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kiwisbell · 2 months

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helen ; chapter three

the red circle

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the truth.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, mentions of rape/SA, cars, bill is here, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, hitman!joel finally hitmans, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST (still unresolved oopsie), we're getting there though, exposition, conflicting emotions, joel's tattoos are sexy but they're also plot-relevant, Sleeping Together, but not like That, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 7.6k a/n: this chapter marks this fic being halfway done already, which is madness. also, can i just say that i'm loving the amount of people who've specifically been watching john wick because of this fic?? this is my agenda!! as always, thank you so fucking much to mya baby @cavillscurls for beta reading this fic and being, idk, generally the loml. i hope you enjoy chapter 3, my friends! i'm sorry it's been such a long time coming, but life lifed, y'know?? prev | next

“How much?”

“Two million. For now, at least. It’s open.”

“Goddammit, Tommy.”

“I told you to be careful, brother. Now look at you. You’re a loose end.”

Joel resisted the urge to toss his phone. The shower continued running in the bathroom, muffled by the closed door.

He couldn't lose you. He didn't know life without you. Love had no name until he knew you. He'd christened it with that first kiss, maybe even in the first breath he'd shared with you.

If there was a chance Cabrera’s kid could come back for you, even if just to hurt Joel, he needed to see this to its end. There was no choice.

“He tried to rape my wife,” said Joel. “He's lucky I’m only tryin’ to kill him.”

Tommy only sighed, and the call ended.

I married you, Joel.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he watches you doze. The sunlight shines neatly through the break in the curtains, and you squint against it in your sleep, turning over with a little huff and bringing the duvet over your head. You’ve always needed total darkness for a half-decent sleep.

You’ve been crying. The tears leave remnants on your cheeks, a dryness at the outer corners of your eyes, salt seeping moisture from your skin. He’s never known a thing so soft as the drag of his hand down your back.

I loved you.

You lied to me.

You will never understand. There are reasons—too many to count—that civilians cannot know. He may have gotten you to relative safety in the Continental, but there are a hundred dangerous people in this building who have a long-standing grudge against Joel Miller or the man he worked for. A hundred people who would take you as collateral the moment you stepped outside the grounds. But as long as you remain inside, you’re safe.

He just needs to finish the job. He needs to see it through, and he’ll be out. You’ll realise he’s done it all for you.

I loved you.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he watches the rise and fall of your chest beneath the sheets. He broke your heart last night. He watched you turn in on yourself, your eyes so cold, so far away. He listened to you scream, and inside he pleaded: Keep hitting me, baby. Keep shouting. Be mad. He wanted you loud and furious and spitting fire. If you were angry, you still cared. He could work with that.

And to see you walk away, the fire frozen over, the fight in your marrow sucked out…

The anguish of losing your ire still stirs in his chest. The guilt peels him away in layers. Acid.

She’ll understand, he tells himself, you, anyone who’ll listen. She’ll get it someday—why I did it, why I lied. She’ll forgive me.

Forgive me, baby. Don’t let me live the rest of this life never seeing you smile.

“Stop looking at me,” you grumble, your eyes still closed.

Joel averts his eyes. His throat feels tight. “You sleep okay?”

You haul yourself upright and stretch out your back. Joel studies the curve of your spine and the nape of your neck. You’re the muse painters rave about. The reflections of sunlight on water at dusk. The pond of water lilies.

“You didn’t. Your sheets haven’t even moved.”

“I can’t sleep without you.”

You give him a heavy look, your eyes bleary with sleep. “You managed all those years before me, Joel. Let’s not do this.”

“What if I want to do this?” he says, dropping to the floor next to your bed and taking your hands in his. You try to pry yourself free, but he drops his head and traps you in his rapt vigil.

“Joel…” Your voice is still groggy, but there’s agony in the way you say his name.

“You’re my wife,” he says against your skin. “You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. You’re the girl I saw that night in the restaurant with the pretty eyes and you’re the girl I called every night just so I could hear your voice, and you’re always gonna be the only fucking girl for me. You’re my reason for everything, baby. I need you. Please… please just understand. You have to know that.”

You’re silent for a long while, your legs curled under you as your own husband kneels as if in prayer. Your throat burns with more tears you have little energy left to shed. You whisper his name.

He looks up and you find you cannot meet his eyes. So you stare at one of the patches of skin that disrupt the brown-grey of his beard. “That first night at the restaurant,” you say, trepidation colouring your voice blue, “you disappeared after the second course. When you came back, you told me you had to take a call. Was that the truth?”

Joel’s eyes are frantic in their search for an answer. “Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t lie to me again. Was that the truth?”

“There—” His voice cuts off, his eyes shuttering. “There was a target. That’s… why I was there in the first place.”

Your sob dies in your chest. It doesn’t even make a noise. You wrench your hands out of his, and he lets you, still kneeling at your bedside like a lost sinner. “Love has never been the problem. You might love me, but you’ve never told me the truth. Not from the first day.”

One of his hands wraps around your ankle. “I wanted out. I wanted out my whole life, and you’re the one who made me find the way. Cabrera, he… He gave me an impossible task. I completed it. And I gave you this ring.” He brushes his thumb over the knuckles of your third finger where your bands are still secure. ��You said yes. You married me. Doesn’t this mean something?”

The sound of your hollow laugh hurts more than any words you could use to cut him. “It did,” you confess, “when I knew exactly who my husband was.”

He shakes his head, his lips parting in another desperate cast, but you’re standing up and crossing the room, gathering your toiletries for the bathroom. “What happens now?” you ask.

Joel stares at the ring on his finger. “I’m going to talk to the Manager. You have to stay here.”

“Okay,” you say softly. Your back is rigid. “Just tell me something.”

“Anything,” says Joel.

“If I asked to leave,” you whisper, “would you let me go?”

Joel feels his heart crack in two. He remembers the small outdoor wedding, in the heart of May, when he’d seen you walk down the aisle toward him and struggled to find the words, as he always did, that would be good enough.

I vow to love you, he'd said, his hands trembling as he took yours. I vow to be your partner in all things. I vow to show you every piece of my soul, the way you've given me yours, and to be gentle with your heart.

I vow to be the man you want, the man you need, and the man you love.

He’s failed. He knows that. But you smiled at him that day, your eyes brimming with tears that turned black from your mascara, and you kissed him before the officiant said the words.

I loved you.

“I’d do anything you asked me to,” he says, “but not that.”

Joel made a stop at the Continental Tailor before he went to find the Manager in the lounge. He paid the Tailor a bit too much for the new suit, he realises now, the sleeves a bit too tight, the pants not quite tapered. He was dressing a different body than the one he knew all those years ago.

Joel weaves through the darkness as a crooning voice sings something about evil men up on the stage. The band is playing along, a smooth jazz tune, and the bodies around him smell of expensive cologne and perfume and vodka. He remembers with a start why he hated this place so much.

Adjusting his jacket, he finds the Manager sitting in the VIP section on a long curved booth upholstered in crimson velvet, sipping a dry martini.

“Joel,” he says, lifting his glass in toast.

“Bill.”

The Manager doesn't look particularly thrilled. “You know there’s an open contract on your head. Who did you have to kill to end up back here?”

“Just a couple people.” Joel sits opposite him. “I need information.”

“And you're here on more business. Does your consort have anything to say about that?”

Joel curls his fingers into a fist atop the table. “I’m invoking my guest privileges. And she is my wife.”

Bill sniffs in amusement. “So, you did end up marrying the gal. Good for you, Joel. She's a stunner.”

“Fuck you, Bill.”

A short, booming laugh. “Nobody will so much as look her way. You have my word and all it means.”

“Doesn't mean much,” says Joel. “I’m just visiting.”

“Don't be the idiot I know you aren’t,” says Bill, leaning forward and setting his glass aside. “You dip so much as a pinky back in this pond, and you won’t get out so easy. Sometime, somewhere, someone’s going to come to you with another impossible task.”

“And I’ll complete it,” says Joel. “Emiliano Cabrera. Where is he?”

“You really wanna do this, Joel?”

“Yeah.”

“Your wife may be safe now, but she won’t be forever.”

“That’s why I’m going to finish it. That’s why I’m going to kill him.”

The Manager sighs, polishing off his martini. “You know damn well business will not be conducted on Continental grounds, Joel. You may as well go have a drink at the bar, take a load off. I can’t tell you anything while you’re inside my hotel.”

Joel suspected as much. “Then tell me something you can.”

Bill’s nostrils flare and Joel feels some satisfaction knowing he can still push the old man’s buttons. “I’ll tell you what: the game has changed since you left it. Your only chance is to get out now, while you still can. What could possibly warrant the Boogeyman reentering the fold?”

Joel licks his teeth. Your eyes blurring with tears as your skull connected with the ground, your body going limp as he stood above you. The clink of a belt buckle echoes still in his head. If he hadn’t been fast enough—

“It’s personal.”

Bill’s gaze dips. “Well,” he says, “then, unofficially, I wish you the best of luck. But, as a former friend”—Joel snorts —“let me give you a piece of advice. Take your wife home and forget about all of this. I like you, Joel, but for her sake and yours, I’d rather never see you again.”

Joel doesn’t take it personally. “Tell Frank I said hello.”

Bill grabs a full glass from a passing server. “Fuck you, Joel.”

He nods his head, closing the lapels of his jacket and slipping the first button through the opposite slit. As the singer on the stage transitions into the next song, Joel orders a glass of bourbon and watches the bartender slide his drink over on a pristine white napkin.

“On the house, per the Manager’s request,” says the bartender. “Welcome back, Mr. Miller.”

Pristine—save for the small red circle drawn with marker on the centre. Across the bar, Bill raises his glass in another toast, and Joel leaves the lounge, his drink untouched.

It’s a Tuesday night, and the Red Circle is lined up around the corner. One must know someone to get inside, and that someone must be a paying member. Joel had a membership by default, being contracted under Cabrera, but it was revoked along with his other privileges once he had completed his task.

You would hate this place. It’s throbbing bass and flashing neon lights and sweat-slick bodies rubbing up against one another. It’s brick and industrial metal and glass and the people don’t mix, either.

Maybe part of him is hedonistic, too. He doesn’t think he ever used to be. The job gave him wealth to spend that he never cared to; when he met you, he began to understand the pleasure of material things. Gold shone when it hung around your neck and wrapped around your fingers. Diamonds glittered like the jewels in a crown when you wore them on your ears. And when he pulled you close to him for the first time, undressing you slowly, hooking his fingers in the lace panties he’d bought for you and bringing his mouth to the heat between your legs, Joel began to understand the draw of pleasure.

It isn’t that he’d never had sex before you. He’d just… never been interested before you. Bodies always felt… too cold. They were complex. They were things to be followed, things to be killed. They were names on a piece of paper. They would bleed all their warmth and light into his palms and he would return, limping, to a house he never cared about and absolve himself of red. He’d never known the thrill of a body until he tucked his hand under the soft swell of your naked breast and put his mouth on yours and felt your heartbeat bleed into his hands. He never wanted to wash it off.

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

After the orphanage, Joel visited a church only once.

He hadn’t meant to find it. He’d heard an organ humming from within. The cathedral was taller than it was wide, built for a small gathering. He’d slipped inside during a sermon, delivered by a pastor with white hair and a pair of wilting hands. Joel watched the tremors pass through his face, the agonising pulse of the vein in his throat, the way he would gulp down mouthfuls of water. He spoke with rhythm, with melody, and when he was finished, he grasped the edges of the pulpit, his head bowed in silent prayer. Joel thought he had never seen a more devoted man in his life.

When the sermon was over, he waited his turn to speak with the pastor. He did not know why. He hadn’t felt a stirring in his chest at the word of God; he never had.

I’ve never seen you in here before, my son.

Joel shook his head, frowning at the ground. I… left the faith, in a way. When I was young. I’m… sorry.

Devotion is a choice, said the pastor, taking Joel’s hands in his own. They were wrinkled, speckled with age spots. Joel lifted his gaze to find the pastor smiling. As with all things in life. Devotion, my son, is not a birthright. We must find it. Though it may not be His word, you will know someone’s word. And you’ll find it will move you enough that you choose to follow it. To whatever end.

Joel has been slashed, burned, drowned, whipped, beaten, strangled. He could count the telltale black spots in his eyes like dreamers count sheep. He developed a reputation because he was good at what he did. He was efficient, fast, lethal. He once killed three men in a bar with a pencil, they whispered. A fucking pencil. Word in the Underworld spread of a boogeyman who would take your life in your sleep if you wronged the wrong person, if you were just an unlucky bastard.

Their word never mattered. He’d never knelt in the blood of a victim and prayed for absolution. He would never find it, anyway. His soul was black.

If I asked to leave, would you let me go?

No word has ever cut so deep as yours. How could he wake up every single day next to the love of his life and lie so easily to your face? How could he put a ring on your finger knowing damn well he’d betrayed your trust every second of your time together and you never even knew about it?

How could he wear the mask of your husband and dream of blood on the very same hands that touched you each night?

Joel checks his watch. It’s one o'clock in the morning. You’ve been sleeping since breakfast. You won’t sleep a wink tonight if this keeps up, but it seems you’d rather do anything in the world than speak with him.

He doesn’t blame you.

He found his word that night in the restaurant. He’d followed it, followed you, wherever you took him. And he will follow you, his almighty word, beyond the grave, to whatever end you decide.

He will not abandon his faith. His purpose. He will not throw up his hands and let you walk away. He’s made mistakes he cannot mend. He can’t go back to the day you met and tell you all he should have, rules be fucked. He cannot fix what he’s already broken. You cannot put a piece of tape over fractured glass, a bloodied hand over wounded skin.

He made his fucking vows. It’s time he lived up to them.

Across the street, Joel watches, turning over the knife in his pocket by the hilt. Emiliano Cabrera and his lackeys step out of Joel’s Mustang and toss the keys to the valet. They skip the line, smacking one another around and jeering at the ladies in line, and Joel feels the hunger pull at his teeth.

His first target is posted by the east entrance. Joel takes the alley, stepping aside trash bags brimming with used needles and slipping the Glock from the lining of his jacket. The weight of it is formidable in his hand. Under the cover of dark, he slides into a second skin, black as the names they call him. Bringing the gun to the back of the guard’s head, he watches those huge shoulders stiffen.

“Francis,” he says politely.

“Joel,” says the guard.

“Workin’ late?”

“Why?” says Francis. “You want in?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I do. You lost weight.”

“Twenty-seven pounds, if you’ll believe it.”

Fuck.

Twenty-seven guards tasked with protecting the little shit. Joel may have a reputation, but it’s been years. He was ambushed in his own home last night. And after it all, he’d let the bastard slip between his fingers.

“Why don’t you take the night off?”

Francis lowers one meaty hand to the piece in his ear and takes it out. Turning his head, he says, “Can you at least lower the gun?”

Joel does. “Wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”

“Word’s going around. They say you’re back.”

“I’m just passin’ through.”

“Sure, Joel.” Francis offers his hand, and Joel shakes. “You better make it quick. I don’t feel like getting fired.”

“Understood.” Joel slips inside, letting the door click shut behind him.

Even from afar, the music lives in his chest, a writhing thing that seeks departure by way of his throat. He tries to swallow and it wriggles back up again. The bass throbs hard against his ribs.

There’s a bathroom on the VIP floor. As he sneaks by the frosted glass partition that separates him from the public, Joel hears the squeak of locker doors. He puts his palm on the door and pushes inside.

Did you see the tits on that girl? says one man in Spanish. Emil got a pretty one.

Another lets out a booming laugh. Shut the fuck up, man. Good pussy and you tuck your tail and run.

Yeah? And you're in here because you scored?

I’m in here because bitches prefer to choke on clean dick. What's your excuse?

Neither feels the breeze of the shadow slipping behind them. Neither of them sees the man in black lock his arm around one of their necks and squeeze until there's no air left. By the time the other has turned on the porcelain sink and begun to splash his face, the boogeyman has him by the scruff of his neck, fisting the collar of his fluffy white bathrobe. The sink continues running, and he’s choking on the warm water as Joel holds him down.

“Jesus! Fuck!”

“Where is Emiliano?”

“Vete a la mierda,” he splutters. “Let go of me, motherfucker!”

Joel takes one of the man’s fingers and bends it all the way back. His screams are muffled by Joel’s hand.

“Where is Emiliano?”

“The bathhouse, downstairs,” he groans. “Fuck, let me go, pendejo!”

Joel bares his teeth, breaks the man’s neck, and leaves him slumped over the sink, the water still running.

The bathhouse is doused in red and blue. The water is illuminated from within, and the whites in his victim’s eyes glow where he stands half-submerged, toasting a bottle of champagne to his rowdy friends. Joel flattens himself to the wall, listening for the tread of dress shoes. The music pounds too loudly for him to hear, but he can see the shadow before he sees its owner.

“Clear,” says the voice.

When he rounds the corner, Joel drives his knife into the man’s throat and silences his gurgling moans by clamping a hand over his mouth. He slides down the wall, and Joel holds his gaze while the light slowly dims in his eyes.

One.

Two more men are waiting behind the partition, hands folded in front of them. Joel does not recognise them. Their suits are pressed, Italian; it seems Cabrera has made some alliances. Joel lies his first victim on the ground and prowls toward his next two.

They go easily: unsuspecting, they bleed out under his blade, choking on their blood, and he leaves them lying by the foggy partition. Three.

The music is dreamy, the crooning of two voices set to a throbbing track. In the bathhouse, he hears the sloshing of water and the singing of a group of men nearby. They're singing an old folk song, Joel realises. A song about a ghost.

Hurry, fall asleep, or the Boogeyman will come for you…

They don't sound particularly frightened by the spectre haunting them. Joel watches them toast their bottles of champagne and grab the waitresses’ asses. It's Emiliano and his friends, all right. Joel spots another five guards around the waist-deep water and another two by the doors upstairs.

There's a childlike self-assuredness about him—this kid. He thinks he's protected, safe, almighty as God. He sings about Joel and smiles.

A guard leans over him and sneers. “You need to stop drinking.”

“Are you scared of the fucking boogeyman?” jeers the kid. “I’m not! Hijo de puta.”

The guard plucks the bottle from his hand and passes it off. “You wanna vomit while you run away? Or would you just prefer to get shot in the head?”

Emiliano’s haughty sniff makes Joel wonder if a bullet in the head is retribution enough. “Get me another fucking bottle!” he says to his friend.

Joel picks up a bottle of complimentary cologne and tosses it. The glass shatters, potent liquid pooling on the shiny floor. Three guards flank the partition. The music is too loud to let the sounds of his blade in flesh seep through.

Six.

On the other side of the glass, coloured blue and red and slick with humidity, the singing continues.

From the swamp he will come…

He feels the wet splash of blood on his face.

… and take the children that don't behave.

Another man rounds the corner as Joel is tearing the knife from the last guard’s throat. He doesn't have enough time to slash his throat, so he pulls the handgun from his holster and shoots. He crumples to the floor, but Joel’s cover is blown.

“He’s here! Miller’s here!”

The partition explodes. Glass rains on him as he rolls to evade the gunfire, raising his barrel to strike at the remaining guards.

Seven. Eight.

The men by the stairs are shouting some Spanish, some Italian. The music carries on, but the song they're singing has ended.

Joel finds the man he's been looking for: hiding behind a petrified waitress, Emiliano Cabrera looks like a goddamn child. He's wrapped himself hastily in a bath towel around his waist, and his eyes are wide as saucers. Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m going to enjoy this a little.

He locks eyes with Emiliano for only a moment. The guards at the top of the stairs begin to fire at Joel. He ducks behind the wall as shots chip brick from the wall or plunk uselessly in the water. By the time he flanks them around the other side of the wall and brings them tumbling down the stairs—ten—the kid has already run. Joel growls at the loss of the kill and follows him into the club.

With an eruption of deafening music, Joel bursts into the crowd. Behind him, a gigantic LED screen is illuminated with spirals in red and blue and white. Women dance in elevated cages while the crowd below becomes a sea of skin and sequins and sweat. Joel reloads, checks the clip, and resumes his hunt.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Joel feels the punch of the barrel into their chests as he fires, again and again and again. The commotion is lost in the din of the music and dancing. Bodies connect and grind and Joel kills.

Fourteen. A guard by the wall. Fifteen. Another lurking by the LED spirals. Sixteen, seventeen—two men rushing him in an attempt to ambush, eyes wild with rage and a bit of fear. Joel puts them down like sick dogs and continues to push through the crowd, his eyes locked on the retreating Emiliano, who's waving a gun about like a white flag.

But it's no surrender. It's a beacon, a sign that the deer is spooked. Joel feels his lip curl. So frightened, he thinks.

Eighteen, nineteen…

Your bleary eyes, blinking through the pain, limbs limp and helpless as he unbuckled his belt above you. A cut on your face, barely bleeding. The red still consumes him.

You were so afraid that night.

Twenty.

Twenty-one.

He's getting closer. The crowd parts down the centre as Joel marches toward his goal. But the music is loud and he does not hear the approach from behind.

The gunshot grazes his shoulder, but he feels the flare of pain ooze its way down his arm. Joel grunts, knocked askew from his path, and turns to forge at his assailant.

The man is fast, though, and rushes him. The tackle brings him down to the ground, winding him just enough to briefly stun, to send his Glock spinning along the floor. He’s taller, broader, madder.

But he shoots one-handed.

Joel knocks the gun aside and it misfires into the gap in the crowd. In the dispersing, he sees more guards closing in his periphery. The only protection he has is the hulking body on top of him. So Joel uses it, bringing his elbow to the man’s throat and bunching the lapel of his jacket in his fist. The guard attempts to reach for the blade in his thigh holster, but Joel reaches down and bends his arm backward until the crunch crackles in his ear. The man howls, and Joel grasps the hilt of the knife.

Twenty-two.

He picks up his gun and fires a shot into each of the three approaching guards, but Emiliano has fled to the first floor. Joel grimaces as he stands, blood on his fingertips where he's prodded the wound in his arm. “Goddammit,” he mutters, following his target upstairs.

The air is dizzying. Hot. Joel never liked clubs. He hated the closeness and the bodies in cages and the way skin felt so sticky, too tight, like he needed to step outside of it. He hated the feeling of being suffocated by strangers, as if any of them could be lurking low in the darkness, waiting to strike.

He didn't understand the lure of the scantily-clad body until he saw you wrapped in a tight black dress. He didn't know the pleasure of dancing until you took his hand one night, his old vinyl player crackling out Frank Sinatra, and lay your head on his shoulder. It felt like stepping over the threshold into consecrated territory. He should not be touching you. But you were touching him.

Joel spots Emiliano running for the back entrance, shoving another guard in Joel’s path.

Twenty-six.

The final man, approaching Joel from the lounge, pulls his gun in time to shoot, but not in time for Joel to notice. The bullet shatters a glass of wine and topples a waiter’s tray. Joel fires.

One to go.

He has no choice but to lunge for the kid before he can run out into the street. Joel’s heart is pounding in his chest, his blood electrified. The take-down is sloppy and his ankle rolls, but Emiliano Cabrera is pinned beneath him and yelping like a kicked dog.

“My father will kill you,” he gasps, his cheek pressed to the floor.

“Your father knows exactly why I’m here,” says Joel, “and he knows how stupid you are.”

“Hijo de puta, it was just a fucking car,” he spits. “I was just going to have some fun with your bitch. I would've given her back.”

Joel isn't quite satisfied. He turns the kid onto his back and grasps him by the jaw, forcing him to meet Joel’s incendiary gaze.

“Everything has a price.”

The knife goes in smoothly, the flat of the blade glinting in his gaping mouth. No light flees his eyes. There is nothing but cold slate-grey. And although Joel feels no happiness feeling the pulse slow to a crawl beneath his palm, he does not pull the knife out.

Your body, sacred, helpless, lying on the floor. A predator’s gaze. The clink of a belt buckle. Joel steps over the body and leaves, limping to the valet and slipping him a golden coin. He slips back inside his Mustang, turns on the engine, and drives back to the hotel.

You’re tucked in the alcove by the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Your chin rests on your knees as you hug yourself close. The lamp between your respective beds colours the room orange.

“You’re limping.”

You haven’t even turned to face him.

“How—”

“I know how you sound when you walk.” Your temple is cool where it rests on the windowpane, your breath frosting the glass. Joel staggers to the small table and braces himself on the back of a chair as he watches you.

You’re as warm and bright as the day he found you that night in the restaurant. Your eyes may be a little older, but the glow is the same. He folds his bleeding hands around the back of the chair. Everything around you curls in, darkens, and wilts when it confronts your beauty.

“I’m all right.” He doesn’t deserve your concern. He’ll swallow any bullet to keep you from worrying.

You stand at last and cross the room to face him. His heart jumps like it’s the first time you asked him on a date. Like the first time he kissed you, his chest taut with tension and nerves and the assumption that you’d reject him.

“You can lie to me about lots of things, Joel, but I know this face.” The pad of your thumb ghosts over the crease between his brows. “I’ve painted it a hundred times. It doesn't lie.”

It's the first time you've touched him in days. Joel closes his eyes. Part of him, the part that jolts back to life under the tender weight of your soft skin, means it when he says, “I’m okay.”

You seem to ponder him for a moment. “This wouldn't be the first time I patched you up,” you say, as if resigned. “Go on. Bathroom.”

He winces. “You don't have to—”

“Go. And afterward, you can tell me everything.”

The pads of your fingers memorise the ridges on the gold coin. The time is close to dawn.

He’s no longer bleeding, and although you have nothing close to the Doctor’s prowess, you’ve managed to disinfect and wrap the wound in his arm. You can’t do anything about his ankle, but it’s a sprain; he’ll heal in time. The mangled black and blue on his tender skin reminds you of a night sky without the stars. It doesn’t seem to pain him. It only makes you wonder what sorts of agonies he’s faced—ones you never knew about.

The hurt has festered in your time away from him. He’s an open wound in the shape of a hand on your back, searing cold through to your heart. The hand sports a golden band, and it reflects in the one you still wear. You don't quite know what to make of it now.

He looks exactly like the man you knew. Not a part of him has changed—he's still scruffy, still tired, still jaggedly gorgeous. You paint him with blurred edges, with blues and greys. Your heart still pulls when you look at him. Your chest still gapes wide open, and he digs his thumbs into the bruises. He lied to you. He broke your trust. And there's still so much of your Joel in him, from the skin to the bones.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, turning the coin over.

“Technically, it’s not money,” Joel says. “It is currency. They can be exchanged for favours, information, relationships.”

“A hotel room,” you add. “Good to know I don’t have to move any savings around. Where have you been keeping these?”

“There’s a safe in the basement,” he says, “under the floorboards. When I left, I buried all of it. Weapons, coins, contacts, anything I had from the Underworld.”

The Underworld. A fitting name, if you’ve made any sense of it at all. “Do the police know about all of this?”

“Most of them are in the pockets of High Table members. Those are the ones who control how it all works. Rules and consequences,” says Joel, “is how they operate. They're what separate us from the animals.”

You lift your brows. “And who sits at this High Table?”

“Twelve leaders. They're the ones who run most of the major crime families and organisations. They control police, politicians, banks—”

Your shuddering sigh makes him stop in his tracks. He watches you lean back in the chair and bends forward slightly, as if tied to you by an invisible thread.

“So… the girl who serves me coffee on the corner by my office could be part of it.” You frown at the coin in your hand. “She could be a witness, a runner, a messenger. She could be like you.”

“She isn't,” says Joel, “but that is the general idea.”

“But civilians are immune.”

“More or less,” says Joel. “There are… heavy penalties for harming them.”

“Penalties like death.”

“Most of the time,” he says. “And there are rules here, too. No business can be conducted on the grounds of any Continental hotel.”

“Any? You mean—”

“There's a Continental in every major city in the world. It's where we go to remind ourselves we’re civilised.”

“Civilised,” you scoff. “Civilised murder, sure. I’m buying it. And now that you’re back—”

“Visiting.”

You just glare at him, and he ducks his head.

“—there's a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “Two million.”

You curl your fingers over the coin in your palm as your stomach bottoms out. “That's a lot of incentive to put a bullet in your brain.”

“They won't,” he says. “Cabrera holds the contract, and he only opened it because of Emiliano. He’d pull it the second I agreed to stop looking for his son. He doesn't want me owing him.”

“I don't know if I’d call that a debt.”

“Considering everything I did for him,” says Joel, a bite to his voice, “anything short of killin' his kid is a favour.”

Despite yourself, you open your hand and slide the coin toward him. “Tell me what you did.”

His head shoots up, his brows knitted together. “What?”

“Tell me what you did to get out. Tell me about this ‘impossible task.’”

“Baby, that’s…” He rubs his hand across his jaw, and it strikes you then how deep those half-circles colour the space beneath his eyes.

“Stop,” you whisper. It never used to hurt when he called you baby. “Tell me how much blood you thought I was worth.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. His knees barely touch yours under the table. “You don't wanna hear the answer to that.”

“Then start here. What did you do, Joel?”

The sigh he releases feels heavy. “I came to Cabrera, asking him to release me from my contract. He told me he'd let me out, no strings attached… if I hunted down his enemies.”

Your mouth drops. “Which enemies?”

He picks up the coin and turns it over in his palm. The silence drops an anchor on the ground. Your belly churns with the movement of the golden piece as it catches the light.

“All of them,” says Joel. “All of ‘em, in one night. That was his impossible task.”

The scrape of your chair legs across the floor is grating. But you stand anyway, your head vaguely stirring with the beginnings of a headache.

“Oh my God.”

You barely feel your own hand on your cheek, barely smell the iron tang of blood on him, barely see the red cutting through his pressed white shirt. “How many people?”

Joel shakes his head, his shy eyes lowered, still as the paintings you've made of him. “I… I don't know.”

I lost count, he means. There were too many, he means.

Your throat is just wide enough to let your breath escape. The air you take in feels poisonous. He killed every single one of them. All because he wanted to marry you.

All because he wanted peace.

“Is there anyone in the Underworld who doesn’t know your name?”

Joel’s repentant silence, head ducked as if in prayer, is all the answer you need.

“How did this happen?” Your voice is uniquely quiet.

“When I was a kid,” he says, and your heart sinks, “I lived on the streets. Lived like a rat, mostly, but I survived. You know that much.”

You nod solemnly, lowering yourself into the chair once more. “The Sisters reunited you with your brother.”

His dark eyes reflect the lamplight and it resembles a flame igniting in the depths of the iris. “Found me on Canal Street, runnin’ drugs for a mobster I don't even remember. Tommy was only five, but he must've told them about me. They took me to the orphanage and started my training.”

You swallow, your temples pounding. Deep in your gut, something wild and dry begins to kindle. “They were the ones who taught you all of this?”

“They teach the word of God above everythin’ else, but yeah. They train children to thrive in the Underworld. We were taught knives, guns, hand-to-hand. Hell, they even taught us how to dance—how to move faster than the opponent. I knew how to kill someone before I could read.” Joel chuckles, and part of you thinks he actually thinks it's funny. “Probably why I’m so slow.”

You aren't slow, you want to say. You've never been slow, not from the first day.

The kindling curls and you can feel your mouth pull at the corners. He had only been a child. An orphan. A child had no way to choose, to resist how they were raised. He hadn’t been given a choice—his life in exchange for a roof over his head.

“Those fucking bastards.”

Joel’s laugh is mirthless. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

You angrily swipe the tears that warm your cheeks. “No adult should have that power. They should nurture and comfort and protect, not—” Your breath hitches. “You were a child. You didn't deserve that.”

Your fingers have curled into a fist atop the table. With both hands, he gently lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. You expect it to feel foreign, wrong. It just feels like Joel.

“The Sisters were cruel,” he says softly. “But I made myself into a weapon. It was the only way I would survive.” He reaches out as if for a wounded deer and brushes his thumb over your jaw. “They never made me believe, sweetheart. That was all you.”

You sniffle, your head bobbing absently. You don't know what to think. You don't know how to feel. Your own husband has been through the seven circles and crawled back out only to teeter back over the pit once more. There’s an ancient weariness in the black of his eyes, an old hurt, a mansion slowly crumbling at the edges.

“You hid this all from me, and never told anyone,” you say, the ache widening. You find you want to assume, consume, even a modicum of the pain that he's felt.

One of his shoulders lifts in a mild shrug. “I wanted to forget all of it. I wanted to make something of the new life I’d killed for.” He meets your gaze and you swear part of the open wound in his pupils has sealed. “I didn't want any of it to touch you.”

And you remember lying in bed with him that first night, after that first time, tracing a scar on his back. White and ridged, it spread like lightning feelers from the middle of his spine to the dimples in his lower back.

You'd put your mouth to his shoulder blade and felt him melt into you.

What happened?

The silence that followed could have heard the brush of a feather over skin.

I was raised in an orphanage. In a church. They weren't kind.

And that was that. You'd prodded and fussed and he'd said I’m fine. It was a long time ago.

“But that's what you do, Joel,” you tell him. “You hide your hurt and you bury your feelings and you do it all because you're afraid it'll make everyone leave you.”

Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat, heaving, tossing aside the sheets, but he would never make a sound. You'd see him, pretending to sleep, and place your hand over his chest. His fingers would grasp yours as if marooned on the water, seeking driftwood, his hand suffocating yours. He'd keep it pressed to his heart until the beats slowed.

You regret those times you never pressed. In a way, you were afraid, too. If you opened your eyes, if you asked him to confess, he would close the lattice and turn his back to you. You didn't want to lose him, either.

But you did.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it doesn't hold the weight you want it to. It doesn't blow out the candles in the cathedral. It doesn't pluck the scared little boy from the streets or give him a warm bed. It doesn't stop the beatings and the lashings and the pain.

It does not pry the pain from his heart and bury the shrapnel in your chest instead. It is something he bears, as he always has, and must. It is something you cannot take from him. And you feel more helpless than you ever have.

He shakes his head. “I know we can't go back,” he says, tracing one of the little daisy charms on your bracelet. “But it feels… good. It feels good to finally tell you. Even if we were too late.”

The sound of his voice breaking shakes your heart loose from your rib cage.

“Come to bed.” Your voice is raw and used. “Just… come to bed, and sleep.”

He doesn't dare look hopeful, though you can see the tremor that courses through his hand. He wants to take yours, the way he did the day he proposed, dropping to one knee with your palms flush.

He looked a little hopeful that day, too. With rapt attention, he'd taken hold of you and said, I love you. I love you more than anything. You’re my best friend. Will you marry me? Will you let me be your husband?

You realise now why he'd let himself hope. He'd gotten out. He'd started his new life. With you.

You can see his old scars, even in the dark. You think, in all your time together, you've learned his body as you learn the earth you tread upon. The praying hands of Dürer lie beneath the name inked in small black lettering.

Your name.

You gingerly reach out and place your hand on his back. Joel shudders. He does not turn to face you where you both lie on your sides.

“If you bleed on the bed sheets,” you say to the darkness, “will management make us pay?”

He chuckles. “Strongly worded phone call at best. I’ll take the hit.”

You frown, ghosting your fingers over the tender skin around the makeshift patch job on his shoulder. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” he says, leaning into your touch, “not anymore.”

“You never told me about this scar on your back.” You touch the edges of the puckered skin. “I never stopped wondering. But I should never have stopped asking.”

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Don’t say any of that like it's your fault.”

The silence bleeds as viscous as an open gash into the dry air. His watch broke the day of your wedding. He told you it was all right, that we've got all the time in the world, and you'd kissed him and laughed. He’d replaced the battery since then, but sometimes the little hand lags behind, as if afraid to chug forward. Afraid to let time, of all silly, trivial things, consume your world.

“Do you remember your vows?” you ask him.

“‘Course I do.”

“Do you remember mine?”

His head bows slightly on the pillow. “‘I vow to be your partner in all things,’” he recites. “‘I vow to protect your heart like it's my own. I vow to take your pain, and to shoulder it so you don't have to.’”

The tears saturate the pillowcase beneath your cheek. You fall asleep with your arm around his waist, your hand next to his, not touching, but nearly.

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller fic #john wick au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

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foxy-eva · 9 months

Text

Slippery Slope

Summary: Spencer slips in the shower. His roommate comes to his rescue.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Smut

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) Spencer fractures his arm, hospital mention, embarrassment, awkwardness, nudity, heavy kissing, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist

Ever since you had Spencer as a roommate, your life became a lot more predictable. You knew that his morning showers lasted exactly thirteen minutes, just enough time for you to prepare your usual Sunday breakfast.

That was until your routine was disrupted by Spencer calling for help. You were quick to head over to the bathroom, not hesitating to step in when you heard his whimpers. The water was still running and the shower curtain was closed when you asked what was going on.

"I slipped and I think I broke my arm," the poor boy whined.

Without thinking about it, you quickly opened the shower curtain to find your completely bare roommate lying in the tub, somewhat resembling a wet puppy.

"Wait!" He squeaked before covering his privates with his good hand.

It was too late though, you had already seen everything he so desperately tried to hide now. You couldn't hold back the smirk forming on your face while you reached over to turn the water off.

Although you already knew the answer, you asked anyway, "Are you okay?"

"No," he sighed. "Could you please hand me a towel?"

You did what he asked for and turned away to give him a chance to cover up. When he had somehow managed to wrap the towel around his hips, he reached his good arm out for you. You took his hand to help him get up but of course the towel slipped.

He let go of you to catch the fabric, almost tumbling over once again. With your hands on his shoulders you hindered him from falling a second time.

"Spencer, I'm just trying to help you," you reminded him when he whined again, this time clearly because he was embarrassed.

"I know," he whispered. "I just didn't want you to see me like that."

"Yeah, no kidding," you laughed. "If it's any consolation, you don't look too bad naked."

That was the understatement of the century.

With more sarcasm than you ever heard from him, he mumbled, "Thanks."

With joined forces you managed to get him out of the tub at last and inspected his arm for a moment.

"I should take you to the hospital," you told him.

He nodded and walked to his bedroom with you following him. When he struggled to keep his towel in place while picking out clothes with only one arm to use, you told him to sit on the bed so you could do it for him instead.

Standing in front of his closet, you thought about which clothes would be the easiest to put on.

"Don't you have shorts or something," you wondered as you looked over the clothing options.

He pointed at the top shelf and said, "Just this one pair."

You pulled out the tiniest, most ridiculous gym shorts you had ever seen.

"Oh my god, why have I never seen them on you?" You laughed.

"To avoid this exact reaction."

To not embarrass him further you put the shorts back and handed him underwear and sweatpants instead. You were ready to help him get dressed but he just stared at you for a moment.

When he finally found his voice again, he muttered, "Could you please turn around?"

And so you did, although you already knew that he would most likely need your help. When he began groaning and swearing as he tried to get dressed, you almost begged him, "Will you please let me help you?"

"No!" He protested before cursing some more.

"Spencer, you don't need to hide from me. I have already seen your… penis."

"Don't remind me!" He whined.

You turned around to find him looking even more pathetic than before with his face buried in his hands.

"Here," you softly spoke as you crouched down to help him put his clothes on. "Let me help you."

Defeated, he finally accepted your assistance. The situation was more than awkward but you tried as well as you could to make up for it with your kindness. After helping him put on a dress shirt, you reached for the hem to close it.

Standing in front of him while closing the buttons somehow felt more intimate than anything you had ever experienced before. You dared to search for his eyes and found him looking at you with the softest expression you had ever seen.

"Thank you," he whispered when you reached the last button.

With a genuine smile forming on your face, you just nodded before stepping away from him.

It was confirmed at the hospital that Spencer's arm was fractured. He got a cast he would have to wear for the next few weeks.

Back at home, Spencer sat down on the couch in the living room and groaned, "I can't believe I broke my arm. I won't be able to join my team in the field for weeks."

After a brief moment of silence you got a pen and sat down beside him. He watched every move as you began drawing on his cast. After just a few minutes it was covered with a variety of little flowers.

You locked eyes with him and snickered, "See, now at least it looks cute!"

For the first time today Spencer smiled at you. It warmed your heart to know that you managed to lighten up his mood a little bit.

"I love it," he said and added, "Thank you for helping me. I really appreciate it."

"Of course. You would have done the same for me."

You noticed a light rosy shade spreading over his cheeks when he told you, "I can't believe you saw me naked though. That's so embarrassing."

His words made you giggle, "Believe it or not but I have seen a naked man before."

He joined in your laughter, "Yeah but that wasn't me!"

The joyous sounds simmered down when you whispered, "Unfortunately."

It took Spencer a moment to realize what you implied. When his brain caught up with your words, he breathed, "What?"

You realized then that this would be the right moment to finally confess what has been occupying your mind for months.

"I always thought seeing you naked for the first time would be under very different circumstances."

Once again it took Spencer longer than expected to understand the meaning behind your words. Finally, he mumbled, "You thought about that?"

"Don't tell me you have never imagined how I look without clothes on," you snickered.

Very unconvincingly, he squeaked, "What? No, of course not!"

"You're a terrible liar."

His eyes fell to the floor when he breathed, "Yeah, I know."

Although he had basically already admitted it, you still wanted to hear him say it.

"So you have thought about it?" You asked.

"Yes."

The truth was that he had thought about it a lot, more often and with more details than he would ever admit. Anytime you'd walk through your apartment wearing just a little top and pajama shorts, he had to try very hard to not let his thoughts wander to all those impure things he'd like to do with you.

When you didn't respond to his confession, he was worried that he might have said something wrong.

Concern was clearly audible in his tone when he wanted to know, "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

You smiled at him and breathed, "No," before you got up from the couch to stand in front of him.

Locking eyes with Spencer, you slowly took your shirt off.

He quickly turned away and asked, "What are you doing?!"

"I know you feel awkward about what happened so I thought I'd let you see me, too. So we're even."

Spencer still didn't dare to look at you, so you practically demanded, "Look at me, Spencer."

His eyes found yours before dropping to your revealed skin.

"You don't…," he mumbled but paused once you reached back to unclasp your bra. "...have to do that."

The piece of fabric fell to the floor and Spencer couldn't hold back anymore. Blatantly, he stared at the swell of your breasts while his eyes widened.

"Don't you like what you see?" You purred.

His words were barely understandable when he muttered, "You're so beautiful."

His eyes stared at your hands as they began undoing your pants before pulling them down. He followed each of your motions until you stood completely bare in front of him. As if he was trying to save this image in his mind forever, he looked you up and down several times before locking eyes with you once more.

You reached out your hand. He didn't hesitate to take it. He got up from the couch and moved with you as you slowly began ridding him of his clothes as well. The both of you took a few moments to just stare at each other in awe before you couldn't hold back any longer.

You lifted your hand and let your fingertips ghost over his good arm. His skin broke out in goosebumps before you even made contact. His hardness made it obvious that he was just as excited as you were but you still wanted to make sure when you asked, "Can I touch you?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Please."

Your palm made contact with his skin, moving along it until it found his shoulder. As you stepped closer to him, you felt his hands touching your waist, a silent gasp falling from your lips as a response.

When there was no more distance to be found between the two of you, you closed the gap between your mouths as well. His lips felt soft and heated against your own, moving with you as if you had done that a million times before. Spencer was the one who deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance at the same time his good hand started moving over your back.

Your hands became curious as well, touching almost everything within reach before settling in the nape of his neck. When you playfully tugged on one of his curls, Spencer smiled into the kiss. He became more greedy when his palm descended down your back to grab the curve of your backside, making you moan into the kiss.

The extent of his desire was firmly pressed against your hip and you couldn't stop thinking about how good it would feel somewhere else. With your hands on his shoulder you moved Spencer back to the couch without ever breaking your kiss. When you pushed hard enough for him to have to sit down, he made it obvious that he wasn’t done kissing you yet.

Still standing in front of him, he wrapped his arm around your hips to pull you closer before you even had a chance to find your home in his lap. He didn't let you sit down though, instead he began kissing your lower stomach and hips, his lips moving over every patch of skin he could reach. He only pulled back when he noticed your knees getting weaker by the second.

He looked up at you with a smirk painted over his face and you smiled back at him. You felt his fingertips moving up your inner thigh until they reached your center, making you gasp at the sudden contact. He carefully parted your folds and you noticed how his pupils widened when he felt your wetness basically dripping into his palm.

He didn't get a chance to fully explore all the glory your body had to offer as your knees finally gave out and you almost fell forward, only stopping yourself with your hand on his shoulder. Spencer leaned back to make room for you as you hurriedly and with very little grace climbed into his lap.

Your lips were on his within a split second, continuing your kiss with more fervor than before. You reached between your bodies to find his hardness, your fingertips moving carefully along his velvety skin.

You leaned back to find his eyes and purred, "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

"Don't hold back," Spencer chuckled in response.

Before you did what your entire body longed for, you wanted to make sure of something.

"You're not in pain, are you?" You wondered as your sight fell to his cast.

"No, I'm alright," he said before smirking. "Besides, sex is known to relieve pain."

"Yeah?" You snickered as you wrapped your hand around his erection. "Then let me take care of you."

"Please," he sighed when his tip made contact with your slick folds.

Slowly you sank down on him, relishing the sensation of being completely filled out by him. When he was at your deepest point, you took a moment to feel his heartbeat deep inside you. It became impossible to tell where his body ended and yours began. You felt him twitching against your tight walls and answered him by clenching around him.

Hungry lips connected once more as you began moving your hips against his. He swung his good arm around your waist to press your body even closer against his, moving with you as best as he could. Together you chased the sweet relief, your motions becoming faster and more erratic by the second.

When you left his lips to gasp for air, Spencer was quick to kiss down your neck, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin of your pulse point. His breath felt hot against even more heated skin as you entered a state of pure bliss. The moment he felt you pulsing around his length, he got lost in the pleasure as well.

He bucked his hips upwards to push into you, mewls and moans falling from his lips as he shared his essence with you. When you collapsed into his arms you could still feel him throbbing inside you before he let his head fall back against the backrest of the couch.

When your breathing had evened out, you sat back up and began showering his face with little kisses. He chuckled at your display of affection and turned his head just enough to capture your lips in a brief but sweet kiss.

When he found your eyes again, you softly asked, "Are you okay?"

"Never been better," he chuckled. "I think I'm healed."

You joined him in his laughter. "That's a shame. I was hoping we could do that again sometime."

"Now that you mention it, my arm hurts terribly," he joked.

You rolled your eyes and got up from the couch to go clean up in the bathroom. When you stepped back into the living room, Spencer had covered himself with a blanket.

He looked at his clothes on the floor and mumbled, "I really need to figure out how to put clothes on with a broken arm."

You sat down on the couch beside him and lifted the blanket to curl into his side.

"Or not," you giggled. "This is fun, too."

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fics in my NSFW Masterlist!

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rubiehart · 3 months

Note

can you write something where reader and jj had an argument and they do something apart from each other for a little while because they both know they are just tired and need some alone time but then jj starts missing reader even if it has been only an hour or so, and he starts annoying the reader because its his way of apologizing and saying sorry and they make up. (If you don’t understand anything I’m saying you can just ignore it hahah)

you’d just gotten out of the shower, washing off all the negativity from the day you’d had, let’s just say there was a lot to get rid off. you and jj had been arguing about little things for the past few days, and you decided you needed some time to cool off, in the midst of another little squabble you broke and stormed out of the chateau, leaving jj there and saying nothing else to him, and looking at your notification centre he seemed he didn’t even think to send you a text.

you just huffed, deep down hoping he’d made the decision to ask if you were okay, even though you told him not to speak to you until you both had time to cool off, placing your phone on your nightstand you walked over to your dresser to start your skincare routine, pressing play on your speaker and letting some music fill the space in your mind that was being consumed by jj. you’d just finished rubbing in your serum when you heard a tap at your window, you decided or ignore it until another tap came, then another, then another five seconds later. you huffed and slammed the moisturise down and walking over to your window, throwing your thin curtains to the side and looking down.

a mop of blonde hair barely being lit by the dimming porch light, his toothy grin smiling up at you making all the anger you’d felt melt away, like he always did to you, not letting that show on your face though, you weren’t gonna break that easily, you flung your window open and spoke down to his dark shadow “what are you doing here?” you huffed. he just shrugged, “just wanted to come see my girl…” he replied lowly, clearly trying to conceal his grin. you rolled your eyes and closed your window.

jj hung his head in defeat, thinking you were mad, before the front door flung open and you came running out in your skimpy little pyjamas making him raise his eyebrows, which made you return the look, more disapprovingly than his. “eyes are up here.” you joked, throwing yourself into his arms and hugging him tight. he just smiled and looked you in your eyes “i’m sorry about earlier baby.” you just nodded, keeping eye contact with him silently agreeing. “i’m sorry too.” you grinned he just replied by grabbing your face and placing a sloppy kiss to your lips making you smile and take his hand, guiding him back towards the porch, making him grin and follow blindly behind you.

you gestured to the porch light and looked at him “need you to change the bulb in that for me.” you grinned “starting to think you’re just using me for my handyman skills baby.” he jokes, pulling you into him with an arm around your waist, making you lean into his shoulder with a cheeky grin and shrugging sarcastically “hm, maybe.”

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 8 months

Note

i absolutely love the prompt you have "I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night" cause major swiftie and I will only read that like she says it in stay stay stay so can you pretty please to conrad x reader with that prompt when you get the chance tysm take ur time

Silly little one I forgot I started writing a week ago

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The best relationship advice your mother ever gave to you was that you should never leave a fight unresolved or go to bed mad at each other. You and Conrad had been pretty good at doing that…until last night.

To be fair, the whole situation had everyone on edge.

After his exam, you and Conrad emptied his dorm and hit the road. He had slept less than five hours last night so you kindly offered to drive while he caught up on sleep. Everything was going well, until you accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up in a totally different place. You tried to get back on the right road, but panicked when you couldn’t figure a way…then Conrad woke up, grumpy and still tired, and started criticizing your driving skills.

To add to the situation, rain and thunder decided to join you. A little rain and thunder didn’t scare Conrad, but they decided to close the highway, forcing the two of you to stay at a motel for the night.

You showered and changed out of your wet clothes, while Conrad did his own thing. When you came out, he was there, in his pajamas, taking out extra blankets from the closet and setting them on the floor.

Getting what he was doing, you stopped him. ‘’You’re not sleeping on the floor. Don’t be ridiculous.’’

You had a fight, but you weren’t that mad at him. He just struck a nerve.

Conrad's tired eyes met yours, but he didn’t say anything as he moved his pillow to the bed. He drew back the covers and laid down, his back turned to you.

A knot formed in your stomach, hurt, and you turned off the lamp, plunging the room in the dark without exchanges of ‘goodnight’s. Rare were the occasions where you and Conrad were sharing a bed and alone, but instead of taking advantage of it, you were caught in an uncomfortable silence where neither of you found sleep.

You tried to close your eyes, but couldn’t. So you listened to the loud rumbles of thunder and the tapping of the rain until your eyes couldn’t stay open.

Just as you were about to fall asleep, Conrad spoke.

‘’What I said earlier, I didn’t mean it,’’ he said in the quiet of the room, knowing you weren’t asleep either. ‘’I’m sorry. You’re not the worse driver I know.’’

A tired smile twisted on your lips...and you felt yourself drifting to sleep.

When you woke up, the morning light seeped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the motel room. The rain from last night had finally subsided, meaning you’ll be able to get back on the road and go home.

Beside you, Conrad was still sleeping. You watched him for a moment, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead. It might sound dumb, but you missed him.

You heard a muffled groan, getting excited as Conrad slowly stirred. His eyes blinked open, struggling to adjust to the daylight coming from the window, and you chuckled. You didn’t think of drawing the curtains all the way last night.

‘’Morning,’’ you greeted with a soft smile, brushing hair from his face.

"I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night," he said, his voice a little deeper from sleep.

You rolled your eyes. ‘’You’re exaggerating.’’

Conrad sighed, looking up at the stucco ceiling. ‘’We had this big fight over something so stupid—’’

‘’Real relationships are not perfect, Con. Even the ones who seem perfect aren’t. They fight with their partners and that’s totally normal. We’re not gonna break up because I didn’t pay enough attention and took a wrong turn. That’s ridiculous.’’

There was a silent pause, then Conrad laughed.

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti @lomlolivia @5sosbands @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @gilbertscurls @brandirouse86 @leilani-nichole @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @bchindureyes @bellysbeach @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @foockingasshole @straberryshortcake143 @luiise

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher fanfic #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty

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sycamorelibrary754 · 7 months

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Come Home To Me

Summary: After returning home to the Avengers Compound from separate solo missions, Wanda learns the meaning behind one of your tattoos is more than what it seems.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Avenger!Reader.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: None

A/N: Behold, my first attempt at writing a fic. I'm pleased with the end result, so I'm being brave & posting it. Shoutout to @yelenasdiary for encouraging me to give it a go. 💜

The morning light shone through the window of Wanda’s bedroom as both of you cuddled up under the covers. You silently thanked Tony for installing black-out curtains in the compound bedrooms as Wanda’s red magic trailed ever so slowly around the fabric, bringing much-needed darkness to the room.

You had both returned from solo no-contact missions the night before. Usually, you did your best to keep in touch when both of you were on separate missions, even if it was only an emoji to let the other know that you were there. Without that contact, you both felt like ships lost at sea with nothing to anchor you.

Wanda was the first to arrive home. After her debriefing with Fury, she was determined to stay awake for your impending arrival.

Walking past Wanda on the way to her room, Natasha gave Wanda a knowing smirk. “No training tomorrow.” Not even stopping to engage in conversation.

Wanda turned as the Black Widow kept walking past her toward the compound kitchen, “Why?”

“You know why,” Nat called out in response without even turning around.

Upon arriving in her room, Wanda changed into her favorite pajamas and turned on her favorite episode of the Dick Van Dyke show. One she had seen more times than she could count, but it was always her comfort show. Even more so when you were away.

An hour later, your Quinjet softly touched down on compound grounds. You tiredly made your way to your debriefing, the Med Bay for a few minor stitches in your leg, and your room for a quick shower. By the time you finally make it to Wanda’s room, the only sound you hear as you slowly push open the door is the laugh track of your girlfriend’s favorite show. The glow from the television perfectly illuminating her sleeping form under the covers. You carefully made your way to your side of the bed and curled up next to Wanda. Her eyes slowly opened to see your exhausted face smiling back at her.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said.

“You’re finally home” Wanda whispered.

“So are you.” You replied as you gently caressing your hand across her cheek.

It had been so long without her touch that you almost forgotten what it felt like to not sleep alone. You came together for a gentle kiss that lingered on for what seemed like forever. Not in desperation, but in contentment, as you were finally whole again.

“Go back to sleep, love. It's so late.” You say, as you turn off her television and readjust the covers over both of you.

“We have the day off tomorrow...” Wanda mumbled. Her Sokovian accent slipping ever so softly into her speech. Her weariness finally catching up with her now that you were home and safe in her arms. You fall asleep with hands and hearts intertwined.

You lay in bed as Wanda traces the outlines of the tattoos that cover your right arm. She had always found them fascinating.

“What does the owl mean?” Her voice broke through the thickened silence.

“What?” You glance over, as her green eyes connect with yours.

“The owl tattoo on your forearm.” Wanda reiterated.

“Oh. Well, the owl is the companion to Athena, the goddess of wisdom. It was seen as a symbol of protection in Ancient Greece. If an owl flew over Greek soldiers before a battle, they took it as a sign of victory.”

Wanda nods as you look down at the tattoo on your arm, brushing your fingers lightly over the ink.

“There is another reason….” You say so softly that Wanda almost misses it. “When I’m on a mission without you, it reminds me that I will always find my way back to you. I’ll be victorious and I’ll come home to you, no matter where I am.”

Wanda takes your face in her hands. Her magic trails around your head and gently calms the inner recesses of your mind. Her eyes meet yours in gentle reassurance. She can hear your thoughts questioning whether that was too much to share.

“I love you with all my heart. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“I love you too,” you reply.

A couple weeks later, Wanda suits up for a mission with Nat and Bucky. They were to infiltrate an underground Hydra facility that had recently started experimenting again with what Tony and Bruce believed to be new technology. Nothing Wanda hadn’t seen before, but still unsettling. Memories forever fresh of her time in Hydra facilities with Pietro. The only sound able to permeate her memories is the sound of Nat announcing that you’re roughly an hour out from your target and Bucky regaling them both with another story of his exploits in 1940s Brooklyn with Steve.

Missing you, Wanda absentmindedly reaches into the front pocket of her suit and feels the creases a folded-up note against her fingertips. Removing it slowly, she recognizes your chicken scratch handwriting that you absolutely despise, but that she finds adorable.

Come home to me, Wanda.

Forever my love,

y/n

Wanda opens the small black box accompanying the note to reveal an ornate silver owl ring. Edgy, yet elegant. With tears gathering her eyes, she quietly slips the ring onto her right ring finger. It slides into place smoothly, as if it was always meant for her. A spot it never left from that moment on. No matter the mission, no matter the circumstance. You had your owl and she had hers.

It may look like a simple piece of jewelry to the rest of the team. Nat often catches Wanda staring at the ring during briefings, especially if you aren't there. And Yelena still doesn't understand why she couldn't borrow it for a date night with Kate. To your little witch, it is more than a ring. It’s a comforting reminder of the love you both share. An unspoken promise to always find your way back home to one another.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #marvel #the avengers #fluff #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x reader #avenger!reader

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fiveht · 1 month

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Proof of life (Adore pt 3)

Hello my sweet angel babies ♥️

I'm not going to be able to adequately express my gratitude for the steady stream of love (and concern, sorry) I've been receiving over the past couple of months. I'm so sorry I've been AWOL, it will definitely happen again. Because see, for me, I usually have to make a choice between social and creative fandom participation. My battery is small, and takes a long time to charge.

Thank you to everyone who's left comments and asks and DMs since I've been gone. I don't think I can respond to all of it, but rest assured those messages ping my cold, dead heart every time I see them.

So I'm gonna go out on a limb here. I did this same thing months and months ago, when I was working on Head Over Feet, and let me be clear: posting even a single word of a WIP goes against my every instinct and principle as an author. I am someone who likes to finish an entire story before I post any of it, and on top of that, I am NOT a fast writer, so the expectations that I'm setting up here might not be advisable. But I did it before and managed to finish the thing, and I want to give you guys something in exchange for being so unbelievably awesome, so here I am again.

This will probably be the only time I mention this story in public until it's finished and posted, and inquiries about my progress are unlikely to help with the writing process, I'm just saying. I reserve the right to change every last word of this before the final draft, and I also reserve the right to fall off the face of the planet and simply never finish it, as much as I will strive to prevent that from happening. Please be patient with me.

Anyway, here is my paltry offering to say thanks for the love: the (VERY rough) first ~1300 words of the third instalment of The Adventures of Soft Daddy and Danger Twink.

Sirius secures his handheld shower head to its holder at the edge of his clawfoot tub, and steps out carefully onto the bathmat. He shivers in the cool air outside the shower curtain; it's about twenty degrees below zero outside, so even if he could afford to run his ancient radiator at full blast, it probably wouldn't help much.

He dries himself off and checks his reflection in the mirror, turning his face this way and that as he tugs his hair out of the bun he'd piled it into to keep it dry during his shower. There's no need for makeup tonight, not when he's not even planning to put on clothes.

It's incrementally warmer when he steps out into the main room of his apartment. He gathers an array of splayed text books and notes from his bed and dumps them carelessly onto the couch, then closes his new laptop and places it delicately on the coffee table. It's the most expensive thing he owns, save for the Gucci backpack currently sitting in his wardrobe with a three-inch berth around it like his shoes and other bags might somehow contaminate it. It's weird owning rich-people stuff when you are still, objectively, broke as fuck.

He perches on the edge of his bed and sets his phone to charge, because his battery doesn't even last a day anymore, and he's going to need it this evening. He tucks it in next to his pillow and picks up his new toy.

The plug isn't much larger than the one he already has. A little longer, which is appealing, but no wider, so it shouldn't be a challenge to get it in comfortably. He disconnects it from its charger and hefts it in his hand, feeling the added weight from the electronics inside.

He picks up his phone, and hesitates when he sees the notification waiting for him.

Rieka: let's go out tomorrow

Rieka: the fact that we haven't been drunk since the term started is criminal

Rieka: we've had two chem labs and zero drinks

Sirius purses his lips, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. There's a fine line here, and he hasn't quite found it yet.

Me: got plans

Me: raincheck?

So complete avoidance is the best strategy, right?

Rieka: booooo 👎

He sighs, but at least she's not asking for an explanation. He opens a different conversation then, pushing all thoughts of Rieka Lupin into a tidy, sealed compartment, not to be opened during certain activities with a certain relative of hers.

Me: i'm ready

Me: are you in your office?

Daddy: Yup, I've got a few minutes

Daddy: Want me to call?

Instead of answering, Sirius hits the call button himself.

"Hey baby," Remus answers. His voice is already smooth and honey-sweet, and just from that, Sirius knows he's planning to lay it on thick tonight.

"Hi daddy," Sirius says with a smile. "Should I put it in now?"

There's a low chuckle over the line. "Are we feeling eager?"

"Always," Sirius says, laying back on his bed.

"Use the good lube I got you, it's gonna be in there a while."

He switches the call to speaker, and snags the bottle from his nightstand. "I threw out the old stuff, you've got me ruined for cheap lube."

"Only the best for that ass," Remus says, and Sirius can hear his smirk.

He gives the plug a liberal coating, running his fingers along its shape, his dick twitching just at the feel of the silky-smooth silicone, at the anticipation of what's about to happen. He spreads his legs wide, drawing one knee up to give himself easier access.

"Take it slow," Remus says, succinctly heading off Sirius' impulse to just shove the thing inside himself in one go. "Rub the tip against yourself, so you're nice and wet."

Sirius shuts his eyes as he obeys, sliding the slick end of the toy over his entrance. "Okay."

"Are you going to be a good boy for daddy tonight?"

"Uh-huh," Sirius says, teasing the very tip of the plug in and out of his hole.

"Tell me how."

"I'm not gonna touch."

"You're not gonna touch, and you're not gonna come."

"Yeah," Sirius says. His cock is starting to harden as his body tries to draw the plug inside. "Can I put it in, daddy?"

"Slow," Remus reminds him, "Slide it in nice and slow for me, baby."

Sirius catches his lip between his teeth and tries to push the plug in slowly, the way he knows Remus would do if he was here.

The shower has left him relaxed and more than ready, and it's hard not to take advantage, just press the toy in to its limit because he can. But he's working on his patience -- under Remus' careful tutelage -- so he shuts his eyes and tries to savour it, the tease of the plug's rubber tip at his entrance, the slow stretch as he eases it past the slight resistance before he sighs, and his body eagerly accepts the intrusion.

"Mmmm," Sirius sighs as he settles the base of the plug flush against his entrance, shifting his hips and feeling the constant, dull pressure against his prostate.

"How's it feel?"

"Good," Sirius says, splaying his legs out and just enjoying the pleasant fullness. It's been almost a week since Remus last fucked him, and that's just way too long. Christmas really spoiled him. He tugs the blankets up around him, because it's going to take some time before his body temperature is high enough to fight against the chill in his apartment.

"Have you tried out the settings at all?" Remus asks him, and Sirius picks up the phone, switching off speaker and holding it to his ear.

"No," he says, grinding his ass down against the bed to test the plug's reach inside him. "I thought you'd rather do the honours."

Remus hums, and Sirius hears the phone shifting in his grip. "I'm gonna turn it on, okay? Lowest setting."

"O--" Sirius stutters as the plug buzzes to life inside him, nestled snug against his prostate and sending little zings of pleasure down his legs. "Fuck that feels good. That's the lowest setting?"

"It is," Remus confirms. "Want to run through them all, see how high it goes? Or would you rather be surprised?"

"Mmmm, surprise me."

"Surprise it is," Remus says, and Sirius hears shuffling papers in the background as he prepares for his night class. Psychology 1001, Thursdays, 7-9:30PM. Two and a half hours of a lecture that Remus swears he's given so many times he could recite it in his sleep, so why not give himself something fun to focus on while he goes through the motions?

Being privy to all of this brilliant, upstanding man's secret perversions is a privilege Sirius does not take lightly.

"You can turn it off from the app if you need to," Remus is saying, "Or you can call me and I'll switch it off. My phone's on vibrate, so I'll see it right away."

Sirius smiles to himself. "Got it," he says, though this is a rehashing of the rules that Remus had laid out when he'd brought the plug over last weekend. He'd called it a "late Christmas gift", as if he hadn't already given Sirius several thousand dollars worth of presents on Christmas morning.

There's more rustling over the line, the squeak of a chair.

"Tell me again how you're going to be good tonight."

"I'm not gonna touch myself, and I'm not gonna come." The toy is still buzzing away inside him, making everything a little fuzzy at the edges.

"Tell me why."

"'Cause daddy's in charge, even when he's not here."

"Good boy."

Sirius squirms with pleasure, his cock smearing a little drop of fluid on his belly as the toy hums insistently at his prostate.

"I have to head out," Remus says. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Sirius says, his abs tensing as he shifts his legs and the angle of the toy changes. "Excited."

"Me too," Remus says softly. "I'll talk to you soon, beautiful. Send me some pictures." With a low beep, the call disconnects.

#and i disappear into the night once again #turned off anon asks for the time being #sorry i love you guys i'm just awkward

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goodbuckcharlie · 24 days

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I made it | Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack was Lucy’s first love, they dated in high school but broke up when Jack left for the NHL. After a long debate with a certain older Hughes brother, Lucy decided to invite Jack to her broadway debut, but she didn’t expect him to actually show up.

Warnings: cussing

Notes: well I know I said I would work on the Cole story but I’m kinda stuck rn and this idea came to me. It’s a little shorter than I hoped but I think this one may be my favorite. Also italics means it’s a flash back

Lucy doesn’t even know what she’s doing. She just got the news that she landed her dream role as Elphaba on broadway. Her high school dream just in arms reach. Her thumb floats over his caller id.

Jacky💕

She never had the heart to delete his contact. Not even the guts to change his name. Despite him breaking her heart, he was the one who supported her dreams the most.

It was opening night of her Senior musical. The school musical was Shrek and Lucy was playing Fiona. She kept looking in the crowd, hoping to see a glimpse of her parents, but every time she looked she slowly lost hope. But that dread was quickly replaced with joy as she saw her boyfriend and his family take their seats in the front row. Ellen and Jim were dressed up nice, Jack was dressed nice as well, but his hair definitely shows that he just got out of the shower after practice. Luke on the other hand, let’s just say Lucy was just happy he was there.

At the end of the performance, as she took her bow, Jack was cheering for her so loud that you would have thought he was at a sporting event. Lucy couldn’t help, but blush. Well as much blushing she can do under her green face paint.

Once the curtains close, Lucy rushes out of her costume to see Jack as soon as possible. When she leaves the theater room, she is greeted by Jack holding a bouquet of sunflowers, her favorite flowers.

“You came!!” She pulls Jack into a hug who quickly saved the flowers from being smushed by raising them above his head. He laughs at her excitement.

“Of course I made it.” He kisses her forehead before looking in her eyes, “I’m your number one fan.”

She couldn’t bring herself to call him, but part of her knew she needed to tell someone from that time of her life.

“Hello, who is this?” Of course he didn’t have her number saved.

“This was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have called.” She goes to hang up, but luckily, Quinn recognizes her voice.

“Lucy?! What’s wrong?” She takes a deep breath, before talking to Quinn.

“I’m sorry to bother you Quinn, I just need to tell someone , but I couldn’t bring myself to call him, not after how we left things off.” Lucy holds in her tears.

“Hey you may not be with him anymore, but you are still like a little sister to me.” Quinn’s words brought comfort to Lucy, calming her down. “You can always talk to me.”

One last deep breath, Lucy lets it all go. “Quinn, I’m going to be on broadway.”

“Wait for real!? This is amazing Lulu.”She smiles at the use of the nickname she hasn’t heard for a long time. “What date is opening night, I’ll totally buy a ticket to see it.”

“March 6th, but I already checked your schedule, and you are busy Mr. Captain.” Since this was the first time she talked to Quinn since the break up, it’s the first time she has called him captain. “But it would be knowing someone in the crowd was there for me, besides my brother.”

“You know someone who doesn’t play that day and would drop anything to see you.” She knows exact who she’s talking about.

“No Quinn, I doubt Jack wants to see me after 5 years. He has better things to do.” She still can’t believe it has been this long. “He was the one who broke up with me remember?”

“He misses you Lulu.” She shakes her head in disbelief. She’s seen Jack’s public life, he’s dated other girls, he’s out partying with his friends on the off season, and most importantly he is being successful in the NHL. “You have no idea how many time I’ve been on phone with Jack basically having this exact conversation. Every important game he calls me asking if he should invite you. I always tell him yes, but evidently he never goes through with it.”

“I’ve actually been to a few games believe it or not, last game I went to was the infamous Hughes bowl.” She couldn’t afford the lower bowl seats, but even in the nose bleeds she was supporting Jack, the Hughes brothers.

“Never let Jack know that, he’ll get so upset that you paid to watch him play. Knowing him he would try and figure out how much you spent in total, then would pay you back.” She laughs knowing that would exactly what Jack would do.

“He would also get mad if he knew I bought my own jersey.” She looks over in her closet and sees her number 86 Devils jersey that almost taunts her. “I wear it every game day.”

The two are silent for a little bit before Quinn speaks up. “What if I buy Jack a ticket and send it to him. I won’t tell him about this conversation. He can decide for himself if he goes or not but I can guarantee once he sees that you are performing, he will drop everything to see you.”

“I can’t tell you what to do with your money Quinn , but I can ask that you don’t waste your money.”

“How about this, we make a bet, the Lucy I remember always loved a good bet,” Lucy was very competitive in high school (she still is competitive but she would never tell anyone about that) “If Jack goes, you have to give him another chance . If he doesn’t go, I will never bother you about Jack again.”

“You know what you have a deal.” After making the deal, the two stay on the phone catching up for an hour. They talk about how the team is doing, how Ellen and Jim are and how much they also miss Lucy. They also talked about how Lucy got the role. Overall, Lucy was just glad to talk to one of the Hughes again.

During his lunch time the next day, Jack got a text from Quinn.

Qball- Don’t fuck it up this time.

There was a link attached. So out of curiosity, Jack opened the link and saw it was a ticket to see Wicked on broadway. He immediately send Quinn a text back questioning what he means.

Qball- Look up the cast idiot.

Jack looks up the cast after he rolls his eyes at his brother. But when he saw Lucy’s name in big letter next to Elphaba, his heart feels like it stopped.

Qball- she wants you to go, but was too scared to ask you herself.

Jack😎- It’s been so long, what would I even say to her when I saw her?

Qball- the truth. You love her Jack and I can’t guarantee she feels the same but she does deserve the closure you never gave her.

Jack😎- after all this time maybe it’s best if I just left her alone.

Qball- I can’t make you go but if you don’t please at least give the ticket to Luke or even mom. Lucy deserves to have someone there to support her.

Jack😎- I’ll think about it, but thanks for letting me know.

Jack let’s put a groan and puts his head down trying to think.

“What’s up with him?” Jack forgot that he was with his team mates but he quite frankly didn’t care. Not even as Luke grabs his phone.

“Oh shit is this for real.” Jack groans again. “Damn dude Lucy looks hot as fuck.”

Jack’s head shoots up and he glares at Luke.

“What, on the cast list there’s a link to her Instagram. And I’m just stating facts look.” Luke hands Jack back his phone and he sees that Luke was right. Lucy had gotten rid of her braces and glasses which he also found adorable, but there was something about her matured look that made Jack awe struck.

“Who’s Lucy?” Nico asks looking over Jack’s shoulder.

“Jack’s high school sweetheart.” Luke says looking Lucy up on Instagram on his own phone. “Jack was an asshole and dumped her when he got drafted. He legit dumped her over text.”

“That was 5 years ago asshole.” Jack mutters

“She’s really talented.” Jack was playing a clip that she posted of her singing and everyone could hear it. “You really fumbled the bag dude.”

“You think she’s single?” John says while Luke showed him pictures of Lucy. “If so you think you could put in a good word for me?”

“Fuck off.” Jack feels himself getting angry but he doesn’t understand why, Lucy was no longer his, and he lost his right to get over protective of her years ago. He storms off out of the living room out to his room m. Luke follows him.

“Come on Jack, you have no right to be upset.” Jack knows Luke is right but he pouts anyways. “So what are you going to do about that ticket?”

“Maybe mom should go, you know how much she misses Lucy.” Jack says looking at a photo that Lucy posted for her birthday. It was a picture of her in high school laughing. Jack was cropped out of the photo but he can still picture the memory in his head.

“Did you not read what Quinn said?” Luk sits down next to Jack. “She wants you there Jack. She wants your support. Don’t you at least think she deserves that?”

“I do support her and she deserves all the support in the world, but she also deserves better than me.” Jack hold back his tears in front of his brother. “I remember the text her brother sent me. The day I broke up with her, I blocked her so I couldn’t see her response. A hour later, Carson texted me telling me that I would never find anyone better than Lucy and that I would have to watch in regret as his big sister became a star. Harshest words I’ve ever heard from an 11 year old.”

Both brothers laugh as the remember Carson, who actually looked up to Jack until the break up. Luke remembers being told to fuck off by the 11 year old, when he tried reaching out to Lucy after the break up.

“I thought in that moment, he was right. I still think he is right, I don’t deserve to walk back into her life now that it’s more convenient for me.” Jack looks at his desk where he keeps a picture of Lucy and his family after her first musical during their freshmen year.

“Yeah maybe you don’t deserve her after what you did, but there is no denying the love you two shared.”Luke puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder before continuing, “I’m not the best at advice so I’m just going to repeat what Quinn said that she deserves closure.”

“I just want her to be happy, Luke.” Jack cries as Luke holds his older brother.

A few months later and a lot of hard work, it was finally time for opening night. After hours in the makeup chair, Lucy was as ready as she’ll ever be.

As she is waiting to go on she can’t help, but think of Jack.

The two were sitting in Jack’s room as they often did. As long as they had the door open per Ellen’s request. They were watching a movie on Jack’s computer as the cuddled under the sheets.Lucy was able to convince Jack to watch Wizard of oz.

“So you are telling me there is a musical where the pink witch and the evil witch are best friends and it’s about how the evil witch becomes evil?”

“Yes and it’s considered to be one of the greatest musicals of all times.” Lucy turns and faces Jack, “One day, I’ll be that evil witch. Although her name is Elphaba.”

“And I’ll be in the crowd cheering you on.” Jack smiles before kissing her cheek, “plus you’ll be the hottest green chick ever.”

Lucy laughs to herself before it’s show time. She seriously doubted Quinn’s plan, but she wasn’t going to let Jack’s absence ruin her night. Because at the end of the day, her little brother was there and that’s all she needed.

Speaking of Carson, he was sat in the orchestra seating, Lucy wanted to get him front row seats but he knew how die hard wicked fans are so he said he was fine where ever he sat as long as he could see her. Carson also brought his girlfriend who just like Lucy was into Musical theatre. Lucy never told Carson this, but his relationship reminded her so much of hers and Jack’s relationship at their age.

Carson and his girlfriend, Macy, were quietly talking during the intermission when Carson realized who was sat a seat away from Macy.

Jack Hughes.

Carson got silent and Macy noticed as well. Of course Macy knew who Jack Hughes was and she also knew about the ‘asshole nhl player the broke Lucy’s heart.’ And with Jack’s appearance tonight and Carson’s reaction, the girl put one and one together. She grabs onto Carson’s hand to comfort him before the house lights dimmed signaling the end of the intermission.

At the end of the performance, it was time for final bows. When it’s Lucy’s turn to bow the crowd and cast all go wild in applause. Lucy looks for her brother and Macy in the crowd but gasps when she locks eyes with Jack Hughes.

Jack is standing up while he cheers her on. She sees Carson who is three seats away. Carson glares at Jack while cheering on Lucy and she hide her laughter at the sight .

When the curtains close and Lucy’s costars all ambush her in hugs, Macy prepares for the worse. Carson goes over to Jack who hasn’t noticed him yet.

“Car don’t do anything stupid.” Carson just ignores her and he taps on Jacks shoulder.

Carson looks very different from what he did when he was 11. He now had a mullet and an eyebrow piercing (one that his friend did in his garage one day much to Lucy’s disapproval). But he was also now 6’0 and had a scarier demeanor. Honestly Jack was only able to recognize him from a photo Lucy had posted on her instagram. Jack goes to say something but Carson holds his hand up.

“Save it, as much as I never wanted to see you ever again, she wants you here so I respect that you came.” Carson softly grabs Macy’s hand, “we are going to the stage exit to go meet up with her. She takes 20 minutes to get out of all her makeup and costume. If you finally want to act like a man and treat my sister like she deserves you are welcome to join us, but if you are only here cause your latest one night stand stood you up or something like that, don’t waste her time and go back to Jersey.”

Jack is stunned as Carson and Macy walk away, but he quickly regains his composure and follows after them. While waiting outside, Jack watches the couple interact. He sees grumpy Carson and his happy girlfriend who is trying to calm him down. He smiles as he remembers how grumpy he got after a bad practice or a bad game and how Lucy would cheer him up.

Actors and actresses leave one by one until it’s time for Lucy. She is radiant as she greets fans and signs playbills. At the end of the group of fans was where Carson ,Macy and Jack stood. When she finally gets to Jack she couldn’t look away.

Carson pulls her out of her trance by hugging her. Macy joins making it a group hug. The teens hold on for a second before letting Lucy go.

“You did amazing out there.” Macy was always star struck at Lucy’s talents, reminiscent of how Carson idolized Jack.

“We are going to head home, I’ll drive your car.” Carson says grabbing Lucy’s car key. He then looks at Jack and then back at Lucy, “Don’t do anything stupid, but also don’t be afraid to give him another chance. I hate to say this, but I always like how happy he made you.”

“Thanks Car.” She leans up and kisses her brother’s forehead before he turns to Jack.

“Don’t fuck this shit up. Break her heart again and I’ll put your ass on the long term injury list.” Jack nods as Macy pulls Carson away.

“Damn when did he get scary?” Jack and Lucy laugh. When the laughter dies down, she looks at Jack with the same adoration she had for him when they were kids.

“You came.” Finally she hugs him, after many years yearning for his warmth.

“Of course I made it.” He says returning the hug. “I so told you that you would be the hottest green chick.”

Playfully she shoves Jack who just laughs. To get away from the crowd they walk to Jack’s car and on the walk they catch up.

“So Carson lives out here now?” Jack recalls Carson saying that he was going home earlier.

“Yeah I got custody of him about a year ago. Mom passed away shortly after you left and dad just got worse. It was no place for him, so I took my dad to court.” She shivers slightly so Jack gives her his jacket before she continues her story. “I have no idea what I’m doing raising a 16 year old, luckily my neighbor helped me out and now Carson is dating their daughter Macy.”

“You know from the small interactions I saw them have, they remind me of us.” Jack test the waters and holds her hand, which she gladly accepts, “Speaking about brothers, Luke and Quinn miss you.”

“How about you Jack, did you miss me?”

“More than anything.”

Jack opens the car door for Lucy and helps her get in before he got into the driver side.

“So miss Broadway do you have any plans tonight or can I take you out to eat?” Jack says while putting his seatbelt on.

“ I have no plans Mr NHL.But if we are going out I need time order delivery for Carson and Macy” Jack pulls out his credit card from his wallet.

“Use my card.” She tries to decline his card, but he shakes his head, “Lucy it’s the least I could do.”

She sighs before calling Macy to ask what they want for dinner. After she got the response, Lucy went and ordered food for the teens. She tried to enter her card, but Jack snatched her phone and entered his card instead.

“So now that, that’s take care of. Would you like to go out to dinner?” He hands her the phone back.

“You know I could really go for a good burger and fries, that’s if your professional team of dietitians would allow that.” Jack smiles remembering one of his favorite dates with her.

Jack had just gotten his license and he was driving around in Quinn’s hand me down car. Right after passing his drivers test, he drove straight to Lucy’s house.

“So where does the princess want to go?” Jack asked as she got into the car.

“You know I could really go for a burger and fries.” She gets into her seat and Jack takes her to their favorite local diner.

When they arrive, the host seats them at their favorite table. While they wait for their food, Lucy tells Jack about her day.

“And in front of everyone my voice cracked, god it was so embarrassing, Jacky.” She hides her face at the memory.

“I bet you have the cutest voice cracks.” The love struck boy laughs as his girl rolls her eyes at him.

“No voice cracks are cute Jacky.”

“Well yours are cause they come from you.” Their food finally arrives and they both grab a fry off the other person’s plate. Something they have done since they started dating. They called it ‘checking for poison’ but it was just one of those silly couple things.

“I love these little moments.” Lucy says as she bites into Jack’s fry.

“Well we have a whole lifetime full of little moments waiting for us.” He says while eating Lucy’s fry.

“A burger and fries sound wonderful, Lulu.”

The two had dinner and it was like nothing changed. They shared food like normal, they talked like it was just a normal Wednesday dinner.

They finished their food and were getting ready to head out and of course Jack paid. Afterwards the two sit in Jack’s car, which was another thing they did often when they dated.

“You’re telling me that Carson became an islander fan after everything happened?” Jack chuckles at Carson’s pettiness.

“Yeah, he even forced me to take him to a game, where we met a few of the players.” She pulls up a picture they took where Carson was wearing a islander jersey and Lucy was just in a normal sweater as they stood next to a couple players, “One of the guys actually asked for my number.”

“Which guy?” Jack felt himself getting jealous.

“Oh Jacky I don’t even remember.” Of course she did after all she did give him her number. But she looks away from Jack. “Even if I did it was a year ago Jack.”

“You obviously do remember, you won’t look at me right now.” Jack doesn’t mean to be sassy towards Lucy, but let’s be honest, being sassy is in his dna.

“Why does it matter Jack? You’ve had other girlfriends why couldn’t I date someone else?” Lucy tries not to cry, but a few tears slip out, “Do you know how hard it was to watch you have other girlfriends while I stayed stuck on you. Yes I did give the Islander player my number, but I told him I wasn’t interested in a relationship. I told every guy that had any interest in me that I wasn’t interested. You want to know why Jack? Because they weren’t you.”

Jack stayed silent not knowing what to say.

“And now you just come back here like you didn’t single handed break my heart last time I saw you,. Oh wait I didn’t even see you when it happened did I Jack.” She cries some more finally letting all of her emotions out. “I should hate you, I really should. But tell me why I feel nothing but love for you.”

“Lucy, there is nothing I regret more than, breaking up with you. I was a coward, but please give me another chance.” He wipes away her tears, “Those girls were my failed attempts on forgetting you, but nothing worked. I know I don’t deserve it but please give me a second chance.”

“I don’t know Jack, I don’t want to promise you anything. But I can say, I’m willing to try again slowly.” Jack smiles and he holds her hand.

“That’s all I could ask for.”

Between hockey games and Lucy’s shows, the two spent any free time together. Despite the busy schedules, they found the time to go out. Tonight, Lucy was singing the national anthem at Jack’s game versus the Islanders.

“Ladies and Gentlemen please welcome the star of broadway’s Wicked, Lucy Masters, with the singing of our national Anthem.”

The crowd cheers before getting silent for Lucy. She sings beautifully and when she hits the high note at the end, the crowd went wild. The song finishes, and she finally locks eyes with Jack. She gives him a little wave before she is ushered off the ice.

At the end of the game, the devils won 4-0. Carson ,who surprisingly wore a Hughes 43 jersey instead of his regular Islander Barzal 13 Jersey, was hyped by the win. He went into a rant as the pair waited for Jack to leave the locker room.

“Damn I miss hockey.” Lucy loves seeing Carson happy more than anything. She was glad that he decided to come, seeing it as a step in the right direction.

“You know if you aren’t too rusty at it, we can go shoot the puck together one day.” Both Lucy and Carson look over and see Jack. He pulls Lucy into a hug. “Hands down the best performance of the night goes to you Miss Lucy.”

“I am not so sure about that, a shut out game and both you and Timo getting two points? Much more impressive.” Lucy praises Jack causing Carson to gag.

“Come on Carson, let’s leave the lovers alone.” Luke comes out of nowhere and directs Carson towards his car. Lucy and Carson were spending the night at Jack and Luke’s place so they didn’t have to drive back to New York this late. So Luke was okay with driving Carson back while Jack and Lucy have a car to themselves. Carson leaves with Luke, but not until he sent a few menacing glares at Jack.

“Just so you know, the team chirped the hell out of me when Luke told them how scared I am of Carson.” To be fair, now that Carson is one of the best high school prospects of the 2025 class and has scouts coming to almost every game now, especially since he is a leftie, he’s a scary teenager.

“In your defense, his pitch is reaching an average of 88 miles per hour as a junior. I would be scared of him too.” Jack looks at Lucy and smiles as he sees her in his jersey.

“You look so good in my number.” He steps back and acts like he is taking a photo of her with an invisible camera, “Picture perfect baby.”

“Jacky you are such a dork.”She turns around and walks away while smiling. Jack runs up behind her and pulls her into a hug.

“I’ll gladly be a dork if that means I’m your dork.”

Jack had been miserable as Lucy was gone at a two week long theater camp. Luke thought if Lucy didn’t get home soon, Quinn would kill Jack. The day she was coming back, Jack sat by the door waiting for Ellen to come back with Lucy. He originally wanted to come with but he forgot to finish his chores the night before so Ellen made him stay home and wait.

When his mom’s car pulls in to the driveway, Jack bolts out the door, almost like a wild animal. Lucy gets out of the car and Jack tackles her in a hug. He gives her small kisses all over her face.

“I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.” Jack repeats this mantra as Lucy struggles to wiggle out of his hold. All the while, Lucy is dying of laughter.

“Get off me you dork.” It takes Quinn pulling Jack off to get Lucy free. He then picks up Lucy like a sack of potatoes and runs away from Jack. The boys run around, as Jack tries to get Lucy back.

“Quinn put the poor girl down.” Ellen calls out. Quinn puts Lucy down carefully and Jack runs over and grabs on to Lucy like a kid hold their favorite toy.

“Fear not fair damsel, your hero has saved you from the ugly ass troll.” (QUINN BABY DON’T LISTEN TO THIS YOU ARE VERY PRETTY) Quinn just flips off his brother before heading back into the house, “I think your hero deserves a kiss for saving you.”

“You’re lucky I find you cute, you dork.” Lucy pulls him down into a kiss. Jack can’t help but smile.

“I may be a dork, but I’m your dork.”

“You’ll always be my dork Jacky.” Lucy pulls him down into a kiss. Their first kiss in five years. Jack would freeze time and live in this moment forever if he could. Sadly time has to go on and the pair pull apart. “Let’s go home Jacky.”

Hand in hand, they leave the arena, full of hope for the future of their relationship.

#jack hughes #nhl blurb #hockey imagine #nj devils imagine #nhl imagine #nhl #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes imagine

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xxnghtclls · 2 months

Text

Flickering Lights

Chapter 2: A Tall, Pink Haired Man

Chapter (1/3)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

For tags and synopsis, please see Chapter 1!

Bam!

You slam the door shut behind you. Finally you’re home in your small apartment, still thinking about what happened in your office. Sitting down on one of your two chairs, you absentmindedly tap with your key into the surface of your kitchen table.

Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.

“Who was that?” you mumble to yourself, while your leg is wiggling nervously. “Where and… why? Four eyes and four arms, too?”

A pause.

Tap. Tap.

“HOW?” you blurt out loudly and distort your face in confusion. Your brain is so tired.

Shaking your head, you decide to get up and get a hot shower.

-Monday me- is going to have a huge problem, leaving the office like this.

“This” meaning a broken window, a crack in the floor and the wall. Your computer is for the trashcan, too. A fucking mess.

Motherfucker.

You kind of hope it was a dream, a hallucination or a lightning. Monday you will get back to your same old habit, going to work and writing emails, lists and calculations. And then Tuesday. And then Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

Sigh.

Rashhhhh

You close the shower curtain in front of your face and turn on the water. Warm steamy drops are tickling your face and calming your nerves. Sleepiness washes over you with the steamy warmth and you’re quick to finish soaping you up. You let out a big yawn, as you turn off the water and step out.

“Time for bed.” you sigh, before you brush your teeth and dry yourself. Taking your phone with you, you carry yourself up the ladder to your elevated sleeping space. The perks of living in tokyo.

Mini studio apartments.

Crawling onto the futon, you pull the blanket up to your nose. A last time you peek onto your phone, before your eyes shut themselves.

- 01:38 a.m. -

“Goodnight...” you mumble, before you fall asleep. “Stranger.”

♫ Up with the sun, gone with the wind, she always said I was lazy-

“The fuck?” you breathe into the darkness, still half asleep, as you peek onto your phone, trying not to get blind from your display brightness.

- 6:00 a.m. -

“Ughhh shut up, Bob.” you groan, as you shut your alarm off. You must have forgotten to adjust the settings in your alarm to workweek only, after you had to get up for an out of schedule meeting last saturday.

But, today is free.

You close your eyes and think about what you want to do today.

Get new earphones perhaps. Get groceries. Find out who…who…

Zzzzz…

After a moment, you send another peek to your phone.

- 10:12 a.m. -

“Good morning sunshine.” you grumble to your sleepy self, before you yawn and stretch. “Sorry Bob, now you can sing.” you mumble and put on Bob Seger’s song that ripped you out of sleep earlier.

-play-

“Travelin maan, love when I caan. Turn loose my hand ‘cause I’m goiingg.” you sing, as you’re making yourself some eggs for breakfast, checking your social media inbetween. You roll your eyes, as you read that there’s some unnecessary discourse over something unimportant AGAIN and you swear to yourself, that you’re going to delete that app sooner or later. It just makes you angry.

Fucking idiots.

Your eggs are ready and you sit down, take a bite and text your bestie Mio.

Oy. Akiba in 45 mins?

👍

Good. Need new headphones. Mine broke last night.

No wonder. Get some real ones.

You huff at her text.

“No way.” you smile, as you’re putting your phone away and shove the last bite of eggs into your mouth. You need to get dressed quickly, in order to catch the next train to Akihabara.

On your trainride, you stare out of the window across from you. Listen to the railway and see the houses passing by, the sun shining onto the roofs, before the train goes underground again. Silhouettes and moving lights run along the window.

Moving lights. Flickering lights.

And suddenly you remember last night.

What happened?

That creature, that… man.

How unusual he looked and how his eyes pierced through your soul.

Uncanny.

You wonder if you should tell Mio about it.

Maybe not…

Maybe it was a dream or a hallucination or a lightning after all.

…That rip in space definitely.

But what if he was not?

“Excuse me, is everything alright?” an elderly woman that’s sitting right next to you asks you.

You must’ve zoned out, looking so concentrated… maybe even, as if you’re constipated or something.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry- I mean, thank you.” you force a smile at her, before you pull out your phone to look busy at least.

And you start to scroll on your socials.

And scroll.

Not thinking anything, just remembering that man’s face. Those tattoos. The nose.

Kinda pretty nose, you think as your lips turn into a pout.

Two slits in his eyebrows.

That mask.

So interesti-

Wait what?

Interesting…?

Sigh.

…He is.

You get out at Suehirocho Station and walk to the next 7-eleven, the point where you’re going to meet with Mio. She’s not there yet, so you decide to walk in and buy an Onigiri.

Only one?

No, two.

For later.

Of course you open the first one immediately and bite into it. The first bite is always the best.

Goddamn.

You love it. Closing your eyes, to savour the taste, you stand in front of the store, enjoying the bliss.

“Oy, peanut!” Mio’s voice comes up behind you. You turn around and nudge your head to her, shooting her a look.

“What’s up?” you say with your mouth full.

“Got one for me, too?” she eyes your Onigiri.

“No.” you bite into it another time.

She cocks her eyebrows at you, probably already knowing that you bought two and that you don’t want to share, before a little pout cracks upon her lips.

“Get your own!” you complain, before she pokes her finger into your arm.

“I’ll get you some snacks later!” she coos.

“Fine!” complain and offer her a bite of your last piece.

“Mwuah hah hah!” she laughs deeply in excitement, before she gulps down the whole remaining Onigiri. “I know you love me.”

“Ehhh.” you sigh, letting your shoulders sink, disappointed that she ate it all.

“Sorry.” she brushes off her hands on her jacket. “Anyway, let’s go, my greedy little peanut.” she says, before she hooks her arm into yours. “Did you cut your hair?”

You laugh her question off, as you both start to walk into the city.

While on the search for new 5000 yen headphones, you both keep bullying each other lovingly, laugh and talk about the week. No matter how exhausting your workweek is, she always manages to distract your mind, makes you feel not as lonely. She really is the light of your week.

You don’t really know how it came to this. To feel like this in this city of millions. You used to go out, to dance and fuck a guy every now and then. But maybe it was just the start of how you feel now. The nights of clubbing grew rare, the nights at the computer and phone listening to music grew more frequent. Because nothing could really satisfy it. This hole in your heart. Listening to music helps. Spending time with Mio helps, but only to a degree. Because you wish for a change in your life. More than work and eat and shower and sleep. More than everyday life.

However, you decide not to tell her about what happened last night. Maybe you’ve gone crazy after all. Even if you’re not, you still feel odd about it. Feel, like it might be the change you yearned for, an adventure.

Feel like it only belongs to you.

Quickly you find some new headphones and earn a mocking joke from the side, while Mio continues to buy herself a new phone case. Huge, pink and with little glittery stones and charms.

So ugly.

“Don’t look at me like that, when you’re the one who walked around with a Hello Kitty phone for the longest time!” she complains.

“At least I wasn’t mistaken for a disco ball.” you sneer at her.

You walk to another store to get your promised snacks and after a while, when the hottest gossip is done being discussed, you catch yourself getting silent inbetween.

Because your mind wanders off.

Because you remember.

Those eyes.

Dangerous.

Sometimes she notices and throws you a glance, but you just wave it off, excuse it with sleepless nights because of work.

And she buys it.

At least you hope she does.

“I need to get home.“ you sigh, as you arrive at the next train-station. “I still need to get some groceries. I’m gonna gonna see you next week?”

She sighs too and stops in her tracks. You turn and look to her, seeing her face turning serious. Suddenly the energy shifts. You halt and frown at her in confusion.

Something’s wrong.

“What?” you ask.

“I need to tell you something.” she looks to the ground and it makes you worried.

“What is it?” you poke her shoulder.

She hesitates.

“You’re gonna hate it…” she mumbles and your heart starts pounding. You hate situations like this. Last time she acted like this, she told you she lost the one pair of very expensive headphones you bought in your life. You hated her for it, but you learned your lesson.

Crossing your arms, you keep staring at her, almost holding your breath, trying to remember what kind of item you possibly could’ve lent her recently.

A pause.

“I’ll be on a work trip.-”

“Jesus.” you complain, as you exhale loudly in relief, rolling your eyes.

“For the next week.” she continues, a smug smirk on her face. So proud, knowing to have you fooled so good. “Coming back on Sunday night.”

You sigh.

“I’ll manage!” you exclaim snobbish into her face, but deep down, you know it’s gonna be hard. You’re not gonna see her for two weeks and you’re gonna miss her. A lot. Next to the fact that you can’t meet up with her next weekend, she’ll be busy too and not be able to text you much during the week either.

She punches your shoulder, before you grab her sleeve.

“Come.” you tug on it. “We gotta wish you a safe travel and return.” you mumble, as you drag her with you.

“Huh?” she exclaims, but gives up and willingly walks down to the underground with you.

“I didn’t go to the Meiji shrine in a while. Let’s hang up an Ema there.” you fiddle with her sleeve, as you’re both sitting next to each other in the train towards Yoyogi Station.

“Is everything alright?” she asks and you notice real concern in her voice.

She knows something’s up.

“I think I need to go out more, Mio.” you mumble. “If you’re not here to cheer me up, I need to see someone else then.”

“Sounds as if you’re already have someone in mind.” she jokes and you feel the heat rising in your ears, feel caught.

“Yeah.” you fake-laugh, before you try to change the topic. “Where are you going next week?”

“We’re going to have some meetings in Gifu. But also team-building events, this sort of stuff.” she says, while fiddling with her new phone case and you nod.

“Never went there.” you respond. “Tell me if it’s nice, yes?”

“Sure, little peanut.” she smiles, before she looks back at you. You smile back before, looking around in the wagon.

“Maybe you should go out while I’m gone.” she says, making you look back at her. “Try to focus less on work and have some fun. Treat yourself.” she punches you in your arm again.

Hard.

“Ow!”

“It’s just work after all.”

“I shall.” you hiss, while you rub your hand over the soon-to-be bruise, as the train stops at Harajuku-Station.

After a short walk, Mio and you arrive at the entrance of the shrine. It’s busy, just like the last time you visited, but as soon as you walk through the Torii, it grows calmer with each second. You might not believe, that in you’re a city of millions, when you walk through the beautiful area around the shrine. Trees and plants seal yourself off the loud noises of the streets.

Quiet.

Maybe I need a vacation.

“I’m thirsty.” Mio longingly says, as you walk past the huge Sake barrels.

You snort at her comment.

“Mio Mio Mioooo.” you squeak like a bird. “You called me greedy.”

“That’s what you are.” she chimes. “I know you still have that second Onigiri in your jacket.”

“Shut your mouth.” you smile, while you look up to see the sunlight shine through the branches of the trees, as a gentle breeze flows against your faces. It’s beautiful at this place, but somehow, a weird feeling grows in your gut.

After a ten minute walk along the shrines nature, you arrive at the camphor trees where the Emas are hanged upon. Mio steps forward, reading some of the wishes that are already hung up. After purchasing a little wooden plate yourself, you tipple to the desks and start writing.

For my lovely Mio.

Please let her have the safest travel, a lot of fun and a more safer return to her little peanut.

You draw a little raccoon in the corner, since that’s her favourite animal and turn around, ready to hang it up, only to notice, that Mio holds a little wooden plate in her own hand as well.

“No! I already got one!” you wiggle it into her direction, before you hang it up.

She steps into the corner of your eyes, hanging her own plate right next to yours. You’re about to complain that she bought an unnecessary one, as your eyes catch what she wrote.

For my lovely y/n.

Please let her have the most fun, good food and a little adventure, until her Mio returns.

“Is this for me?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Bro, it’s your name right there!” she sneers as if you’re stupid, tapping her knuckle loudly against the plate.

Your heart warms up, before you continue in a serious voice.

“You forgot to draw a cat.”

“I cannot draw a cat.”

“Bullshit. Everyone can draw a cat.” you wave her off and turn around, only to see-

Oh shit.

You freeze in your spot, as you see that tall man from last night standing in front of the holy praying area of the shrine. His back is turned to you, but his height, his black cloak and the pink spiky hair is proof enough.

A sinister energy reaches your feet and crawls up your legs.

“What’s up?” Mio asks, as she notices how you froze in your spot, tugging at your sleeve.

Your heart starts pounding.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

In the corner of your eyes, you see Mio catching focus on that man herself.

“I’ve never seen a guy that tall-“

“Me neither.” you mumble, while you keep staring. In the corners of your eye, you see many people walking around the mean, peeking and staring and mumbling about his unusual appearance.

He walks up the stairs, shoving a middle aged woman out of his way. She tipples, looses balance and-

Bam!

falls down the stairs, while he’s stepping closer to the doors that lead to the praying area. The huge doors, that now don’t seem to tall in comparison anymore.

“Disrespectful asshole!” Mio exclaims in disgust, as an appalled gasp is heard from the by-standing people and the feeling in your gut grows into a huge lump. Others rush to the woman to help her back up, and Mio wants to go forward too, but you grab her sleeve, holding her back. You stay silent, as you keep watching the man intensely, seeing him lay his right hand on the wooden surface of the saisen-bako that’s placed inbetween the doors. People start to talk to him, try to get his attention, but he is ignoring them, concentrated on doing what he came to do.

Your eyes are fixated on his hand, a tattooed black ring decorating his wrist. The people around him grow louder and louder, but the sound grows mute in your ears. Almost as if you’re hypnotised, you watch how the wooden surface starts to vibrate, the lines between his hand and the wood start to blur. A deep humming starts to vibrate in your ear, just like last night.

Mio notices your trance and calls you, but you hear without hearing.

Whatever he’s doing, it has you in his grip.

Mio calls you again, louder and snips her fingers in front of your face to wake you from your trance but you keep being fixated on his hand until-

“Hey!” another man loudly exclaims and tugs on his cloak to get his attention. Without even looking, the pink haired man flicks his left hand and suddenly the throat of the other man bursts with blood and his head falls from his shoulders.

Fwip!

Pap.. Pap… pap.

Down the stairs it falls and rolls. Your heart drops and everyone starts to scream, as your eyes widen in horror. Blood splatters everywhere, as the head rolls and comes to a halt next to the woman, coating the holy grounds with red essence.

“Y/N!!” Mio calls your name again, now very loud and clear, making your body finally start moving.

You meet Mio’s eyes and grab her wrist, before you run towards the entrance, already seeing security guards run into the opposite direction. Other people run in panic as well, shoving you out of their way, almost make you stumble. For some reason, shortly before you can run through the huge gate, you need to turn around.

Turn around.

The time slows down.

Exhale.

You look.

Focus.

And he turns around, too. Making your eyes meet his for the split of a second, before you turn back forward again, running through the gate.

Inhale.

Sirens are already howling in the distance, as Mio and you and many other people run through the shrine grounds in order to get back to the entrance you came from. Your heart is pounding in your throat and your throat is as dry as sand, as you finally reach the streets. A glance to Mio and a nod from her confirm that you will not separate your ways right now. She’ll come with you.

Bam!

Zschk Zing!

You lock your front door behind you, as Mio sighs loudly, slumping down on one of your kitchen chairs.

“Jesus.” you sigh under your breath, your hands still lingering on the door-lock, your eyes staring into nothing. The image of that mans head rolling down those stairs keeps replaying in your head.

“Gonna make tea.” Mio says, before she gets up and fills the cattle.

You blink and shake your head, before you turn around and sit down on the other chair on the adjacent corner of the table.

You have seen some bad stuff on the internet before. Multiple times unfortunately. However it’s still different to see such things in real life.

“The police will get him right?” she asks.

“Maybe they shot him on sight.” you mumble. “Most probably.” you try to assure her and yourself.

She hums and the kettle starts to whistle.

Louder and louder.

Until Mio takes it from the stove and fills your cups with water.

You take a sip and the warmth flows through your body, making you feel better in an instant.

“I still got no groceries.” you mumble into your cup.

“Let’s just wait a bit. It’ll be safe in a few hours.” she mumbles into hers.

A pause.

And you ponder.

“He wouldn’t have slashed that man, if he let him do his thing in peace.” you sip absentmindedly. “Whatever he was doing.” you add and she glances over to you, cocking an eyebrow.

“If he didn’t shove that woman down the stairs, he wouldn’t have been bothered.” she responds annoyed. “Nothing he was doing can justify this.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Doesn’t matter now, they probably shot him.” she sighs.

Your eyebrows twitch at the thought. Somehow, you don’t feel like it’s true.

A few silent hours go by, sipping tea, trying to calm down. Both of you avoid to read the news, try to distract you from what just happened, talk about anything, except about what happened at the shrine today.

And somehow, it works. They probably shot him after all.

The sun sets and it grows dark outside. Mio taps on her phone.

- 10:13 p.m. -

“I think I should go now.” she sighs. “Gotta get up early tomorrow.”

You inhale deeply, knowing it’s the last time you’re gonna see her for at least two weeks.

“Alright.” you exhale, as you stand up and walk her to your door. “Text me when you’re at the station, k?”

“Sure, peanut. The police is probably still roaming around. And if not they got him.” she smiles at you and leans in for a tight hug. “Gonna miss you.” she whispers in your ear and it almost makes you tear up.

What today happened was a lot for you and now you have to deal with it alone, if the distraction looses its effect. For two whole weeks.

“Gonna miss you, too!” you sniff into her ear and press her against you, before you separate.

“Stop crying, bitch.” she jokes and boops your nose.

You stick out your tongue and with wet eyes, you unlock your front door.

“Here you go, your Majesty. Please return safely.” you bow, trying to overact your upcoming crying-session and it makes her giggle.

“It’ll be fine.” she waves you off and walks down the hallway. “I’m a big girl.”

“Text me!” you yell after her, before you close and lock up the door.

Zschk Zing!

Silence.

Too silent.

You grab your back and pull out the new headphones you bought. In all the hectic you forgot to properly charge them, but luckily, they always are charged halfway up when you buy them.

You sit down on your kitchen chair and go to your phone’s settings, to connect it via bluetooth with your headphones.

It worked.

You put them on and scroll through your music library, not sure what will give you the right mood for now. If you want more distraction or if you want to cry. Already feeling an empty feeling spreading in your heart, you scroll and scroll and your eyes keep watering.

Maybe crying it is.

Mio didn’t text yet and you hope she’s about to arrive safely at the station. It’s just a short walk anyway. You keep scrolling. Being a person who listens to almost everything, it’s difficult to choose sometimes. Closing your eyes, you tap on shuffle, letting fate decide what song to play.

But right in the moment, when the song is about to start, a loud knocking is heard on your door.

Knock.

You quickly look to the door.

Mio?

Maybe she forgot something.

Without turning off the music, you put your headphones on the table and tipple to the front door.

“Mio, is that you?” you call.

No answer.

You frown in suspicion, before looking through the peephole.

And your heart drops into your socks, as you see a deformed fish-eye version of a stranger.

A tall, pink haired man.

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