprints out in a rush, completely ignoring Marco as he approaches you. 

The unending litany of ‘No, no, no, please God, no!’ keeps leaving his lips as if it were a prayer. 

As soon as his eyes meet your face, tears start to mingle with the heavy rain pouring down. Through the broken window he realises that the airbags have deployed and are now deflated and you are slumped over the steering wheel. Your face is covered in blood from a cut on your forehead and there are shards of glass on your arms. Your side of the car is crumpled from the impact and, as he tries the door, he finds that it's jammed. 

Worse, you're unconscious. 

His hand reaches in as he checks you and he almost freezes in place. You're not breathing. 

“I'm here, babe. I've got you. I've got you.” He murmurs the words to you and keeps repeating another set in his head:

No, no, no, please God, no!

-*-

Ace couldn't get you out of his head. He tried to distract himself with music, movies, even a book! Yet he kept thinking about your body close to his, your parted, panting lips and the way your eyes fluttered closed before he approached you. His body betrayed him and he kept thinking about the way your lips would feel against his, or how your skin would mould so well against his fingers. 

He needed to be with you. 

Even if it was just to see you, talk with you and spend time breathing the same air as you. He felt as if he was going crazy. He knew how desire felt, he had wanted other girls before - normally fulfilling that need quickly - but with you, he began to understand that it was deeper than just urges that needed to be met. 

So when you knocked on the fire station door, he was set on talking with you, opening himself up and listening to what you had to say. Create a friendship. A steady base to build trust upon. He could do that. He knew he was a good friend. 

He just wasn't expecting to see you looking like that when he opened the door. Thighs exposed, just a little, a cheeky grin on your lips and your smell, God, your smell. It had been years since he had been this nervous around a girl. 

You did something to him that he couldn't quite explain. 

Especially to his heart. Should he see Law at the clinic about it? It had been beating strangely for a while. 

Deuce behaved like an idiot, as usual, and insisted on seeing you, which made Ace jealous. Curious. He was not usually the jealous type. Mainly because he was never with a girl long enough to be jealous of her being around other guys, or because, even if she did, he wasn't interested enough to be jealous. 

Except with you… Damn… he felt a strange burning flame inside him roar to life. It was as if he wanted to keep you forever, to make you his. 

-*-

Ace runs to the passenger’s side of the car and tries the door, cursing loudly when it doesn't budge. Using his elbow and not caring one bit about getting cut, he shatters the glass, taking care to do it gently so as not to hit you with more shards. Reaching in with trembling hands, he unlocks the door and climbs inside. 

“I'm here love. I'm here. You're going to be fine. I'll get you out.” He keeps murmuring. 

His fireman training does not fail him as removes the seat belt and carefully manoeuvres you out of the car, gentle hands supporting your head and neck, trying to hurry, but doing everything in his power to be careful. 

“There, see, we're out. Come on baby. Breathe for me.”

He sets you down on the wet, muddy road and tilts your head back to clear your airways, his fingers pressing gently against your face. Your skin feels cold and clammy to the touch and his tears keep falling and mingling helplessly with the rain. 

No, no, no, please God, no!

“Breathe, baby!” He pinches your nose as he leans down and huffs two breaths into your unmoving lungs. 

Nothing. 

A ragged sob makes his shoulders heave before he places his hands against your chest and starts CPR. 

“You can't leave me now!” He whispers your name. “Fight!”

No, no, no, please God, no!

-*-

The day after your visit to the fire station had Ace walking on cloud nine. When he took girls to the station, it was not just for talking. Never just for that. 

Let alone speak about his worries and how he feels regarding his grandfather. Yet, with you, it felt natural, easy, nice. He wanted to get to know you and wanted you to get to know all of him. 

So he couldn't stop his silly grin from making his freckles dance. 

Not even when his grandfather asked him why he was behaving so foolishly. He kept raving about you, how you'd grown up, how interesting you were, how happy you made him feel. 

Garp was grinning and shaking his head by the end of lunch, calling him a lovesick fool, and it took him a while to realise that he might be becoming just that. Because he didn't remember feeling this way about any girl. Ever. 

Even Garp’s cleaning lady noticed the way he was acting when she was cleaning his room, a mocking smile on her face as she closed the curtains of his room, to keep the afternoon sun out, after finishing. 

He kept wanting to talk to you, but you took so long to answer his texts that he thought he had done something wrong. Again. When you finally reached out, he had to hear your voice. And he ended up talking with you until dinner time. Time flew when he was spending it with you. And he'd be damned if he wanted it to end. 

At the party he was very excited to see you. His heart kept thrumming against his chest as if he were some lovesick teenager and he had to ask Sanji to make him an extra strong drink because he was nervous to see you. 

As it turned out, you ended up drinking his drink and a whole bottle by yourself, as if you were trying hard to get wasted, only he didn't know why. But you looked wonderful in that tight red dress. More than wonderful, actually. You were breathtaking. And he had to keep telling his and Luffy's friends that you were off-limits.

Even to himself. 

He needed a constant reminder of that important fact as well. But it was damn hard to restrain himself once he took you away from the party to nurse your drunken self, and you sat on his lap and told him to kiss you. To have you. To fuck you. 

He didn't know how he managed to do it or where he found the strength or willpower, but he pushed you away from him. With his heart hammering, cock twitching and lips tingling to taste every inch of you. 

But not like this. 

He wanted to have you, he couldn't wait to hear your pretty voice moaning his name or how melodic your mewls and sighs would sound in the throes of pleasure. How you'd writhe and squirm under his touch or how you'd beg for him when he teased you. 

But you were drunk. It wasn’t okay. 

And after he put you to sleep and the party lulled and ended in the wee hours of the night, he returned to his room, having declined advances from many pretty girls, like he had been doing since you had crashed into his life unannounced but not at all unwanted. He watched your sleeping form for who knew how long, before his eyes grew drowsy and he fell asleep on the floor, close to you. Hearing you breathe, sensing your presence and smelling your scent. A scent you'd leave on his sheets for days that were bound to give him the best and most tortuous dreams of his life. 

How he wished he could wrap his arms around you. 

The harsh reality came crashing down - literally - on him in the morning and with you straddling him. Barely having a sense of what was going on, having just woken up, the first thing he realised was that you were squirming and grinding against his cock which was hard already because he couldn't quite discern if this was a dream or reality. 

Begging you to stop squirming and digging his fingers deep into the flesh of your hips grounded him. It was reality. And by heaven above, you on top of him, looking all flustered and dishevelled, as if you'd just ended a steamy makeout session, had him seeing white as he gripped you hard to avoid losing control and kissing you. You were so fucking perfect. 

And then you told him: ‘don't do that’, which he immediately thought that you were talking about the kiss that he wanted to give you, so he got up. Upset, frustrated and hit hard by the reality of the situation. 

You'd never think of him as more than a friend. You'd never trust him enough to realise you were special to him. 

More than just any girl. 

You were the girl. 

-*-

Ace keeps counting aloud, forcing the words out of his mouth to stay in control. Begging for his training to ground him, before he loses himself in agony and pain. 

“One, two, three…”

Two breaths of air straight into your lungs, another moment to see if your chest moves. 

Nothing. 

Desperation sinks in and makes his hands tremble. The cold rain is relentless against his skin and yours, turning everything bleak and sorrowful. 

“Baby, please, please! Breathe!”

He continues administering CPR, his own breath coming in short gasps as tears and ragged sobs make his shoulders heave and shake. 

“Come back to me…” He mutters to the wind, hoping that, wherever you are, his words can reach you.

-*-

Ace's day hadn't started well after that debacle, but that all changed when he saw you by the window, clad in nothing but a very small towel. You apologised for your behaviour over the phone and his heart sank further. 

As if it could be any more obvious that you did not want to be with him. You had the perfect excuse: alcohol. 

Yet, he could hardly be upset with you when you spoke in your sweet voice telling him you liked that he called you Firestarter. It made his stomach somersault and his heart skip a beat. So much so that he decided to make plans to meet at the Jubilee. Because he couldn't wait to see you again. 

He needed to be near you. That much he had made peace with. 

Now he just needed to prove that he could be good for you, that he could help you heal, and that you two could work as a couple. 

Easier said than done, really.

He had been selling calendars for a while at the Jubilee, making small talk with girls who approached the stand giggling, interacting with friends and acquaintances and even entertaining some kids who wanted to try on the fireman’s equipment. 

Yet, his peripheral vision had been on alert since dinner time - the time you told him you would come by - and, as soon as he spotted you, he grinned and told Luffy and his coworkers that he was going on his break.

The opportunity to show you how he felt about you presented itself earlier than expected. As he held you in his arms, faces inching closer together and his heart beating relentlessly, creating a savage rhythm against his chest, he knew his kiss would show you just how perfect you could be together.

Except the kiss never happened. And Ace wanted to kill Deuce for ruining a perfect moment. Because when you both settled down by the swings and he opened up his heart a little bit, you shut him down by repeating that you’re good friends and that your friendship was important, coldly and harshly reminding him that that’s all you’ll ever be.

Friends.

He was ready to call it a night and didn't want to bother you with his presence anymore because he was being a sourpuss. And it wasn’t your fault! If you were not ready to commit - or didn't want to commit to him - he needed to understand that. And fucking move on.

Yet even if he was done with the night, the night was not done with him, and duty called as he saved a girl from a falling stand. She thanked him, flirted with him, and even slipped him her number with an offer to buy him a drink. 

But you made such a ruckus that his eyes wandered to you and he found himself smiling and realising that if you just wanted to be friends, he was fine with it. He would much rather have that, than not have you at all.

So he politely declined the invitation for a drink by the beautiful lady - told her that they definitely should do that, but some other time - and sauntered over to your clumsy side, seeing you try and pick up the mess you made out of Makino’s jewellery stand.

Your playful banter was back on track and it was like your miscommunication issues had never really happened. He was fine with you just being friends. Perfectly fine. Even if he had to repeat it to himself over and over again. 

The matching bracelets were just a nice addition to your friendship, even if Makino was making it look like it was something more. And, to be truthful, he found your embarrassed smile and demeanour quite endearing and adorable. 

Until the beautiful girl from earlier approached with that drink offer again. 

And you bolted out of there as quickly as lightning, giving all sorts of mixed signals, because if you just wanted to be friends, why would you be saddened by him hanging out with another girl?

He saw your tears. 

And they troubled him.

-*-

Ace faintly hears the sirens of the fire truck approaching. The storm feeds a distant roar of noise to his eardrums, but the ringing from the shock and despair is what prevails above the noise.

He just wants to hear you breathing.

That’s the sound he wants - needs! - to hear the most. A gasp, a sigh, a cough… he’ll take anything! As long as you come back to him.

“One… two… three…”

Another two breaths of air to revive your lungs, more compressions, more prayers, more whispers, more tears…

He would give all of himself - everything! - if it got you to come back.

“Don’t leave me, love. Don’t leave me…”

-*-

Ace always enjoyed beach parties in the summer. Spirits were high, people were cheerful, and there was always more than one girl willing to go somewhere else with him. Somewhere away from the party where they could have fun.

This party, though, he expected to be different. 

He couldn't help but try his luck with you again. Maybe if he kept hanging around you, you could start to see him as more than just a friend. Heaven knew that you two shared the sexual tension of an uncut red wire in a spy movie: just ready to explode at any given moment. 

He knew he could be smooth, suave, and charm his way into your heart. Even if it took you a while, he was willing to wait. Now that he'd found you, he was not so willing to lose you.

But none of the smoothness of the universe, nor all the charm in the world, could have prepared him for the vision of loveliness that you provided. Lulled by the soft splashes of the waves and the echoing calls of gulls, you stood at the edge of the ocean, sunbathed and glowing as if you were something out of a myth. Your hair blew in the wind and your eyes were closed, keeping out all the chaos of the outside world and losing yourself inside your mind.

A silent tear escaped your closed eyelids and a soft smile plastered upon your lips. He would take this sight with him to the grave because he had never seen anything - or anyone - so perfect.

He almost felt out of place as he called your name, slowly waking you to the reality of the party and his company. But he felt entirely whole when you grabbed his hand and watched the sunset by his side.

You belonged together. He knew that. And he fought hard against the urge to pull you close.

The perfect moment ended too soon and the party continued. He kept being requested by friends, and girls and more friends and once he made his way back to you, he was already a bit tipsy and you seemed more than upset with him.

Plus, you didn’t even have the matching bracelet he bought you.

Not only was he jealous of Sanji and the smiles you shared with the blonde, but he was once again reminded that he meant nothing to you, as you slithered out of his embrace, albeit with a lot of rubbing and sinful looks, but not one single sympathetic glance his way. You were pissed.

At him.

And that was perfectly clear once he saw that bastard Lucci rubbing against you at the dance floor. Jealousy took over, and he decided to pay you back in kind, not knowing if you would really care, but he couldn’t sit still and watch another guy flirt with you.

It was driving him insane.

Obviously Nami knew all the right ways to rile people up, and soon enough he was kissing one of the girls at a game of truth or dare. She was annoying, clingy, had a shrill voice, smelled of tobacco and felt so wrong against him. But you were busy as Lucci was whispering into your ear, so he had to keep up the facade. 

Until he couldn’t any more. Because when Nami dared you to kiss Lucci and you acquiesced - oh, look at that, you actually had the bracelet, it was just him that wasn't good enough to touch you - the fire in his belly roared and ignited into a hellish flame and he couldn’t take it anymore.

So he left to vent. He didn’t even care if you went home with Lucci.

Liar. 

He cared, obviously. It would kill him and tear his heart into tiny, irreplaceable pieces. But he was just a friend to you. Right?

Maybe not, because you came after him, arguing as if you were two crossed lovers, seeing who could scream louder and who was pettier. Until he spoke aloud about the desire he felt to kiss you. And you dared him to.

Time stood still and there was only you and him. You in his arms and his lips on yours. Tongues swirling as hot kisses ignited the embers of passion. Fuck, he had never felt like this. You were consuming his very being and he wanted to burst into ashes and disappear into your kisses. 

This was perfect. You were perfect. You and him together were perfect.

And how he hoped nothing could ruin it. 

Until it did.

-*-

As soon as the fire truck stops, its sirens blaring, and lights casting reflections against the puddles on the floor, Luffy rushes to Ace’s side, his expression turning into pained surprise once he sees you breathless and looking quite frail in his brother’s arms.

“Ace!” He manages to sputter, a distressed wail escaping his lips.

“One… two… three…” Two breaths. Nothing. “Luffy! The EMTs?” He doesn’t stop. He never stops.

“They were right behind, they should be here any second… Ace…”

Luffy sets a hand on Ace’s shoulder and squeezes. But Ace doesn’t want to stop. He won’t give up on you. Not now, not ever! You were so hard to win over, he’s not a quitter! He will never quit on you. Ever!

“Come back, Firestarter. I need you…”

-*-

He was never a quitter, so he didn’t stop calling and texting you, trying to reach you after that disaster at the beach party. He didn’t want to be with any other girl. He just wanted you. Always you.

So he didn’t quit.

He called Shanks and asked about you, if you were alright, if you could call him back, but when Shanks told him that you didn’t want to speak with him and told him to go to hell, he faltered. He thought about quitting.

You were so pissed at him.

Would you even listen to what he wanted to say? He knew apologies wouldn’t cut it, but he had to try. He couldn’t bear the thought of you hating him, or shutting him out. Of never wanting to speak to him again, for how could he live without your voice, your smile, your laughter?

He’d had a taste of you. He was addicted. He would never give you up.

Going by Shanks’ house might not have been his brightest idea, but it was the best he could come up with since you didn’t want to talk to him and had been avoiding him all day. When Shanks told him you still didn’t want to see him, he saw red. How could he make it up to you?

To help with the racking guilt and despair, Shanks was also pissed at him for hurting his babygirl. Like he would ever do that willingly. It took Ace a while, but he managed to clear the facts with Shanks and to assure him that his intentions towards you were the most honourable ones. 

He loved you. And he told Shanks that. He told him he had never, ever, felt this way about a girl before and, after some coaxing, Shanks finally believed his words. He even said he would try to plead his case. 

Which was true, because after a few hours he called Ace saying you were stranded in the middle of nowhere and you needed a ride. Then he gave Ace a full speech on responsibility and treating his little girl right and a bunch of other stuff Ace didn’t really listen to.

All he knew was that he had his chance to apologise. To make it right. To win you over.

And he’d be damned if he let that go.

So you talked, he apologised, you heard him and asked questions and he could feel you softening to him and getting closer to him. He had his shot at you. He wouldn’t miss it. 

And he didn’t. The night was perfect, you were perfect and, once again, he was reminded that together you were perfect. You made him promise not to break your heart. Hell, he didn’t even think about that. He never wanted to let you away from his arms, from his lips or from his touch. Let alone drive you away for something random. 

He was yours and you were his, in the sense that he knew he couldn’t live without you by his side, nor did he want to spend a day without your voice, or your smile or hearing your breath. 

Eternity. That’s what he would like. An eternity with you.

Was it possible?

-*-

“No, no, no! This is impossible, it can’t be happening! Loof, where are the EMTs!?” Ace’s desperate voice is charged with agony and despair, rubbing it off on his brother who has kneeled down next to you and taken over chest compressions for Ace.

As if answering his own question, an ambulance screeches to a halt next to the fire truck, and two EMTs rush out, gear in hand, and make their way to your side. 

“Ace, she’s drenched. They can’t use the defibrillator like this. We need to move her inside the ambulance.”

“Fuck!” Ace curses, his frustration palpable as he continues performing CPR. He never stops, he can’t stop.

-*-

Your voice was so sweet beneath him, asking him not to stop, to go harder, to give you more, please, please, please.

Your mewls and pleas, your body writhing with passion and desire, your little gasps and beads of sweat glistening between your breasts.

God.

He couldn't get enough of you. You were so addictive.

He didn't want to let you go. Ever. 

-*-

The EMTs transfer you to a gurney with the help of Ace and Luffy and quickly move you inside the ambulance. Ace feels an icy chill, and he knows it’s not from the relentless pouring rain.

He’s scared. He’s terrified. 

He doesn’t want to lose you. He never wants to let you go.

-*-

Somehow the bliss that had surrounded you both fell apart quickly and Ace’s left to wonder what happened. You were having the sweetest of dates and the ending would promise so much more. He was ready to tell you he loved you.

He didn’t even care if it was too soon.

All he knew was that he was bursting at the seams with feelings of yearning, longing, passion, desire and so much love. He needed to tell you. Even if you didn’t feel the same yet. He was willing to wait.

He would move mountains for you.

You were worth the wait.

-*-

The wait seems endless. The EMTs are cleaning your chest as best as they can before applying the defibrillator. Seconds tick by relentlessly.

Realistically, Ace knows that he’s only been performing CPR on you for around five minutes before the EMTs arrived. He knows it seems like it was much longer, but it wasn’t. 

What he doesn’t know, however, is how long you stood without breathing in your wrecked car. And that can improve or impair your odds significantly.

And Ace, despite his name, has never had much luck with gambling.

-*-

He hated games of chance. Whatever he betted on, he always ended up losing more than he gained. And now he was so afraid that his loss would be the biggest one yet. And the hardest one to recover from. 

You needed time to process. 

The girl you spoke with planted the seeds of doubt deep in your mind and you were watering them with your thoughts and past traumas. Despite anything Ace told you, any demonstration of feelings, you were out of his reach for now.

Time to process.

What did that mean? Were you going to ghost him again? For how long? Could he endure it?

He could barely hold back tears as you climbed the steps to your porch and disappeared inside the house. How could he convince you that you were the one he wanted? No matter how many girls from his past came back claiming him?

None of them ever meant anything.

You were the one. 

The only one.

-*-

“Clear!”

Your chest heaves and your back arches as the jolt of electricity courses through you. Ace holds his breath the entire time. Silent tears framing his face, his freckles almost invisible against his pale skin. 

The EMTs carry on with the CPR and Ace climbs by your side, taking care to steer away from his colleagues, not wanting to hinder your rescue. 

His hand brushes your wet hair away from your face and he can’t help but notice how cold you feel. Pressing his forehead against yours, he whispers your name, jaw clenching, fighting back tears, holding onto hope as if it’s the only lifeline pulling him through the void of despair and uncertainty. 

“I love you.” He whispers into your hair. 

He can’t lose you.

It’s too much to bear and his heart's already breaking apart. He can almost hear it shattering: a fragile sound like crystal, delicate and sharp, splintering into countless irretrievable pieces.

He won’t give up.

Not now.

“You’re the one. The only one. You always have been.”

His words seem final but he isn’t resigned. He can’t live a life without you. It’s too much. Too painful, too meaningless. 

His eyes close, and a distressed wail escapes his lips as an eternal silence surrounds you both.

Until you gasp, inhaling a deep breath, your hands flailing as you blink, adjusting to the light and the sounds. Life breathing back into your lungs, you begin to feel the slow but unmistakable return of awareness, each breath bringing clarity to the fog of unconsciousness.

But you’re not alone.

Ace is there. Ace is with you. 

He will always be with you.

[emonaculate]

Emon babbles II...

Woah... you guys loved the first drabble, huh? Honestly, I'm a little shocked at how well it did, considering I only had bits and pieces of a story. Thank you for all the support! I do appreciate all the feedback! Let me know if you'd like a full-fledged fic out of this, or if you'd prefer the drabble format.

Bandmate!Gojo x Readerــــــــﮩ٨ـ

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is five months out from the infamous Welcome Home Palooza, sits alone in the dim glow of Studio C—his favorite room to rot in nowadays. Being alone in a studio is a hell of a lot easier than interacting with people.

The walls are padded in midnight blue, the air heavy with old smoke and the hum of equipment left on standby. The only light comes from a single desk lamp that flickers sometimes, like even it doesn’t know how to stay steady.

His guitar rests against his thigh, glistening as it mocks him. He plays the same three chords. Again. And again. And again. The tempo is off. The bridge won’t land. The chorus feels cheap. Everything he writes sounds like someone else wrote it. Someone who is trying to make a cheap, straight-to-retail stores' radio cash grab.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is supposed to be introducing a brand-new song at their biggest show for long-term fans who actually KNOW what his music is supposed to sound like.

A homecoming. A resurrection. Or a slow, public execution. He can’t tell which.

The deadlines are crawling closer. The pressure is a weight in his chest. This is the first palooza he has ever had to do with Geto. Maybe, that's why its so hard for him to come up with new material. He stares at the notebook sitting beside him—blank, accusing, waiting. He’s written nothing. He doesn’t even have a title. Just a looping mess of sounds that refuse to mean anything.

Where the hell do you even start when everything already feels like the ending?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojostrums the strings harder. Wrong. All wrong. The riff comes out ugly. He stops. Breathes in. Breathes out. Counts to four. Still wrong. He closes his eyes and leans back in the chair, head tilted toward the ceiling, waiting for the drop of something—inspiration, maybe. Grace. A ghost. Or maybe for the ceiling to collapse and kill him.

However he is only met with the response of silence. Then—his phone buzzes. He knows it's Shoko. She's the only one who checks on him anymore. She pretends to not care, but she has always been in his corner... even when he doesn't deserve it.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t want to answer. He wants to let it go to voicemail. But considering he has gotten no where in the past three hours, he might as well. Not like he has anything better going on. He presses accept and stays quiet.

“Still hunched over in that studio?” she asks. No preamble.

“Still smoking those cancer sticks?” he fires back.

A pause. The kind that says you win this round, bitch.

“I’ve got news,” she sighs. “About Y/n”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels his jaw twitch. He says nothing. She had been an enigma in his mind since they had played together. He thought about how he looked at her and all he saw was Geto. He remembered the feeling of his heart rate spiking and palms growing sweaty as she removed the blindfold, ruining the illusion. There was something about the way she really looked at him afterwards. Like actually looked. Saw him. He panicked and bolted out of the room.

Shoko knows that silence. She keeps going.

“Execs said no. She’s out. Too new. Too unpolished. Not marketable enough. They used a lot of words to say ‘we’re scared of taking risks.’ You know the drill.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn't answer at first. Not because he doesn’t have anything to say—but because he has too much. Y/n's playing has been stuck in his head since the audition like a melody with no name. He remembers the shape of her confidence. The fire in her voice when she said she could keep up with him—blindfolded. She turned Charmolypi into a conversation without knowing the history.

And now, just like that, he lost Geto all over again. I mean a new bassist. His grip tightens on the guitar neck until his knuckles pale.

“Say something,” Shoko pleads. “Or throw something. I don’t care. Just don’t sit there shutting me out again. ”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo lifts the guitar again. Plays the same three chords. They don't sound real anymore with how many times he has replayed them..

“Did they give a reason?” he mutters.

“I told you. Image. PR. All bullshit.” She pauses, then adds carefully, “They don’t think she fits our sound.”

Gojo snorts. “She was our sound.”

Another beat of silence.

“You gonna fight this?” she asks.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t know. He wants to. But there’s something heavy hanging over it all—something rooted in the song he hasn’t finished and the person he hasn’t forgiven. Y/N reminded him of Geto, that was undeniable. Obviously, not in the way she looked, or talked. But in the way she made music feel like it still meant something. Like it could still save something.

But maybe Gojo doesn’t want to be saved. Maybe he was scared to try and push for this girl to join his band because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to push aside the fact that all he saw when he looked at her was his ex-lover. His bestfriend. The one that got away. What if that line blurred and he did something terrible? Ruined another person? He seemed to have a track record for ruining the good in amazing musicians.

Shoko seems to sense where his mind is drifting. “Look. You’ve got five months to write something that doesn’t sound like a eulogy. I’m just saying—maybe the thing you need to fix this… isn’t something. Maybe it’s someone.”

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps playing the same three chords, slightly slower now. Still not right.

"Just think about it. Don't forget to take a break, though." Shoko added before ending the call.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo , who gets literally kicked out of the studio by Shoko, doesn’t argue when she tosses a crumpled ball cap at his chest and jerks a thumb toward the door.

“You need air. And a damn attitude adjustment.”

He doesn’t bother lashing back. Not because he agrees with her— hell no— but because the fight feels like too much effort. Everything does lately. Maybe he should request his doctor to up his meds?

“Don’t forget the mask,” she calls after him as he walks down the hallway. “The last thing we need is another headline about your ‘mysterious public breakdown.’”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who’s dressed like teenage girl who just discovered streetwear's wet dream— navy blue ball cap pulled low, oversized white jersey flapping open over a long sleeve that hides his infamous yet easily recognizable tattoos, baggy cargo pants low enough to piss off any manager on payroll, and a plain black mask pulled snug over his face— blends in for once. A nobody in the middle of a city that only cares about nobodies when they become rich ass somebodies overnight.

The moment he steps outside, L.A. wraps around him— hot pavement, the smell of gas and cigarettes, the smear of sunset like an old bruise across the sky.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls it out, scanning a few messages. One from his agent — ignored. Two from fans who somehow got his real number again — blocked.

Then… An unfamiliar number. Just a single message.

did you really feel that threatened by how much better i am than you?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo freezes mid-step. The corner of his mouth unknowingly twitches, almost against his will—not quite a smile, more like the idea of one. He reads the message again. He’s not used to being challenged, let alone teased this casually. He didn't even question how she managed to get his number.

It’s Y/n. Has to be.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo stares at the words, chewing them over like lyrics he hasn’t quite figured out how to sing yet. The audacity. The gall. The fact that she didn’t beg for a second chance— didn’t ask anything of him. Just hit send and dared him to deal with it.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels his face flush for the first time in years. God, what was he, a kid in grade school? No way he is getting flustered by a girl being this casual with him. He had snake bites and a tongue piercing for crying out loud! If he could sit through that pain, he could handle some random girl texting his phone. She's not just some random girl, though.

So what she was someone who, for the first time in forever, reminded him of why he started playing in the first place. That feeling. That fire. That ache. And it wasn’t from fame. Or fans. Or ego. It was from someone showing up and refusing to shrink beneath his shadow.

It didn't mean anything. He should ignore the text. He should block her and move on and keep pretending none of this matters. But instead, his thumbs hover over the screen. He types. Deletes. Types again.

you spelled “lucky” wrong.

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it. The reply comes quick.

bitch behavior. didn’t deny it though.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who now walks the block with a barely-contained laugh behind his mask, feels that same feeling stir in his ribs that he originally felt when they played together.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, whose feet carry him aimlessly down side streets and cracked sidewalks, past tattoo parlors glowing red with neon, taco stands setting up for late-night rushes, and murals half-covered in new graffiti. It's noisy, alive — and yet, it feels like he's underwater. Everything muffled. Everyone moving too fast.

He thumbs a reply, each word deliberately careless:

deny what? that you played like a high schooler with stage fright?

But before he can hit send, he pauses. Deletes the last half. He rewrites it. Too mean.

deny what? i didn’t know confidence came with delusion these days.

He stares at it for a second. Debating. Not bad.. not too mean? Its fine. Stop over thinking it.

Then: send.

His phone buzzes back within seconds.

says the guy who couldn’t even look me in the eye the whole time i played. what’s the matter, did real talent make you nervous? or am I just that breathtaking?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo actually stops walking this time, standing in the yellow glow of a flickering streetlamp. Is she flirting or mocking him? A couple passes him on the sidewalk, laughing softly as they brush hands. He doesn't move, doesn’t even notice.

There’s a subtle tightening in his chest. Not pain, exactly. More like friction. Pressure. Get a grip, you're Gojo Satoru. Worldwide superstar. Not some loser who has never felt the touch of a woman before. You don't like this girl; you like the fact that she reminds you of who you lost. Nothing more.

says the girl who was about to cry because her pinky slipped off the E string? don’t act like you didn’t flinch when i raised my voice. tough girls don’t blink.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo regrets the last sentence the moment it sends. Way too mean. Too much like the version of him Shoko keeps threatening to drag to therapy. But it’s already out there. Her reply takes longer this time. Five minutes. Then ten. He starts walking again, slower now. He cuts across a parking lot and sits on the edge of a short wall, staring out at the blur of headlights streaming down the street.

Finally, her response comes.

you’re right. i did flinch. because you reminded me what failure looks like. and i don’t want to end up like you. damn near passed out at the mere thought.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who has been called a genius, a god, a generational talent, sits in stunned silence, phone glowing back at him as if he looked hard enough, the message would rewrite itself into something more pleasant.

He blinks once. Twice. Then, he smiles. Not the cocky smirk, not the fake stage-grin. A real one. Twisted, bitter, maybe a little impressed.

ok. fine. show me how not to end up like me then.

The three dots bounce on his screen. Typing. Stopping. Typing again. But no reply comes. He leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky, the city lights washing out the stars. For the first time in months, he’s not thinking about Geto. Not about the way things fell apart. Not about how he ruined the relationship with the person he cared about most. Just about a girl who called him a bitch and made him want to pick up his guitar again— not to be better than anyone else. But to prove he still could.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, phone screen dims. Thirty minutes pass. Still no reply. He doesn’t like that.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t like being the one left hanging. He’s the cliff, not the one dangling from it. The back-and-forth was fun. Sharp. Flirty without trying to be. But now that it’s quiet, all the self-assuredness he wears like cologne starts to wear thin. He checks the signal on his phone like it’s the service’s fault.

Then— buzz.

A message. No words. Just a location pin. A blue dot blinking somewhere less than a mile from where he’s perched.

wtf does that mean. hello? you forget how to type? are you luring me out to kill me bc ngl, i’d respect that.

No response. Gojo stares at the location again. He shouldn’t go. He won’t go. It’s probably just a flex. A test. A trap. ...So why is he already walking with the GPS pulled up?

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who has slipped through hundreds of backdoors in venues across the world, now walks quietly, alone, on side streets lit with strings of warm lights and the occasional flickering sign. He follows the map. It leads him to a small café tucked between a yoga studio and an old comic shop. The kind of place with mismatched tables and a chalkboard sign outside that says OPEN MIC / LOCAL TALENT NIGHT in scrawled white letters. It’s packed. People are standing shoulder to shoulder, heads tilted toward a small stage in the back, where a single spotlight beams down like a soft halo.

He doesn’t need to ask where she is.

Because there, in the middle of that warmth and color and attention, is Y/n. Alone onstage. No band. No fanfare. Just her bass slung low, her fingers moving with casual, devastating control. Her eyes are wide as she plays with a fever he couldn't describe. Her body swaying to a rhythm that doesn’t seem rehearsed, but lived in.

And the sound—God. Even her voice is pretty. It’s fluid. Gritty. Intimate. Full of breathless pauses and surprise riffs . She’s not showing off—not technically. She’s telling a story. And the crowd? They're caught in her gravity. No phones out. No talking. Just listening. She plucks a run of notes, and Gojo feels them.

Somewhere in his ribs. That little space between ache and awe. He leans against the doorframe in the back, hidden by shadows. Watching.

Y/N glances up mid-song, and for a second, her eyes flicker to the back of the room. He swears she sees him. But she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t flinch.

Just presses deeper into the melody like it’s a challenge, and Gojo swears he can hear it in the way her fingers shift: “You came.”

And something in his chest replies— “Yeah.”

The final note hums like the last breath of a storm. Y/n lets it hang, vibrating in the air for one extra beat before she slowly lifts her hand off the strings. No flourish. No bow. Just a nod— like that performance was for her, not them. Applause erupts, sudden and full-bodied. Gojo watches her give a tight smile to the crowd, say something polite into the mic, and then slip off the stage without waiting for praise.

She disappears behind a curtain for a moment. The next act sets up— two girls with matching hair clips and a shared acoustic guitar. The energy shift is immediate. But Gojo’s not watching them. Because she’s walking toward him now. Calm. Unhurried. Eyes pinned to his like she’s not even bothering to pretend this is coincidence.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who’s sat in green rooms with legends and walked off stage to standing ovations, suddenly feels too tall for his chair. He straightens up—too quickly— like he didn’t just get caught staring. Y/n stops in front of him and squints. Then, with all the flatness of someone pointing out a spilled drink:

"Your disguise is terrible, by the way."

Gojo blinks. “...You think so?”

She cocks her head, arms crossing. “You look like what an adolescent girl, too young to be on Tumblr, would climax over if she could dress her crush.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojosnorts— but behind the mask, it's more like a sharp exhale. She slides into the chair across from him. Her movements unceremonious, confident, like this was always the plan. Like he’s the one intruding on her evening.

"I’m surprised you made it," she says, flicking a glance toward the stage as the next act begins tuning.

“Only caught the end.” He says it casually, but the way his fingers tap restlessly at the edge of the table gives him away. “Didn’t think you were into open mic nights.”

“I’m not. But they’re into me.” She shrugs. “And this is the only place that’ll let me play without turning it into a PR stunt.”

She doesn’t say like your label did, but he hears it anyway.

A waitress comes by. Y/N orders with practiced ease, like she comes here often.

“Strawberry shortcake,” she says, pointing at Gojo with her thumb. “And an energy drink for me. Tall can. Yellow tropical.”

Gojo raises a brow. “Didn’t realize you knew my order.”

“I didn’t. You just look like you need something sweet to shut you up.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo opens his mouth to reply, but it’s gone— the wit, the snark. She’s leaned back now, arms over the chair, the dim café lights softening the edges of her face. Not smiling. Not trying to make him laugh.

Just looking at him. And it’s so unsettlingly… normal and easy. The waitress disappears. The music starts again— the girls on stage begin to sing something breathy and delicate about summer and loss. They sit there, saying nothing for a moment.

Then Y/n, softly speaks; her voice as sweet and light as it was during her audition originally:

"Why’d you come, Satoru?"

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo doesn’t answer right away. Because he doesn't know what would be worse— telling her the truth… or lying. That it wasn’t about rivalry. Or pride. It was because she made him feel something. Something that he thought he'd never feel again. The presence of Geto. All when she played. He could feel Geto's touch. His smell. His laughter that could echo off the walls for miles. That would be crazy to admit. Deranged. Wrong. So instead, he shrugs. Leans back in his seat.

“Wanted to see if you were as good as your ego said.”

Y/N smirks faintly, tilting the energy drink to her lips as it arrives.

“And?”

The waitress sets the shortcake in front of him. Gojo picks up the fork, breaks off a piece of strawberry, and answers with a mouthful.

"...You’re better."

They sit together for longer than they probably should.

A steady stream of local talent drifts on and off the stage— an indie rock duo with too much reverb, a slam poet who forgot half their lines, a jazz quartet that brought the house back to life. But Gojo only half-listens. His attention keeps drifting sideways, toward the girl sitting across from him, draining her energy drink and poking at the condensation on the side of the can like it’s more interesting than anything happening on stage.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who once sold out Narendra Modi Stadium in less than hour, can’t remember the last time he sat this still.

Y/n laughs at something the girl onstage says— a soft, bright laugh that bursts out of her without restraint. When she laughs, she laughs. Her whole body lifts like a wave cresting, shoulders bouncing, her nose crinkling as the sound fills their little corner of the cafe. And God, it hurts. Because she reminds him of him. Not just in the way her presence draws people in like gravity, though that's part of it. It’s subtler than that. Quieter. The resemblance is all in the details.

In the sharp slice of her eyebrow, like it was carved there by accident during a night too wild to remember. The small silver ring through the side of her nose, glinting under warm lights. The faint constellation of freckles that dust her cheekbones, barely there until she tips her face up to laugh.

And then there's her smile— wide, full, but with a crooked tooth that only adds to her charm. It's not perfect. Which is exactly what makes it unforgettable. She talks with her hands. Gestures big, like every word needs space to stretch. Just like Geto used to.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo feels it— the old ache, that space inside him where Suguru used to live. He thinks he’s gotten used to it by now. The hollowness. The silence. But watching Y/n from the side, it's like pressing on a bruise that never fully healed.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, voice casual, but her gaze is sharp. “You keep staring like that, and people are gonna start thinking you’re in love with me.”

He snorts. “If I were, it’d be purely out of admiration for your excellent fashion sense.”

“Oh yeah?” she leans in, feigning seriousness. “You trying to copy my look under that busted disguise?”

He grins under the mask, shaking his head. “Please. If I showed up dressed like you, I’d get mobbed.”

“Well then,” she raises her can in a mock-toast, “consider yourself lucky. No one here’s even bothered to ask if you’re the Gojo Satoru. Your anonymity’s doing great.”

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “I worked really hard to look this chopped.”

Y/N snickers and sits back, watching the next performer fumble with a mic stand. Then, after a stretch of companionable silence, she sighs.

“I’m okay with not being in the band, you know.”

Gojo’s fingers tense slightly against the table. Y/n doesn’t look at him. She just keeps watching the stage, her tone neutral.

“I knew when they brought me in, it wasn’t going to happen. You’ve got too much weight around that group. Too much grief. They want someone to fill a spot— not replace anyone. And I’m not trying to be a ghost in someone else’s place. I am my own person, y'know. ”

Her words hang heavy between them. Truthful. Unbothered. And Gojo, who’s spent months pretending he doesn’t care, finally admits — that’s exactly it. Suguru was irreplaceable. Not just because of the talent or the history. But because of who he was to all of them. To him.

And now here’s this girl: too loud, too honest, too damn talented; who won’t slot neatly into a role designed for someone long gone. Because she’s not a replacement. She’s herself. Gojo looks at her again and he doesn’t know what to say. But for once, maybe that’s okay. So instead, he nudges his plate toward her— one last bite of strawberry shortcake untouched.

“Wanna finish it?”

She looks at him, then at the cake, then back.

“Sharing sweets? You like me that much?.”

He shrugs. “Call it a peace offering.”

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who stands outside the little cafe, the buzz of streetlamps flickering overhead as L.A.’s night air kisses at the edges of his skin through the loose jersey he’s half-zipped. The world hums around him, but he only hears the echo of her laugh— still ringing behind his ribs like a leftover chord.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who stands there awkwardly, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other idly spinning the cap of his lychee soda bottle, unsure if he’s supposed to say something else—something meaningful. But Y/N’s already turning; her energy drink can tossed into a bin with a flick of her fingers.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who watches her walk away with an effortless bounce in her step, a light skip slipping into her stride like she forgot she was supposed to play it cool.

She doesn’t look back. But he does.

He watches her—shoulders relaxed, hoodie slightly oversized, her silhouette swallowed up by the city’s amber haze. The faint clink of her bass case as it shifts against her back. That goddamn silver nose ring catching the light. The way her plump-lipped smile had lingered a little too long in his memory.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who sighs so hard it fogs up it heats up the masks he has on. He tugs it off in a fluid motion and pulls off the cap, running a hand through his now-damp hair.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who kicks at a pebble on the sidewalk and mutters under his breath, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” like the universe dared to give him another person who shines too bright and burns just as fast.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who stands still long after Y/N has disappeared from sight, feeling that annoying tug in his chest — the one that makes him clench his jaw and pretend his heart doesn’t still flinch when he thinks about Geto.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo who realizes, as he exhales and rolls his shoulders back, that he doesn’t care what the label said. Or what bullshit reason they gave. Or how complicated it might be to add her to their lineup.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojowho makes up his mind right then and there, staring into the cool L.A. night, that she’s in the band— no matter what.

✮⋆˙Bandmate!Gojo, who is a lot of things—a menace, a legend, a walking PR nightmare— but he’s not a coward.

He'll fight the execs. He'll deal with Nanami’s judgment. He’ll deal with his own aching, unresolved ghosts.

But he is not letting someone like Y/N slip away. Not when she might be the only person in five goddamn years to make music feel alive again.

And especially not when she calls him a bitch and still somehow makes him want to write a song about it.

[bekolxeram]

Another day, another spin around the Great Cycle of Fandom Discourse™. Today we seem to be at the bachelor party costume debate for like, the 7th time. Let's just go all out and read too much into all of the characters' attires.

Buck and Eddie, they're the only ones dressed correctly for the theme, it was Buck's idea to throw a 80s themed party and Eddie's idea to dress up as Crockett and Tubbs after all. Although, as I've mentioned a while ago, they didn't coordinate with each other beforehand, so they both showed up dressing up as Crockett.

It's Crockett who usually wears pastel, Tubbs seems to prefer darker colors.

Now, Hen is wearing some kind of a retro costume, it's not exactly her usual style, but judging by the high waist flair jeans, it's more of a late 60s-70s outfit. Karen, on the other hand, dresses like uh..... Karen, aka goddess among men. It's probably Henren's normal going out attire.

I'm convinced this man has a closet full of Henleys in each pantone color. Tommy is in his usual Henley and jeans, and he explains it on a technicality: people did wear Henleys in the 80s. We don't actually know how much time passed between the coffee apology-not-date and the wedding, but it can't be too long. We also don't know when Buck invites Tommy to the bachelor party, he seems to be still scouring for venue 2 weeks before. There's likely not enough time for Tommy to shuffle his schedule around or throw together a specific costume. The best he can do is put on whatever he has and try his best to show up while on standby, Buck is glad that he can make it though.

I have no idea what Ravi is wearing. It's a regular button up with some subtle pattern on it and black pants? I don't think he's dressed up as anyone or anything in particular, I'll just put it in the same category as Tommy, there were people who dressed like this in the 80s.

Although Chimney got encephalitis-blocked, we learn from Maddie that he was on his way to the party. This is very possibly what he chose to wear for the occasion, it's not even casual, it's more business casual. In fact, this is the same shirt he wore to the Lee's a couple days ago, but this time he loses the jacket and puts on more informal pants.

We know he's not too stoke about going to a bachelor party and he's getting progressively sicker at that point, so it's understandable he would be the last person to wear a costume for the party.

In short, outside of Buck and Eddie, no one wear costumes to the bachelor party except for Hen, who wears the wrong one. I believe this scene is meant to be a silly little set up for Chimney's disappearance, but if we decide to read too much into, the only person who comes out looking less than positive is, unfortunately, Buck (and a bit Eddie for encouraging him).

Buck insists on throwing the party despite the continuous disapproval and refusal of the groom himself, whom the whole wedding is supposed to be about. But everyone understands Buck is doing it out of love, he just wants to celebrate Madney's epic love story, so they all show up the best they can even though they are mildly annoyed. They take time out of their busy lives, stay for a bit, then return to their obligations when it becomes clear that the night isn't going anywhere without Chimney's presence. At the end of the day, Buck didn't know Chimney was sick, his excessive enthusiasm also isn't that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, but if you really want to read this scene by itself as the writers painting one of the characters in less than favorable light, it would be Buck.

Ravi is totally in it for the free food though.

[bread0nhead]

The Beauty and the Blast | Chapter Seven

Summary: In the spotlight, the world calls her Pulchra. A rising celebrity model who's known for her quick, Infinite Beauty. A quirk that alters a persons perception of beauty, causing anyone who sees her to subconsciously view her as the embodiment of their ideal vison- making her universally captivating. 

Everyone either wants to be her, or to be with her. From obsessive fans to controlling agencies, everyone wants to own her. While the world sees her as perfect, behind closed doors she's deeply lonely yet craves the silence. 

He's loud, intense, blunt and more emotionally repressed than an angsty teen alone on Valentines. Everyone sees him for his explosions and strength, but its that short fuse that landed him battling the hardest war yet- public image and the PR team that comes with it.

Notes: Cross posted on ao3 I feel like I really need to work on pacing of the story. I get an idea and I rush the story to meet that idea, making the pacing feel unrealistic and clunky. It's something I am trying to figure out. Rating: 18+

The interview was scheduled in a stylish hotel suite that overlooked the city skyline. Polished floors, tasteful art, sleek leather couches and catered buffet tables full of all types of assortments. Fashion weekly had gone all in for this interview. Three professional photographers to get every angle, top stylist on standby and a bigtime reporter named Akari Hyasaka- young, clever, sharper than your stilettos. You arrived on set ten minutes late in your perfectly tailored creme colored suit with the deep V. Your stylist couldn’t decide what shoes to torture your feet with. Eggshell off-white with the red bottoms, or sandy creme with the red bottoms. Eggshell. 

Bakugou was already sitting on the shiny leather couch under the camera lights, scowling in your direction for having the audacity to be late. He wore a long sleeve dark green button up with black tailored pants with black leather chelsea boots. His hair is as unruly as ever. 

“You’re late.” Bakugou frowned.

“I’m surprised you're here at all.” You smiled. 

“Trust me, I don’t want to be.”

“That’s the spirit.” You gave a wink and sat down next to him, straightening your body tight blazer. You caught Bakugou staring at the cleavage and gave him a teasing look. He rebutted by turning his head away with a “tsk”. 

Across from you sat Akari in a perfectly stylish pencil skirt and simple silk blouse. Hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and face painted for a more mature look. She looked both at you with the kind of look that would make anyone squirm. 

Akari gave a hand gesture and simple nod at the videographers filming the interview. The little red lights blinked on, indicating the cameras were rolling. At the corner of your eye you caught Bakugou's leg start to bounce and his grip on the arm of the couch tighten. 

“Thank you both for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here.” Araki said with a smile that could cut diamonds. “We’re just going to have a relaxed conversation about the shoot, your dynamic and what it’s like when two public figures from very different worlds come together. Sound good?”

Bakugou mumbled something under his breath and turned his head away. 

You gave a practiced smile and nod. “Absolutely.” 

And like that, it was now Pulchra and Dynamite on the couch. 

“Let’s start with the obvious,” Akari said “the chemistry. The shoot went viral within 12 hours of the photos being posted. People are calling you the most unexpected pairing since hero licensing met haute couture. Thoughts?”

Bakugou groaned at how lame that sounded.  Sinking sluggishly into the couch, bouncing his leg faster. 

“Dynamite, how about we start with you?” Akari clearly wanted a juicy story. 

“People are reading too damn much into some stupid photos.” 

His comment was a sharp string, is that what he thinks? That this is all a stupid game to him? Were you misreading all of this? Your mind was starting to spiral, you felt the pressure in your body tighten. You wanted to rebuttal and scoff at his words. But that's not what Pulchra would do. So you push any feelings aside and play the part. Give the audience just enough to feel satisfied, but enough to keep your distance. 

“And yet the body language in those photos say otherwise. There’s this…tension. An untold story.  An unexpected spark.”

Bakugou opened his mouth to argue, but you cut in before he had a chance. “Unexpected can be fun, yes. But while everyone sees a spark, I just see two professionals who are clearly good at their job.” You gave a straight lined smile. Avoiding looking at Bakugou because you didn’t want to know if he was agreeing with what you were saying. Knowing if he agreed, it would all be over.

“So what is it like working with Dynamite? We all know how the media portrays him. Is all that true?”

You sideyed towards Bakugou. His jaw was sharp, arms folded over his chest, he was looking at you waiting for your answer. 

“He’s…difficult.” 

Akari looked over at Bakugou wanting a response “She’s not wrong.”

“But,” your eyes softened at Bakugou “he’s honest. It’s refreshing to have someone who is so unapologetically themself and raw with everyone else.” 

Bakugou didn’t say anything, but his jaw relaxed and the muscles in this arm eased. His leg also stopped bouncing. 

Akari raised a brow and smiled “Let’s talk rumors”

You sighed inwardly. Here it comes. 

“There's speculation you’re more than colleagues. There's photos floating around with your hand on his arm walking out of a restaurant.” 

…fuck. 

Bakugou was tense again. 

You leaned forward, smile with strategy. “We’re….getting to know each other.”

Akari blinked “Getting to know each other?”

“Yes, isn’t that what you do with new friends?” You said sweetly. “You talk. You eat. You keep things private.” 

“So that's all this is, friends?”

Bakugou looked at you and you stared back. He didn’t say anything but you sensed a shift. He was waiting for an answer. 

“Yes.” You kept your eyes on his while you responded to Akari. “Just friends.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

Akari could feel the tension in the room and wanted to strike while the fire was hot. “Fair enough. But one last question.” 

Both you and Bakugou raised your brows. 

“Do you think there's a world where heroes could date someone so public without risk? Risk for their image. Risk of safety.” 

Bakugou paused, his eyes winded, looking at the marble floor as he slowly scrubbed his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking. You could tell he was deep in thought. 

Risk was something he never considered. 

You looked at him, really looked. Your smile faded into something more serious. 

“Yes.” You said with confidence. “But only if both parties are brave enough to weather the storm.” 

Akari looked at you both, lip twitching slightly but nothing where the cameras would notice. 

“Beautiful.” 

The rest of the interview was less personal, something less heavy. Akari talked about your next runway show and Dynamite's most recent rescue. The photographers took a few candid shots while you, Pulchra, entertained. Laughing at all the right times. Speaking all the right words. Bakugou watched you as if trying to understand you. Like studying some character in a book.

When the interview wrapped, you both walked out together. The elevator ride was uncomfortably quiet. Bakugou looked more pissed than usual. His body leaned against the steel elevator walls with his arms crossed. You could feel the metaphorical wall between you. 

When the elevator bell rang and the doors opened, Bakugo pushed himself off the wall and walked out, not even looking at you. Large glass sliding doors opened up to the outside where you both walked out. The air was colder and the sky darker. 

“Hopefully this PR bullshit is over. Sick of playin’ dress up.” He seethed as he watched the passing cars. Guilt was creeping in the moment he spoke. He couldn’t bare to watch whatever emotion your face morphed into. 

Before you could speak, Bakugou reached his hand in front of you with a small rectangle card. On it was the name of the hero agency he worked at and on the other side was his cell phone number hand written in pen with his initials in the corner. 

“Call me if you need a friend.” there was more emphasis on the word friend, enough it almost stung. 

He didn’t give you time to explain yourself, how you felt, or even enough time to say goodbye. He was walking away before you could get a single word in.

[insomniaccorner]

Hello ! Could you write a story about a Bruce become infant ? And the children take care of him please ! Have a good day 🥰

Title: “Batbaby”

Summary: When a mission goes sideways, Bruce Wayne is temporarily de-aged into a toddler. The Batkids are not prepared.

The mission had been simple.

In, secure the artifact, out. But when Zatanna warned them not to touch the glowing runes? Bruce touched the glowing runes.

Now he was sitting in the Batcave. All three feet of him. Arms crossed. Little scowl on his tiny face. Wearing an emergency Wayne Enterprises onesie because none of them had toddler clothes on standby.

Damian stared at him, horrified. “He’s... small.”

Tim was trying not to laugh. “He’s tiny, you mean. That’s Baby Batman.”

“I am not a baby,” Bruce snapped—except it came out in a high-pitched voice and a pout that ruined the effect.

Jason collapsed on the couch, cackling. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I still have my mind,” Bruce insisted, glaring at his now-gigantic children. “This is temporary. I’m still in charge.”

Dick crouched beside him with a smile. “Sure, sure. You’re totally the boss. But until Zatanna finds the reversal spell? You’re three, B.”

“I’m three and a half,” Bruce corrected sharply.

Damian groaned. “He’s regressing by the second.”

Hour One:

Bruce tried to sit at the Batcomputer. Couldn’t reach the keyboard. Sulked for ten minutes straight.

Tim gave him juice in a sippy cup. Bruce threw it at him. Missed. Demanded coffee. Was denied.

Jason tried teaching him to say “Red Hood.” Bruce said “Red Head.” Jason didn't even mind.

Hour Four:

Dick had wrapped Bruce in a little hoodie with bat ears and was carrying him around on his hip like a dad at a farmer’s market.

Bruce was not happy about it.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled into Dick’s shoulder.

“Aw, you’re doing so good, buddy,” Dick cooed, bouncing him slightly.

“Put me down or I will fire you.”

“You don’t even pay me.”

Hour Six:

Bruce fell asleep on Alfred’s lap during story time. The book was about logistics. No one was surprised.

Damian stood nearby, arms crossed. “I... don’t hate him like this.”

Tim nodded. “It’s kind of peaceful. He’s only barked two orders since nap time.”

Jason took a picture. “He’s gonna murder us when he’s back to normal.”

Dick just smiled, tucking a baby blanket around Bruce. “Worth it.”

The next morning, the spell wore off. Bruce returned to normal. Full height. Full grump.

No one said anything.

Until Jason walked into the Cave wearing a shirt with Baby Bruce’s face on it.

Bruce stared.

Jason grinned. “I made merch.”

Bruce walked away.

“You can’t fire me if I don’t work here!”

[quack-quack-snacks]

Silver Bird

My Navigation and Masterlist

My Gray Man/Courtland Gentry Masterlist

Pairing(s): Courtland Gentry x Fem!Claire's Nurse!Reader Summary: Falling in love with your uncle's criminal recruit wasn't something on your to-do list, but it seemed to happen anyway. Warnings: Medical stuff, canonical violence, blood, fighting, Word Count: 7,460 Extra Notes: I came back for a minute to post this but I'm still on a hiatus with all of my writing! Also, Reader is a freaky genius girl just like Gabriella from High School Musical, and basically is the youngest person to ever graduate with a medical degree and start practicing medicine with a full license. I looked it up, and Court is supposed to be about 35 for the majority of the movie, so I am making the reader around that same age. I was also not able to find a conclusive answer to how Claire’s parents died, so I kinda just made it up. Happy reading!

pt 2

Claire Fitzroy was a one-of-a-kind kid whom you’d babysat since you were 17 years old. You’d known her parents and uncle for even longer, your mother being good friends with hers and even the maid of honor at her mother’s wedding. You were there as a guest for the special day, despite not being able to remember much of it. The only thing you remembered about it was being the designated flower girl for the day. When you look at photos of the day, you see yourself in a red and purple flowered dress, though you distinctly remember it being green and blue ombre. That might have been the tablecloths, though. 

It was when you were 17 years old and Claire was first born with her heart condition that you knew you wanted to be a nurse. Sitting in that hospital hallway with your head in your hands as you waited for the news of Claire, who wasn’t breathing when she came out of your aunt’s womb, you felt so helpless and fearful. You never wanted to feel that way again, especially not in regards to the baby girl you held in your arms only a few hours later. It was love at first sight, and you knew you would do anything for this girl until your days came to an end. 

So, with all of that in mind, as you graduated high school and started college, you started your path in medical care, specializing in pediatrics so you would be able to help them with taking care of the young girl alongside her full-time nurse on standby. 

Within only six years, you became the youngest person to ever graduate with a medical license. It wasn’t something all that special to you, considering it was all for one person. All for her, the girl you viewed as your little sister and the person who meant the most to you in this world. As soon as you graduated from med school, you became Claire’s full-time caretaker, a fact that her and your parents were more than thrilled about. It helped that Claire absolutely adored you even as an infant. She would always act up unless you were in the room or holding her, and it warmed your heart each and every time. Being able to be around her now every minute of the day was something that made you more than happy, especially since even though you’d heard stories of her being a bit of a hellion for her parents, she was nothing but an angel when around you. 

Overall, at only the age of 25, you were the happiest you could ever be with your life as fulfilling as it could be, and your heart full all the time. 

That all changed, though, when the Fire Nation attacked when you turned 28, and both she and your parents died on their way back from the store buying your birthday present. It was a truck pile-up that killed them, though the circumstances always seemed especially strange for reasons you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 

You held a sobbing Claire in the hospital hallway that night, suppressing your own tears as she exhausted herself and eventually fell asleep in your arms. Later on, Claire’s uncle, Donald, came walking out of their hospital room with a sullen and pale look on his face. It was only at the subtle shake of his head that you let the first tear drop fall. 

It had been three years since that day, and you hadn’t been able to celebrate your birthday that same way since. It became a cursed day that brought a heavy rain cloud over your head whenever it approached. Claire had been able to grow from it, and it luckily didn’t impact her personality too much, at least not in a concerning way. She seemed more mellow and sad at times, especially when the anniversary of their death came up, but she was still the same amazing girl you would always love and cherish. 

It was an awkward time of year, your birthday. Especially for Claire. You could tell it was strange for the day of her parents' death, along with yours, and your birthday, a day of celebration, to be on the same day because she was never quite sure about what to do. 

Was she supposed to celebrate? 

Would you get sad if she threw you a little surprise birthday party? 

She really had no idea how you felt about the day, when each time it rolled up, you were always taking care of her and making sure she was feeling alright on the day of your family members’ deaths. You never mentioned your birthday, but you always made sure hers was the best day you could ask for. 

Although it’s 100% not how you would have wanted the rest of your life to be spent - living in sadness on the one day of your life your parents always tried to make the happiest of the year - you couldn’t do anything to change it and decided to at least make it so that Claire wouldn’t have to struggle that same sadness of a day that is supposed to bring her joy. 

When Donald told you about the release of information about the house in Hong Kong that the three of you lived in, you were rightfully anxious. You had known about your uncle’s job since you were a child, and it never bothered you, but this was one of the few times you wished he had a normal, boring job like the rest of the world. 

Not that you didn’t already wish that for him, but now especially that it was putting more people you care about in danger. 

You were glad he was already way ahead of you about the safety of not only Claire, but also of you. Donald had not only taken over as the acting guardian of Claire, but he also had become a sort of father figure for you to rely on in times of need. With you being the motherly figure of Claire at such a young age, it became hard for you at times to keep up the happy sisterly nurse for her, always strong and never allowing yourself to crumble in front of her, because the gods knew she needed someone like that. With Donald around, you allowed yourself to fall apart bit by bit in his presence because you knew he would always be around to catch you. With him being away on work for most of the time, you were the main caretaker and family member of Claire, and he repaid that not only with money - because yes, he did pay you very handsomely - but also with a shoulder for you to cry on. 

He briefed you on Six and what exactly he would be doing in Donald’s place while he was away. Although you weren’t the most comfortable with a stranger in the house at all times, you trusted your uncle with your life. If he trusted this man, then that would be the person in charge of your and Claire’s safety for the time being. 

A knock on the door brought you back to the present, where you had been helping Claire look through her records. It was a sort of tradition of yours to pretend to be interested in the other songs when, in reality, you both knew you would choose Silver Bird by Mark Lindsay. After all, it was both of your favorite songs because it was the birthday present your parents had gone to get for you before their crash. Unfortunately, the one they bought was destroyed beyond repair, but you bought a different one and pretended in your mind it was the same one they bought for you. 

You got up from where you were kneeling on her bed beside her and ruffled her hair a bit before walking to the front door. You had no doubt the person at the door was this mysterious Six, but you were still slightly cautious and worried about the chance that it wasn’t him. 

Looking through the peephole, you saw a man in a dark purple button-up with a gray blazer and matching slacks. Opening up the small mail slot on the door, you spoke. “Identity Challenge: Virgo.”

He responded within a heartbeat. “Response: Jupiter.”

You let out a sigh of relief and relaxed your shoulders that you hadn’t even realized were tensed up. Unlocking the door and opening it up, you got a good look at the man you would be spending the next few months with. 

You remember being shocked and scared when you heard how long your uncle was going to be gone for, but there was nothing you could do. His job was demanding, and you could only hope he remained safe throughout it all. He was much more handsome than he was through the distortion of the peephole. You stuck a hand out for him. “Welcome to the Fitzroy house, Mr. Six,” you started, giving him your name right afterwards. “I’m Claire’s primary and full-time nurse and also Donald’s other niece, though not by blood. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know,” you told him with a kind smile. He nodded and stepped through the door, closing it behind him, as you turned to start leading him into the house and to Claire’s room. 

“Claire Bear,” you said as you entered the room, noticing she had stopped looking through the records, having chosen Silver Bird as expected and started playing it on the record player, and was now messing around with the Polaroid camera you got for her on her last birthday. “This is… Six. He’ll be staying and looking after us and the house while Uncle D is away.”

Six looked around the room, scanning everything like a true security guard before walking over to the side of the room Claire was at. “Just the two exits?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you confirmed. 

After a moment of silence, Claire spoke up. “Six is an odd name.”

“Claire!” You scolded gently. She sent you a semi-apologetic glance before the man spoke up. 

“Yeah, just, uh, 007 was taken, so…” He shrugged, and you let a small sigh of relief, glad he didn’t take any personal offense to the comment. You knew very little about the man from what your uncle told you, so knowing whether Six was his real name or an alias was something that wasn’t mentioned, and you weren’t too keen on asking about it. At least not yet. 

“Are you chewing gum?” Claire asked. While they talked, you started collecting the records off the bed to put them back on the shelf under the record player where they belong. 

“Yep.”

“We don’t chew gum in this house.”

He sent a glance over at you as he spoke, and you smiled a small, slightly amused smile.

“I wasn’t… briefed,” just in that moment, Claire took a photo of the man with her Polaroid. “Won’t happen… again. Well, I’ll try and stay out of your way, for both of you. Do you mind?” He asked before leaning down and picking up the picture she had just taken of him. After inspecting it for a moment, he asked, “May I?” Indicating he would like to take the photo. 

Claire shrugged and replied, “Sure.”

“Thanks,” he expressed as he placed the photo in the inner breast pocket of his blazer. “Nice to meet you,” he said, glancing between you and Claire. 

“Likewise, let me know if you need anything,” you told him for the second time. He nodded and walked back out the door of Claire’s room, presumably scanning the rest of the house and doing his job. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Claire mocked after making sure Six had gotten far enough away that he wouldn’t hear. “Can you be any more obvious?”

Your jaw dropped, and you lightly slapped her arm. “Claire! There was nothing to be obvious about,” you deflected, and she raised her eyebrows at you. 

“Uh-huh. Sure. I might be 13, but I’m not stupid. You’ve got the hots for that guy,” she said while lightly nudging her elbow into your ribs. 

Your jaw dropped even further. “Where did you even learn that term? That’s insane, and you’re insane. Shut up,” you rambled, flustered, and turning your head away from her as she laughed. 

You did not have the hots for this new attractive bodyguard your uncle assigned to the two of you. You didn’t. 

Okay, so you might have the hots for the new attractive bodyguard your uncle assigned to the two of you. Maybe. But it was only because you spent so little time with people outside of taking care of Claire that it was just nice seeing another face around. You got lonely sometimes in the sense of not having many friends, and the friends you did have, you never really hung out with. 

So yeah, maybe you did have the hots for this new guy, but could you blame yourself?

The second time you interacted with Six was later that day in the kitchen as you were preparing a grilled cheese sandwich and broccoli cheese soup (because she doesn’t like tomato soup) for Claire. He walked in with an empty water bottle in his hand. When he saw you, he practically turned the other way and started walking again. “Sorry, I’ll leave you be.”

Without turning around, you spoke up. “Six, you don’t have to completely avoid us. You’re here to protect us, but this is going to be your home as well for the next couple of months. I hope we don’t make you feel uncomfortable because that’s the exact opposite of what I want to do.”

When you turned back around to look at him, he was practically frozen in place. It took a moment of the two of you holding eye contact for him to respond. “Thank you. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

He was a man of few words, that was for sure, but it wasn’t really something you minded. As long as he understood what you were saying, then that was all you needed. 

The third time you interacted with Six was around 5 o’clock that day, outside beside the pool, as you and Claire sat on a hanging chair. You were reading a book, and Claire was on her phone playing her favorite game. He walked up the steps beside the house, eating a sandwich, before doing the same thing he did earlier that afternoon and turned around to walk back in the direction he came from. “Excuse me.”

“Looking for your jacket?” Claire asked. He turned around, walking back in your direction before she continued in a mischievous tone. “Looks like I sat on it!”

You scoffed out a laugh, glancing up at Six before going back to your book. 

“Is that a secure phone?” He asked. He was only a few feet away from you now, your knee nearly grazing against his thigh. 

“All of our phones are secure, don’t worry, Donald had that ensured,” you told him softly, still looking at your book. 

“Just got the high score,” Claire said while showing him the phone screen. That made you snap your head to her, looking at her phone to make sure she was telling the truth.

She was. 

You clicked your tongue, annoyed. That was your high score that she beat. Now you just had to beat it again. 

Claire stuck her tongue out at you childishly, and you scrunched your nose at her playfully. She looked back at Six to continue the conversation. “I had a lot of time to practice after the operation. They made me stay in bed.” She waited a moment, and when she realized Six wasn’t going to respond, she continued with a more mocking tone in her voice. “‘How long they make you stay in bed for?’ Quite a long time. Several weeks, actually. ‘Oh, hope you’re okay.’ Better now, Six. Thanks for asking! How’s your time been here? Enjoying the grounds? ‘Oh, they’re lovely. I like to walk in circles and stare at my shoes.’” You nudged her in the side scoldingly.

“Can I get that jacket?” He asked instead of responding to anything she said. Claire pressed her lips together before pulling the jacket out from under her and handing it to the man. 

“I like your tattoo,” she tried another conversation, hoping he would open up and talk to her. “Where’d you get it, prison?”

You pressed a hand to your forehead and let out a sound that was a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “Claire, you can’t just say things like that, dude.”

Six sent you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher before responding to Claire. “Yeah, actually.”

“I’m shocked,” the girl responded sarcastically. 

He nodded his head to the side in acknowledgment before turning around and walking until he stopped at the 13-year-old’s next words. 

“What’s it mean? The writing?”

“Oh, it’s, you know… Just a guy’s name in Greek.”

That caught your attention, and you placed your bookmark in your book to mark your spot before setting it down in your lap and listening to the conversation. Six glanced over at you, noticing this, and you smiled. 

“What guy?” Claire asked persistently. 

“Just a guy. You know, trying to get a rock up a hill.”

“Why?”

“They made him.”

“Who made him?”

“The gods.”

“Did they need a rock?” She asked, and you let out a small laugh. 

“They were just trying to punish him, I think.”

“Did he deserve it?” She asked him, continuing the conversation even though you could kind of tell Six was getting anxious to leave it. 

“Probably.”

“Did he like it?”

“Probably not.”

“So why’d he do it?”

Six nodded thoughtfully before saying, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you’re quite the conversationalist,” she retorted. You sent the man an apologetic look before he nodded in both of your directions and replied. 

“I’m going to get back to work.”

When he was about halfway across the patio, Claire spoke up again. “Hey! Does he ever get to the top of the hill?”

Six let out a short laugh. “I’ll let you know.”

As he walked off, Claire let out a sigh. “He’s boring to talk to.”

“Well, he wasn’t sent here to talk to us, so I think he’s doing pretty well considering everything,” you told her while poking her cheek annoyingly. 

She slapped your hand away with a laugh and went back to playing the game on her phone. 

You narrowed your eyes and snatched the phone out of her hand. “Gimme that. You can’t just beat my high score and get away with it!” You told her playfully while starting up a new game. That started a mini war between the two of you, where she would try to do whatever she could to distract you from the game while you tried to beat her new high score. 

In the end, you weren’t able to beat it (and you definitely weren’t purposely doing worse to allow her the win). 

The next couple of weeks went by without a hitch. Six was still somewhat distant and relatively emotionally absent in both your and Claire’s presence, not to mention the lack of conversation skills he had, but he seemed to be getting more comfortable and less awkward around you two. He would make more jokes, that dry, almost dad humor of his more than enough to make you crack a smile or laugh aloud, and he was also getting less and less shy with touching you, though shy wasn’t exactly the right word for how he had been before, more distant. While his touch never lasted more than a few seconds, he didn’t hold back on placing a hand on the small of your back when he gently manhandled you away from a cabinet he was trying to get into, or when he walked behind you and lightly brushed his hand against your back so that you knew he was there.

Or even when you fell asleep at the table during your nightly tradition of staying there with him, and he picked you up to bring you to your room. 

Your relationship with him had become something new. Less than friends, but more than strangers. It was nameless, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Now, when there was silence, you didn’t feel like you had to immediately fill it. It was comfortable. He was comfortable. You even started a little ritual where you would sit at the table with him after you put Claire to bed. He would watch the cameras, and you would either read, work on the puzzle that was on the table and had been for weeks, or talk with him. 

The talking was usually one-sided, however, and you rarely got more than a one-word response or a grunt. That didn’t stop you from rambling about anything and everything under the stars. He might not be the best conversationalist but he was a damn good listener. 

Tonight was like any other night. You’d put Claire to bed about an hour earlier and had been sitting at the table like you’d done for the past week or so. Tonight, you were reading on your Kindle. It was a romance story about a princess and her appointed knight. The princess and the knight were in love, big shocker, but it was forbidden for them to be together. 

Lowering the Kindle to your lap, your thoughts drifted off. You couldn’t help but relate yourself and your situation to the book. Although you were no princess, you somehow felt like the princess in the book, slowly falling for her knight in shining armour. The only difference was that it seemed to be a bit more one-sided in your story. It had only been a couple of weeks since he’d arrived but with every interaction, every soft chuckle you got out of him when you said something silly, every small smile he shot Claire’s way when she was being her normal, amazing self made you feel things you’d never felt before for anyone. 

You knew about his line of work, though, and specifically about who he was. He was a ghost. He didn’t exist to the world, therefore, he shouldn’t even exist to you. You knew he would never feel the same way, and even if he did, he would never be allowed to act upon it. 

But he did exist to you, and that was what made it so hard to get over your growing feelings for him. 

With your thoughts distracted and your teeth unconsciously biting at your lower lip, you hadn’t noticed the way Six kept glancing over at you every couple of seconds. It was only when he spoke that you got shaken from the thoughts in your mind and looked over at him. “Claire doesn’t like it when you do that.”

“When I do what?” You asked, confused. 

“Chew on your lip,” he said simply. 

He was right. Each time Claire caught you chewing your lip, she always smacked you on the arm and scolded you the same way you always scolded her for picking at her cuticles. It made you laugh that he noticed that, and you forced yourself to release your lip from its tooth jail and sigh. “Most of the time, I do it subconsciously. I’ve been trying to get myself to quit it for years, but I’ve never been able to,” you confessed, leaning back in your chair after completely giving up on reading and turning the Kindle off.

He hummed in response, and you let out a soft little laugh sound that he quirked a smile at. 

Just as you were about to open your mouth and continue the conversation, you saw him sneakily opening up a packet of gum, sending you a look before he asked, “Well, are you going to tell on me for chewing gum in the house?”

You stared at him incredulously as he stuffed the gum into his mouth and started chewing. You scoffed out a laugh and shook your head. “Your secret’s safe with me, Mr. Number Man,” you teased. 

Just as he was about to say something in response, the two of you heard a familiar, feminine voice call out for you and then for the man next to you. “Mr. Six…” She started, her voice sounding strained and laborious. “Something’s wrong,” she gasped out before falling to the floor in a heap. 

“Claire!” You yelled out, standing up as soon as she started falling. Six was two steps ahead of you, already running over to her and picking her up. You didn’t even need his instructions when you grabbed the car keys and your phone before heading to the door and opening it for him. It took you less than a minute for you to unlock the car, get in the backseat where Six quickly but gently placed Claire onto your lap, and for him to get into the front and start driving. The entire way, you kept a finger over Claire’s pulse to keep count of her heart rate, all while giving Six directions to Mount St. Mary’s. 

When you got there, the car had barely come to a stop before Six had put it into park and opened the door. You followed closely behind him as he carried her into the hospital and placed her onto a wheeled bed as doctors crowded around her and wheeled her away. You followed them as far as you could until they told you to go sit in the hallway until further notice. You sat with your head in your hands while Six stood beside you, offering support with his presence, even if he didn’t hug you or hold your hand. 

Later on, after the doctors had transferred her over to a regular hospital room, you were able to go in and see her. The entire time the doctor was speaking, you were holding Claire’s hand with the gentlest grip despite how you wanted to squeeze it for dear life at the fear she just instilled in you. 

“She’s stabilized,” the doctor told you, pointing at her now regulated heart rate. “Tell Donald there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it, non-invasive.”

You nodded before asking. “Is there any possibility this could happen again? Should I- should we be worried?” You corrected yourself. There were the occasional times when you would forget Claire wasn’t your real sister or daughter. 

“The probability of this happening again is very slim, but we would like to keep her here for a couple of days to make sure everything stays as it should. We managed to fix it and place some backup protocols into the program as well. The remote system flagged it ten minutes before you pulled up. We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere.”

“Thank you, really. I’ll let her uncle know right away.”

The doctor nodded at you before you turned to face the small girl. Despite being in such a fragile condition, she was still the strongest girl you’d ever met. You leaned over her to kiss her forehead. With a playful smirk, you told her, “Try not to get into any more trouble in the few minutes I’m away.”

She clicked her tongue, her voice sounding muffled under the mask. “No promises.”

You winked and gently placed her hand down before walking away and passing Six with an acknowledging nod of your head on your way out of the room. Grabbing your phone out of your back pocket, you dialed up your uncle's number and waited for him to answer. Once he spoke into the phone, you let out a small sigh of relief. 

“Hey, Uncle D., Claire had an accident. Her pacemaker had a malfunction, so we brought her to the hospital.”

“Is she doing better?” He asked, and you could hear the worried tremor in his voice. 

“Yeah.. yeah, she’s doing okay now. They fixed the glitch and everything, but I just wanted to let you know. It was a non-invasive procedure, and they had tracked the glitch ten minutes before we even arrived at the hospital,” you told him. 

“Okay. That’s good to hear.”

“They want her to stay here for another day or two just to keep an eye on her. Six and I are going to stay with her the entire time, so we will be okay.”

“Alright, sweetie. Let me know if anything changes, alright?”

“Yeah, will do. Do you want to speak to Claire? I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. I don’t think she’s asleep yet,” you suggested.

“No, let the poor girl get some rest. I’ll call her tomorrow if I can. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay, bye, uncle, we love you.”

With that, you hung up and walked back over to the door of Claire’s room, where you leaned against the opposite wall from Six. Glancing over at Claire, you saw her fast asleep, and you smiled. 

“You doing alright?” Six asked. When you turned back to look at him, you saw him already looking at you, which caused your breath to hitch in your throat. 

You nodded while staring into his clear blue eyes. “Yeah, I’m doing fine. A little worried about Claire, sure, but I know she’ll be okay. She’s a whole lot tougher than me and maybe even tougher than you,” you joked.

He smiled back at you, and you mentally pat yourself on your back. “Oh, definitely. I’m a giant wuss compared to her.”

You giggled softly before letting out a yawn. “You need me to stay up with you, or are you good to keep watch by yourself?” You asked playfully, knowing he doesn’t need any help for the job he does every night. 

He confirmed that thought when he shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Goodnight, Six.”

“Goodnight,” he replied just as softly. 

You walked into the room to take a seat on the cushioned chair in the corner of the room, and it was only seconds after your head rested against the side that you conked out for the night. 

The next day and a half were relatively boring. You sat on Claire’s bed with her, chatting away and watching her get a new high score after you downloaded her favorite app for her on your phone since you had left hers at home before you left. Six watched over the two of you the entire time, making sure only confirmed doctors and nurses came into the room with the three of you. It was only later, the next day, after all three of you were tired of living within the same four walls and ready to go home, that Claire was finally cleared to leave. The three of you practically sprinted to the car and started your journey back to the place you called home. 

When you finally parked in the house’s driveway, you helped Claire get out of the car and sat her down at the kitchen table as soon as you entered it. With a mischievous gleam in your eyes, you snuck over to the freezer and pulled out the tub of chocolate ice cream you knew was her favorite. Her eyes lit up once she saw it, and you laughed, getting a bowl and serving two scoops of ice cream into it. Placing it down in front of her, you messed with her hair before kissing the crown of her head. You gestured with your hand to Six, asking if he wanted any ice cream, to which he shook his head at. You nodded, flashing him a smile and walking over to wash the ice cream scooper. 

“You feeling better?” Six asked the young girl as she scooped the ice cream into her mouth. You listened to the conversation over the sound of the rushing water from the sink. 

She shrugged. “Just another Thursday.” Six nodded before Claire continued with a happier sigh, leaving her chest. “Donald says this is the best medicine. Ice cream? I tend to agree.”

“He’s a very smart man,” Six agreed with a quirk of his lips. You smiled at the interaction. 

“Only family I got,” Claire told him, her smile falling from her lips and being replaced by a slightly more somber look. 

“Closest thing to family I got too.”

The 11-year-old rested her head on her hand as she looked over at Six with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe that kind of makes us family.”

You finished up your dishes and watched as Six looked over at her with a soft look on his face before shooting her a small, quick smile. 

Claire yawned, and within a heartbeat, Six said, “You should go to bed.”

You dried your hands as he did, walking over to place your hands on the girl’s shoulders and guide her out of the chair. “Alright, Claire Bear. You heard the mathematician. Off to bed you go.”

“Night, Robot,” Claire told Six as the two of you walked away. 

“Good night, Claire,” he said to her in response. 

You winked at him. “Goodnight, Mr. Mathematician.”

He nodded your way with a somewhat forced smile as you walked away. You noticed the furrowedness of his eyebrows, though you ignored the way it made you nervous. 

“You want to take a bath before you go to sleep? Rinse off the hospital smell?” You asked Claire while walking to her bedroom. 

She scoffed. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

“What? No! That would be crazy,” you told her as you plugged your nose playfully and fanned your hand in front of your face. 

She laughed just as you got to the bedroom door and entered it. “Can I play a record?

“Okay, fine. You can only play them until your bath is done, though, okay? You’ve had a long past few days, and I don’t want you to stay up for any longer than you need to. I’ll go start the bath while you start that up.”

A few minutes later, she was sitting in the tub, scrubbing herself clean while you tidied things up around her room, listening to ‘Silver Bird’ reverberate throughout the room. When she called out for you, you walked over to the door, still allowing her to have her privacy as you asked what was wrong. 

“I just ran out of conditioner. Could you get some from under the sink in Donald’s room?” She pleaded. You stuck your thumb up from around the corned, smiling when she giggled. 

“You got it, Claire Bear.”

“I think I’m getting too old for that nickname, you know?” 

“You’ll never outgrow being my Claire Bear,” you refuted, sticking your thumb down around the corner and hearing her laugh again. 

“Okay, whatever. Go get me that conditioner, peasant.”

You scoffed playfully at her demanding (yet also playful) tone before walking out of her bedroom and heading in the direction of Donald’s room. Just as you were about to pass by the kitchen, you noticed Six wasn’t in his normal spot. You were a bit confused, so you called out his name, only to have a gloved hand place a knife up against your throat and another stick a gun out in front of you to whoever may be in the house (AKA Six). 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to be quiet, and you’re going to lead me to where the girl is, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

You grit your teeth, finding courage to speak up despite the fear coursing through your bones. “Here’s what’s actually going to happen. You’re going to go to hell and I’m going to stomp on your grave, you piece of shit.”

You heard him angrily curse you out and you prepared yourself for the worst as you felt the knife dig into your skin more, cutting it just enough for a drop of blood to start trailing down your neck, when he was suddenly yanked away from you, dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter and incidentally shoving your forward where you tumbled into the tall, brick pillars in the house. Your forehead scraped against it as you tried to cushion your fall with your hands, only to be a bit too late. You quickly spun yourself around, getting vertigo in the process, and looked only to avert your gaze from the violent scene in front of you. Your eyes were clenched tightly, and you only noticed the fight was over when a careful, gentle hand placed itself upon your cheek. Instinctively, you swung your hand out to hit him square in the face. Thankfully, for his safety and your sanity, he caught your fist mid-air and placed it on his chest over his heart. He stood with you for a few minutes, letting you follow his breathing as you attempted to regulate your anxious breaths and get your heart rate back to normal. 

When you finally calmed down enough to take a deep breath without it stuttering in your lungs, you leaned your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist without thinking. After a moment or two of his body remaining still and not returning your affection, you quickly backed away and apologized. “Shit. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done tha-”

You were cut off when he grabbed onto your arms and pulled you back into his chest, leaving no room between the two of you. He leaned his cheek against the crown of your head as he held you tightly. “Don’t apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong.” After a moment, he gently separated you from him and took a look at you, finally fully assessing the damage over your forehead and neck. “We should get this cleaned up. Is your head hurting at all?”

“Well, my forehead kind of stings, but I don’t have a headache or anything like that, so most likely no concussion.”

He nodded. “Good. Go sit at the table, I’ll bring over the first aid kit.”

Before you could even protest or ask if he even knew where the kit was, he was already walking away. You sighed and sat down at the table as you were told to do. Seconds later, he returned with a washcloth and the first aid kit in hand. You watched him move in silence as he prepared to clean you up. When he brought the washcloth doused in rubbing alcohol up to your head, you barely even felt the sting as his eyes captured yours. Even in the dim lighting of the kitchen, they were still the brightest and most mesmerizing things you’d ever seen. 

“Does that hurt?” He asked, his voice soft and careful as his eyes flickered between the cut above your brow and your eyes. 

You lightly shook your head. “No.”

He cracked a smile as he quipped. “Joining the tough gang, huh? Welcome to the club.”

You exhaled through your nose in amusement just as your eyes started to feel heavy. The adrenaline from the night had started to wear off, and you could feel the ache in your bones weigh down on you. “I guess I have,” you spoke through a yawn. He snorted but said nothing else as he finished with the cut on your brow and moved on to the cut on your throat. You knew you were probably in shock, but you expected to be a little more scared and shaken up after having nearly been killed. All you really felt was tired. 

Just as he finished putting the bandages over your cuts, Claire walked out of her room with her pajamas on and her hair still wet. “Did you forget you were supposed to bring me some conditioner? What took you so lon-”

Her words got cut off by her own finding as she saw the two shoes belonging to a stranger peeking out from around a corner. When she looked over at you and Six sitting at the table, you both stood up immediately. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked hesitantly, looking specifically at you since you seemed the most beat up out of the two of you. 

“Yeah,” Six answered in your stead. “Broke a bowl.”

“Yeah, and I just accidentally cut myself while… shaving…?”

Claire, obviously, did not look convinced. “You sure you’re alright?” Her eyes flashed back and forth between you, Six, and the body lying on the floor.

“Yeah. Just another Thursday,” Six threw her words from earlier back at her, and she hesitantly nodded. “You should go to bed. Goodnight.” She lingered hesitantly, and it was only when you passed by Six, placing a grateful hand on his shoulder in a silent way of saying thanks, and walked over to her to lead her back to her room, that she let it go and went back to bed. 

Things changed for you and Six after that night. Before, even if he was slowly becoming more comfortable with occasionally touching you, he tried not to do it that much. It was only now that he seemed to find excuses to touch you. 

Having trouble getting a glass off the tall shelf (that you were secretly pretty sure he moved so he could do this exact thing)? He was already standing behind you with one hand on your waist and the other reaching above you to grab the glass for you. 

Handing him a coffee in the morning so he would have an easier time staying awake after staying up all night watching the cameras? His fingers were slowly brushing against yours as he grabbed it from you. 

Have an eyelash on your cheek? Six was already closing in on you and taking it off, holding it out for you on his thumb while he waited for you to make a wish. 

Things were beginning to get so good, and your feelings were growing more and more each day until you felt like you would burst at the seams with affection for this man who stole your heart in less than two months. 

And you decided too late to tell him. 

2 days after you finally admitted to yourself you were in love with him and planned on confessing, your uncle came back home. You were ecstatic to see him, of course, but seeing him also meant that Six would be leaving, and that was something that broke your heart. 

When your uncle walked through the door with little bits and bobbles from his trip that he decided to bring back home with him, you didn’t know whether you should laugh or cry. Not even when Six went up to him and shook his hand, patting him on the shoulder and using government terminology you definitely hadn’t heard before, even in your time spent around your uncle and his subordinates. 

When Six grabbed the camping bag he’d brought with him for the trip that was already packed (he never unpacked it in the first place), you knew it would be a goodbye you would hear from him next. 

He stopped in front of Claire first, kneeling down in front of her and holding his hand out for her to clap before they both snapped, their own mini handshake. “See you around, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid, I’m currently taller than you,” she joked with a bittersweet lilt in her voice. 

Six gave his signature amused quirk of the lips before standing back up to his full height and walking over to you. “Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hi,” you said with the same tone. 

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again, so take care of yourself, will you? Claire can’t have her favorite nurse getting sick, now, can she?”

You let out a sad laugh. “Yeah, guess not. You try and do the same, won’t you? I can’t have my favorite mathematician dying, now, can I?” You joked in the same way, though yours was much more real and much more serious than his. 

He just nodded, not saying anything, so he wasn’t making any promises he might not be able to keep. With a hand giving your arm a long, gentle squeeze that conveyed more than just a goodbye, he turned around and disappeared into the black SUV, out of the driveway, and out of your life forever. 

But forever never truly meant forever, did it?

[missnellcollins]

I need to see more married Winn schott, maybe with a diabetic or chronically ill wife (he’d be so soft I’m dead)

busy

winn schott x diabetic!wife!reader

note; I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭 i do not have diabetes but plenty of friends have, and i am NOT at all considering myself an expert!! i used my resources and i apologize if it’s not super accurate!

it’d been a busy day.

too busy of a day. 

she adored her job, of course she did. being a reporter was all she ever wanted. chasing stories, making headlines, she adored the thrill of it all.

expect for these busy days. busy days came with exhaustion and neglect, the very last thing she could ever need.

she pushed open the door to their shared apartment, huffing as the warmth engulfed her. “jesus..” she murmured, shedding off her coat. 

“baby?” 

“yeah?” she called back, her heart fluttering at the sound of her husband’s voice. how she’d missed him. she always did, no matter if she’d seen him just hours before. 

she hung her coat on the rack by the door, trying to ignore the clamminess of her hands and the shakiness of her legs that she was simply pinning on the long exhausting day. 

she entered the kitchen to find him in front of the stove, no doubt wearing the silly “kiss the cook” apron she’d bought for him two years back. 

he turned around, a smile spreading across his lips as he laid eyes on his wife. “hi babe,” he greeted, “long day?”

“very.” she hummed, leaning against the doorway, “but hey, at least i have a handsome face to admire after all that.”

he chuckled, “that’s the only reason you keep me around, huh?”

“shit, secrets out.” she smiled as he approached her, pulling her into a gentle embrace, his lips pecking her head. she hummed, melting into his embrace, the exhaustion washing over her. 

a subtle vibration broke the peace. winn pulled back, furrowing his brows. “feel that?”

“hm?”

careful and gentle as always, he pushed up her sleeve, revealing her beloved dexcom, a gentle frown on his lips. “did you eat?” he murmured, using the other hand to find her phone. he was quick, he always was as he unlocked her phone in order to check her levels, his frown deepening, “sugar’s low, geez, really low.”

“earlier, yeah.”

“how long ago is earlier?”

she remained quiet, leaning into him. he pursed his lips, “okay, c’mere.” he murmured, carefully scooping her up, setting her atop the counter as a means to not only keep her off of her feet, but to keep an active eye on her and not let dinner burn.

he retrieved a cup of juice from the fridge, which were always on standby and waiting, bringing the cup to her lips. “c’mon baby, gotta drink.” he urged gently as she reluctantly did so. 

she respected the calmness that radiated off of him. of course, unfortunately, this was a common case, yet he always handled it perfectly. the first few years had been full of panic and anxiety, but now it was a second nature. 

“there we go,” he set the empty glass by her, glancing at his watch, noting the time, knowing that he’d check her levels again in fifteen minutes to see if she was stable. 

he placed his hands atop her thighs, spreading her legs slightly so he could stand between them. 

“you’re a hard worker.” he whispered, nuzzling his nose agaisnt hers gently. “hardest working woman i know. and i’m proud of you. so proud.” he pecked her cheek. “but you have to take care of yourself. you have to eat, that’s a necessity for anyone, but especially for you, okay?” 

she nodded slowly, her head falling against his shoulder as she sighed, “just got busy.” she whispered. one hand came up to cup the back of her head. “i know, i know, my busy hardworking girl.”

despite the exhaustion she felt in the moment, she nuzzled against him. despite it all, he was always there. he’d always be there to care for her. and she loved him so for that.

“i love you, hot schott.” she whispered with a soft huff, pecking his shoulder. he chuckled lightly, wrapping his arms around her a bit more, “and i love you, sweetheart.”